The Battle of The Press

CHAPTER VII. THE LAST DAYS OF ISIS

After the death of Carlile, and as soon as Isis had recovered somewhat from the shock, she went to visit awhile with the Ebworth ladies, taking her two daughters with her, a home being found for the little boy Julian at Harmony Hall, Robert Owen's school. Carlile having died intestate, his eldest son, Richard, succeeded to the business and stock of books, etc., as also a few months afterwards to the annuity, while Isis had only the furniture and personal property. She was thus left totally unprovided for. The sum of £200 a year which had been promised to her by the hitherto generous friends, and upon which Carlile relied, was not forthcoming, and Isis was left perfectly helpless, with three children under ten years of age to be fed, clothed and educated. In a few weeks she was given charge of the sewing room of the "Concordium", as Alcott House was named, where she for some months supported herself and her little daughters, Hypatia and Theophila; but the health of the former giving way she was removed to Charing Cross Hospital. Isis did not remain very many months at Alcott House, but having a small legacy left her by an aunt she removed to London, and taking a large house she furnished apartments. In this way and with the help of some generous friends she managed to keep her little family together. She devoted herself to their care and education, and being an expert needlewoman she always kept them and herself well and comfortably dressed. Being still young and very attractive she had many admirers and would-be lovers, and, as might be expected, many offers of marriage. Such offers had no attraction for her, but rather troubled her than anything else. Her children had some amusing stories to tell of baffled lovers and rejected proposals. Her beauty became rather an annoyance than a pleasure to her, because of the notice and attention it caused her. She seldom went out, and when she did she was always thickly veiled; yet her form and carriage drew the same attention.

Isis struggled along for six or seven years, devoting herself to the care and education of her children, turning every stone to advance them in their studies; in this she was ably assisted by one or two faithful friends. A literary and scientific institute was established at the back of the Warner Street Temperance Hall. A fine lecture room was built and classes of all kinds inaugurated, a debating society formed, and quite a respectable library got together. This promised well at first, and probably would have been successful in other hands, that is, the hands of some experienced business man or woman; but as the manager of the details of such an establishment, Isis was out of place, and acknowledged it. She could grace a rostrum, but failed completely as a "server of coffee". To this place came many respectable young men, and quite a good membership rolled up, and it was in every respect a fitting and a proper place for the youth of both sexes, as educational and moral pursuits (with the relaxation of singing and dancing) only were countenanced.

Among the young men who were attracted by the lectures and debates to this institution was Charles Bradlaugh. He was known as the "Boy Preacher". He was a tall, well-developed youth, and was understood to be studying for the ministry, though he was at that time in the office of Green, Son and Jones, coal dealers, in London. It was understood that he was devoting his leisure hours to the necessary preparatory reading before going to a college or school to complete the course. It so happened that the subject for discussion on one particular week was the then comparatively new one of "Is there a God". There were several names enrolled on the books as taking part in this discussion, both for and against, and some were practised debaters. With something of the spirit of the old chivalric knights, Bradlaugh enrolled himself in the lists to fight for the affirmative side of the question. Not doubting for a moment but that he would be victorious, unluckily for him he had read only his own side of the question, and found himself hors de combat at the close of the first night. His opponent, who had been over the ground many times before, knew all the arguments that were likely to be advanced on either side, and thus had a great advantage over young Bradlaugh, who, though clever and intrepid, was very vulnerable to his older and more experienced adversary. The debate lasted three nights. The first night he, Bradlaugh, was thrown; the second night he was vanquished, and the third night he confessed himself completely conquered and threw up his case. But mark the consequence! One morning Julian Carlile, going on the street quite early, met Charles Bradlaugh, who told him that on going home the night before he found the door locked against him. His father speaking to him from a window, bade him never to enter his house again, and denied to his son even a change of linen. He had walked the street all night. On hearing this story from the lips of her son, Isis immediately sent for him, and after a long conference it was decided that he should make his home at the Institution, 1, Warner Place, Hackney Road, sharing the room of Julian, which they did for some time as though they were brothers; and indeed they looked considerably alike, both being of large build, fair complexioned, though Charles was considerably older. But in a few days or weeks he lost his position with the firm, his father withdrawing his security and telling the firm that his son had fallen into bad company. Nor did it rest there; the young man secured more than one position, only to lose it through the misrepresentation of this unnatural father. We know that this has been denied, but it is nevertheless strictly true, and the whole circumstance is as vivid in the mind of the writer (who was then a good-sized girl), as if it were a tale of yesterday; besides there are others living who can corroborate this statement. Bradlaugh then made himself as useful as possible in the Institution as librarian, lecturer, etc., and was to Isis as another son. It was very pleasant to hear him say a few years before his death that he owed all he was or became to her, for had she not counselled him and advised and guided him at that most trying period of his life as she did, he would have been desperate and probably done some rash thing which would have wrecked his life. It was soon after this that the health of Isis began to fail, and though change of scene and circumstances was tried, and some eminent physicians consulted, she was seen to be gradually but steadily losing ground. She had left the Institution by this time and had taken apartments in a very quiet place where there was a nice garden, and where she could have a room on the ground floor, which afforded easy access to the garden, and also a fine view of it from the bed upon which she was beginning to rest longer and longer each succeeding day. Doctors came and looked at her and shook their heads, and spoke outside of the room of her mind and heart, and that it was not a sickness of the body; no-medicine could reach the case. One more sympathetic than the rest suggested her native air, whereupon a kind friend wrote to the mother of Isis, telling what the doctor had said, and asking if they would receive her and let her come to them for a little while; and this was the answer – "As she has made her bed so she must lie". This was the last stroke. In a few days she passed away quietly in her sleep without suffering, indeed she had suffered very little pain during the whole of her illness, just a gradual wasting away of the body. No death could be more peaceful —

