IV.—­The Pathway of Martyrdom

Sometimes Joshua went as a lecturer to various towns, for his political associates were willing to use his political zeal, though they did not go in for his religious views.  He insisted on the need of the working classes raising themselves to a higher level in mind and circumstance, and on the right of each man to a fair share of the primary essentials for good living.  His discourses roused immense antagonism, and he was sometimes set upon and severely handled by the men to whom he spoke.  I have known swindlers and murderers more gently entreated.  When, after the war between France and Prussia the Commune declared itself in Paris, Joshua went over to help, as far as he could, in the cause of humanity.  I went with him, and poor, loving, faithful Mary followed us.  But there, notwithstanding all that we and others of like mind could do, blood was shed which covered liberty with shame, and in the confusion that followed Mary was shot as a petroleuse while she was succouring the wounded.  We buried her tenderly, and I laid part of my life in her grave.

On our return Joshua was regarded as the representative of social destruction and godless licence, for the very name of the Commune was a red rag to English thought.

At last we came to a place called Lowbridge, where Joshua was announced to lecture on Communism in the town hall.  Grave as he always was, that night he was grave to sadness, like a martyr going to his death.  He shook hands with me before going on the platform, and said, “God bless you, John; you have been a true friend to me.”

In the first row in front of him was the former clergyman of Trevalga, Mr. Grand, who had lately been given the rich living of Lowbridge and one or two stately cathedral appointments.  At the first word Joshua spoke there broke out such a tumult as I had never heard in any public meeting.  The yells, hisses, cat-calls, whoopings, were indescribable.  It only ceased when Mr. Grand rose, and standing on a chair, appealed to the audience to “Give him your minds, my men, and let him understand that Lowbridge is no place for a godless rascal like him.”

I will do Mr. Grand the justice to say I do not think he intended his words to have the effect they did have.  A dozen men leaped on the platform, and in a moment I saw Joshua under their feet.  They had it all their own way, and while he lay on the ground, pale and senseless, one, with a fearful oath, kicked him twice on the head.  Suddenly a whisper went round, they all drew a little, way off, the gas was turned down, and the place cleared as if by magic.  When the lights were up again, I went to lift him—­and he was dead.

The man who had lived the life after Christ more exactly than any human being ever known to me was killed by the Christian party of order.  So the world has ever disowned its best when they came.