Poor B.! that was his last speech and dying confession. Amidst the general laughing and chaffing going on, the Colonel said to B.:
'Better take more shots with the rifle, and fewer shots out of the flask, Mr. B., and then you won't miss your mark as it seems you did this morning.' B. said nothing, but walked off somewhat crestfallen. One after the other left, till at last only W. and myself were left with the Colonel. He then said: 'I'm truly sorry for B.; he's a frank, open-hearted young fellow, but I fear he's going too fast by a great deal; he was until recently a capital shot. It was just the same with poor Tom Manners, whom I knew intimately in Bengal. The first indication we got of his breaking up was his missing his aim; he had been the crack shot of us all, but sangaree (we used to drink sangaree in those days) and brandy was too much for him; he died of delirium tremens, a raving lunatic, after having tried to kill himself and two other persons. Now, I have stayed behind the others to say that I think it would be well done of both of you if you would take an opportunity of talking seriously with this unhappy lad. You, W., have great influence, and you can speak as a senior and an old friend: and you, Doctor, can speak as a professional man, and the medical officer of the regiment; choose your opportunity well, and the young fellow will then see that you mean kindly. Good-night to you both.' W.: 'Before you go, Colonel, I think it right to tell you, that I have more than once spoken seriously to B., but I regret to say hitherto without effect. I will, however, do so again.' 'And I, Colonel, will certainly do my best; but if W.'s advice has been of none effect, I fear mine will avail little. Once the pernicious habit has got hold of a man, it is such a besotting and besetting vice, that nothing seems able to cure it except placing the man under restraint for two or more years, and rigidly keeping all alcoholic stimulants away from him.' 'Well, try your best. Good-night again.' 'Good-night, Colonel.'
W. volunteered to walk home with me, the bungalow being but a few hundred yards off. As we leisurely strolled along, W. said, 'D. is really the most excellent commandant I ever knew. Without being over-strict, he knows well how to hold his own, and to enforce obedience; at the same time, what could be kinder, I might say more parental, than what he said just now? And what could be better than his taking on himself to let you leave the cantonment? Not one commandant in a hundred would have done it!' 'So I found out,' returned I. The singular scene that passed between myself and the General of Division was then told to him. He was greatly amused. 'You must let D. have the story, it is really too good to be lost; it only shows what a life of routine makes of a man, unless he has a mind powerful enough to raise him above such influences. I agree entirely in the view D. takes of B.'s condition; indeed, I have feared it for some time; the misfortune is, that I don't see what can be done to save him. Would it be possible to send him home on sick leave?' 'The case is this,' said I, 'the authorities and the medical board take what I regard as a narrow view of what is best to be done. They argue that it is encouraging drunkenness to send a man home on that account, and they would rather keep him in this country to die, or be dismissed the service, than they would sanction his being sent home for the effects of alcoholism. The only alternative is, that the doctor must make up a false case, at the risk of losing his commission, or the man must hang on till he gets his furlough. It has, I know, been placed before several boards officially, that many a man's life might be saved, and the evil habit subdued, if he were allowed to go home in time, and have the sea voyage, the European climate, and the home influences; but these representations have elicited nothing but anger and reproof. Such being the views adopted at headquarters, nothing is left to the executive officer but to act on them.' 'I am quite aware,' returned W., 'that what you say is correct. You have, in fact, scarcely gone far enough, for they add, that it is more for the advantage of the State to let in fresh blood, in the shape of fresh men, than to keep on the list men who have broken down from their own vicious habits by sending them home, and thus prolonging their lives. Such patched-up men, they say, can never go through fatigues, and wear and tear, that a sound man could and would go through. And to say the truth between ourselves, I think they are right. Compassion and friendship make one feel that the regulations are hard when they are applied to one of our own friends and intimates; but, looking to the advantage of the service only, I cannot say that they are ill-judged.' 'To some extent I agree with you, but everything is in degree, and a margin should be allowed. As you put it, to send a man home merely to prolong his life, I think, carries with it the condemnation of the whole system; had he been sent home in time, he would, in all probability, have been saved from any serious injury, but if the poor creature is to be kept here till he is at death's door before the medical officer dare recommend his being sent home, then likely enough it is as you put it, and he comes out injured in physique and in efficiency.'