"We thought her dying when she slept And sleeping when she died".

The only witness to her passing away was the same little girl of whom the reader has read, now grown larger, but still only a girl.

CHAPTER VIII. MEMORIES

With the writer, as far as life has yet lasted, have lingered some precious memories. The memories of her birthplace made sweet and hallowed by the remembrance of one who was all tenderness and gentleness, and who spent much time with her, working and walking in the pretty garden, and occasionally in the orchard beyond the garden. Sometimes as we walked by the house the old-fashioned latticed window would be thrown open, and a beautiful face, adorned with long ringlets, would smile down upon us; and she remembers what a pretty frame for this beautiful picture the vines, the jessamine and honeysuckles made. There was, too, a pretty lawn, in the centre of which grew a tree with wide-spreading branches, where seats and a table were always ready to receive gathered flowers and weary little girls, who here loved to climb upon father's knee and fall happily asleep. But oh, the mystery of it. How strange it was that wherever she might fall asleep she always awakened in the same place. This took her a long time to understand. She was quite a bit old before she understood how she always awoke in her own bed. But the garden, what a subject of wonder it was with its old-fashioned flowers, chief among which were its wonderful moss roses which grew to such perfection there, and the mignonette so fragrantly sweet; nor can the writer see these roses or inhale the fragrance of mignonette to this day without being instantly transported back to dear old Enfield Highway of half a century and more ago. This little girl was fortunate – or was it unfortunate? – in having so much of the time of this tender and loving father. She learned long afterwards that it was because of his failing health he had to live in the garden in summer and in his room in the winter, because he could breathe nowhere else; and thus the two least competent ones were relegated to the garden and inactivity, the last baby in the family and its failing head. A few yards down the old highway was an inn with a large space in front where coaches stopped and from whence they started. To this place came travelling shows of all kinds, acrobats, and lovely ladies who rode the most beautiful horses, and who wore most gorgeous gold and silver gowns, and once there came a big van, which bore a learned pig, and a lady who dressed herself in snakes – that is, she wore them in lieu of necklace, bracelets, girdles, sashes, etc. But that awful pig was the cause of much suffering both mentally and physically to this little girl, though it proved to be a very small addition to the small stock of memories that alone were all that were left to her for many years of a beloved parent. But this pig, a pig indeed who could tell all our secrets and one that could answer questions, as this little girl found out to her great consternation, for on this wonderful pig being asked by his master which was the little girl in that company who stole the sugar out of her mother's sugar-pot? this dreadfully wise pig went round the whole company and finally stopped right in front of this little girl, who in the terror of a guilty conscience rushed out of the covered van, tumbled down the steps, and flew home to tell her mother and confess all. But, alas! in her great hurry to reach the house, she fell on the gravelled walk and grazed both hands and knees. She remembers, too, with what tender pity her father hastened towards her, and picking her up, carried her crying to the house, and how gently and patiently he bathed the wounds, and smoothed the grazed skin and bound up the limbs, and nursed her in his arms, while she told the dreadful tale of that pig, and bade her be comforted, and actually laughed about that stolen sugar and kissed her more than ever. She remembered, too, one Sunday when company was expected to dinner, she, with her sister, had been prettily dressed in white Swiss muslin and pretty blue sashes, and the brother in complete Scotch kilt suit, and they being sent out to walk in the garden while their mother also made her toilet. The brother, fired with a love of martial glory, and desiring to improve their dresses with a more warlike appearance, secured from some unknown source a sooty pot, and dipping his fingers first in water, and then rubbing them on the sooty bottom of the saucepan, artistically covered those pure white dresses with innumerable black spots, having done which he hung the pot around his neck for a drum, with a string, and having found two sticks, he beat a tattoo on this unique musical instrument, and we sisters fell in line and marched round the garden, till nearing the house, our father saw us, whereupon he laughed immoderately, and calling up to our mother to look out of the back chamber window, awaited results. They came quickly; with a scream and an exclamation she flew down the stairs, and would have inflicted condign punishment had not father met her at the door, and folding her in his arms, he carried her back to her room and kissed her into good humor again, nor would he allow her to change our clothes until she had promised him neither to scold or whip us, and she kept her word. But the story was too good to keep, and we heard both the guests and our parents laughing heartily at the performance. At another time, when some gentlemen came to dinner to discuss theology and various subjects, it was on Sunday, and as usual in English families the children were brought in with the fruit and nuts at dessert. While the conversation was going on we children were munching nuts, when our father made use of a quotation from the New Testament in which the words "sounding brass and tinkling cymbals" occur. It seems our father got the spirit but not the exact wording of the verse, and the little daughter of gravel-walk notoriety ventured to correct the father's rendering of the verse, when he asked her to give the whole verse, which she did; he then asked her "if she knew any more?" She answered she knew the whole chapter, and repeated it in full, at which peal after peal of laughter rang out at the father's surprise; one of the gentlemen saying something about "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings cometh wisdom, etc." The little girl had been attending an infant school, and had been learning a verse a day, as it happened, of this very chapter. To this school, one day, came a most lovely vision (in this little girl's eyes), a tall beautiful woman in a green silk dress, with lovely curls hanging down her lovely face. Her entrance in the school created a great sensation, and the little girl remembered how the old lady who kept the school curtsied to the beautiful visitor, who, after speaking a few moments with the old dame, left the school leading the little girl by the hand; and how proud the child was to be brought home by this beautiful woman rather than by the maid who usually came for her. In the memory of this little girl too there was a wonderful orchard at the end of the back garden, which seemed to her small feet endless. There were big clappers of wood which were used to frighten the birds away from the fruit. The orchard was literally the place of forbidden fruit to the little folks, who were not allowed there save in company of older people. One afternoon we were all taken to the inn to see the London coach come in on which a large dining-table was which had been sent down from London by our father, and lo and behold, when the table was cleared of its wrappings, what should be with it but a large plum-cake for us children, which father had intended for a surprise. And it was a surprise, indeed. Mother's ejaculation of "Dear, dear, what a man!" brought tears of joy to all our eyes. This little girl never could understand some things, and one was that when we were all out with our nurse that strangers would stop us and ask whose children we were, and after expressing their admiration of the beauty of her sister and brother, would pat her head and only say "She is a nice little thing ". But one memorable day we moved, and all our belongings were in the front garden; the little girl was much surprised to find herself cheek by jowl with a nice old man in marble, who had always lived away up above her reach; but now she could pat him and smooth him over with her hand, and make out some of the letters on the pedestal, which was engraved on all sides. The name she knew, for it was the name of her half-brother, and read Thomas Paine.

