Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798 Read online

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  KilgormanA Story of Ireland in 1798

  By Talbot Baines Reed________________________________________________________________________This was Reed's last book, written even as he lay dying, presumably fromcancer. It is a very well-written book, and is very interesting, eventhough as in the works of Kingston and Collingwood there are a lot ofswimming episodes.

  The time of the story is in the 1790s, during the French Revolution,which we see at close quarters during our hero's time in France. Wealso visit Rotterdam, in Holland. But most of the action, at least thatwhich takes place on dry land, takes place in Donegal, that long wildpart of Ireland that lies to its extreme north-west.

  There are several lines of the story. One of these is the great lovethat exists between the hero and his twin brother. Another is thequestion, Are they brothers? For only one person actually knows, andshe is far away: the hint that there is a problem is given in a dyingnote by the woman that passed as the boys' mother. The third theme is,as always with Ireland, plotting for an uprising against English rule.In this department nothing changes.

  Yes, it is a brilliant book, complemented by an "In Memoriam" articleabout the life of the author.________________________________________________________________________KILGORMANA STORY OF IRELAND IN 1798

  BY TALBOT BAINES REED

  Preface, by John Sime

  IN MEMORIAM.

  By the death of Talbot B. Reed the boys of the English-speaking worldhave lost one of their best friends. For fourteen years he hascontributed to their pleasure, and in the little library of boys' bookswhich left his pen he has done as much as any writer of our day to raisethe standard of boys' literature. His books are alike removed from theold-fashioned and familiar class of boys' stories, which, meaning well,generally baffled their own purpose by attempting to administer moralityand doctrine on what Reed called the "powder-in-jam" principle--aprocess apt to spoil the jam, yet make "the powder" no less nauseous;or, on the other hand, the class of book that dealt in thrillingadventure of the blood-curdling and "penny dreadful" order. Withneither of these types have Talbot Reed's boys' books any kinship. Hisboys are of flesh and blood, such as fill our public schools, such asbrighten or "make hay" of the peace of our homes. He had the rare artof hitting off boy-nature, with just that spice of wickedness in itwithout which a boy is not a boy. His heroes have always the charm ofbounding, youthful energy, and youth's invincible hopefulness, and theconstant flow of good spirits which have made the boys of all timeperennially interesting.

  The secret of Reed's success in this direction was that all throughlife, as every one who had the privilege of knowing him can testify, hepossessed in himself the healthy freshness of heart of boyhood. Hesympathised with the troubles and joys, he understood the temptations,and fathomed the motives that sway and mould boy-character; he had thepower of depicting that side of life with infinite humour and pathos,possible only to one who could place himself sympathetically at theboys' stand-point in life. Hence the wholesomeness of tone and thebreezy freshness of his work. His boy-heroes are neither prigs normilk-sops, but in their strength and weakness they are the stuff whichultimately makes our best citizens and fathers; they are the boys who,later in life, with healthy minds in healthy bodies, have made theBritish Empire what it is.

  A special and pathetic interest attaches to this story of "Kilgorman,"the last that left Talbot Reed's pen. It was undertaken while he wasyet in the prime of his strength and vigour. The illness whichultimately, alas, ended fatally had already laid hold on him ere he hadwell begun the book. In intervals of ease during his last illness heworked at it, sometimes in bed, sometimes in his armchair: it ispleasant to think that he so enjoyed the work that its production easedand soothed many a weary hour for him, and certainly never was otherthan a recreation to him.

  The pen dropped from his hand ere he had quite completed the work, yet,as the book stands here, it is much as he meant to leave it. Thefigures of Barry Gallagher, and Tim, and the charming Kit will taketheir places in the delightful gallery of his young people, and theiradventures by land and by sea will be followed with an increasedinterest that they are the last that can come from his brilliant pen.

