there seems to be very little in a pair of boots—except, perhaps, a pair of feet—until a great crisis arises; and in a great crisis all things assume new values. when the war broke out, and empires found themselves face to face with destiny, the nations asked themselves anxiously how they were off for boots. when millions of men began to march, boots seemed to be the only thing that mattered. the manhood of the world rose in its wrath, reached for its boots, buckled on its sword, and set out for the front. and at the front, if mr. kipling is to be believed, it is all a matter of boots.
don’t—don’t—don’t—don’t—look at what’s in front of you;
boots—boots—boots—boots—moving up and down again;
men—men—men—men—men go mad with watching ’em.
an’ there’s no discharge in the war.
257try—try—try—try—to think o’ something different—
oh—my—god—keep—me from going lunatic!
boots—boots—boots—boots—moving up and down again
an’ there’s no discharge in the war.
we—can—stick—out—’unger, thirst, an’ weariness,
but—not—not—not—not the chronic sight of ’em—
boots—boots—boots—boots—moving up and down again!
an’ there’s no discharge in the war.
’tain’t—so—bad—by—day because o’ company,
but—night—brings—long—strings o’ forty thousand million
boots—boots—boots—boots—moving up and down again!
an’ there’s no discharge in the war.
a soldier sees enough pairs of boots in a ten-mile march to last him half a lifetime.
yet, after all, are not these the most amiable things beneath the stars, the things that we treat with derision and contempt in days of calm, but for which we grope with feverish anxiety when the storm breaks upon us? they go on, year after year, bearing the obloquy of our toothless little jests; they go on, year after year, serving us none the less faithfully because we deem them almost too mundane for mention; and then, when they suddenly turn out to be a matter of life and death to us, they serve us still, with never a word of reproach for our past ingratitude. if the world 258has a spark of chivalry left in it, it will offer a most abject apology to its boots.
it would do a man a world of good, before putting on his boots, to have a good look at them. let him set them in the middle of the hearthrug, the shining toes turned carefully towards him, and then let him lean forward in his arm-chair, elbows on knees and head on hands, and let him fasten on those boots of his a contrite and respectful gaze. and looking at his boots thus attentively and carefully he will see what he has never seen before. he will see that a pair of boots is one of the master achievements of civilization. a pair of boots is one of the wonders of the world, a most cunning and ingenious contrivance. dan crawford, in thinking black, tells us that nothing about livingstone’s equipment impressed the african mind so profoundly as the boots he wore. ‘even to this remote day,’ mr. crawford says, ‘all around lake mweru they sing a “livingstone” song to commemorate that great “path-borer,” the good doctor being such a federal head of his race that he is known far and near as ingeresa, or “the englishman.” and this is his memorial song:
ingeresa, who slept on the waves,
welcome him, for he hath no toes!
welcome him, for he hath no toes!
259that is to say, revelling in paradox as the negro does, he seized on the facetious fact that this wandering livingstone, albeit he travelled so far, had no toes—that is to say, had boots, if you please!’ later on, mr. crawford remarks again that the barefooted native never ceases to wonder at the white man’s boots. to him they are a marvel and a portent, for, instead of thinking of the boot as merely covering the foot that wears it, his idea is that those few inches of shoe carpet the whole forest with leather. he puts on his boots, and, by doing so, he spreads a gigantic runner of linoleum across the whole continent of africa. here is a philosophical way of looking at a pair of boots! it has made my own boots look differently ever since i read it. why, these boots on the hearthrug, looking so reproachfully up at me, are millions of times bigger than they seem! they look to my poor distorted vision like a few inches of leather; but as a matter of fact they represent hundreds of miles of leathern matting. they make a runner paving the path from my quiet study to the front doors of all my people’s homes; they render comfortable and attractive all the highways and byways along which duty calls me. looked at through a pair of african eyes, these british boots assume marvellous proportions. they are touched by magic and are wondrously transformed. from being 260contemptible, they now appear positively continental. i am surprised that the subject has never appealed to me before.
now this african way of looking at a pair of boots promises us a key to a phrase in the new testament that has always seemed to me like a locked casket. john bunyan tells us that when the sisters of the palace beautiful led christian to the armoury he saw such a bewildering abundance of boots as surely no other man ever beheld before or since! they were shoes that would never wear out; and there were enough of them, he says, to harness out as many men for the service of their lord as there be stars in the heaven for multitude. bunyan’s prodigious stock of shoes is, of course, an allusion to paul’s exhortation to the ephesian christians concerning the armour with which he would have them to be clad. ‘take unto you the whole armour of god ... and your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace.’
