The Story of Baden-Powell | Page 2

and the ideal British officer; but if I had blurted this out at
the beginning of my story you might perhaps have flung the book into
an ink-stained corner, thinking you were in for a dull lecture. It is the
misfortune of goodness to be generally treated with superstitious awe,
as though it were a visitant from heaven, instead of being part and
parcel of our own composition. So I begin by assuring you that if ever
there was a light-hearted, jovial creature it is my hero, and by
promising you that he shall not bore you with moral disquisitions, nor
shock your natural and untainted mind with impossible precepts.
He is a hero in the best sense of the word, living cleanly, despising
viciousness equally with effeminacy, and striving after the
development of his talents, just as a wise painter labours at the
perfecting of his picture. Permit me here to quote the words of a
sagacious Florentine gentleman named Guicciardini: "Men," says he,
"are all by nature more inclined to do good than ill; nor is there
anybody who, where he is not by some strong consideration pulled the
other way, would not more willingly do good than ill."
Goodness, then, is a part of our being; therefore when you are behaving
yourself like a true man, do not flatter yourself that you are doing any
superhuman feat. And do not, as some do, have a sort of stupid
contempt for people who respect truth, honesty, and purity, people who
work hard at school, never insult their masters, and try to get on in the
world without soiling their fingers and draggling their skirts in the mire.
But see you cultivate humour as you go along. Without that there is
danger in the other.
It is useful to reflect that no man without the moral idea ever wrought
our country lasting service or won himself a place in the hearts of

mankind. On the other hand, most of the men whose names are
associated in your mind with courage and heroism are those who
keenly appreciated the value of Conduct, and strove valiantly to keep
themselves above the demoralising and vulgarising influences of the
world.
Baden-Powell, then, is a hero, but no prodigy. He is a hero, and human.
A ripple of laughter runs through his life, the fresh wind blows about
him as he comes smiling before our eyes; and if he be too full of fun
and good spirits to play the part of King Arthur in your imagination, be
sure that no knight of old was ever more chivalrous towards women,
more tender to children, and more resolved upon walking cleanly
through our difficult world.
Ask those who know him best what manner of man he is, and the
immediate answer, made with merry eyes and a deep chuckle, is this:
"He's the funniest beggar on earth." And then when you have listened
to many stories of B.-P.'s pranks, your informant will grow suddenly
serious and tell you what a "straight" fellow he is, what a loyal friend,
what an enthusiastic soldier. But it is ever his fun first.
One word more. Against such a work as this it is sometimes urged that
there is a certain indelicacy in revealing the virtues of a living man to
whomsoever has a shilling in his pocket to purchase a book. My answer
to such a charge may be given in a few lines. In writing about
Baden-Powell your humble servant has hardly considered the feelings
of Baden-Powell at all. B.-P. has outlived a goodly number of absurd
newspaper biographies, and he will survive this. Of you, and you alone,
most honoured sir, has the present historian thought, and so long as you
are pleased, it matters little to him if the hypersensitive lift up lean
hands, turn pale eyes to Heaven, and squeak "Indecent!" till they are
hoarse. And now, with as little moralising as possible, and no more
cautions, let us get along with our story.
CHAPTER II
THE FAMILY

Baden-Powell had certain advantages in birth. We will not violently
uproot the family tree, nor will we go trudging over the broad acres of
early progenitors. I refer to the fact that his father was a clergyman. To
be a parson's son is the natural beginning of an adventurous career; and,
if we owe no greater debt to the Church of our fathers, there is always
this argument in favour of the Establishment, that most of the men who
have done something for our Empire have first opened eyes on this
planet in some sleepy old rectory where roses bloom and rooks are
blown about the sky.
[Illustration: Professor Baden Powell. From a Painting by Hartmann.]
Mr. Baden-Powell, the father of our hero, was a man of great