  Talbot Reed came of a right good English stock, both on his father's andhis mother's side. His grandfather, Dr Andrew Reed, a Nonconformistminister of note in his day, left his mark in some of the soundestphilanthropic undertakings of the century. His thoughtfulness and self-sacrificing energy have lightened the sufferings and soothed the old ageof many thousands. He was one of the founders of the London, Reedham,and Infant Orphan Asylums, the Earlswood Asylum for Idiots, and theRoyal Hospital for Incurables. His son, Sir Charles Reed, andgrandsons, have done yeoman service in carrying on to the present daythe noble work begun by him.

  Talbot was the third son of the late Sir Charles Reed, Member ofParliament for Hackney, and latterly for Saint Ives (Cornwall). Hismother, Lady Reed, was the youngest daughter of Mr Edward Baines,Member of Parliament for Leeds. She was a lady of saintly life, ofinfinite gentleness and sweetness of heart, with extraordinary strengthand refinement of mind, reverenced and loved by her sons and daughters,and by none more than by Talbot Reed, who bore a strong resemblance toher alike in disposition and in physical appearance.

  The service that Sir Charles Reed did for his generation, both inParliament and as Chairman of the London School Board, and in connectionwith many of the religious and philanthropic movements of his time, aretoo well known to be recapitulated here.

  Talbot B. Reed was born on the 3rd of April 1852, at Hackney. Hisfirst schoolmaster was Mr Anderton of Priory House School, UpperClapton, under whose care he remained until he was thirteen years ofage. He retained through life a feeling of warm affection to MrAnderton, who thoroughly prepared him for the more serious work ahead ofhim. Only a year or two ago, Reed was one of the most active of MrAnderton's old pupils in organising a dinner in honour of his formermaster.

  In 1865 Talbot was entered at the City of London School, then located inMilk Street, Cheapside, under the headship of Dr Abbot, where he spentfour happy and industrious years of his boyhood. He is described by MrVardy, a school-comrade, in the course of a recent interesting articleby the Editor of the _Boy's Own Paper_, as being at this period "ahandsome boy, strong and well proportioned, with a frank open face,black hair, and lively dark eyes, fresh complexion, full of life andvigour, and with a clear ringing voice ... He was audacious with thatcharming audacity that suits some boys. On one occasion he had verycalmly absented himself from the class-room during a temporaryengagement by the French master, who, having returned before he wasexpected, and while Reed was away, demanded by what leave he had leftthe class-room. Reed replied with (as he would probably have expressedit) 'awful cheek,' 'If you please, sir, I took "French" leave!'"

  Reed was popular at school both with masters and boys. His initials,"T.B.," soon became changed familiarly into "Tib," by which endearingnickname Mr Vardy says he was known to the last by the comrades of hisschool-days.

  It is interesting, in the light of the prominence which in all hisschool stories he properly gave to out-of-door sports and athleticexercises, to have it, on the authority of his old school-fellow, thathe excelled in all manly exercises. He was a first-rate football-player, and a good all-round cricketer; he was an excellent oar, and afairly good swimmer; and until the last few months of his life no mancould enjoy with more zest a game of quoits, or tennis, or a day devotedto the royal game of golf. In the early days of his manhood, withcharacteristic unselfishness, he risked his own life on one occasion byleaping from a rock into the sea, on the wil
d north Irish coast, tobring safely ashore his cousin (and life-long friend, Mr Talbot Baines,the distinguished editor of the _Leeds Mercury_), who has told me thathe would, without Reed's prompt and plucky aid, inevitably have beendrowned.

  The large contribution he made to literature in later days amply servesto prove that the more serious studies of school were never neglectedfor his devotion to sport. He seldom missed the old boys' annual dinnerof the City of London School. In proposing a toast at a recent dinner,he reminded Mr Asquith, M.P. (a school-fellow of Reed's) that at theschool debating society they had "led off" on separate sides in a wordybattle on the red-hot controversy of "Queen Elizabeth versus QueenMary." Every boy who has read "Sir Ludar" will remember that the heroof that charming story and Humphrey Dexter fall to blows on the samedangerous subject.

