1856.

My first encampment in Lancashire.--Value of encamping as a part of educational discipline.--Happy days in camp.--The natural and the artificial in landscape.--Sir James Kay Shuttleworth's Exhibition project.--I decline to take an active part in it.--His energetic and laborious disposition.--Charlotte Bronte.--General Scarlett.

The Loire expedition having been abandoned for the year 1856, and the Nile voyage put off indefinitely, I remained working in the north of England, discouraged, as to literature, by the failure of the book of verse, and without much encouragement for painting either; so the summer of 1856 was not very fruitful in work of any kind.

Towards autumn, however, I took courage again, and determined to paint from nature on the moors. This led to the first attempt at encamping.

It is wonderful what an influence the things we do in early life may have on our future occupations. In 1886, exactly thirty years later, I made the Saone expedition, for which two _absolutely essential_ qualifications were an intimate knowledge of the French language and a practical acquaintance with encamping. The Roman who said that fifteen years made a long s.p.a.ce in human life would have appreciated the importance of thirty, yet across all that s.p.a.ce of time what I did in 1856 told just as effectually as if it had been done the year before.

_Moral_ (for any young man who may read this book): it is impossible to say how important the deeds of twenty-one may turn out to have been when we look back upon them in complete maturity. All we know about them is that they are likely to be recognized in the future as far more important than they seemed when they were in the present.

Encamping is now quite familiar to young Englishmen in connection with boating excursions, and it has even been adopted in American pine forests for the sake of health; but in 1856 only military men and a few travellers knew anything about encampments. I was led into this art, or amus.e.m.e.nt (for it is both), by a very natural transition. Here are the three stages of it.

1. You want to paint from nature in uncertain weather, and you build a hut for shelter.

2. The hut is at some distance from a house, and you do not like to leave it, so you sleep in it.

3. The accommodation is found to be narrow, and it is unpleasant to have one little room for everything, so you add a tent or two outside and keep a man. Hence a complete little encampment.

Everybody considered me extremely eccentric in 1856 because I was led into encamping; but it was an excellent thing for me in various ways. A young man given up to such pursuits as literature and art needs a closer contact with common realities than aesthetic studies can give. The physical work attendant upon encamping, and the constant attention that _must_ be given to such pressing necessities as shelter and food, give exactly that contact with reality that educates us in readiness of resource, and they have the incalculable advantage of making one learn the difference between the necessary and the superfluous. I look back upon early camping experiments with satisfaction as an experience of the greatest educational value. Even now, in my sixth decade, I can sleep under canvas and arrange all the details of a camp with indescribable enjoyment, and (what is perhaps better still) I can put up cheerfully with the very humblest accommodation in country inns, provided only that they are tolerably clean.

The arrangements of my hut on the moor near Burnley have been described in detail in "The Painter's Camp," so it is unnecessary to give a minute account of them in this place. I was entirely alone, except the company of a dog, and had no defence but a revolver. That month of solitude on the wild hills was a singularly happy time, so happy that it is not easy, without some reflection, to account for such a degree of felicity. I was young, and the brisk mountain air exhilarated me. I walked out every day on the heather, which I loved as if my father and mother had been a brace of grouse.

Then there was the steady occupation of painting a big foreground study from nature, and the necessary camp work that would have kept morbid ideas at a distance if any such had been likely to trouble me. As for the solitude, and the silence broken only by wind and rain, their effect was not depressing in the least. Towns are depressing to me--even Paris has that effect--but how is it possible to feel otherwise than cheerful when you have leagues of fragrant heather all around you, and blue Yorkshire hills on the high and far horizon?

A noteworthy effect of this month on the moors was that on returning to Hollins, which was situated amongst trim green pastures and plantations, everything seemed so astonishingly artificial. It came with the force of a discovery. From that day to this the natural and the artificial in landscape have been, for me, as clearly distinguished as a wild boar from a domestic pig. My strong preference was, and still is, for wild nature. The unfortunate effects of this preference, as regards success in landscape-painting, will claim our attention later.

The grand scheme for an Exhibition of Art Treasures at Manchester, in 1857, suggested to Sir James Kay Shuttleworth the idea of having an Exhibition at Burnley in the same year to ill.u.s.trate the history of Lancashire. He thought that a certain proportion of the visitors to the Manchester Art Treasures would probably be induced to visit our little-known but prosperous and rising town. His scheme was of a very comprehensive character, and included a pictorial ill.u.s.tration of Lancashire. There would have been pictures of Lancashire scenery as well as portraits of men who have distinguished themselves in the history of the county, and whose fame has, in many instances, gone far beyond its borders. All the mechanical inventions that have enriched Lancashire would also have been represented.

