Thorne Guy
A Lost Cause

CHAPTER VII
THE OFFICES OF THE "LUTHER LEAGUE" – AN INTERIOR

On the first floor of a building in the Strand, wedged in between a little theatre and a famous restaurant, the offices of the "Luther League" were established, and by late autumn were in the full swing of their activity.

Visitors to this stronghold of Protestantism mounted a short flight of stairs and arrived in a wide passage. Four or five doors opening into it all bore the name of the association in large letters of white enamel. The first door bore the legend:

"PUBLISHING AND GENERAL OFFICE INQUIRIES"

This room, the one by which the general public were admitted to the inner sanctuaries, was a large place fitted up with desks and glass compartments in much the same way as the ordinary clerks' office of a business house. A long counter divided the room, and upon it were stacked piles of the newly published pamphlet literature of the League. Here could be seen that stirring narrative, Cowed by the Confessional; or, The Story of an English Girl in the Power of the "Priests." This publication, probably the cheapest piece of pornography in print at the moment, was published, with an illustration, at three pence. Upon the cover a priest – for some unexplained reason in full eucharistic vestments – was pointing sternly to the armour-plated door of a grim confessional, while a trembling lady in a large picture hat shrunk within.

This little book was flanked by what appeared to be a semi-jocular work called Who Said Reredos? and bore upon its cover the already distinguished name of Samuel Hamlyn, Jr. The eye fell upon that popular pamphlet in a wrapper of vivid scarlet – now in its sixtieth thousand – known as Bow to the "Altar" and Light Bloody Mary's Torture Fires Again.

As Soon Pay the Devil as the Priest lay by the side of a more elaborately bound volume on which was the portrait of a lady. Beneath the picture appeared the words of the title, My Escape; or, How I Became a Protestant, by Jane Pritchett.

Two clerks wrote in the ledgers on the desks, attended to visitors, and looked after what was known in the office as the "counter trade" – to distinguish it from the sale of Protestant literature in bulk, which was managed direct from the "Luther League Printing Works, Hornham, N."

A second room opening into the general office was tenanted by the assistant secretary of the League, Mr. Samuel Hamlyn, Junior. Here the walls were decorated with scourges, horribly knotted and thonged; "Disciplines," which were belts and armlets of sharp iron prickles, designed to wear the skin of the toughest Ritualist into an open sore after three days' wear. There were also two hair shirts, apparently the worse for wear, and a locked bookcase of Ritualistic literature with a little index expurgatorius in the neat, clerkly writing of Sam Hamlyn, and compiled by that gentleman himself.

In this chamber of horrors, the assistant secretary delighted to move and have his being, and three or four times a day it was his pleasing duty to show friends of the League and its yearly subscribers, the penitential machinery by which the priest-ridden public was secretly invited to hoist itself to heaven.

The innermost room of all was where Mr. Hamlyn, Senior, himself transacted the multifarious and growing business of his organisation. The secretary sat at a large roll-top desk, and a substantial safe stood at his right hand. An air of brisk business pervaded this sanctum. The directories, almanacs, and account-books all contributed to it, and the end of a speaking-tube, which led to the outer office, was clipped to the arm of the revolving chair.

Three portraits adorned the wall. From a massive gold frame the features of that fiery Protestant virgin, Miss Pritchett, stared blandly down into the room. Opposite it was a large photograph of Mr. Hamlyn himself, with upraised hand and parted lips – in the very act and attitude of making one of his now familiar protests. The third in this trio of Protestant champions was a drawing of Martin Luther himself, "representing the Reformer," as Mr. Hamlyn was wont to say, "singing for joy at the waning power of Rome." The artist of this picture, however, being a young gentleman of convivial tastes, had portrayed the "Nightingale of Wittemberg" in a merry mood, remembering, perhaps, Carlyle's remark, "there is laughter in this Luther," or perhaps – as is indeed most probable – remembering little of the great man but his authorship of the ditty that concludes:

 
Who loves not women, wine, and song
Will be a fool his whole life long.
 

Fortunately, Mr. Hamlyn, whose historical studies had been extremely restricted, did not know of this effort – just as he did not know that to the end of his life the student of Erfurt steadily proclaimed his belief in the Real Presence in the Eucharist.

About ten o'clock on a grey, cold November morning, the two Hamlyns arrived at the offices of the Luther League together, walked briskly up the stairs, and, with a curt "good morning" to the clerks, entered the innermost room together.

People who had known the father and son six months ago, seeing them now, would have found a marked, though subtle, difference in both of them.

They were much better dressed, for one thing. The frock-coats were not made in Hornham, the silk hats were glossy and with the curly brims of the fashion. Both still suggested a more than nodding acquaintance with religious affairs in their costume, some forms of Christianity always preferring to evince themselves by the style of a cravat or the texture of a cloth.

