Thorne Guy
The Great Acceptance: The Life Story of F. N. Charrington
They all agreed to help. Thereupon Mr. Charrington called in the assistance of well-known temperance workers, and started on his own part. The various churches in the metropolis and the temperance societies all entered into the scheme, with the exception of the Salvation Army, who would not join as a body. Mr. Charrington's warmest supporter was Cardinal Manning, who brought all his people with their bands and consecrated banners.
This was shortly before the Cardinal's death, and Mr. Charrington often recalls with great interest the visit that he paid to the Cardinal in relation to this matter.
One of Mr. Charrington's honorary secretaries, Mr. Samuel Insull, accompanied him to the residence, and, not knowing that Mr. Charrington was already very intimate with the Cardinal, he said, "Do you know Mr. Charrington, Your Eminence?" who replied, "I should think I did know Mr. Charrington," and, laying his wasted hand upon Mr. Charrington's shoulder, he said "God bless him!"
It is sufficient to say here that the whole demonstration turned out to be the greatest success ever accomplished in the temperance cause. So great were the numbers attending, that when, at the close of the meeting, people were passing out from the gates, the end of the procession was still coming in at the other end of the park. It is calculated that there were at least over two hundred thousand people assembled.
Mr. George Nokes, familiarly known as the Bishop of Whitechapel, has for long years been one of Mr. Charrington's most trusty lieutenants in conducting the total abstinence propaganda amongst the poor, with whom he is a great favourite.
The more I write of this biography – and my pleasant labours are now coming to a pleasant conclusion – the more I marvel at the unequal way in which honours are bestowed in this country.
We all know the famous joke made by "Punch" when that satirical journal coined the word "beerage" as a substitute for "peerage." Sir Wilfred Lawson, himself a great friend and earnest supporter of Mr. Charrington, commented upon this fact over and over again. In all his public speeches he drove it home, and in light verse, for which he had a pretty talent, he again pointed the moral. I have in my possession a book lent me by Mr. Charrington, consisting of cartoons by Sir Frank Carruthers Gould, of the Westminster Gazette, and Sir Wilfred Lawson, who supplied the accompanying verses. The book was published some years ago by Mr. Fisher Unwin, and was entitled Cartoons in Rhyme and Verse. Upon the title page there was a characteristic note "to the reader," by Sir Wilfred, who said,
"If any one thinks that these verses are 'rot,'
I'm the very last person to say they are not."
Despite Sir Wilfred's humbleness, I have no hesitation in saying that if the verses in question have no literary form, they nevertheless go straight to the point.
I will quote two of them.
"THE BREWER'S POWER
Who to the heathen far away,
Send Christian men to preach and pray,
And bring them to a brighter day?
My Brewer.
Who, when aloud the poor have cried,
And poverty is raging wide,
Has means of charity supplied?
My Brewer.
Who fills his pocket with the sale
Of porter, beer, and generous ale,
Which crowd the workhouse and the gaol?
My Brewer.
Who fills our slums with waifs and strays?
Who havoc with our nation plays,
And brings disgrace on all our ways?
My Brewer.
Who is it bosses all the show,
As through this curious world we go,
And dominates both high and low?
My Brewer."
And again,
"THE BISHOP AND THE BREWER
Said the Bishop to the Brewer, 'Sir, I very greatly fear,
From all that I have heard, that you adulterate your beer.
Said the Brewer to the Bishop, 'Nay, that really is not true;
Who told you such a story? I insist on knowing who.'
But the Bishop he was silent as to what they put in beer,
He didn't seem to have, in fact, the very least idea.
For in all his great researches, both in pamphlet and in 'vol.,'
It never really struck him that it must be alcohol.
Sir William Gull has told us how the world by this is cursed,
That alcohol of all bad things is just the very worst.
But the Bishop – dear, good man! – he still has got a strong idea,
That there's something very charming in the purity of beer.
Oh! these Bishops and these Brewers, I really greatly fear,
They will never, never solve this point about what's in the beer.
But the land is full of sorrow, and there's little hope of cure,
Unless these wise men hit upon a beer that's really 'pure.'
Then let us set to work, boys, with heart, and hope, and cheer,
And help them all we can to get 'The Purity of Beer.'
'Tis beer which keeps in comfort – as by every one is known,
The Brewer in his mansion, and the Bishop on his throne.
The British Constitution, and all we value here —
Church, Army, Navy, Parliament – it's corner-stone is beer."