  I cannot find that in his masterly pictures of public school life hedrew much from his experiences at the City of London School, except,perhaps, in a few details, such as the rivalry which he describes sovividly as existing between the fifth and sixth forms in his delightfulbook, "The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's." In Reed's day there was nosuch "set" among the juniors at the City of London School as the"guinea-pigs" and "tadpoles," who play so important a part in the story;but in a room devoted to the juniors, known as the "horse-shoe," in theold school buildings in Milk Street, many of the pranks and battles ofthe "guinea-pigs" and "tadpoles" were played and fought.

  In 1869, at the age of seventeen, Reed left school, and joined hisfather and elder brother Andrew in the great firm of type-founders inFann Street. He threw himself with strenuous application into the newwork, maintaining at the same time with equal keenness his interest infootball, wishing nothing better than a fierce game--"three hacks on oneleg, and four on the other," as he said, and glorying in his wounds.The same strenuous energy applied to his reading at this period. Afriend tells me that in a letter about this time he speaks of devouring"five of Scott's novels in a month, resulting in parental remonstrance;history; and a Greek play, in which he is not so 'rusty' as he feared."In Fann Street his practical business energies found free play, althoughthe bias of his mind undoubtedly lay towards literature rather thancommerce; but for nearly a quarter of a century he devoted himself tothis work with a degree of success that was to be expected of histalents, the conscientious uprightness of his character, and hisunceasing industry. At the death of Sir Charles Reed, and of hisbrother Andrew, Talbot became the managing director of the Type-foundry,and held that position to the time of his death.

  Reed had not long left school when his creative literary instincts beganto assert themselves. His apprenticeship in literature may be said tohave been served in the editing of an exceedingly clever familymagazine, called _The Earlsmead Chronicle_, which circulated in thefamily and among friends.

  His earliest printed effort appeared in 1875, in a little magazine foryoung people, called _The Morning of Life_ (published in America byMessrs. Thomas Nelson and Sons. It is, by the way, a noteworthycoincidence that his first and last printed work should have been issuedby this house). His contribution to _The Morning of Life_ was anaccount in two parts of a boating expedition on the Thames, entitled"Camping Out." It has in it the promise of the freshness and vigourthat were in such abundant degree characteristic of all his laterdescriptions of boy life.

  It was in the pages of the _Boy's Own Paper_ that Reed found his_metier_. Its editor writes: "From the very first number of the paperMr Reed has been so closely and continuously identified with it, thathis removal creates a void it will be impossible to fill." Any onelooking through the volumes of this most admirably-conducted boys' paperwill see that Talbot Reed's work is indeed the backbone of it. InNumber One, Volume One, the first article, "My First Football Match," isby him; and during that year (1879) and the following years he wrotevivid descriptions of cricket-matches, boat-races; "A Boating Adventureat Parkhurst;" "The Troubles of a Dawdler;" and a series of papers on"Boys in English History." There was also a series of clever sketchesof boy life, called "Boys we have Known," "The Sneak," "The Sulky Boy,""The Boy who is never Wrong," etcetera.

  These short flights led the way, and prepared him for the longer andstronger flights that were to follow. In 1880 his first boys' bookbegan to appear in the _Boy's Own Paper_, entitled "The Adventures of aThree-Guinea Watch." Charlie Newcome, the youthful hero, is a charmingcreation, tenderly and pathetically painted, and the story abounds inthrilling incident, and in that freshness of humour which appears moreor less in all the Public School Stories. In the following year came astory of much greater power, "The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's," bymany boys considered the best of all his stories. It deserves to takeits place on the shelf beside "Tom Brown's Schooldays." Indeed, ayouthful enthusiast who had been reading "The Fifth Form" and "TomBrown" about the same time, confided to me that while in the latter bookhe had learned to know and love one fine type of boy, in the former helearned to know and to love a whole school. The two brothers, Stephenand Oliver Greenfield, and Wraysford, and Pembury, and Loman stand outwith strong personality and distinctness; and especially admirable isthe art with which is depicted the gradual decadence of character inLoman, step by step, entangled in a maze of lies, and degraded by viceuntil self-respect is nigh crushed out.