Confidence had never been lacking in either of the two, but now the sense of power and success had increased it, and had also imposed a certain quietness and gravity which impressed people. Here, at any rate, were two men of affairs, men whose names were beginning to be known throughout the land, and Mr. Hamlyn's manner of preoccupation and thought was only natural after all in one who (as his son would remark to Protestant visitors) "practically held the fortunes of the Church in his hands, and was destroying the Catholic wolves with the sword of Protestant Truth."

The two men took off their overcoats and hung them up. Then Mr. Hamlyn, from mere force of old habit, pulled at his cuffs – in order to lay them aside during business hours. Finding that he could not withdraw them, for increasing position and emolument had seemed to necessitate the wearing of a white shirt, he sat down with a half sigh for the freedom and comfort of an earlier day and began to open the large pile of correspondence on the table before him.

"We'll take the cash first, Sam," he said, pulling a small paper-knife from a drawer.

Sam opened a note-book in which the first rough draughts of matter relating to this most important subject were entered, preparatory to being copied out into one of the ledgers in the outer office.

Hamlyn began to slit up the letters with a practised hand. Those that contained the sinews of war he read with a running comment, others were placed in a basket for further consideration.

"'Well-wisher,' five shillings; 'Well-wisher,' £2 0 0, by cheque, Sam. 'Ethel and her sisters,' ten and six – small family that, I should think! 'Protestant,' five pounds – a note, Sam, take the number. It's curious that 'Protestant' always gives most. Yesterday seven 'Protestants' totalled up to fourteen, twelve, six, while five 'Well-wishers' worked out at slightly under three shillings a head. What's this? Ah! cheque for a guinea and a letter on crested paper! Enter up the address and make a note to send half a dozen Bloody Marys, one Miss Pritchett's Escape, and a few Pay the Devils. During the last week or two, the upper classes have been rallying to the flag. They're the people. I'll send this woman the ten-guinea subscription form and ask her to be one of the vice-presidents. Listen here:

Margravine House,

Leicester

Lady Johnson begs to enclose a cheque for one guinea to aid Mr. Hamlyn in his splendid Crusade against the Ritualists. She would be glad to hear full details of the "Luther League" and its objects. She wonders why Mr. Hamlyn has confined his protests against Romanism in the guise of English Churchmanship to the London district, and would point out that in her own neighbourhood there is a hot-bed of Ritualism which should be exposed."

Sam went to the book shelf and took down a Peerage. "She's the wife of a knight," he said, "one of the city knights."

"Probably very well off," said Mr. Hamlyn. "We'll nail her for the Cause! See that the books go off at once, and I'll write her a personal letter during the day."

He rubbed his hands together with a movement of inexpressible satisfaction. His keen face was lighted up with the pleasures of power and success.

"She's got her own axe to grind," remarked Sam. "Had a flare-up with the local parson, I expect."

"Shouldn't wonder," replied his father indifferently. "Here's two p.o.'s, one for seven bob and one for three. From a Wesleyan minister at Camborne in Cornwall. I'll put him down to be written to under the local helpers' scheme. His prayers'll be with us, he says!" Mr. Sam sniffed impatiently as he wrote down the sum in his book.

In a few more minutes, the contributions were all booked up and the Church of England – as represented by these two eminent laymen – was bulwarked against the enemies to the extent of some seventeen pounds.

"Now," said Mr. Hamlyn, "let's take the press-cuttings next." He opened a large envelope.

A day or two before Mr. Hamlyn had varied his pleasant little habit of turning up during the most solemn moments of a church service and brawling until he was ejected with more or less force, being brought up at a police-court a day or two afterwards and paying the fine imposed upon him with a cheque from Miss Pritchett. During the blessing of a new peal of bells in a provincial cathedral, he had risen and read a paper of protest. He had read the paper in a low, hurried voice, and the disturbance had been purely local and attracted but little attention in the huge building. In a moment, almost, the secretary of the Luther League had been conducted to the door of the building by vigilant vergers.

But the commotion in the press next morning had been enormous. Lurid reports of this great protest appeared in leaded type, comment of every kind filled the papers, and their editors were inundated with letters on the subject. As an editor himself, Mr. Hamlyn well understood the interior machinery of a newspaper office, and was perfectly well acquainted with the various methods by which things get into print. He began to examine the cuttings from the weekly papers that Durrant's had sent him.

"All goes on well," he said at length. "It really is astonishing the space they give us! Who'd have thought it six months ago! Don't they go for the League in some of them! Just listen to this, it's the finish of a column in Vigilance:

"'… and I shall therefore await the publication of the promised balance-sheet of this precious "League" with more than usual interest. Such an indecent and futile campaign as this deserves to be thoroughly scrutinised.'"