These memories and just a few more such were all she was ever to have personally of a loving and devoted father. There is a remembrance of standing before a large house and seeing men unload a lot of furniture, and then the cry coming from someone that "Julian is lost!" and after that all is confusion and worry, but he is found again after awhile. But next day we hear that our father is sick, and we feel that we are for two or three days being kept out of the way, till one night we are awakened for the first time in our lives, and someone carried the little girl to a large room where there were several people, strangers, and where she was held over the bed to kiss what was said to be her father, though she knew it could not be her father, for he always kissed back, and this person did not. Later there was a funeral in the house, and someone lifted this little girl up to see all the people that were walking in the road following a hearse and carriages; and we had no good father any more, only a sad and ever-weeping mother. A very little while and then we go to a very nice house for a few days,23 and then to a place called Ham Common, a sort of vegetarian school where everyone works, and the children go to school, and where there is no sugar, no salt, nothing but bread with raisins in it, and fruit and uncooked vegetables, no milk, eggs, or meat. Our brother goes to a different place where he has been before, a place called "Harmony Hall", which was founded and under the direction of Robert Owen. This was well enough, but in a very short time our sister Hypatia, who had a very delicate constitution, had to be taken away to Charing Cross Hospital, there to be nursed and built up with the most generous diet known to the skilful physicians, in order to save her life. And there she remained for a long period. It was not long before mother and the little girl left Ham Common and went right to a home of our own, where soon we were gathered together and began to be happy again, but never so happy as we had been at Enfield; no, never again so happy after we had lost that dear father.

CHAPTER IX. SOME WHO HELPED IN THE GOOD WORK

Francis Place

This gentleman was often spoken of by his friends as a second Benjamin Franklin. With an intellect of the highest order he combined extraordinary business ability, and rose to an enviable position solely by the combination of these rarely united qualities. He built for himself a snug fortune, and had at his house a large and commodious library filled with well-selected works of every description suitable for reference and study.