Having thought this over in his own mind, Sir James wanted an active lieutenant to aid him in carrying his idea into execution, and as he knew me he asked me to be the practical manager of the Exhibition. I was to travel all over the county, see all the people of importance, and borrow, whenever possible, such of their pictures and other relics as might be considered ill.u.s.trative of Lancashire history. Sir James had many influential friends, I myself had a few, and it seemed to him that by devoting my time to the scheme heartily I might make it a success. My reward was to be simply a very interesting experience, as I should see almost all the interesting things and people in my native county.

Sir James did his best to entice me, and as he was a very able man with much knowledge of the world, he might possibly have succeeded had I not been more than usually wary. Luckily, I felt the whole weight of my inexperience, and said to myself: "Whatever we do it is _certain_ that mistakes will be committed, and very probable that some things will be damaged. All mistakes will be laid to my door. Then the Exhibition itself may be a failure, and it is disagreeable to be conspicuously connected with a failure." I next consulted one or two experienced friends, who said, "Sir James will have the credit of any success there may be, and you, as a young useful person, comparatively unknown, will get very little, whilst at the same time you will be burdened with heavy anxieties and responsibilities." I therefore firmly declined, and as Sir James could not find any other suitable a.s.sistant, his project was never reaped.

It seems odd that the existence of this Lancashire Exhibition should have depended on the "yes" or "no" of a lad of twenty-three; yet so it did, for if I had consented the scheme would certainly have been carried into execution, whether successfully or not it is impossible to say. The enterprise would have greatly interested and occupied me, for I have a natural turn for organizing things, being fond of order and details, and I should have learned a great deal and seen many people and many houses; still, the negative decision was the wiser.

Sir James Kay Shuttleworth was certainly one of the remarkable people I have known. At that time he was unpopular in Burnley on account of his separation from his wife, who had been the richest heiress in the neighborhood, the owner of a fine estate and a grand old hall at Gawthorpe. People thought she had been ill-used. Of this I really know (of my own knowledge) absolutely nothing, and shall print no hearsays.

Sir James himself was an ambitious and very hard-working man, who pa.s.sed through life with no desire for repose. Public education, in the days before Board Schools, was his especial subject, and he owed his baronetcy to his efforts in that cause. The Tory aristocracy of the neighborhood disliked him for his liberal principles in politics, and for his brilliant marriage, which came about because the heiress of Gawthorpe took an interest in his own subjects. Perhaps, too, they were not quite pleased with his too active and restless intellect. He made one or two attempts to win a position as a novelist, but in connection with literature future generations will know him chiefly as the kind host of Charlotte Bronte, who visited him at Gawthorpe.

I regret now that I never met Charlotte Bronte, as she was quite a near neighbor of ours; in fact, I could have ridden or walked over to Haworth at any time. That village is just on the northeast border of the great Boulsworth moors, where my hut was pitched. At the time of my encampment there Charlotte Bronte had been dead about eighteen months. She was hardly a contemporary of mine, as she was born seventeen years before me, and died so prematurely; still, when I think that "Jane Eyre" was written within a very few miles of Hollins, [Footnote: I have not access to an ordnance map, but believe that the distance was hardly more than eight miles across the moors. Haworth is only twelve miles from Burnley by road.] and that for several years, during which I rode or walked every day, Charlotte Bronte was living just on the other side of the moors visible from my home, I am vexed with myself for not having had a.s.surance enough to go to see her. Since those days a hundred ephemeral reputations have risen only to be quenched forever in the great ocean of the world's oblivion, but the fame of "Jane Eyre" is as brilliant as it was when the book astonished all reading England forty years ago.

[Footnote: I am writing in 1888.]

