A Soldier: Captain W. J. Gill, R.E.

WIT n or HHUH HTurr as this that god’s herobb are mads.” —

Frederick Rohertwn.

IH> TIlOU TIIT DUTY LIKE A MAN TO THY COUNTRY, THY QUEEN, AND THY OOn, AND OOUNT THY LirS A WORTHLESS THINO, AS DID THE

HOLY MKN or OLD.” — irwtwafd //o/

And had he nut high honour,^
Tho hillside for a pall;
To Ho in Btute, while angeU wait,
With Stan for tapers tall 7

Qod hath His mysteries of grace

Ways that we cannot tell;
Ho hides them deep, like the hidden sleep

Of hhn He loved so well” — C. F. Alexandkb.

DDED to the foregoing is another ‘Early
Death; ’ too early for all but himself, — that
of the brave and loving (or these terms
might be transposed) Captain Gill.

Little did I dream, years ago, when in a brilliant day of early spring I was seated under the palms at the Wells of Moses, on the borders of the Red Sea, and looking towards the mountains of the Sinai desert, that these were to have, in a coming future, so terrible an association with the tragic end of a dear young friend!

This very brief and fragmentary notice will in nowise interfere with the touching monographs which have already appeared from his scientific and soldier compatriots; neither will it infringe on those fuller and ampler details of a heroic life that will doubtless in due time be given to the world — embracing all that he has done in his country’s service, as well as in the interests of geographical research. This is a special amaranth which one of his very oldest acquaintances would lay on his tomb.^

I may, meanwhilei refer the reader to the interesting statements given in a reprint from the “Royal Engineers’ Journal,” including a

He was born in India, at Bangalore, in 1 843. I had exceptional opportunities of knowing his earlyyears which his later contemporaries did not enjoy; being brought, from circumstances, into close connection with him in his childhood and boyhood. Specially will one summer ever linger in the memory, when, as a boy of six years of age, he spent three months on a visit in my Scottish country home. Our main recollection of him then, was that of an engaging child, with expressive eyes, long dark silken eyelashes, and a mouth of singular sweetness. The predominant feature of all, which seems now to have been strangely unlike his future characteristics, was an almost feminine gentleness. As I write these lines, I have before me an invaluable locket, but one unfortunately taken by the perishable process of the old daguerreotype. In looking at it, it is difficult to realise that that tender loving boy, whose child-features in the blurred picture are still sufficiently recalled, could have developed into the chivalrous lion-heart of maturer years.

Owing to his father and mother’s residence in India, his lot was cast, in the first years of his life, among beloved friends, whose interest in him, by reason of intimate ties, was only second to a mother’s love. From his own sweet disposition, precocious intelligence, and

snccinct outline of Captain Gill’s explorations, spoken by Lord Aber* dare, at the meeting of the Royal Geographical Society, 13th November 1882. In the same Report are embodied explanatory details by Lord Northbrook regarding his last fatal mission.

winning ways, these feelings were only deepened and intensified; and a mutual afiection of thirty-seven years* standing, terminated alone with the sorrowful close. It was in that early adopted home that his training, alike moral and intellectual, was begun. This was carried on during the years when he enjoyed the affection and care of his own mother on her return from India. Youthful intelligence was further braced and strengthened by subsequent attendance at Brighton College, where he continued from 1856 to 1861,^ and then his life-work was begun at the Royal Academy at Woolwich. His subsequent character had one very marked peculiarity, a shyness and reticence which all his contact with men and the world never removed. But those best acquainted, and who claimed intimate fellowship, understood and condoned what at times was a subject of regret with his friends; knowing well, as they did, the warmth of his attachments, the generosity of his heart, and the true nobility of his nature. In the words of the military friend who seems to have most won his affections, “reserved, often taciturn in company, but having beneath that undemonstrative exterior a soul of fire.” To the house of those dearest friends of his early childhood and youth just

On his leaving Brighton College, the then Head -Master, Dr. GriflBth, appends at the end of the testimonial, “I have written no testimonial with greater confidence and satisfaction than this.”

‘Colonel Yule’s remarks at the proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society {supra).

adverted to, he would often gladly find his way from Woolwich to spend a quiet and congenial Sunday.