  "The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's" was followed in 1882 by "My FriendSmith;" in 1883 came "The Willoughby Captains" (by many considered hisbest work); 1885 saw "Reginald Cruden;" and in the same year appeared"Follow My Leader." This story--an excellent example of Reed's peculiarpower and originality in depicting school life--he wrote in threemonths; a feat the full significance of which is best known to those whowere aware how full his mind and his hands were at that time of otherpressing work. Yet the book shows no marks of undue haste.

  In 1886 came "A Dog with a Bad Name," followed in 1887 by "The Master ofthe Shell." In 1889 Reed made a new and successful departure in "SirLudar: A Story of the Days of the Great Queen Bess." Here he broke awayfrom school life, and carried his youthful readers back to theElizabethans and the glorious incident of the Armada. There is a fine"go" and "swing" in the style of this story which recalls Kingsley to usat his best.

  Following hard on "Sir Ludar" came in the same year (1889) "RogerIngleton, Minor," a story dealing with young men rather than boys,although Tom Oliphant, a delightful boy, and Jill Oliphant, his sister,take their places among the most lovable of his youthful creations.

  In "The Cock-house at Fellsgarth" (1891), and in "Dick, Tom, and Harry"(1892), Reed returned to school life for the materials of his plots, andin these fully maintained his reputation. In addition to these stories,most of which have appeared, or are about to appear, in volume form, hecontributed many short stories and sketches to the Christmas and Summernumbers of the _Boy's Own_. These are also, I am glad to learn, beingcollected for publication in volume form.

  In "Kilgorman," the last of the series of boys' books from his giftedhand, as in "Sir Ludar," he displays a fine historic sense--a capacityof living back to other times and picturing the people of anothergeneration. Much of the scene of "Kilgorman" and of "Sir Ludar" is laidin Ireland--in the north and north-western corners of it--of all thelocalities in the United Kingdom perhaps the dearest to Reed's heart.

  To him, in more senses than one, Ireland was a land of romance. Thehappiest associations of his life were there. There he wooed and wonhis wife, the daughter of Mr Greer, M.P. for the County of Londonderry;and he and she loved to return with ever new pleasure to inhale the pureair of Castle-rock or Ballycastle, or to enjoy the quiet of a lonelylittle resting-place in Donegal, on the banks of Lough Swilly, torecuperate after a year's hard work in London. It was something to seethe sunshine on Reed's beautiful face when the time approached for hisvisit to the "Emerald Isle." When he was sore stricken in the lastillness, he longed with a great longing to return, and did return, toIreland, hoping and believing that what English air had failed to domight come to pass there. Three weeks before his death he writ
es to mefrom Ballycastle, County Antrim: "I wish you could see this place to-daybathed in sunlight, Rathlin Island in the offing, Fair Head with itsstately profile straight across the bay, and beyond, in blue and grey,the lonely coast of Cantire, backed by Goatfell and the lovely hills ofArgyle." He loved Ireland.

  But for himself and for his family there were in Ireland associations ofsadness that made the place sacred to him. His young and belovedbrother Kenneth, with a comrade and kinsman, W.J. Anderson, in 1879started on a canoe trip in Ireland, intending to explore the wholecourse of the Shannon and the Blackwater, together with the connectinglinks of lake and sea. In a gale of wind on Lough Allen--known as the"wicked Lough"--the canoes were both upset, and the two young men weredrowned.

  The shock in the family circle can be imagined. It was the beginning ofmany sorrows. Two years later, in 1881, Sir Charles Reed died; and in1883 the family was again plunged into grief by the sad death ofTalbot's eldest brother ("my 'father confessor' in all times oftrouble," Talbot used to say of him), the Reverend Charles Edward Reed,who was accidentally killed by a fall over a precipice while he was on awalking expedition in Switzerland. Lady Reed, it may be here said, diedin June 1891.