Amongst the distinguished people belonging to the neighborhood of Burnley was General Scarlett, who led the charge of the Heavy Cavalry at Balaclava,--brilliant feat of arms much more satisfactory to military men than the fruitless sacrifice of the Light Brigade, which, however, is incomparably better known. I recollect General Scarlett chiefly because he set me thinking about a very important question in political economy. I happened to be sitting next him at dinner when the talk turned upon wine, and the General said, "The Radicals find fault with the economy of the Queen's household because they say that the wine drunk there costs sixteen thousand a year. I don't know what it costs, but that is of no consequence." I then timidly inquired if he did not think it was a waste of money, on which, in a kind way, he explained to me that "if the money were paid and put into circulation it did not signify what it had been spent upon." I knew there was something fallacious in this, but my own ideas were not clear upon the subject, and it did not become me to set up an argument with a distinguished old officer like the General. Of course the right answer is that there is always a responsibility for spending money so as to be of use not only to the tradesman who pockets it, _but to the consumers also_. If the wine gave health and wisdom it would hardly be possible to spend too much upon it.

CHAPTER XXIX.

I visit the homes of my forefathers at Hamerton, Wigglesworth, and h.e.l.lifield Peel.--Attainder and execution of Sir Stephen Hamerton.-- Return of h.e.l.lifield Peel to the family.--Sir Richard.--The Hamertons distinguished only for marrying heiresses.--Another visit to the Peel, when I see my father's cousin.--Nearness of h.e.l.lifield Peel and Hollins.

In one of these years (the exact date is of no consequence) I visited the old houses in Yorkshire which had belonged to our family in former times. The place we take our name from, Hamerton, belonged to Richard de Hamerton in 1170. I found the old hall still in existence, or a part of it, and though the present building evidently does not date from the twelfth century, it dates from the occupation of my forefathers. At the time of my visit there was some very ma.s.sive oak wainscot still remaining.

The situation is, to my taste, one of the pleasantest in England. The house is On a hill, from which it looks down on the valley of Slaidburn.

Steep green pastures slope to the flat meadows in the lower ground, which are watered by a stream. There are many places of that character in Yorkshire, and they have never lost their old charm for me. I cannot do without a hill, and a stream, and a green field. [Footnote: Since this was written I have been compelled to do without them by the necessity for living close to an art-centre, a necessity against which I rebelled as long as I could. Even to-day, however, I would joyously give all Paris for such a place as Hollins or Hamerton (as I knew them), with their streams and pastures, and near or distant hills.]

My forefathers lived at Hamerton, more or less, from a time of which there is no record down to the reign of Henry VIII., but their princ.i.p.al seat in the time of their greatest prosperity was Wigglesworth Hall. I arrived there in time to see masons demolishing the building. One or two Gothic arched door-ways still remained, but were probably destroyed the next week. Just enough, of the house was preserved to shelter the occupant of the farm.

For me this unnecessary destruction is always distressing, even in foreign countries. It is excusable in towns, where land is dear; but in the country the site of an old hall is of such trifling value that it might surely be permitted to fall peaceably to ruin.

The family of De Arches, to which Wigglesworth originally belonged, bore for arms _gules, three arches argent_. The coincidence struck me forcibly when I saw the Gothic arches still standing amongst the ruins.

The place came into the possession of our family by the marriage of Adam de Hamerton, in the fourteenth century, with Katharine, heiress of Elias de Knoll of Knolsmere. His father, Reginald de Knoll, had married Beatrix de Arches, heiress of the manor of Wigglesworth. These estates, with others too numerous to mention, remained in our family till they were lost by the attainder of Sir Stephen Hamerton, who joined the insurrection known as "The Pilgrimage of Grace" in the reign of Henry VIII.

During these excursions to old houses I visited h.e.l.lifield Peel, still belonging to the chief of our little clan. The Peel is an old border tower, embattled, and with walls of great thickness. It is large enough to make a tolerably s.p.a.cious, but not very convenient, modern house, and my great uncle spoiled its external appearance by inserting London sash windows in the gray old fortress wall. On this occasion I did not see the interior, not desiring to claim a relationship that had fallen into abeyance for half-a-century; yet I felt the most intense curiosity about it, and for more than twenty years afterwards I dreamed from time to time I got inside the Peel, and saw quite a museum of knightly armor [Footnote: The first Sir Stephen Hamerton was made a knight banneret in Scotland by Richard, Duke of Gloucester, in the reign of Edward IV. He married Isabel, daughter of Sir William Plumpton, of Plumpton, and a letter of his is still extant in the Plumpton correspondence.] and other memorials which, I regret to say, have not been preserved in reality.

h.e.l.lifield Peel was built by Laurence Hamerton in 1440. When the second Sir Stephen was executed for high treason and his possessions confiscated, the manor of h.e.l.lifield was preserved by a settlement for his mother during her life. After that it was granted by the king to one George Browne, of whom we know nothing positively except that he lived at Calais, and after changing hands several times it came back into the Hamerton family by a fine levied in the time of Queen Elizabeth. The owners then pa.s.sed the manor to John Hamerton, a nephew of Sir Stephen.

