Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay, vol 1 | Page 7

traders, and
slave-dealers with whom they interfered in their character of
philanthropists. The native tribes in the vicinity, instigated by European
hatred and jealousy, began to inflict upon the defenceless authorities of
the settlement a series of those monkey-like impertinences which,
absurdly as they may read in a narrative, are formidable and ominous
when they indicate that savages feel their power. These barbarians, who
had hitherto commanded as much rum and gunpowder as they cared to
have by selling their neighbours at the nearest barracoon, showed no
appreciation for the comforts and advantages of civilisation. Indeed,
those advantages were displayed in anything but an attractive shape
even within the pale of the company's territory. An aggregation of
negroes from Jamaica, London, and Nova Scotia, who possessed no
language except an acquired jargon, and shared no associations beyond
the recollections of a common servitude, were not very promising
apostles for the spread of Western culture and the Christian faith.
Things went smoothly enough as long as the business of the colony was
mainly confined to eating the provisions that had been brought in the
ships; but as soon as the work became real, and the commons short, the
whole community smouldered down into chronic mutiny.
Zachary Macaulay was the very man for such a crisis. To a rare fund of
patience, and self-command, and perseverance, he united a calm
courage that was equal to any trial. These qualities were, no doubt,
inherent in his disposition; but no one except those who have turned
over his voluminous private journals can understand what constant
effort, and what incessant watchfulness, went to maintain throughout a
long life a course of conduct, and a temper of mind, which gave every
appearance of being the spontaneous fruit of nature. He was not one
who dealt in personal experiences; and few among even the friends
who loved him like father or brother, and who would have trusted him

with all their fortune on his bare word, knew how entirely his outward
behaviour was the express image of his religious belief. The secret of
his character and of his actions lay in perfect humility and an absolute
faith. Events did not discompose him, because they were sent by One
who best knew his own purposes. He was not fretted by the folly of
others, or irritated by their hostility, because he regarded the humblest
or the worst of mankind as objects, equally with himself, of the divine
love and care. On all other points he examined himself so closely that
the meditations of a single evening would fill many pages of diary; but
so completely in his case had the fear of God cast out all other fear that
amidst the gravest perils, and the most bewildering responsibilities, it
never occurred to him to question whether he was brave or not. He
worked strenuously and unceasingly, never amusing himself from
year's end to year's end, and shrinking from any public praise or
recognition as from an unlawful gratification, because he was firmly
persuaded that, when all had been accomplished and endured, he was
yet but an unprofitable servant, who had done that which was his duty
to do. Some, perhaps, will consider such motives as oldfashioned, and
such convictions as out of date; but self-abnegation, self-control, and
self-knowledge that does not give to self the benefit of any doubt, are
virtues which are not oldfashioned, and for which, as time goes on, the
world is likely to have as much need as ever. [Sir James Stephen writes
thus of his friend Macaulay: "That his understanding was proof against
sophistry, and his nerves against fear, were, indeed, conclusions to
which a stranger arrived at the first interview with him. But what might
be suggesting that expression of countenance, at once so earnest and so
monotonous--by what manner of feeling those gestures, so uniformly
firm and deliberate were prompted--whence the constant traces of
fatigue on those overhanging brows and on that athletic though
ungraceful figure--what might be the charm which excited amongst his
chosen circle a faith approaching to superstition, and a love rising to
enthusiasm, towards a man whose demeanour was so inanimate, if not
austere:--it was a riddle of which neither Gall nor Lavater could have
found the key."
That Sir James himself could read the riddle is proved by the
concluding words of a passage marked by a force and tenderness of

feeling unusual even in him: "His earthward affections,--active and
all--enduring as they were, could yet thrive without the support of
human sympathy, because they were sustained by so abiding a sense of
the divine presence, and so absolute a submission to the divine will, as
raised him habitually to that higher region where the reproach of man
could not reach, and the praise of man might not