When Lord John Russell visited Elba, he was asked by Napoleon, then a prisoner there, whether he thought that his rival, the Duke of Wellington, would be able to live without the excitement of war, which Napoleon used to call “a splendid game.” It seemed incredulous to Napoleon that a man who had shown himself so good a soldier as Wellington should retire into the position of a simple citizen, and Napoleon, little knowing the great man, thought that he would probably use his influence as a statesman to involve his country in war again. To some it may possibly seem strange that Gordon, who had distinguished himself as a soldier, and had saved an empire, should again take up the humble avocation of an engineer officer, but so he did. He was in reality only a captain of engineers, though a brevet lieutenant-colonel in the army, when in February 1865 he returned home. He took a few months’ leave, which he spent quietly at Southampton with his father and mother, shunning all publicity.

On the expiration of his leave he was sent to Gravesend, to superintend the building of some forts for the protection of the Thames. During one of our periodical panics as to the safety of the country, large sums of money were voted for defensive purposes. Gordon’s duties were very subordinate as far as these defences were concerned. The plans were made out by others, and his duty was merely to see them executed. Though he worked very hard in the performance of his duty, he made no secret of the fact that he thoroughly disapproved of the way in which the national money was being wasted. It is said that one day, when the Commander-in-chief came to inspect the progress of the work, Gordon denounced the whole thing most vehemently, and exposed its worthlessness. It is characteristic of the man that he had the courage of his opinions at all times. He must have been carried away a good deal by his feelings, for when he got home that day he said that he might have been put under arrest for the way in which he had denounced the work of his superiors. As it was, his Royal Highness smiled good-naturedly at his vehemence, and took no further notice. But though Gordon thoroughly disapproved of the nature of the defences on which he was engaged, he worked very hard at them, and it certainly is through no fault of his if the Thames fortifications are not all they should be. He was an early riser and a hard worker, and as he hardly ever went into society, and did not go in for games, he found time to engage in all kinds of religious and philanthropic work, in addition to his other duties. He spent six years at Gravesend, and, although this is not a popular station with many officers, he found so much to be done, that in after years he used to look back upon the time spent there as the happiest of his life. After the stirring scenes through which he had passed in the Crimea and in China, it may have appeared to some a very commonplace, uninteresting sort of life to eke out for so many years, but no one more than Gordon felt the force of the truth conveyed in the lines:

“‘A commonplace life,’ we say and we sigh;
But why should we sigh as we say?
The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky
Makes up the commonplace day.
The moon and the stars are commonplace things,
And the flower that blooms, and the bird that sings;
But dark were the world, and sad our lot,
If the flowers failed, and the sun shone not;
And God, who studied each separate soul,
Out of commonplace lives made His beautiful whole.”

One remarkable characteristic of Gordon was the persistent way in which he avoided publicity of any sort, evading every effort to bring him forward. When he first came to Gravesend no one knew him, and he used quietly to take a seat in the gallery of the parish church. As soon as it was discovered that the stranger who occupied such a humble place, was no other than the renowned “Chinese Gordon,” great efforts were made to induce him to take a more prominent position. But it was in vain. What was good enough for the poor was good enough for him, and he did not approve of the rich and the eminent occupying all the good seats, to the exclusion of the poor, whose souls were just as valuable in the sight of God. Again, he steadily refused to take the chair at all public meetings. It was not that he could not speak at such gatherings, for, although he was not a good speaker, he was by no means a bad one, and he was always willing to conduct services for the poor. He had a horror of taking a prominent position, and the only occasion on which he ever broke through his rule as to taking the chair, was at a meeting of some three hundred children over which he presided. He was, however, very much at home when sitting in front of a class of children, and this he infinitely preferred to giving formal addresses even to children. Only once was he persuaded to address the whole school collectively. Speaking to a large number of children requires a special gift, and this he did not possess. His strength with children lay in the fact that he obtained a personal influence over each one individually. With a small class he could get to know each by name, and win the affections of all one by one. The words, “He loved little children,” which were the only epitaph on the tomb of a certain Sunday-school teacher, might well be applied to Gordon. It is difficult to say what kind of teacher he was, or whether he availed himself of the latest developments in the art of instructing children; but this is quite clear, that he had one of the best qualifications a teacher can possess, love for his pupils. There is a tale of a lady visitor who once asked a little boy why he went so far to his Sunday-school, when there were as good ones nearer at hand. The reply was, “They may be as good, but they are not so good for me;” and when the lady asked him “Why not?” he said, “Because they love a fellow over there.” Love is a qualification that is too often lacking in teachers, but it was one that Gordon displayed very prominently. Need we wonder that the “dear little fellows,” as he used to call them, responded by loving him in return?