  While most people will think that Talbot Reed's boys' books are his bestbequest to literature, he considered them of less importance in the workof his life than his book entitled "A History of the Old English LetterFoundries; with Notes Historical and Bibliographical on the Rise andProgress of English Typography" (Elliot Stock, 1887), the preparation ofwhich cost him ten years of research and labour. His boys' books werethe spontaneous utterance of his joyous nature, and their production heregarded in the light of a recreation amid the more serious affairs oflife. He had an ambition, which the results of his labour fullyjustified, to be regarded as an authority on Typography. I can rememberhis amusement, and perhaps annoyance, when he had gone down to aYorkshire town to deliver a lecture on some typographical subject, tofind that the walls and hoardings of the town were decorated withposters, announcing the lecture as by "Talbot B. Reed, author of 'A Dogwith a Bad Name!'"

  But all scholars and book-lovers will regard this work of his on "TheHistory of the Old English Letter Foundries" as being of supreme value.In it, as he himself says, he tells the story of the fifteenth centuryheroes of the punch and matrix and mould, who made English printing anart ere yet the tyranny of an age of machinery was established.Whatever Talbot Reed's pen touched it adorned, and in the light of hismind what seemed dry and dusty corners of literary history became alivewith living human interest.

  Besides this great work, he edited the book left unfinished by hisfriend Mr Blades, entitled "The Pentateuch of Printing," to which headded a biographical memoir of Mr Blades.

  All that related to the craft of printing was profoundly interesting toReed, whether viewed from the practical, or the historic, or theartistic side. His types were to him no mere articles of commerce, theywere objects of beauty; to him the craft possessed the fascination ofhaving a great history, and the legitimate pride of having played agreat part in the world.

  Reed delivered more than one admirable public lecture on subjectsrelated to the art of printing. One he delivered at the Society ofArts, on "Fashions in Printing" (for which he received one of theSociety's silver medals), and another on "Baskerville," the interestingtype-founder and printer of Birmingham in the last century, to whom achapter of "The History" is devoted.

  Only two years before his death Reed was one of a small band of book-lovers who founded the Bibliographical Society, a body which aims atmaking easier, by the organising of literature, the labours of literarymen, librarians, and students generally. From its start he undertook,in the midst of many pressing personal duties, the arduous task ofhonorary secretaryship of the young society--an office which he regardedas one of great honour and usefulness, but which entailed upon him, at atime when his health could ill bear the strain, hard organising andclerical work, cheerfully undertaken, and continued until a few weeksbefore his death. The first two published Parts of the Transactions ofthe Bibliographical Society, edited by him, are models of what such workought to be.

  Reed was a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, and for many years wasan active member of the Library Association. His own library of booksbearing on Typography, Bibliography, and many a kindred subject, theharvest of many years' collecting, is unique. It was a pleasure to seethe expression of Reed's face when he came upon a new book really afterhis mind, or, still better, an old book, "Anything fifteenth century orearly sixteenth," he used to say; any relic or scrap from Caxton's or DeWorde's Press; any specimen of a "truant type" on the page of an earlybook; or a Caslon, or a Baskerville in good condition; or one of thebeauties from Mr Morris's modern Press. Charles Lamb himself could nothave looked more radiant or more happy in the sense of possession.

  Reed laboured successfully also in another department of literature--injournalism. For many years he wrote a non-political leading articleeach week for the _Leeds Mercury_. His wide culture, his quiet humour,and light, graceful touch, were qualities that gave to his journalisticwork far more than an ephemeral value. In politics Reed was a life-longLiberal; he utterly disapproved, however, of Mr Gladstone's latter-daypolicy in Ireland. Reed was a member of the Reform Club and of theSavile Club.

  In these notes I have written rather of Reed's work than of the manhimself. This is as he would have had it. There was in him a magneticcharm that attracted all who came near him, and which bound his friendsto him as by "hooks of steel." Erect and manly in bearing, he steppedalong, never apparently in a hurry, never dawdling. One had only tolook in his beautiful face, the bright kind eyes, the high wide brow,and to come under the spell of his winning smile, to obtain a glimpse ofthe noble soul within.