The phase of his many-sided life to which I purpose first to refer is the Religious one. In doing so, let me define what I mean in his case by religion. Not the religion — pseudo-orthodox — of mere phrase and sentiment, feeling or ritual. True, indeed, he would have been the last to subscribe, without qualification, to Pope’s familiar words: —

“He can*t be wrong whose life is in the right.”

He had his own firmly-rooted beliefs early instilled: and there were placed before him, in the most receptive years of boyhood, living illustrations of the power and beauty of Christianity, both in its active and passive manifestations: — add to this, and what he never forgot, the influences of more than one earnest ministry.

It was, however, because these foundations were so reliable and secure, that a character-superstructure was built upon them, consisting of all that was “pure, and lovely, and of good report.”

Let me note specially here, the faithf al teachings of Prebendary Gadman, when in Park Chapel, Chelsea, whose sermons for children were of a rarely excellent character. Also the late Mr. Collinson, of St. James’s, Clapham; and Mr. Smith, formerly of All Souls, Brighton, who recalls an incident of his young friend before first going to India, that he repaired of his own accord to his house “for converse and for prayer.”

‘He entered Woolwich Royal Military Academy in 1862, and got his commission in the Royal Engineers in 1864.

No finer specimen of the Christian, as the writer well knows, can be found, than in the ranks of the British Army. Indeed, he often thinks that the poet’s human ideal is most complete, when the word * soldier ’ is added to it: —

“A Christian is the highest style of man.”

But it is equally notorious at what personal sacrifices often the spiritual resolve is taken; that the moral heroism required in the open avowal of the “good soldier of Jesus Christ,” is frequently more trying than the post of peril and danger, — facing “the shot and shell of battle.”

Young Gill was cognisant of all this. He counted the cost. Nor, in the case of an ignoble few, were the ridicule and jeering he anticipated withheld. With the same calm determination and moral courage, however, that never forsook him in after life, he did not shrink from the ordeal; — saying, in the spirit at least of Bunyan’s man in armour at the gate, “Put my name down, sir, for I too am tp be one of the Host of the Lord!” He at once resolved to show his colours. This he did, among many other ways, in his attendance as regularly as he could at the Wednesday Prayer Meeting.

In a letter to his mother from Woolwich, he says, *’ They have opened the Gymnasium. It is open every evening.... You are obliged to go once a- week od a certain day. My day was read out Wednesday, at which I was very sorry, on account of the prayer meeting;

I find a significant hint and no more, in a note ¥nritten — “Upper Cadet Barracks, February 1862. — It gets lighter in the morning now, and I always get ap twenty minutes before anybody else in the room, and get a little quiet, which I find a very good plan.” We can understand what that ’ quiet ’ meant, — perhaps we cannot understand all the spiritual bravery it involved. His love for faithful, earnest pulpit-teaching still continued. I find him referring to two sermons that seemed to have much impressed him at this time, and saying of a dear friend in connection with them, “I am sure he will be kept by the power of God. We had two such beautiful sermons yesterday — one from the above text, and one from Daniel. * And when Daniel heard that the decree had been signed, he went into his house and shut the door,’ &c. I never heard two more beautiful sermons.” He was specially earnest and conscientious in his private reading of the Scriptures in preparation for confirmation. He partook in these same years also of the Holy Communion whenever he was able. To quote his own words in a homeletter, speaking of his dear friends at Belvedere, and a

and I was intending to get it altered, when it was read out there was a change, and my day is now Monday. ... I am sorry the prayer meeting is not so well attended.’* Of a similar devotional meeting at another part of the country, he says, “I enjoyed it very much indeed.”

When at Brighton College he was equally faithful in his attendance at a prayer meeting held once a week, half an hour before the nine o’clock bell for chapel.

Sunday at the vicarage, — -” I enjoyed it, and was thankful for the opportunity.” The exhortation addressed to him by his faithful instructor, the Principal of Brighton College, in giving him a Scripture prize, was prophetiCj “Gill, you will go forth in life. There will be heathens about you; always remember that you are a Christian.” That remembrance never failed him. At the same time it must be noted that his religious life was by no means, as a few misjudged him, of the morbid, morose, melancholy type. It is the remark of one who knew him best, “He enjoyed a joke more than most men.” Nor was his faith without its ever essential concomitant and counterpart of good works. True, he was absolutely guileless of the poor craving after human applause. Moreover, the natural reticence of his character, previously noted, hid from public notoriety many a generous deed; not the less praiseworthy often were these, because in their way trifling. But his purse and his sympathies were ever ready; whether it be the support of a Bible-woman at Chatham, or requesting the wife of a commanding officer to procure blankets for soldiers’ wives and widows, or taking his share in providing for an old domestic servant known and valued in child-days. What more simple or honourable tribute can be paid than in the words written of him since his untimely death — “the poor have lost a friend?”

liCt me pass for a little from these religious phases

to his mental characteristics.