The brewer, because he amasses a large fortune out of beer, is ennobled.
The ex-brewer – Frederick Charrington, for instance – who gives up an enormous sum for conscience' sake, and an enormous sum again made from beer, remains unhonoured, save by the love and adherence of his own people in the East End. If Frederick Charrington had mixed up an active political propaganda with his Christian work, by now he would have received a baronetcy or at least a knighthood. If he had been merely a paid secretary of some philanthropic organisation, he might yet have been knighted – as more than one recent ennoblement shows. But because he gave up everything, and worked for his Master, without pandering to this or that political party – though in politics he is a Liberal – the accolade has never come in his way. From his own point of view I know such an honour would count as nothing. It is for other, and unworldly honours, that he has lived his life. But, as a recognition of his self-sacrifice and devotion, surely some public acknowledgment from the throne would be a very proper thing?
The poor people are not snobbish. It matters nothing to Mr. Charrington's million or so of humble friends whether he is "Mr." or "Sir." But – and of this fact I am thoroughly persuaded – they would regard any honour which His Majesty might be pleased to confer upon him as not only well-merited, but in some sort a fitting recompense for a life of work and devotion almost unequalled in the annals of our time.
I will conclude this chapter of special reference to temperance work by quoting a poem dealing directly with Frederick Charrington, and which has had a very considerable success.
I take it from the Gordon League Ballads, written by "Jim's Wife," who in reality is Mrs. Clement Nugent Jackson. The book is entitled More Gordon League Ballads, and was published by Skeffington & Son last year.
The first series of these ballads sold in many thousands, and as dramatic stories in verse for reading or reciting at temperance meetings, they can hardly be surpassed. Nearly all of them are founded on fact, as is "A Brave Man," which I give below.
I make no apology for the inclusion of this verse. It is thoroughly representative of what is publicly thought about Frederick Charrington by his innumerable friends and admirers.
A BRAVE MAN
Brave men – I say it humble,
Are common on English ground;
Common as spires and chimneys
Whenever you walk around;
But the man of whom I'm thinking was brave with a bravery rare —
Ah! a hundred times rarer than rubies – in England or anywhere.
I am thinking of a Brewer.
This may take you by surprise!
But the tale has fact to rest on,
And is not a pack of lies.
He was rolling rich and generous – generous to every one.
A Brewer and a Gentleman, John Sidney Donaldson.
He sent big cheques to Hospitals,
And for Children's Holidays,
And to Unemployed Relief Funds,
And Homes for Waifs and Strays.
He was kind to all poor people and meant to do 'em good!
Though he knew but precious little about the neighbourhood
In which the greatest number of his licensed houses stood!
'Twas the poorest part of London,
Drink-riddled through and through,
But his agents worked the business,
And all John Donaldson knew
Was how it looked on paper
And the dividends he drew.
He was Member for a County that was like a garden ground,
For blossom and for beauty and for orchards smiling round.
And you always found him willing,
To open his Manor gates
For Band of Hope rejoicings,
And Sports, and Temperance Fêtes.
When Parliament was sitting,
It happened, one spring day,
He visited his brewery.
And strolling up that way —
Alone, and sort of curious to see what he would meet —
As he passed a gorgeous public, gilded and tiled complete,
He saw a tipsy woman flung out into the street.
The man who flung her savage,
Went back inside the place;
She fell upon the curb-stone
And cut her head and face.
And she wasn't more than thirty. 'I'll give that man in charge!
Says John Donaldson a-blazing, for his heart was big and large,
Too large to hurt a woman —
And then he went across
To lift the tipsy creature,
And I've heard him say – a Force
Like twenty batteries struck him, and made his eyes see fire!
For painted on the house-front was – Donaldson's Entire!
He looked up at the sign-board.
The house was his own tied house.
A new one – not long opened —
And called 'The Running Grouse.'
He'd meant to call that man out. He'd meant to make a row.
And send for a policeman – but he couldn't do it now.
Something rose up and held him. The crowd that ran to stare,
Said the woman's home was handy, so he helped to take her there,
And a wretched hole he found it!..
A man was up the stairs,
Trying to cook his dinner,
And give five children theirs.
Just home from his work – poor devil
He looked up with a frown
When he saw what they were bringing —
'Ah!' he says, 'Chuck 'er down.
If you'd brought 'er in 'er coffing
I'd 'ave tipped yer 'arf-a-crown.'