To this library came many of the members of the House of Commons, and the room being quiet and commodious and always at their service, it grew to be a favorite place for committee meetings, more especially for secret councils. In this way and through his intimacy with so many of the members of the House, he came to know of all the secret projects which were afoot. He was frequently solicited for his advice or opinion, and stood very high in the estimation of most of the public men. He had often been urged to accept office, but preferred not to do so. In this position he was able to be of great service to Carlile, whom he greatly admired, and he kept Carlile informed of all the plots that were hatching for his destruction.

Place kept up a correspondence with Carlile, and may be said to have been his tutor in many things during the long years of his imprisonment. He loaned or otherwise procured many valuable works, and argued and discussed with him all their points of difference, his interest in his pupil never flagging for the best part of their lives. There is no doubt that Place saved Carlile's life more than once by warning him in time, and rendered him invaluable service in more directions than that. Not holding any office or being pledged to any secrecy, he was free to do so without violating any confidence. He certainly was a most valuable friend and coadjutor. It is pleasant to read over their letters and see their regard for each other showing through their pleasant banter. Here is an extract from one of the earlier letters written to Carlile in Dorchester: —

"Excuse me suggesting to you how necessary it is to keep by you an emetic; get about four ounces of antimony wine, and should you be attacked by sickness or pain in the region of the stomach or any uncommon symptoms after eating, be sure to take a tablespoonful of the wine frequently, until the vomiting clears the stomach of its contents. State prisoners frequently expire of anomalous disorders. You should very carefully examine everything before you eat. Be sure to take nothing that has a harsh or astringent taste or that edges your teeth. You ought to have such tests by you as would enable you to analyse your water, milk, or other fluids. Although you and I discard anything but natural agency, yet some supernatural power for all that might drop something into your food. What was the death of Napoleon? What become of Peter Annett, can you tell me? What was the disease of Queen Caroline? Act with suspicion and you will act with caution. The Christians become daily more exasperated against you as you foil one after another.

"The efficiency of your view affords a beautiful reflection. It is far more mighty than the sceptre or the crozier. The pen is levelling both with the dust. Really you have gained a proud triumph! The Christian ruffians, by resorting to force, have acknowledged their defeat, they have in fact confessed that they can no longer fight you with the pen, they have resorted to brute force – the horse and the steam engine. In the empire of reason you reign; you may be said now to have conquered 20,000 regular tithe eaters, all the ultra-quacks, and all the silly people they have succeeded in poisoning with their prejudice and superstition, which may be rated at some millions. Congratulate yourself upon your efforts, and be proud of your individual and single-handed success. Millions of unborn men will repeat your name, and as the age of ignorance is dispelled, you will be still more applauded. From your correspondent,

"Regulator" (Francis Place.)

Julian Hibbert. "Now bow the head and betid the knee." This most remarkable man, so good, so generous, and so noble, was so universally beloved and appreciated by those who knew him, that it became customary among his friends when about to mention him in their letters to each other, to use the above words in reverential recognition of his great goodness and manifold virtues. Yet he was a man of the most retiring disposition and disliked notoriety of any description. His lovely character and sweet disposition were clearly displayed in his beautiful features. His remarkable intellect, combined with his great benevolence and modest sweet demeanor, lent to his presence that quality which might be imagined of Deity itself. Fortunately for himself and others he was possessed of an ample fortune, which enabled him to live in a way that sheltered him from the storms as well as the battles of life. Thus he was able to devote his life to study, to writing, and to acts of benevolence. His health was of the frailest, it could not endure the least strain. The ordinary friction and annoyances of everyday life were torture to him. In his immediate circle all must be peace and goodwill. He separated himself from his family at an early age, and never spoke of them or of his birth to anyone as far as known. His family affairs were a secret to his most intimate friends. There was no doubt that he came of some fine family, but of that or of any other part of his past, or youth, he never spoke. At his death he laid the embargo of silence on all his friends as to himself, and begged them as they loved him to burn all his letters and to cease to speak of him. This was done, unfortunately for posterity, too faithfully by his friends, yet much against their own feelings. It prevents the biographer from giving as full a record of his beautiful life as would make it as perfect an example for all succeeding generations as could be desired.

Notwithstanding this over-weening sensitiveness in private matters, he wielded one of the boldest pens, and encouraged others to greater and more free expression of their opinions than they otherwise would have dared to declare. This very quality in Carlile was what first attracted Julian Hibbert to him, and a friendship was formed between them founded on the mutual appreciation of each other's talents and virtues, which continued uninterruptedly till Julian Hibbert's death in 1834.