  A calm, strong nature his, facing the world, with all its contingencies,bravely and with constant buoyant cheerfulness. He walked through lifewith eyes and heart wide open to the joy of the world, brightening andlightening it for others as he went. He was always ready to stretch outa helping hand to the weak and falling ones who came across his path.Never merely an optimist, he yet lived and died in the full, simplefaith that--

  "God's in his heaven, All's right with the world."

  Socially, Reed was the life and soul of any party of friends. Therewere certain American student-songs which he was wont to sing with aquiet and inimitable drollery, very refreshing to hear, and which thosewho heard them are not likely readily to forget. His love of music waspart of his nature. His reposeful, wooing touch on the piano or organ,either when he was extemporising or when he interpreted one of themasters, expressed the inner working of his own gentle spirit. Whetherin his own family, or among friends, or in the midst of his Foundryworkmen, he was universally beloved.

  A true, loyal, and friendly spirit like his was sure to have "troops offriends." To three friends in Highgate he wrote, during his last sadvisit to Ireland, the following beautiful letter. Mrs Reed was at themoment detained in Highgate, nursing their eldest boy, who was ill.

  "Westoncrofts, Ballymoney, _October 6, 1893_.

  "Talbot, the exile, unto the faithful assembled at the hour of eveningservice at H---; to H--- the beloved banker, and S--- our brother, andH--- our joyous counsellor, and all and sundry, greeting: peace be withyou! Know, brethren, that I am with you in the spirit; neither is thereany chair in which I would not sit, nor pipe I would not smoke, nordrink I would not drink, so as I might be one with you, and hear yourvoices. In good sooth, I would travel far to catch the wisdom thatdroppeth from the lips of H---, or sit among the philosophers with S---,or laugh with the great laugh of H---. I would do all this, and morealso, could I make one with you around the familiar hearth.

  "Yet know, brethren, that I shall come presently, and strictly demand anaccount of what is said and done, what mighty problems are solved, whatjoys are discovered, what tribulations are endured, in my absence.

  "Meanwhile, I would have you to know that I am her
e, not without myteachers, for I read daily in the great missal of Nature, writ by thescribe Autumn in letters of crimson and gold; also in the trim pages ofthe gathered fields, with borders of wood-cut; also in the ample foliosof ocean, with its wide margins of surf and sand. These be my masters,set forth in a print not hard to read, yet not so easy, methinks, as thefaces of friends. Perchance when _she_ cometh, in whose light Iinterpret many things, I shall have rest to learn more therefrom; fornow I am as a sail without wind, or a horn without his blower, or astone without his sling.

  "Yet am I not here to no purpose. There is a certain coy nymph,'Health' by name, who is reported in these parts--her I am charged toseek. Where she hides 'twere hard to say; whether on the hill-side,golden with bracken, or in the spray of the sea, or on the bluffheadland, or by the breezy links--in all these I seek her. Sometimes Ispy her afar off; but the wanton comes and goes. Yet I am persuaded Ishall presently find her, and bring her home rejoicing to them that sentme.

  "Finally, brethren, I pray you, have me often in your remembrance, andreport to me such things as concern our common welfare, for I desireardently to hear of you.

  "Farewell, from one who loves you and counts himself your brother.

  "T.B. Reed."

  Alas! "the coy nymph, 'Health' by name," was never found. Within a weekor two of the despatch of this letter, he became so much worse that hewas advised by the Belfast doctors to return at once to London. Hesuffered from a hopeless internal malady, which he bore with heroicpatience.

  At Highgate, on 28th November 1893, he passed peacefully away.

  It was given to him in his short life--for he condensed into the span offorty-two years the literary labours of a long life--to materially addby his charming boys' books to the happiness of the youth of hisgeneration. It was given to him also by his labour and research to makea solid contribution to the learning of his time. He has enriched manylives by his friendship, and by the example of his unceasingthoughtfulness for the welfare of others. To all who had theinestimable privilege of knowing Talbot Reed, there will be theremembrance of a man "matchless for gentleness, honesty, and courage,"--the very ideal of a chivalrous English gentleman.

  John Sime.

  Highgate, London, _February 1894_.