The attainted knight left an only son, Henry, who is said to have been interred in York Minster on the day when his father was beheaded in London. Whitaker thought it "not improbable that he died of a broken heart in consequence of the ruin of his family." Henry left no male issue.

The career of Sir Stephen seems to have been doomed to misfortune, for there were influences that might have saved him. He had been in the train of the Earl of c.u.mberland, the same who afterwards held Skipton Castle against the rebels. Whitaker says "he forsook his patron in the hour of trial." This seems rather a harsh way of judging a Catholic, who believed himself to be fighting for G.o.d and His spoliated Church against a tyrannical king. I notice that in our own day the French Republican Government cannot take the smallest measure against the religious houses, cannot even require them to obey the ordinary law of the country, but there is immediately an outcry in all the English newspapers; yet the measures of the Third Republic have been to those of Henry VIII. what that same Third Republic is to the First. All that can be fairly urged against Sir Stephen Hamerton is that "after having availed himself of the King's pardon, he revolted a second time."

There is nothing else, that I remember, in the history of our family that is likely to have any interest for readers who do not belong to it.

Sir Richard Hamerton, of Hamerton, married in 1461 a sister of the b.l.o.o.d.y Lord Clifford who was slain at Towton Field, and that is the nearest connection that we have ever had with any well-known historical character.

Through marriages we are descended, in female lines, from many historical personages, [Footnote: Some in the extinct Peerage, and others belonging to royal families of England and France which have since lost their thrones by revolution.]--a matter of no interest to the reader, though I acknowledge enough of the ancestral sentiment to have my own interest in them quickened by my descent from them.

Another consequence of belonging to a well-connected old family was that I sometimes, in my youth, met with people who were related to me, and who were aware of it, although the relationship was very distant. I recollect, for instance, that one of the officers in our militia regiment remembered his descent from our family, and though I had never seen him before it was a sort of _lien_ between us.

The Hamertons do not seem to have distinguished themselves in anything except marrying heiresses, and in that they were remarkably successful.

At first a moderately wealthy family, they became immensely wealthy by the acc.u.mulation of heiresses' estates, and after being ruined by confiscation they began the same process over again; but being at the same time either imprudent or careless, or too much burdened with children (my great-grandfather had a dozen brothers and sisters), they have not kept their lands. One of my uncles said to me that the Hamertons won property in no other way than by marriage, and that they were almost incapable of retaining it; he himself had the one talent of his race, but was an exception to their incapacity. In justice to our family I may add that we are said to make indulgent husbands and fathers,--two characters incompatible with avarice, and sometimes even with prudence when the circ.u.mstances are not easy.

On a later occasion I made a little tour in Craven with a friend who had a tandem, and we stopped at h.e.l.lifield, where I sketched the Peel.

Whilst I sat at work the then representative of the family, my father's first cousin, came out upon the lawn; but I did not speak to him, nor did he take any notice of me. He was a fine, hale man of about eighty.

The _nearness_ of h.e.l.lifield to Hollins was brought home to me very strongly on that occasion. It was late afternoon when I finished my sketch, and yet, as we had very good horses, we reached home easily the same evening. So near and yet so far! As I have said already in the third chapter, my grandfather's wife and children never even saw his brother's house, and during my own youth the place had seemed as distant and unreal as one of the old towers that I had read about in northern poetry and romance.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

1857.

Expedition to the Highlands in 1857.--Kindness of the Marquis of Breadalbane and others.--Camp life, its strong and peculiar attraction.--My servant.--Young h.e.l.liwell.--Scant supplies in the camp.--Nature of the camp.--Necessity for wooden floors in a bad climate.--Double-hulled boats.--Practice of landscape-painting.--Changes of effect.--Influences that governed my way of study in those days.--Attractive character of the Scottish Highlands.--Their scenery not well adapted for beginners.--My intense love of it.

In the year 1857 I made the expedition to the Highlands which afterwards became well known in consequence of my book about it.