The Story of Baden-Powell | Page 8

same time, he was obliged to flee out
of Italy and return to England. We fancy this story in its full details
must have appealed strongly to the imagination of Baden-Powell,
whose after-life, could it be fully written, would satisfy the keenest
appetite for daring, excitement, and romance. But to return to Llandogo
Falls. Mrs. Baden-Powell, her daughter, and all the servants made the
journey from London by means of the railway; but to the boys the
fastest of express trains would have seemed slow, and accordingly
Warington made ready his collapsible boat, and, rowing by day and
sleeping on board by night, these indefatigable youngsters left London
behind them, crossed the Severn, and, pulling up the Wye, arrived at
Llandogo Falls, the first intimation of their arrival to Mrs.
Baden-Powell being the sight of them dragging the boat over the lawn
to the stables. This feat succeeded in endearing them to the Welsh
people in the neighbourhood, who were greatly struck by the courage
of the boys in crossing the Severn in a collapsible boat.
Here, at Llandogo Falls, the boys spent a great deal of time in riding
practically wild ponies, and even in those days Ste was famous for his
graceful seat, his quiet patience with an untractable steed, and his
daring in attempting difficult jumps. Besides riding, the boys were fond
of wandering about the country, making friends with the natives,
shooting birds to be presently stuffed by themselves and put in the
family museum, collecting rare insects, examining old ruins, and
rowing up the Wye to spend the afternoon in bathing or in fishing,
sometimes in both.
In this simple, healthy, and thoroughly English fashion the
Baden-Powells spent their holidays, and in their home-life grew up
devoted to each other, and to the mother whose controlling influence
was over all their sports and occupations. It is interesting to note, ere

we leave the subject of early training, that no infliction of punishment
in any shape or form was permitted by Mrs. Baden-Powell. Whether
such a rule would work for good in all families is a question that I for
one, as a father of a young family, will never imperil my reputation for
consistency by answering with a dogmatic affirmative. Nevertheless,
one recognises the truth of Nietzsche's warning, "Beware of him in
whom the impulse to punish is powerful." In the case of the
Baden-Powells the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and you will
get none of them to say that their childhood was not a joyous period,
while Mrs. Baden-Powell will contend with any mother under Heaven
that never before were such honourable, straightforward, and
gentle-minded children. This home-life has never lost its charm, and
though the sons may be scattered over the world on the Queen's service,
they come back to exchange memories with each other under their
mother's roof as often as the exigencies of their professions will allow.
And when B.-P. is in the house, though his hair begins to flourish less
willingly on his brow, he is just like the boy of old, springing up the
stairs three steps at a time, and whistling as he goes with a heartiness
and a joyousness that astonishes the decorous ten-year-old sparrow
Timothy as he flits about the house after Miss Baden-Powell.
I have in my possession a copy of Mr. Russell's monograph on Mr.
Gladstone, which had fallen into the hands of a grand old Tory parson.
The margins of those pages bristle with the vehement annotations of
my old friend. Against the statement that Mr. Gladstone had "a nature
completely unspoilt by success and prominence and praise," there is a
vigorous "OH!" Where it is recorded how in 1874 Mr. Gladstone
promised to repeal the income-tax, I find a pencil line and the
contemptuous comment, "A bribe for power!" Mr. Forster's resignation
of office in 1882 is hailed with a joyful "Bravo, Forster!" and so on
throughout Mr. Russell's interesting book. But on the last page of all
there are three pencil lines marking a sentence, and by the side of the
lines the concession, "Yes--true." The sentence is this: "But the noblest
natures are those which are seen at their best in the close communion of
the home."
CHAPTER IV

CARTHUSIAN
A gentleman once wrote to the late headmaster of Charterhouse, Dr.
William Haig-Brown, saying that he wished to have his son "interred"
at that school. The headmaster wrote back immediately saying he
would be glad to "undertake" the boy. The same headmaster being
shown over a model farm remarked of the ornamental piggery, built
after the manner of a Chinese Pagoda, that if there was Pagoda outside
there was certainly pig odour inside.
Such a man as this is sure to have been impressed by the personality of