Nor was it only in the Sunday-school that Gordon’s love for the young was exhibited; he also had a class in the ragged school, and used to invite his boys to his house for instruction in the evening on week days, as well as on Sunday evenings. When three or four of them had scarlet fever, he nursed them in his own house, and would sit up at night talking to them, till he could get them to drop off to sleep. He used to call these boys “kings,” a name suggested to him when reading Rev. , “And hath made us kings and priests unto God.” He exclaimed to his sister, “Why then, these are little ‘kings,’” and he stuck to the name. He took great pains to secure good posts for his boys in ships going to sea, and on a map on his wall he kept a number of little flags representing the boys he had sent abroad. These flags he used to move about as he heard from time to time where the lads were. We need not be surprised that among these boys were some who ardently loved him, and that they used to give expression to their feelings by scribbling on the wall with a piece of chalk, as boys will do, “God bless the Kernel,” “C. G. is a jolly good fellow,” or “Long life to our dear teacher, Gordon.” The ragged school at Gravesend still retains the Chinese flags which he presented to the boys, flags which he had himself captured from the Taiping rebels. They are now kept as precious relics, to be displayed only on special occasions. Sir Henry Gordon says, that when the news reached England of the death of the heroic defender of Khartoum, a young man, about twenty-five years of age, called on him to inform him that he and others who had been Gordon’s boys at Gravesend, wished to put up some kind of memorial to his memory, and that he was willing to give L25. He was much overcome when speaking of all that Gordon had done for him.

Another writer relates that on one occasion when Gordon was watching some workmen, he saw among them a lad looking very unhappy. On his inquiring, the lad said, “Mother has left us, and gone away from home; and everything there is so miserable that it is not like home at all.” At once the boy was invited to spend his evenings at the Fort House, where he was instructed in the night school class, and taught to read his Bible. Some little time after this he fell ill, and the doctor decided that he ought to be taken to the local infirmary. “Shall I see you there, Colonel?” he asked with wistful eyes; “I know I am going to die.” “But you are not afraid,” replied Gordon, “for now you know who says, ‘I am the Resurrection and the Life.’ He will be as near to you in the infirmary as here, and as near to you in death as in life.” “Oh yes, I know Him now;” and so he did, for as the narrator said, “The Colonel had led him to Christ by his life and teaching.” When in the hospital the young lad said to a nurse, “Read the Bible to me, there is nothing like it.” “But you are very tired,” said the nurse. “Yes, I am very tired. I do long to go to Jesus.” This is a briefly narrated incident, and is but a specimen of many that might be recorded if space permitted.

Gordon also took special pleasure in visiting the workhouse and talking to the paupers, remembering that

“Down in the human heart, crushed by the tempter,
Feelings lie buried that grace can restore;
Touched by a loving heart, wakened by kindness,
Chords that were broken will vibrate once more.”

Workhouse inmates are, as a rule, a very disheartening class to visit. A large percentage of them have been brought there by faults of their own, and most of them are beyond the age when one may reasonably hope for reform. Gordon’s kind heart was proof against disappointment, and he persistently used to visit the old people, supplying tobacco to the men, and tea to the women, and chatting away to them, in an effort to help them to forget their troubles. He was mindful, too, of the sick, caring not who the sufferer was nor what his complaint; so long as he was in need, so long was Gordon a regular visitor at his sick-bed. Frequently when he heard that the doctors had ordered delicacies beyond the reach of a patient, he would purchase what was required, and administer it with his own hands. Mr. Lilley says:

“On one occasion he visited a poor, wretched woman, in an apparently dying condition. He at once lighted a fire, made some gruel for her, and fed her with his own hand. He afterwards appointed a nurse to look after her, and sent a doctor to her, and it is believed that she is still residing at Gravesend, a living testimony to his generous care.”

The people so loved him, that often instead of sending for the clergyman when in sickness or trouble, the poor would send for the Colonel living at Fort House, the official residence of the officer commanding the Royal Engineers.

Even his house and garden seem to have been placed at the disposal of the poor in the neighbourhood. A visitor once remarked to his housekeeper on the beautiful vegetables his garden produced. She replied that the Colonel never touched them, but used to let the poor people come in and cultivate plots of ground in the garden, and grow their own vegetables; and even when presents of fruit were sent him by friends, he used to take them to the bedside of some sick person, who he thought needed them more than he did.

As for his own food, nothing could have been more simple and plain. The Rev. S. H. Swaine says, “Coming home with us one afternoon late, we found his tea waiting for him a most unappetising stale loaf and a teapot of tea. I remarked upon the dryness of the bread, when he took the whole loaf (a small one) and crammed it into the slop-basin, and poured all the tea upon it, saying it would soon be ready for him to eat, and in half-an-hour it would not matter what he had eaten.” It is said that some of the boys whom he invited to live in his house were a good deal disappointed when they saw the kind of fare that was put before them. They had fondly imagined that the occupant of such a grand house would have sumptuous meals, which they would share, and they were not prepared for the plain salt-beef, and other good but very plain food, to which the Colonel was in the habit of sitting down. But though he denied himself luxuries of any sort, he often used to take grapes and other dainties to the sick and the dying.