2 A

If I were asked what the leading dominant features of his life were, I would say, unhesitatingly, a combination of untiring activity with unflagging devotion to what he deemed duty. His intense love and appetite for work was manifested in various ways in his student days.^ As, for example, in the alarum clock he had provided in his room, and sundry other ingenious devices connected with it for the pulling off of his bed-clothes at a given early hour, often at four or five in the morning, to allow some hours of study before breakfast. As years advanced, and the stem work of life had begun, nothing could deflect him from his old indomitable energy. As he ultimately came to be possessed of a very ample fortune, how many in his position would, in other ways, have used (abused) the golden prize, — abandoned the life of toil and responsibility, and found a coveted goal in the lounge of a London club, or in the gay excitement of Parisian and continental life. Not such was his Arcadian dream; not such his ideal of existence. Life was too sacred, too awful, in his eyes for this. His reply to the remark of a valued friend and brother explorer contained the expression of his habitual feeling nobly endorsed and acted out — “Life is worthless without activity.” It is a characteristic incident given me by

The Principal of Brighton College mentions that mathematics, Scripture knowledge, and drawing were the three branches he excelled in while there.

* Remark to Mr. Evelyn Baber. See “Royal Engineers’ Journal.”

the nearest and dearest of his many mourners, that when he was yet a youth, while at Brighton College, he got his sister to illuminate for him on a card, which he hung in his bedroom —

“England expects every man to do his duty.**

Let the Times describe what subsequently this active life was, and the worth of it to his country: — “It is not possible that the great value of the information he has at various times, and at great risks collected, can ever be known to the public, but it has been fully appreciated by those for whom he worked so zealously. One of his most hazardous journeys was undertaken last winter; and the graphic and modest manner in which he narrated the many dangerous adventures he then encountered, elicited on several occasions the strongest expressions of approval and admiration from his Royal Highness the Field-Marshal Commandingin-Chief, from Sir Garnet Wolseley, and from General Herbert, the Quartermaster-General. Not only will his untimely death be grievously felt by his many personal friends, but the State has lost in him an experienced, able, and trusted servant, whose services could ill be spared at any time, but the loss of which will be particularly felt during the present unsettled state of affairs in the East.”

When these services were intermitted or suspended in the shape of active service, he had ever a ready resort to his journals and pen. His best known work is “The River of Golden Sand” (Kin-sha-kiang), giving an account of his adventurous journey after twentymonths’ travel through China and Eastern Thibet to Burmah.

“Before the book appeared,” 1 quote from Colonel Yule’s interesting Report, “the merits of his enterprise were recognised by one of the two gold medals of the Royal Geographical Society (May 26th, 1879). The award declared this to be assigned on account ’ of the admirable geographical work performed during two long journeys of exploration, voluntarily undertaken along the northern frontier of Persia in 1873, and over previously untravelled ground in Western China and Thibet in 1877, and especially for the careful series of hypsometrical observations and the traverse survey made during the latter journey, by which we have, for the first time, the means of constructing with considerable accuracy profile sections of those elevated and little -known regions. Also for the elaborate Memoir contributed to the journal of the Society on the subject of his expedition, and for the maps of his route in forty-two sheets on a scale of two miles to the inch.’ The Paris Geographical Society also, in the following year, bestowed one of the gold medals on him. It is right to remind readers that the bright personal narrative in his book, as has been indicated by the award just quoted, does not represent Capt. Gill’s scientific results. Any one who desires to appreciate the real character of his labours must look at the memoir just referred to.” It is only one among many illustrations of his positive thirst for a duty-doing life, to find that no sooner was the sad disaster of Maiwand flashed by telegraph to England in the summer of 1 880, than he set off in haste, after obtaining requisite leave, to lend his willing hand in trying to retrieve and wipe out the dishonour to his country’s arms and fair fame, though, on reaching, he found that General Roberts’ whirlwind march and resolute bravery had anticipated him.*

Yet not from this must we mistake the man. Heroic as his nature was, he did not, as many, love war for its own sake, its furious excitement, and wild adventure. The gentle, loving nature which beat

“Journal of the Royal Geographical Society,” Vol. xlviii. pp. 57 8eqq.