'Your wife is hurt and bleeding,'
John Sidney Donaldson said.
'My wife,' groans the husband bitter,
'I wish she was yourn instead!'
And he picks up his yelling baby,
And crams its mouth with bread.
'Tain't the fust time she's a-bleedin'. 'Ere's a 'appy 'ome,' says he.
'That's the mother of my childring! an' she don't get drunk on tea!
Bright and 'appy, ain't we, guv'nor?
I dunno who you are,
But "The Running Grouse" 'ave done it —
With its dirty Private Bar!'
He shook his fist out of the window – 'We don't want it 'ere.
My wife was a sober woman, and it's ruined her in a year!
A curse on the 'ouse, an' the landlord!
An' I'll say it till I'm dead…'
John Donaldson gave him a sovereign,
And went out with a hanging head.
He haunted that part of London
For three whole months and more;
And he saw what Brewers seldom see,
What he'd never faced before.
He saw the truth stark naked – not glossed or veiled or hid,
He saw with his own eye open that harm that his own beer did.
He saw for himself – John Sidney,
Wherever his Houses stood,
A Force that worked for evil,
That did not work for good.
He saw – he was bound to see it – in the slums the drink-shops made,
Christ's flag torn down and trampled by the brute heel of the Trade.
He saw, laid bare as murder
Done in the broad daylight,
The base and ceaseless tempting
That goes on day and night.
The tempting of men and women already weak in will,
And poor enough in pocket, to be poorer and weaker still.
'We didn't want it 'ere!'… No!
And they didn't want it there!
Yet here it was, and there it was,
For ever! Everywhere!
The Tied House in the open,
The Hidden Drinking lair,
The Spirit Vault, the Cellars, the Private Bar and seat,
Calling from every corner and tempting from every street!
The cries, the blows, the curses,
Entered into his ears.
He saw his golden profits
Blackened with blood and tears.
He saw – as angels see them – the facts of what has grown
The saddest money-making the world has ever known.
And when he'd seen it fairly,
He didn't turn and run!
In a hurry to forget it!
As many would have done.
He wasn't built that way,
John Sidney Donaldson.
He took and thought for over half a year.
And then he made his mind up – steady and firm and clear —
To sacrifice his fortune and say good-bye to Beer!
'You're a fool,' said brother Brewers.
'And mad!' said the world outside.
'I've seen … and I can't unsee it,'
John Donaldson replied.
'There are other ways of business that are happier ways and higher,
And I won't make another shilling out of Donaldson's Entire!'
I don't say he turned pauper
And slept upon the boards!
But instead of a man with millions
Heading straight for the House of Lords,
He dropped to a man with hundreds – just heading for nothing at all
But the prize that falls to the conscience which has answered a noble call.
He is living now in London,
Careless of blame or praise.
Working to help the People
In a hundred splendid ways.
Pledged to the cause of Temperance
To the ending of his days.
What he did may be forgotten, or labelled a mistake!
But the sacrifice of riches is a mighty one to make.
I'm proud of this little Island that gave John Donaldson birth
And I place him right in the forefront of the bravest men on earth!"
Since I am quoting a few verses in this chapter, I may perhaps give, as a final specimen, a few sternly vigorous lines which were handed to me by my friend the other day. They express, he told me, his whole sentiments upon the drink question in a nut-shell. They are not in the least my own, but that is not the point – their interest lies in the fact that they represent Frederick Charrington's unalterable convictions in a succinct form.
"LICENSED – TO DO WHAT?
Licensed to make the strong man weak;
Licensed to lay the wise man low;
Licensed a wife's fond heart to break,
And make her children's tears to flow.
Licensed to do thy neighbour harm;
Licensed to kindle hate and strife;
Licensed to nerve the robber's arm;
Licensed to whet the murderer's knife.
Licensed thy neighbour's purse to drain,
And rob him of his very last;
Licensed to heat his feverish brain,
Till madness crown thy work at last.
Licensed, like a spider for a fly,
To spread thy nets for man, thy prey;
To mock his struggles —suck him dry,
Then cast the worthless hulk away.
Licensed, where peace and quiet dwell,
To bring disease, and want, and woe;
Licensed to make this world a hell,
And fit man for a hell below."
"Call up the dead from their cold, cold graves
And summon up memory's link,
And see if human tongue can tell,
The millions damned through drink."