W. would not enter my bungalow, but after good night slowly walked to his own. As I looked after him, recalling his generosity, and his unequalled bravery, as well as his superior wisdom, his powers of foresight and reflection, and contrasted all these high qualities with his singular and imperturbable calmness and self-possession when anything dangerous or unpleasant occurred, I could not but feel that he was a remarkably constituted man, or that he had suffered in his earlier years some bitter life-killing disappointment that had rendered him careless of, and indifferent to, every danger and risk. Too lofty a character to yield outwardly to despair, or to shorten the term of existence appointed for him, he seemed to dwell in an atmosphere of his own, that he suffered no one to share with him or even to approach. Some quiet sarcasm, always good-humoured, and the rare indulgence of the risible faculty, were the only indications I ever observed in him of any passing emotion strong enough to ruffle the glassy placidity of his existence. I could not help whispering to myself, 'a wrecked heart,' so deeply was I impressed with his gentle, kindly manner, and his utter recklessness of life, yet I knew nothing whatever of his early history; it was merely fancy's web woven without my knowledge or consent. Nevertheless, it impressed me with a feeling of sadness that I could not for the time banish, and I went to bed to dream of a tiger with an angel's face gnawing W.'s heart.
Not many days after my return to the F. Rocks, some of the villagers near at hand, or one of the Shikaries employed to look for game, brought in word that there was a cheetah to be had near at hand. As soon as possible after breakfast all the sporting men present were on horseback, or, rather, pony-back, to proceed to the spotted gentleman's lair. I accompanied them as a spectator, attended by beaters and villagers. Altogether, besides natives, there were fourteen of us. As we approached the jungle we dismounted, leaving the tatoos to the care of the ghorey wallahs. The primary rule impressed on all was to endeavour to preserve a line; but in a jungle where people could see but a very short distance on any side, this proved to be impracticable, and the consequence was that after the beast was disturbed by the beaters, and one or other of the guns caught sight of him, there was firing on all sides, or, rather, bursts of firing, cross firing, so that every now and then the singing and hissing of balls, and the cracking of branches, was heard on every side. During the whole time the firing lasted, I only caught sight of the cheetah once as he bounded from one thicket to another; but from the whistling and cracking going on all round, any one of us might have been shot a dozen times over.
Before the cheetah was disposed of he had been hit thirteen times, but in no mortal part; the last ball had, however, struck him in the loins, which prevented any more of his rapid springs and bounds. The next ball laid him at M.'s feet. He was a beautiful fellow, though not a large one; and he had made a gallant defence against a dozen guns. Though he had hurt no one seriously—his foes were so close and so many and such practised men, that he had no time to maul or mumble anybody, though it was evident that his intentions were good—he had knocked over two men, a Shikary and a beater; but in the first case a ball from S., who was close beside the Shikary, had sent him off with a broken forearm, and in the second case a ball from W. had driven him off with a wound in the side and two broken ribs, by which the ball, which otherwise would have been fatal, was turned aside. Both his springs were so strong that after knocking over the men he rolled over himself, once in the first instance, and twice in the second, before he could pick himself up, which gave W. the chance of giving a mortal blow; but, as I have said, the ribs turned the ball—all which particulars were learned when the beast was skinned, and the course of the balls traced. It was most extraordinary good-fortune that no one was shot on this occasion; but the folly and absurdity of the method adopted, as well as the greatly increased and unnecessary risk incurred by it, were obvious to everyone, and it was agreed nem. con. that no such large parties should ever go out again.
Some weeks elapsed before any fresh game and its whereabouts were discovered; but as soon as this was clearly made out, another shikar party was decided on. Four guns, and myself as guest or spectator, composed it. The sportsmen drew lots as to who the four should be, and the lots fell on W., M., B., and the Colonel. Not to weary the reader with repetition, it is sufficient to say that the beast, said to be a tiger, turned out to be a most superb cheetah, so large that he resembled a tiger in size; but this magnificent fellow was killed with the second shot. When disturbed by the beaters and by their noise and tom-toms, he looked at them for a moment, then, as if confident in his strength, in the most contemptuous way turned on his posteriors and began to walk slowly away. One of the guns—I think the Colonel fired—wounded the grand beast, who, with a terrible roar, turned at once and prepared to spring. Before he could do so, two shots lodged in his brain, and he fell at once and died almost immediately. Thus this huge cat made scarcely any fight, while the smaller one rolled over two men and took fourteen shots to dispose of him. W. and M. had fired at the same instant, and apparently both shots were mortal. They tossed up for the 'spolia opima.' M. won. The skin when taken off, stretched and dried was the finest I ever saw; in beauty it far exceeded W.'s tiger skin, and in size fell little short of it.
Had I been placed permanently in medical charge of the regiment, and it had remained in a sporting country, I should certainly have learned to use the rifle; but not many weeks after this I was relieved by Dr. B., the man for whom I had been acting. I did not consider it as a relief, I must admit. I had become attached to the men of the regiment, and it took away my chance of becoming a sportsman.