Still, however, eager for active emplopnent, he joined Sir Charles Macgregor in his expedition against the Maris. Let Sir Charles tell us in his own words his estimate, and that of a brother officer, of his personal worth and services. “He was a great favourite with the whole force, and I am sure I have met with few men of whom I have had such a high opinion. As a subordinate, I know how reliable he was, and I always felt that if his day ever came he would not shine less as a commander. I cannot conclude these few remarks better than by transcribing what Colonel Brackenbury writes of him: ‘There are few men like him; few who have ever combined such a gallant spirit with such unassuming modesty; ’ every word of which I can heartily endorse.” (Letter to Col. Yule quoted in “Royal Engineers’ Journal. “) Subsequent to these adventures in Afghanistan, he undertook a journey, next to his last, encountering great risks and dangers, to the desert of Tripoli during the French military operations in Tunis, getting home, after nine months’ absence, on June 1 6th, 1S82.

374 SOLDIER.

beneath the sword-belt, comes out, but a few days before his death, in the last journal-letter transmitted to his mother from Suez: — “War is always melancholy to me. The sad side of it always forces itself on my attention somehow. The newspaper correspondent, who lives in an atmosphere of gunpowder, and does not know what it is to travel in an uncivilised country in a state of profound peace, does not feel it like one who has travelled about a good deal and Uved amongst a poor and uncivilised people in a state of peace.”

Activity was offcen denied him. Not unfrequently was he subjected to constrained and uncongenial inaction. But he had qualities not generally found among the ardent, impulsive, and enthusiastic; — patience under restraint, and tact under diflSculties; — what can well be understood in an undemonstrative nature like his, a reserve of power; capable at any moment of rising in emergencies, and able with coolness to grapple with them. In the words of his dearest friend, “the monotony of temporary failure was ever borne uncomplainingly.”

I seem to have no heart, in concluding, to moralise on such a life and its mysterious termination.^ In many cases, as we have repeatedly observed in the previous pages of this volume, are valued and cherished

I have not deemed it within the scope of these pages so much as to allude to his two brave associates in his last work, and in his death. They will have their ample tribute paid by others.

lives often taken prematurely, in order doubtless to avert unforeseen evils and sorrows! Yes, and to prevent being involved in fatal temptation or the commission of debasing sin. No one — no, not the best are proof against these tempest-shocks. Many a noble vessel that has left the harbour with pure white pennons floating in the summer breeze, has struck and foundered on the treacherous rock.

If ever soul was free from such fears, or unconscious of them, it was William Gill. All that was allied to, or hsA connivance with what was base, or mean, or impure, ignoble, or unworthy, was simply with him impossible and repugnant to his whole nature. I firmly believe no one, more truly than he, has been now served heir to the legacy bequeathed by Divine lips in that lofty beatitude — “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” Who dare presume to intrude into the counsels of the Almighty by venturing on surmise or explanation of that ’ early departure? ‘We dare not question the supremacy of a Higher will and Wisdom: —

And yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ilL

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete.”

In Memoriam

Is it not enough that his early death with its awful accompaniments was designed and intended to place him more prominently and conspicuously on the roll of the great and the good? All who will afterwards travel the route of the Sinai desert with its undying Biblical and historical interests, can never fail to recall “Here Gill fell.” To put it in better words than mine: —

“You have referred,” says Colonel Yule in addressing the chairman at the opening meeting of the Royal Geographical Society — “You have referred, in your address, to those thousands of rock-inscriptions on Sinai which Palmer had interpreted. I would fain see another rock-inscription added! I would fain see that, aloft on that fatal cliff in Paran, a panel should be hewn, and on it cut, large and deep, so as to show black in the mid-day sun, and to be legible for miles across the waste, such words as these — Go, traveller, and tell in England that we three died here in obedience to her behests.’”