To sum up and crystallise his great temperance efforts, Mr. Charrington has invented a concrete symbol of them. The initials B.R.O.T.A. stand for "The Blue Ring of Total Abstinence," which is entirely Mr. Charrington's idea, and serves as a badge that unites abstainers throughout the whole world.
This ring is made of metal and blue enamel, bearing the aforesaid initials. It can be had in cheap metal, while for richer people it is manufactured in gold set with diamonds. In itself it is a beautiful and decorative thing. As a symbol, as a cementing of the great brotherhood of abstainers formed by Mr. Charrington, it is unique. Mr. Charrington invariably wears one of these rings himself, and from the farthest parts of the world applications for them are daily received.
We now pass to the final chapter of this book, where we see Frederick Charrington in an entirely new setting.
THE LAST CHAPTER
LORD OF THE MANOR OF OSEA
You have seen the subject of this memoir under very many changing circumstances, the central figure in one lurid scene after another, but there is a side to Frederick Charrington's life as strangely contrasted as possible to nearly all I have hitherto written.
My readers will not have accompanied me so far without realising that in Mr. Charrington is an unique personality. No one has done what he has done, and the originality of temperament has always been curiously aided and abetted by originality and strangeness of circumstance. I venture to think that this chapter illustrates not the least interesting of the great missioner's activities. Certainly he again appears against a background without parallel in English life to-day.
A few years ago – many people will remember it – the press of Great Britain was full of articles upon Osea Island.
Mr. Charrington, it was announced, had purchased this island, lock, stock, and barrel, and was about to develop it as a seaside and health resort, while at the same time carrying out the great temperance scheme.
The whole of the island was to be let or sold under express conditions that no license of any kind whatever would be permitted, or clubs for the sale of intoxicating drink.
Osea was to be, in short, a Temperance Island, and as such was to stand alone in the United Kingdom.
The announcements which appeared at the time of which I am speaking created an extraordinary amount of interest.
The Spectator said —
"Mr. F. N. Charrington is about to try a most interesting experiment – the effect of total prohibition under fair conditions. He has purchased the well-wooded island of Osea, on the coast of Essex, and intends to turn it into a seaside resort in which the manufacture, sale, and consumption of alcohol will be absolutely prohibited. No license of any kind will be granted, and stringent conditions as to intoxicants will be inserted in all the leases. The island, in fact, will be a large sanatorium conducted on strict temperance principles, and will, it is probable, be in the first place a resort for the great number of persons who wish to break themselves finally of the habit of excess in drinking. The evidence which will gradually accumulate will, we hope, be sifted with much care, and will help to settle three disputed points. Will total abstinence for a time eradicate the desire for drink? – a question upon which the evidence of prisoners is by no means hopeful. Does total abstinence develop, as many affirm, a tendency to the use of drugs such as opium and ether? – a doubt suggested by the mass of experience acquired in the East. Has total abstinence any effect in diminishing working energy? Teetotalers declare with one voice that this question is already answered in the negative; but none of the Northern races as yet show themselves convinced, though there is an approach to the conviction manifest in Canada."
Nearly every paper of any importance in the kingdom devoted considerable space to Mr. Charrington's new scheme.
Near New York there is another island where no intoxicants can be obtained, and it was hearing of this that first gave Mr. Charrington his idea as to the purchase of Osea.
The thought of a drink-barred domain arose in his mind as a logical outcome of his forty years experience in dealing with the miseries and vices of the poor in East London. The work for temperance naturally brought Mr. Charrington into contact with all sorts and conditions of people, and it was not only the slaves of the fiend alcohol in the lower classes – he saw many members of the upper classes going down to their destruction no less surely than their poorer brethren.
He made inquiries, and thought over the whole problem with sustained and earnest attention.
He found that while there were several sanatoria for well-to-do inebriates scattered up and down the country, yet, in nearly every case, such retreats were in proximity to the public-house. No one knew better than he to what lengths the inebriate will go when the craving is upon him, and he found that the unhappy victims who were confined in grounds often very limited in extent would either cunningly or violently break away and secure alcohol.
It was then, while meditating upon the best methods to adopt in rescuing inebriates, that Mr. Charrington noticed a report of the fact that a New York temperance society had purchased an island for a retreat or a sanatorium. Here, it seemed to him, was a thoroughly admirable solution of the problem. Proprietorship of an island precluded the incoming of drink across the silver streak of sea, and at the same time, the domain was large enough in extent to make living upon it perfectly pleasant and without any sense of confinement.