All forms of distress aroused his interest; and when the late Canon Miller of Greenwich was collecting money for the suffering people at Coventry, during the cotton famine, Gordon took a large and valuable gold medal, that had been presented to him by the Empress of China, and having with a gouge scooped out his name, which was engraved upon it, put it into an envelope and despatched it to the Canon, merely notifying briefly the object for which it was sent. Efforts have been since made to discover the fate of the medal, which was of the best gold, and twice the size of a crown piece, but owing to the death of Canon Miller, they have hitherto been unsuccessful.

Gordon was, indeed, generous to a fault, and sometimes he was taken in by impostors; but as he had a good knowledge of human nature, he was not deceived so often as many with his generous heart would be. His generosity was only limited by his purse, and there were times in his life when he drew the line too fine, for, as he himself once said, “I assure you that many a time I have not known where my food was to come from, nor if I should find a place in which to lie down at night.” So long as there was money in his pocket, so long had he money to give away; but on many occasions he forgot that he had a long railway journey before him, and that the generosity he displayed to the needy would not be extended to him at the railway ticket office. But on the whole, his money was well laid out; many is the lad he started in life, many the waif he picked up from the gutter, who, now a well-to-do respectable member of society, might, but for him, have been a criminal, getting into trouble himself, and leading others astray.

It would be interesting to follow more in detail the career of this remarkable man at Gravesend, but space forbids. Gordon only spent six years at this kind of work, and much of the time was engaged in his official duties, yet the results were so good, that one cannot but regret that a longer part of his career was not passed in the same way. From his letters written in the Soudan, it is evident that he often thought of devoting his old age to work among the poor, had he been spared. It was, however, willed otherwise, and we are only permitted to see how much can be done by a man in six years, when his heart is thoroughly in the work.

It has been remarked more than once, that Gordon’s military career reminds one of the great soldier Cromwell, who did so much to rescue England from the degenerate condition into which it had fallen under the miserable rule of the Stuarts. In the same way the six years spent by Gordon at Gravesend, very forcibly remind us of the great religious philanthropist, Lord Shaftesbury, who did perhaps more than any other man of this nineteenth century, or any other century, to relieve human suffering, and to solve some of those difficult problems that are associated with the condition of the poor. Lord Shaftesbury had little in common with Cromwell, except that both loved God and hated tyranny and injustice. Their ways of going to work were very different, but one cannot help seeing that Gordon combined much of both characters; and had his lot fallen in different times or different circumstances, he might have undertaken the work of either. He had all the martial instinct of a Cromwell, and, with it, the love of relieving suffering which so characterised Lord Shaftesbury. His one object seems to have been to

“Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,
Snatch them in pity from sin and the grave;
Weep o’er the erring ones, lift up the fallen,
Tell them of Jesus, the Mighty to save.”

Gordon was never allowed to carry on any work for any great length of time, and the six years at Gravesend passed very quickly. In 1871 he was appointed British representative on the European Commission to superintend the improvement of the mouth of the Danube, so that it might be made more navigable for ships. He was engaged in this work for two years, with his headquarters at Galatz; and the eminent war correspondent, Archibald Forbes, says that he “found his memory still green there in the early years of the Russo-Turkish war, fourteen years after he had exchanged the mosquitoes of the Lower Danube for the not less venomous insects of the Upper Nile.”

Apart from the testimony of Archibald Forbes, we may be quite sure that he did some good work at Galatz, for it would be difficult to imagine him doing nothing but the ordinary routine of official duties. He always discovered an opening of some sort by which he could help his fellow-creatures, and his active mind and sympathetic nature were, in the words of Jean Ingelow, always asking the question of those with whom he came in contact

“Are there no briers across thy pathway thrust?
Are there no thorns that compass it about?
Nor any stones that thou wilt deign to trust
My hand to gather out?”

The time had now come when he was to be called to a new form of work, one to which he was to give the best years of his life, and for which ultimately he was to sacrifice life itself. In the Crimea and in China, he had shown what he could do as a soldier; at Gravesend he had set a noble example to the world of what a Christian philanthropist might do in his spare hours; and now he was to be called to wage war with the horrors of slavery. We had him in our midst for six years, and we found no work for him worthy of his abilities; but while we overlooked his merits, other nations were not so blind. Just as later on the King of the Belgians was anxious to secure his services which we were allowing to remain idle, so now Nubar Pasha, the far-sighted minister of Ismail Khan, Khedive of Egypt, persuaded him to enter the Egyptian service, and go to Africa as Governor of the Equatorial Provinces.

But before we follow him into the Soudan, it may be well to dwell for a little on the distinctly religious aspect of his life.