The Story of Baden-Powell: 'The Wolf That Never Sleeps'

by Harold Begbie

And now we come to what I regard as the most important part of our hero's life. In the last chapter I said we should have to say something about B.-P.'s big brother, the sailor, Warington, named after his grandmother, who was a Warington of Waddon Park. The very name Warington, even though it be spelled with a single 'r,' has an inspiring sound, and while Thackeray lives will ever be linked with all that is true and straightforward in the human heart. Imagine the reverence felt for Warington by the young brothers when he came home from a sea voyage! Not only were there the broad square shoulders, the deep chest, and the bronzed face to compel admiration; but a masterful and commanding manner withal, a stern eye and a rousing voice—and the overwhelming and crushing fact that he was a British Naval officer! Warington had been born ten years before Ste, and it is a mighty good thing for B.-P. (and he would be the first to admit it) that this was the case. For I believe that the resourcefulness of Baden-Powell is the result of the early training which he received at the hands of Warington; without that training he would have grown up a delightful and an amusing fellow, but, I suspect, as so many delightful and amusing people are, ineffective. And that is just what B.-P. is not.

You must know that in the spring holidays the boys spent their days in ranging field and copse "collecting," riding ponies, often with their faces towards the tail-end, attending to their innumerable pets, and doing a certain amount of reading of their own free will. Ste's study was mainly history and geology, and it was his custom to embellish the pages of the books he was reading with suitable illustrations as he went along. With these amusements, and always a good many productions of Ste's original comedies, the spring holidays slipped away pleasantly enough. But in the summer holidays came Warington fresh from the sea, with abounding energy and indomitable will, and recreation then was of a sterner kind.

Warington had designed a yacht, a smart 5-tonner, and in supreme command of this little craft, with his brothers for the crew, and only one hired hand for the dirty work, he took the schoolboys away from the ease and comforts of home life to rough it at sea. They shipped as seamen, and as seamen they lived. It was a case of "lights out" soon after dusk, and then up again with the sun. This rule, however, was not followed with comfortable regularity, for sometimes stress of weather would find the little chaps tumbling out of their hammocks in the dead of night, and clambering upon deck with knuckles rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. All the work usually performed by seamen, with the sole exception of cooking, was done by these little chaps, and under the eagle eye of Warington it was well and truly done. Not that they showed any disposition to shirk. On the contrary, a keener crew was never shipped, but there was something in their knowledge that the skipper's word was law, that there was no arguing about orders, which must have given a certain polish to their work. Warington, of course, was no petty tyrant, lording it over young brothers, and swaggering in the undisputed character of his sway. Like the rest he is a humourist, and when a gale was not blowing or the yacht was not contesting a race, he was as full of merriment and good spirits as the rest. His opinion of Ste at this time was a high one. He was always, says he, "most dependable." Receiving his orders, the future defender of Mafeking would stand as stiff and silent as a rock, showing scarce a sign that he understood them, but the orders were always carried out to the letter, and in a thoroughly finished and seamanlike manner. Ste was always the tallest of his brothers, and at this time he was singularly lithe and wiry. A tall slight boy with quite fair hair, a brown skin, and sharp brown eyes, he possessed extraordinary powers of endurance, and could always outlast the rest of the brothers. He was quick to perceive the reason of an order, and always quick to carry it out; he was just as brisk in organising cruises on his own account, when, with the leave of Skipper Warington, he would take command of the yacht's dinghy and go off on fishing expeditions with Baden and Frank. It was a dinghy that moved quickly with a sail, but in all their cruises up creeks and round about the hulks of Portsmouth Harbour they never came to grief, and always returned with a good catch of bass and mullet.

Danger did come to the yacht itself, however, on more than one occasion, and but for the courage and skill of Warington, the world might never have heard of B.-P. and the other brothers. Once, in the Koh-i-noor (a 10-tonner with about eighteen tons displacement), which was the second yacht designed by Warington, the boys were cruising about the south coast, when, towards evening, just off Torquay, a gale got up, and the sea began to get uncommon rough. As the gale increased almost to a hurricane and the waves dashed a larger amount of spray over the gunwale of the gallant little yacht, Warington decided to change his course and run back to Weymouth. The night was getting dark, and the storm increased. To add to the anxieties of the skipper his crew of boys, though showing no funk, began to grow green about the gills, and presently Warington found himself in command of an entirely sea-sick crew. He was unable to leave the helm, and for over thirty-one hours he stood there, giving his orders in a cheerful voice to the groaning youngsters who were more than once driven to the ship's drenched and dripping side. Fortunately Warington knew the coast well, for it was much too dark to see a chart, and so, despite the raging tempest, the 10-tonner fought her way through the waves while the sea broke continually over her side, drenching the shivering boys, who stuck to their posts, and every now and then shouted to each other with chattering teeth that it was "awful fun."

As showing the resourcefulness of the crew, I may narrate another yachting story. One Saturday, off Yarmouth, when the Baden-Powells were thinking of a race for which they were entered on the following Monday, a storm suddenly came on, which played such havoc with the rigging that the mast was snapped in two, and the whole racing kit went overboard. With clenched teeth the youngsters set to work and, with many a long pull and a strong pull, got all the wreck on board. Then with axes they slashed away at the wire-rigging, and set to work to rig up a jury-mast. All Sunday they toiled—the spars on an 18-tonner are no child's play—and at last they were able to rig up a jury-mast which would carry the mainsail with four reefs, while the foresail was able to catch the wind of heaven with only two. On Monday morning the yacht sailed out of Yarmouth fully rigged, and made off to the regatta with as cheerful a crew as ever braved the elements. The result of this labour was that the Baden-Powells, with a jury rig, won a second prize, and came in for the warm commendation of wondering and admiring sailors.

As I have said, in these expeditions the boys did seamen's work. They learned how to set sails, how to splice, how to reeve gear, how to moor a ship, and make all ready for scrubbing the bottom. It was a fine sight to see the healthy younkers, with trousers rolled over the knee, ankles well under slate-coloured oozing mud, scrubbing away at the bottom of the ship, and laughing and singing among themselves, while the reflective Warington, pipe in mouth, looked on and encouraged the toilers.

All round the English coast sailed the Baden-Powells, fighting their way to glory in regattas, and enjoying themselves from sunrise to sunset. On racing days it was a case of "strictly to business," and each boy had his proper station and knew well how to pull or slack out ropes. On other days it was a case of fun and frolic, and here, of course, B.-P. was the life and soul of the party. There were no squabbles, no petty jealousies; never did the brothers throughout their boyhood come to fisticuffs. But while there was perfect equality among them and no favouritism was ever shown, Ste was regarded as the prime comedian, and there was never any question that when theatricals were the order of the day he should reign in supreme command.

One of the houses taken by Mrs. Baden-Powell for the holidays was Llandogo Falls, a most romantic place on the Wye, the property of Mr. Gallenga, the Italian correspondent of the Times, who had previously got mixed up in a deep political plot in Italy, whereby he gained many useful secrets, but whereby, at the 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.