One cannot, however, go to Whiteley's and order an island, and there was still the problem of finding one which should be suitable for the purpose. It was solved at last by the purchase of Osea.
Nothing could have been more convenient. The island is a real island. It is always surrounded by deep water on three sides, while on the other the mainland is reached by a road called "The Hard" about a mile long, and only uncovered at low tide.
Shortly after the acquisition of Osea Mr. Charrington stated his plans to an interviewer. How these plans have been extended I shall proceed to say, but meanwhile it is interesting to read the proprietor's views at the time, when the island had only just become his own.
The interviewer of Household Words wrote —
"I had noted in a contemporary: 'Mr. Charrington has long been a power in the East End, where his name is a household word,' and I thought it would be in the eternal fitness of things if I interviewed him for Household Words. As Honorary Superintendent of the Tower Hamlets Mission he is naturally a very busy man, and as soon as he could give me a few moments I put the question to him —
"'What is the main idea of this new scheme of yours of a teetotal island?'
"'It is not altogether new,' was the reply, 'for the same idea has been carried out on various properties owned by temperance landowners of not allowing drink licenses on any part of their property, as is the case with the Corbett estates; but the good work has been rendered ineffectual by drink being obtainable on adjoining property.'
"'Drink would not be obtainable in inebriate homes,' I suggested.
"'Inebriate homes situated in ordinary neighbourhoods experience the same difficulty,' he exclaimed. 'Inmates afflicted with the accursed craving will scale high walls and walk miles to obtain drink. You would not credit the trouble they would take, the fatigue they would undergo, and the risks to life and limb they would run to procure alcohol. It is only a man who has spent a lifetime in a practical study of the question who can realise its difficulties.'
"'And you anticipate much good from the acquisition of Osea?'
"'In many ways, yes. As a retreat for those whose removal from all chance of temptation is a necessity it will be perfect. Instead of being confined within four walls, like being in a prison, they will be able to roam at large for four miles. Already I have had applications from persons wishing to buy building plots for inebriate homes, convalescent homes, and from one lady M.D., who desires to erect a house for her patients suffering from nerve trouble, and to whom the quiet will be invaluable.'
"'Will it be populated entirely by invalids and inebriates?'
"'Oh, dear, no! Yachting men have applied for sites for bungalows, and can have them on agreeing to the non-intoxicant clause. It will be a very delightful temperance seaside resort. The island is well wooded, with high elms running in single lines north and south and east and west, the trees being in centre of avenues, and by planting young trees on either side we shall get double avenues, as in Chicago and Berlin.'
"'Have you commenced to build yet?'
"'Only workmen's cottages for the builders' men to live in, and these will be picturesque, half-timbered dwellings, similar to those in the city of Chester.'
"'And you anticipate a commercial success for your philanthropic investment?'
"'Most decidedly. Since I acquired Osea at a remarkably moderate cost, I have seen two other islands offered for sale for the same purpose, one near Tenby, and one in Scotland, at £28,000 and £18,000 respectively, which figures are a great contrast to mine, and Osea has the great attraction of being the nearest seaside resort to London.'
"'How do you reach it?'
"'By Great Eastern Railway to Maldon in Essex, and thence by a steamer which has been purchased, which now runs twice a day, the distance being only five miles.'
"'And Osea is not a desert island?'
"'It never has been since the Conquest. In the Doomsday Survey Book (1086) there had always previously been on the island three serfs, one fisherman, and pasture for sixty sheep. If needed there would be room for 10,000 people. Osea has many natural attractions. It abounds with most curious marine plants and shrubs, and is so wild that some of the sea-gulls, the tuke, the stone-runner, and the bar-goose have taken to breeding on the shore.'
"To be able to enjoy life on an island within forty miles of the metropolis, including sea-bathing, fishing and shooting, has the wonderful charm of novelty, to say nothing of its freedom from the pandemonium created by drinking trippers. This of itself ought to draw all London holiday-makers, and we wish Mr. Charrington success in his noble efforts to promote temperance amongst the people, and trust he may have the gratification of seeing his most sanguine hopes realised and his self-sacrificing labours truly and thoroughly appreciated."
In a book such as this, which purports to be a comprehensive history of Frederick Charrington's life, and which will be the only lengthy biography of him ever written with his sanction, it is necessary that I should give some account of the island with which his name will always be associated.