whenever we get into difficulties concerning this heavenly panoply, we turn to good old william gurnall. master gurnall beat out these six verses of paul’s into a ponderous work of fourteen hundred pages, bound in two massive volumes. one hundred and fifty of these pages deal with the footgear recommended by the apostle; and master gurnall gives us, among other treasures, ‘six directions for 261the helping on of this spiritual shoe.’ but we must not be betrayed into a digression on the matter of shoe-horns and kindred contrivances. shoemaker, stick to thy last! let us keep to this matter of boots. can good master gurnall, with all his hundred and fifty closely printed pages on the subject, help us to understand what paul and bunyan meant? what is it to have your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace? what are the shoes that never wear out? now the striking thing is that master gurnall looks at the matter very much as the africans do. he turns upon himself a perfect fusillade of questions. what is meant by the gospel? what is meant by peace? why is peace attributed to the gospel? what do the feet here mentioned import? what grace is intended by that ‘preparation of the gospel of peace’ which is here compared to a shoe and fitted to these feet? and so on. and in answering his own questions, and especially this last one, good master gurnall comes to the conclusion that the spiritual shoe which he would fain help us to put on is ‘a gracious, heavenly, and excellent spirit.’ and his hundred and fifty crowded pages on the matter of footwear give us clearly to understand that the man who puts on this beautiful spirit will be able to walk without weariness the stoniest roads, and to climb without exhaustion the steepest hills. he shall tread upon the lion and 262adder; the young lion and the dragon shall he trample under feet. in slimy bogs and on slippery paths his foot shall never slide; and in the day when he wrestles with principalities and powers, and with the rulers of the darkness of this world, his foothold shall be firm and secure. ‘thy shoes shall be iron and brass, and as thy days so shall thy strength be.’ master gurnall’s teaching is therefore perfectly plain. he looks at this divine footwear much as the africans looked at livingstone’s boots. the man whose feet are shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace has carpeted for himself all the rough roads that lie before him. the man who knows how to wear this ‘gracious, heavenly, and excellent spirit’ has done for himself what sir walter raleigh did for queen elizabeth. he has already protected his feet against all the miry places of the path ahead of him. if good master gurnall’s ‘six directions for the helping on of this spiritual shoe’ will really assist us to be thus securely shod, then his hundred and fifty pages will yet prove more precious than gold-leaf.
bunyan speaks of the amazing exhibition of footgear that christian beheld in the armoury as ‘shoes that will not wear out.’ i wish i could be quite sure that christian was not mistaken. john bunyan has so often been my teacher and counsellor on all the highest and weightiest matters that it is painful 263to have to doubt him at any point. the boots may have looked as though they would never wear out; but, as all mothers know, that is a way that boots have. in the shoemaker’s hands they always look as though they would stand the wear and tear of ages; but put them on a boy’s feet and see what they will look like in a month’s time! i am really afraid that christian was deceived in this particular. paul says nothing about the everlasting wear of which the shoes are capable; and the sisters of the palace beautiful seem to have said nothing about it. i fancy christian jumped too hastily to this conclusion, misled by the excellent appearance and sturdy make of the boots before him. my experience is that the shoes do wear out. the most ‘gracious, heavenly, and excellent spirit’ must be kept in repair. i know of no virtue, however attractive, and of no grace, however beautiful, that will not wear thin unless it is constantly attended to. my good friend, master gurnall, for all his hundred and fifty pages does not touch upon this point; but i venture to advise my readers that they will be wise to accept christian’s so confident declaration with a certain amount of caution. the statement that ‘these shoes will not wear out’ savours rather too much of the spirit of advertisement; and we have learned from painful experience that the language of an advertisement is not always to be interpreted literally.
264one other thing these boots of mine seem to say to me as they look mutely up at me from the centre of the hearthrug. have they no history, these shoes of mine? whence came they? and at this point we suddenly invade the realm of tragedy. the voice of abel’s blood cried to god from the ground; and the voice of blood calls to me from my very boots. was it a seal cruelly done to death upon a northern icefloe, or a kangaroo shot down in the very flush of life as it bounded through the australian bush, or a kid looking up at its slaughterer with terrified, pitiful eyes? what was it that gave up the life so dear to it that i might be softly and comfortably shod? and so every step that i take is a step that has been made possible to me by the shedding of innocent blood. all the highways and byways that i tread have been sanctified by sacrifice. the very boots on the hearthrug are whispering something about redemption. and most certainly this is true of the shoes of which the apostle wrote, the shoes that the pilgrims saw at the palace beautiful, the shoes that trudge their weary way through master gurnall’s hundred and fifty packed pages. these shoes could never have been placed at our disposal apart from the shedding of most sacred blood. my feet may be shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; but, if so, it is only because the sacrifice unspeakable has already been made.