"That's nasty, Pa," said Sam.

"It don't matter in the least. Our League is perfectly honest and above-board, thank goodness! We shall publish the balance-sheet, of course. We are doing a great and glorious work for Hengland, and the labourer is worthy of his hire. We are perfectly justified in taking our salaries. What does a parson do? And, besides no one reads Vigilance that's likely to give Protestant campaigns a penny. It's a society paper. Religious people don't see it."

"Quite so. And all the Protestant papers are with us; that's the great thing."

"Exactly, even the old established evangelical papers like the Church Recorder daren't say anything against us. You see our advertisements are worth such a lot to 'em! Half the Low Church papers can't pay their way, the big advertisers won't look at them. All the money goes to the Church Standard and the other Ritualistic rags. The Standard's one of the best paying properties in London. So the Low Church papers can't do without us. Wait a year, Sam, and we'll have our own paper, put in some Fleet Street hack as editor, publish at a separate office, and charge the account what we like for our own articles."

"Our position is practically unassailable, as far as I can see."

"It's just that, my boy – as long as people send in the money. But gradually we shall find London getting dry. It's all right now that the boom's on, but the novelty of the thing will wear off after a bit. And what we want is to get ourselves so strong that the League will go on for ever! Now, I look on it in this way: Much as I 'ate the Ritualists and love true Henglish Protestantism" – Mr. Hamlyn's face grew full of fervour as he said this – "much as I 'ate Romanising tricks and such, I'm jolly well certain that neither we nor any one else is going to make much difference to them! They're too strong, Sam. You'll find a red-hot Ritualist would give up his arms and legs for his carryings-on. Ritualism's getting stronger and stronger. They've got the best men for parsons, and you see those chaps aren't in it for their own game, as a rule. They live like paupers and give all they've got away. Well, that gives 'em grip."

"Silly fools," said Sam contemptuously.

"Poor deluded tools of Rome," said Mr. Hamlyn, who, now that his great mission was an accomplished fact, was really beginning to believe in it himself. "Well, my point is this: Ritualism will never stop. It's too well organised, and the clergy are too well educated. And most of 'em are 'class' too. It all tells."

"Well, then, if our efforts aren't going to do any good, in a year or so the public will notice that, and the public will stop subscribing."

"Not a bit of it, Sam, you don't see as deep as I do. As long as we keep the question prominent, it will be all right. First of all, we shall always get the Nonconformist contribution. In every town, the Nonconformist minister can be trusted to stir up people against a Ritualistic 'priest,' especially if he's vowed to celibacy. Married ones get on better. But what I'm coming to is this: All over Hengland there are parishes where the vicar is more or less of a Romaniser. But he's personally liked, perhaps, or no one makes the protest. But in every parish, experience shows there's two or three prominent folk who hate the vicar. Now, where there's a spark a flame can be got. It's all very well to go and protest in a parish where there's a strong feeling against Ritualism – like St. Elwyn's, for example. But think of the hundreds of parishes where people jog along quite content, not knowing the darkness in which they're groping! Now, we'll stir these places up, we'll raise the flag of the League in places which have been going along quiet and peaceable for years. There won't be a church from which we can't get some people away. The Luther League shall become a household word from John o' Groat's to Land's End."

"Good scheme, Father, if you can do it. But think of the work, and think of the risks of letting any one else into the League. We might find ourselves in the second place some day."

"Not at all, Sam. Not as I've worked it out. You ought to know that I never start anything without going careful into the details."

"Sorry, Father. Let's have the plan."

"I'm going to start a band of 'Luther Lecturers' to carry Protestant Truth into the 'idden places. I'm beginning with six young fellows I've got. They'll travel all over the country, holding open-air meetings of agitation, with a collection for the League – making public protests in such churches as I give the order to be gone for, and lecturing on what Ritualism really is. Now, these chaps will have two lectures. I've had 'em written already. One's on the Mass, another's on the confessional, – hot Protestant stuff. They'll go like wild fire. The young men'll learn these lectures off by heart and deliver 'em with local allusions to the vicars of the parishes as they come to. I've got a supply of the illegal wafers as the Ritualists use for the Lord's Supper. Each lecture'll have one or two to show in the meetings. He'll pull it out and show the poor deluded people the god of flour and water their priests tell 'em to worship. There's lots of real humour in the lectures. They'll fire the popular imagination. Every crowd likes to hear a parson abused. I got the idea of humour and fun in the lectures from the Salvation Army. You see, we want to reach the class of folk as don't mind standing round a street-corner meeting and listening. The Army makes it pay wonderfully! But they only attack sin. They don't bother what a man does as long as he's good. We're attacking Rome in the Henglish Church, and it's remarkable what a lot of ridiculous things and points I've got into these lectures. There's one thing, for instance, that'll keep all a crowd on the grin – I mean the directions to a 'priest' if an insect gets into the 'consecrated' wine. It has to be burnt. Can't you see the lecturer with his 'Now, my friends, I ask you what a poor little spider's done to be used like that?' It's all an unworked mine! And you see there's no answer to it! A Ritualist 'priest' who comes to argue – of course, discussion will be invited – is bound to get left. He'll be so solemn and that, that the ordinary man in the street won't understand a word he's driving at. My men'll win every time. You'll see."