I propose, in the first instance, to tell the history of the island from the very earliest times, and afterwards to describe it in detail and to say something of my life with Mr. Charrington there. It may have struck some of my readers that up to the present I have said little or nothing about the great evangelist's personality. When I began this book I decided to leave this intimate part of the biography to the very last chapter. I designed to draw a pen picture of the man as he is to-day, as he lives upon the island which is his home among the simple things of nature.
In the first place, to the history of Osea. This has been compiled by his friend Mr. Rupert Scott for an excellent little publication issued by Messrs. Partridge, which is in itself a complete guide to the island.
Mr. Scott tells us that before the Norman Conquest the name of this jewel of the Blackwater was Uvesia, and later Ovesey or Osey.
"During the reign of Edward the Confessor (1042-1066) it was owned by one Turbert, who was Lord of the district.
"At the time of the Norman Conquest it was in the possession of one Hamo Dapifer, nephew to William the Conqueror. He held it as a manor, and four hides of land, and there resided on it one bordar or resident. According to the Doomsday survey book (1086), there had always previously been on the island three serfs, one fisherman, and pasture for sixty sheep, and at the time of the survey belonged to the Bouchier family, afterwards created Earls of Essex; and was included in the Capital Manor, or Parish of Great Totham.
"During the reign of Henry II (1154-1189), it was held by Henry Malache, from the king, as one knight's fee. This is found in a MS. of the time of Henry VIII, viz.: 'Totham Magne cum Ovesem, alias Ovesey.' It is not known how this Henry Malache was related to the Bouchier family.
"In the reign of Edward II (1315), the Island of Osea was owned by Gilbart de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, and then came into the possession of Bartholomew de Bouchier and his wife, who retained it from 1410-1411 under Henry VI.
"Its next owner was Sir Hugh Stafford, who married Elizabeth, daughter of Bartholomew, Lord Bouchier, who died in 1420, and was held 'by him as the Manor of Oveseye from King Henry V, as the Honor of Bologne, by the service of half a knight's fee.'
"The island next came into the hands of one Ludovic Robbesart, and Elizabeth his wife, in 1431, during the reign of Henry V, and upon their death for the following two years was held by Anne, widow of the Earl of March.
"The next possessor of Ovesey Island was Henry Bouchier, created first Earl of Essex, and he held the manor of Totham-Oveseye from King Edward VI, and died in 1483.
"He was followed by Anne Bouchier, Marchioness of Northampton, who brought the island to her husband under the title of 'Manor or Isle of Ovesey, with free fishery, free warren, and wrec of the sea.' She died in 1570, during Queen Elizabeth's reign. Her husband forfeited his estates for espousing the cause of Lady Jane Grey, but this Manor of Ovesey was returned to him by a letter patent from the Queen dated August 8, 1558, for his maintenance.
"On the death of the above Anne Bouchier, Marchioness of Northampton, this manor descended to the heir-at-law, one Walter Devereux, who was the first Earl of Essex of that name; but in order to carry on his warfare in Ireland he mortgaged and sold his estates in Essex, including 'Ovesey Island,' which was purchased by a Mr. Thomas Wiseman, of Great Waltham, as, or 'in the name of one tenement, isle, or land surrounded with water in Great Totham' and called 'Awsey,' otherwise 'Ovesey.' Mr. Wiseman held it of Queen Elizabeth by a Knight's service. He died July 15, 1584, without issue.
"It then came into the possession of his two sisters, Elizabeth, wife of Richard Jennings, and Dorothy Wiseman.
"Osea Island was purchased by a Mr. Charles Coe, of Maldon, but it is not known from whom, and it was still owned by him at the time of his death in 1786, and afterwards was conveyed to the Pigott family, who were evidently related to him, because on the south wall of St. Peter's Church at Maldon there is a mural monument to 'John Coe Pigott,' and dated March, 1802.
"The next owner of the island known was Mrs. Pigott, who married Henry Coape, and was succeeded by his son, Henry Coe Coape, who, through troubles, had to make it over to his brother."
Few spots of only a comparatively small acreage have so well-defined and localised a history as this, and the knowledge of what Osea was, no less than what it is, adds a unique interest to Mr. Charrington's possession.
I arrived at Osea Island, where nearly the whole of this book has been written, upon a bright afternoon in June. The run from Liverpool Street to Maldon is quite a short one, and on descending from the train at the little old-world Essex station, it was difficult to believe that the island of which I had heard so much, and on which, as it has turned out, I was to spend so many happy days, was really within reach.