Previous to the date of my relief, a very singular incident occurred, while a third party, which, on account of hospital work, I was unable to join, were out after a cheetah. (I had the details from the men present, from W. himself, and from Ram Sing, the naigue of his company, who was in hospital at the time I left the regiment.) It occurred in this way: the cat had been tracked into a certain thicket, and it was expected that he would at any moment break forth. W. was about ten paces' distance from it, as was S. a little to the right of W. Both waited for some movement or sign on the part of the cheetah, but he made none. At last S., losing patience, actually stepped into the thicket they had been watching. He must, indeed, have all but put his foot on the cheetah, who was crouching down, well gathered together, just about to make his spring. He took no notice of S., though close to him, but sprang at W., who was at least seven or eight yards off, whom he rolled over, at the same time knocking his gun out of his hand. Most luckily the beast rolled over also, but with the speed of light he recovered himself, and was about to mumble W.'s shoulder, when he received a stunning blow from a heavy bamboo club in the hands of Ram Sing, the naigue already mentioned, who had kept close to his Captain from the beginning. This saved W. at the instant, and the repetition of the blow drew the furious animal's attention solely to the naigue. He left W., and jumping on Ram Sing, knocked him down, tore both his shoulders, one with either paw, and then before help came detached the scalp from the poor fellow's forehead. At this instant he received a mortal blow from S., followed by a second ball from W. (who had recovered himself sufficiently to use his gun), which pierced his heart. At less than two paces off the beast lay dead beside Ram Sing, who was at once taken to the hospital. This brave fellow wanted to walk, and tried to do so, till it was evident that his strength was unequal to it. As they were bearing him along, fainting from the shock and loss of blood, he whispered, 'Aggur murgisto Ram Sing, mesaka ney. Captain Saib ne marre.' (If Ram Sing dies, what matter? the Captain is not hurt.)
As soon as the poor naigue reached the hospital a dose of brandy, a little disguised and given as medicine, quickly overcame the syncope, and Ram Sing opened his eyes, sat up, and when he saw W., who had walked by the side of his litter to the hospital, standing by his side, his eyes brightened, and he said, 'Saib ne marre?' W., who spoke Hindustani fluently, assured him that, thanks to his courage and quickness, he had received no hurt. Ram Sing was then told to lie down, and to be silent, while his wounds were attended to. This was by no means an operation without pain, but not a word nor a sound did the man utter. He had saved his Captain's life, all the regiment knew it, and he was a man of mark from that day forth. I verily believe that the pride and pleasure that he felt in what he had done repaid him a hundredfold for the suffering he had undergone; and as for the risk, he was too truly brave to think for a moment about that, and, more than all this, he loved and respected W. with a devotion that is not easy to describe. W. was always his hero, his idol; W. could never do wrong in his mind. W.'s remarkable bravery, imperturbable quietude in danger, together with his kindness and generosity, had elevated him into the position of a sort of demigod or superior being, and I truly and sincerely believe that almost every native man in the gallant —th would have laid down his life for W. without hesitation. The feeling displayed by these men brought strongly to my mind that shown by Clive's Sepoys at the siege of Arcot, when rice was so scarce that he feared he should be starved into surrender, and when there were 20,000 foes surrounding the place.
This incident closes what we have to present regarding Captain Whistler, one of the most noble-minded, brave and generous men that ever adorned the Indian Service.
From my brother's memoranda, said the Doctor to the company on board the Elephanta, it would appear that several of the officers of the far-famed regiment, the 13th Dragoons, possessed merits considerably above the average. He gives sketches of most of them, portraits of a few. These I shall not attempt to reproduce, but I will venture to make some selections. He says:
'I found Colonel B., the officer commanding the regiment, one of the most courtly-mannered men I had ever met, and though his figure was by no means commanding, his easy elegant address was highly captivating, and his superior intelligence, marked by every look and word, gained respect at once, while the kind and urbane expression of his features challenged esteem and regard.' Within five minutes after his card had been taken in, and his name announced, my brother found himself, though previously a total stranger, chatting perfectly at his ease with his new commandant, such was the charm of Colonel B.'s manner.
Besides being the finished gentleman and accomplished soldier, Colonel B. was a very successful water-colour painter, as was proved by the various specimens adorning his study. My brother had not himself been wholly unsuccessful in this walk of art, having gained some prizes at the Society of Arts for his attempts; at all events, he knew enough of the art to appreciate the Colonel's beautiful performances, and he expressed his feelings freely and warmly, as well as in a way to show that he knew something of what he was talking about.