"As usual, Pa," said Sam, "you've hit on a good thing. It'll extend the League wonderful. But what about your men – where'll you get 'em? and what guarantee will you have that they won't rob the League?"

"Oh, that's all thought out. I shall have quite young chaps and pay them about eighteen shillings a week and travelling expenses. Each two or three days they'll have to send in reports as to the work, and each week forward the collection. I shall try, eventually, to get real earnest young men who believe in our glorious Henglish Protestant 'eritage. They won't rob us. I shall get smart young chaps with plenty of bounce and go, but not much education. It's not wanted for popular street-corner work. You get a Ritualist parson coming to try and answer one of my chaps – take the crucifix question, now. My man will talk about Popish idols and that – it's all in the lecture – and all the parson will say is that a crucifix is legal in the Church of Hengland – I believe, as a strict matter of fact, it is. Then my man turns round and tells the crowd that a crucifix is nothing but a dolly on a stick – he gets the laugh, see? The 'priest' can't explain all his humbugging reverence and that in an open-air meeting, with one of my chaps ready with a joke every time he speaks. I've got four out of my six men already, and if the thing hums as I expect, I'll put twenty or thirty in the field at once. They're easy found! There's lots of young chaps connected with chapels that would far rather tour the country attracting attention wherever they go, and do nothing but agitate, than work hard! There's young Moffatt, Peter Moffatt's son. He's a plumber, but he 'ates work. He's got cheek for twenty, and he'll do no end of good. As for the cost, why, the men will pay for themselves over and over again. They'll be well supplied from the central office – extracts from the papers and so on – they'll take local halls and advertise in local papers. I shall expect that each man, if he's any good at all, will pay all his own expenses each week and forward a clear two pounds to me! A man that can't do that, at least, with such backing as we can give him and such a splendid war-cry – well, I wouldn't give twopence for him."

"I see it all clear now," answered Sam, a flush of excitement coming into his face. "And besides the money and extension of the League there will be splendid opportunities for you and me to run down now and then to support our men and get an 'oliday – take Brighton, for instance! It's full of Ritualists. A couple of men could spend a month there."

"And take from two to three hundred pounds, I should think," said the secretary, thoughtfully, "besides dealing an 'orrid blow to the wolves in the fold of the Protestant Henglish Church. We'll have some good protests in Brighton! Then, when our lecturers are fined for brawling, we'll instruct them not to pay the fine, but to go to prison for a fortnight instead! Of course, it'll be considered 'andsomely in their salaries. Then we'll send them round the country with a magic lantern and a rousing lecture. 'Imprisoned by the Romanisers,' 'In Gaol for the Protestant Faith!' or something like that."

"That's fine," said Sam, in an ecstasy of enjoyment. "Why, Father, the whole thing grows like a snowball! It must grow."

"Didn't I tell you, six months ago?" said Mr. Hamlyn. "Look at us then and now! What were we then? Nothing, 'ardly. What are we now? Directors of a big concern, becoming known all over Hengland, drawing good salaries, and with all the pleasure of bossing a big show. Look at the printing account the works have against the League, look at our expenses when we've got thirty or more Luther lecturers all over the country! And yet there's nothing risky in it. Nothing at all. No bogus-company promoting, no snide article to sell. We've no limited-liability company act to fear, no treasury investigations. We stand upon solid rock and nobody can't touch us! And why? Because we are championing the freedom of the people's religion, we are fighting for glorious Protestantism!"

"Fancy no one thinking of it before!" said Sam.

Mr. Hamlyn's shrewd, able face beamed with merriment. "Providence," he said, "chooses its own instruments. Now, then, send me in the shorthand clerk; I shall be at work all day. To-night I address a public meeting in the 'Olborn Town Hall, and before ten I'm due to sup with Miss Pritchett. She wants something definite done in St. Elwyn's, and I must think out a slap in the face for Blantyre."

"I'll run round to the bank," said Sam, "and pay this morning's little lot into the general fund, and post the statement to the treasurer."

"Right, my son. What was it?"

"Seventeen pounds odd, Pa."

"Protestants are waking up," said Mr. Hamlyn, "our work for the Cause has a blessing upon it."