Of the sad closing chapter of his Life-story it would only be harrowing to speak. He seems himself to have had his own forebodings. In bidding adieu on July 2 1st, 1882, twice he kissed his dear ones at home, looked thoughtful; and while trying to cheer them with the prospect of return, added a very signifi-

It is remarkable that to more than one he expressed his fervent hope that he would die before old age, and before becoming feeble and helpless.

cant “unless” — then a half-finislied sentence, waived his hand and jumped into the cab. He was seen by them no more.

“Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori”

For England had spoken and claimed them,
And gladly they rose at her cry,
And cheerily welcomed her summons,
* Be ready to do or to die.*

Strong life with its visions of greatness

Ne’er drew them from duty aside,
Stem death had no terrors to daunt them,

Their duty was death — and they died!”

Let Mother, Brother, and Sisters feel it an honour and privilege to have had such a son and brother. Let his country, as it does, share their pride! The words of Defoe, as death was approaching, have accidentally presented themselves to me as I now write. They seem appropriate in the lips of our young hero on that day of farewell and the few days that followed: “I am so near my journey’s end, and am hastening to the place where the weary are at rest. Be it that the passage is rough and “the day stormy: by what way soever He pleases to bring me to the end of it, I desire to finish life with this temper of soul in all cases, Te Deum Lavdamus.*^” How grand and affecting,” says the Baroness Bunsen, in her singularly thoughtful * Life and Letters,’” is the spectacle of the mind ever clear, undoubting, humble, submissive, resisting not!

How does one seek to follow the course of the released and unburdened spirit landed on the shore, the storm and struggle past for ever: the dawn of life opening upon him; all faculties full, and expanding in consciousness of ’ what eye hath not seen,’ of ’ what God hath laid up for them that love Him.’” i

Here I end these brief reminiscences of my own, and the more valuable testimonies of others.

Farewell! distinguished friend. Tour memories, and specially those when I knew you best, will be ever sacred to mo! The touching tribute you pay to your murdered school-companion, Augustus Raymond Margary, on ist of January 1 87 5, in a perilous part of one of your own Eastern journeys, I may well subscribe to and make it my own: — “I uncovered my head as the only tribute of respect I could pay to the memory of one who will be ever dear to the heart not only of those who knew him, but of all who value the noble qualities of uprightness, courage, and determination.”

The last time I saw him was in the full glow of youthful manhood. He came, traveller-like, with his knapsack, and spent ten days or a fortnight with us at our highland home, in one of the most beautiful parts of Scotland. He was full of youthful enthusiasm during this, what he was pleased to call “a jolly visit;” enjoyed much the rambles on the heathery

1 Vol. ii. p. 38d. 2 .ixhe River of Golden Sand,” vol. ii. p. 389 hills, the boating on the lake, and the wooded scenery of knoil and island; — indeed all the varied charms of a district known to those who are familiar with what Sir Walter Scott has for ever immortalised in prose and poetry. As my latest intercourse with him is thus associated in tracing out the very spots trodden by the feet of the Great Minstrel; and as the noble soldierlife, its perils and dangers, and last tragic end, — the young hopes of existence buried in an early grave, — as all these rise before me, — both the familiar lines from the “Lady of the Lake” seem to form a befitting close: —

The hand of the reaper

Takes the ears that are hoary.
But the voice of the weeper

Waila manhood in gloiy.
The autumn winds rushing

Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing

When blighting was nearest”

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o*er,
Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking:

Dream of battle-deeds no more;
Days of danger — nights of waking!”

38o A SOLDIER.

TO A BROTHER.!

These to my oldest — latest guide;
Translated to an early crown;
Whose sun, while yet twas day, went down,
Ere fell the shades of eventide.

In worth of heart, and wealth of brain,
In all that noble was and pure — All that is destined to endure,
I ne*er shall see his like again.

For long retains the western sky
The vanished orb’s resplendent hue;
In gleaming memories, ever new,
That life survives. It cannot die.

This tribute of most sacred love

I lay upon his honoured bier;

If I could do it, not a tear

Would weep him from his bliss above.

*Tis better far to be with Him,
Whose work to all he did gave zest;
Oh, grudge him not the * early rest,’
The Brotherhood with Seraphim I

These lines were written originally to the memory of another. But they could not possibly be truer or more appropriate, than thus transferred to a kindred congenial spirit and noble life.