The result of the interview was that the Colonel took rather a fancy to the young assistant-surgeon who was to do duty with his regiment. On the part of my brother, the feeling was more than mutual, for the more he saw of his commandant, the more he liked and admired him. At the time I speak of, the 13th Dragoons were stationed at Bangalore, one of the most delightful localities in India, and I have already said that the native regiment, of which my brother was afterwards in medical charge, was stationed there also. The consequence of this vicinity was that in due course Colonel B. brought his wife to see my brother's wife, a visit which again in due course my brother and his wife returned. The ladies became friends, and the friendship has only been closed by poor Mrs. B.'s death. She was, at the time to which I refer, one of the handsomest, most queen-like women to be seen anywhere.
But it is rather of her gifted husband than of her that I wish to speak. Colonel B.'s talents were indeed so great and so various that they demand a far abler pen than mine to do them justice. Wit the most ready, sparkling, and unbounded, united with an unequalled address and manner, made him the most delightful companion that can be imagined. No company could resist his powers: laughter unrestrained and irresistible followed him wherever he went. I heartily wish I could recall even a few of the electric flashes of thought that, 'like orient pearls at random strung,' gave life and lustre, fire and fancy to his words. I fear, however, that I should only defeat my object if I ventured to make the attempt, I can never give the fitting time and place, the circumstance coincident, nor the look and manner that were so admirable and so appropriate.
On the occasion to which this extract chiefly refers, Lord Elphinstone, then Governor of Madras, and his friend Lord Cardigan, who was his visitor, were the guests of the regiment. Colonel B. was sitting at the mess-table between them in high spirits, his irresistible stories and anecdotes creating an atmosphere of merriment around him. My brother was not near enough to hear half that passed, but his eye took in the situation, and in spite of the noise, the clapping, and the laughter, his ear was very attentive and quick.
The first morceau ragoutant that reached him was Colonel B.'s account of what had taken place at Colonel C.'s public breakfast some four or five mornings before. Colonel C. was then the Commissioner for Mysore. While at breakfast, he received Lord Elphinstone's answer to an invitation requesting him and his friend, Lord Cardigan, to spend some time at Bangalore, and during their stay to give him the pleasure of being their host. The invitation had been accepted, and accordingly Colonel C. announced that the two noble lords would shortly be at Bangalore. There was a large party at the breakfast, among whom was Captain A., who was one of the Commission. As soon as this officer, whose intrinsic worth was not hidden by French, or, indeed, by any other kind of polish, heard the announcement, he broke out thus: 'Eh, sirs, twa lurds—twa lurds! What'll I do, how'll I boo?' a sally which occasioned no little merriment amongst those who heard it, and still more at the mess-table after the Colonel's recital, who followed it up by such a string of jokes and puns and telling repartees, that an old Bengal civilian, whose name was Potts, and who was the Colonel's vis-à-vis, appeared thoroughly bewildered. He never uttered a word, but sat looking from one to the other with his mouth wide open, drinking in, as it seemed, the stream of wit, the like of which he had never perhaps in his whole life heard before. The old gentleman's behaviour afforded Colonel B. a good deal of quiet amusement. Unnoticed, he made his friends aware of what had attracted his attention, and then, as soon as he saw that they were observing, he remarked to his opposite: 'Mr. Potts, you're quite chatty,'[2] which, it is needless to say, set the table off again.
When the laughter had a little subsided, Colonel B. recommenced by giving his guests a sketch of a certain Miss B., a young lady between forty and fifty years of age, who was a well-known character in the cantonment. He gave them to understand that this young lady still hoped. She could not, indeed, bring herself to believe that she would always remain Miss B., and, in consequence of this settled conviction, she not unfrequently afforded amusement to her acquaintances. Remarks to this effect, whenever she indulged in them, appeared to yield the ladies considerable enjoyment: 'You know, my dear, when I get married, or when I have a house of my own,' etc. These unintentional exhibitions of her hopes and wishes on the part of Miss B. led to a good deal of harmless quizzing, and to numerous inquiries, such as, 'On whom were her smiles chiefly bestowed?' 'Who was to be the happy man?' or 'Whether this lucky individual had been fixed on?' 'When would the ceremony take place?' and many more such seductive and insidious questions, which led the dear innocent into sundry admissions and confessions, tending to show that she had anything but a dislike to the holy state of matrimony, though she had not yet made her election. 'The state of affairs having thus been made sufficiently evident, several of the young scamps you see around you, who, as well as Miss B., are frequent visitors at my house, took it into their wise heads, for the sake of the fun, to declare themselves Miss B.'s admirers, partly with the sanction, at all events, with the tacit permission, of Mrs. B., who could not find it in her heart to object to anything in the shape of fun and frolic. So it has come to pass that a frequent amusement there is the violent love-making on the part of these young lads to this sweet young creature, who, to do her but justice, distributes her sweetness to A., B., or C. with an impartiality that really is quite charming. I sometimes fear that the young fellows are carrying matters too far with their protestations, their vows of devotion, their hopes of future bliss, their dread that she prefers another, their appeals to a cornelian heart she wears, which more than one of these describe as their mutual property, and a great deal more of like quality, which, with their kneeling and impassioned acting, is comical enough. Yet one thing to be remarked is, to my mind, more comical still—the more fervid the performance, the more the lady is pleased; but the crowning fun is that, under the continuance of the excitement, the dear old girl gets so dreadfully affectionate, that more than one of the performers has declared his conviction that ere long she will throw herself into the arms of one or other of them.'
'Well, B.,' said both his guests, 'you must give us an opportunity of being present at one of these scenes; we wouldn't miss the chance on any account. The fun must be "rich and rare."' 'Make your minds easy,' replied the Colonel; 'we'll have a rehearsal at which you shall be present in a few days. Let me see,' added he, 'I'm not sure that we can't manage it sooner.' 'The sooner the better,' said his friends. 'There is the sham fight,' resumed the Colonel, 'to-morrow, and it will occupy us from five a.m. to about ten, which is the hour for breakfast with C. We dine with General V. at seven p.m., but between breakfast and dinner we shall have several hours free, say from twelve a.m. to six p.m. Mrs. B. will order us a very light tiffin at two p.m.—some ices and blancmange, rien de plus, and then we can have, as an interlude before dinner, Miss B. and her lovers. How will that suit you?' 'The very thing,' said the 'twa lurds.' 'Nothing can be better.' 'That, then, is arranged,' said Colonel B., who continued: 'Now you would scarcely credit that anyone could be so full of faith as this ancient young gentlewoman is; but facts are stubborn things, you know, and therefore stubborn things are facts—at least, sometimes.' 'Ah, ha!' said his guests, laughing; 'breaking out of bounds, are you?' 'No, no,' returned the Colonel, 'only "verbum volans." But these same young men, who are now making such violent love to Miss B., played the lady rather a scurvy trick the other day. They continued, however, to make her believe that they were wholly innocent, and had had no concern in it. They affected great indignation against the perpetrators of the outrage, as Miss B. termed it, sympathized deeply with her under the infliction, and vowed signal vengeance if they could only find out the guilty parties. In a short time the confiding fair one believed again, forgetting all her suspicions and her anger, and now she listens with obvious delight to the vows and protestations of her simulating lovers.' 'She is truly, as you have mentioned,' said Lord C., 'a guileless, confiding innocent; but you have not told us what the young deceivers did.' 'The thing arose in this way,' said Colonel B. 'Some of our young fellows, having heard that Miss B. expected a parcel from Madras, determined that she should have one with as little delay as might be. They first sent the parcel to Madras (to Oakes's, I believe), directing him to take off the wrapper with his address on it, and then to forward the parcel inside to the address written thereon. They further managed so that the said parcel reached Miss B. while she was at my house. Most of the young lads in the cantonment were there at the time, and a large gathering beside.'
'"Oh, my parcel, my long-expected parcel, come at last!" exclaimed the lady. "Oh, won't you open it? Do open it, Miss B.," said numerous voices. "Let me help you"—from others. "But what is it?" said Mrs. B.; "is it anything that will break? Be careful; you don't know what it is." "It's only a silk dress, and some lace trimming." "Well," said one of the culprits, "whatever it is, they have wrapped it up well; I think this is the tenth paper I have taken off." "Still more to take off," said another. "Very extraordinary! What can it be? I'm sure it's not a silk dress; I feel something much firmer and stiffer than a silk dress." "I tell you it's only a silk dress," reiterated Miss B. At last the boldest of the conspirators took off the last envelope of gauze paper, and exhibited something. As he did so he said to poor Miss B., "Surely this is not a silk dress, is it, Miss B.?" "Oh, heavens!" screamed the astonished and horrified lady, running off at once into my wife's bedroom—"Oh, heavens! I shall never recover it. Such an insult!"' 'But what did the parcel contain after all?' inquired the two magnates. 'Ah! what did it contain?' asked several voices. 'What do you guess?' returned the Colonel. 'Oh, we can't guess; we give it up. Pray tell us'—from all sides. 'Well, then, what do you say to a pair of leather male garments, a pair of buck-skins—only a pair of buck-skins? I can't describe them by the popular denomination; there would be breaches in my good manners if I did.'
While Colonel B. was running on in this way, the company, and especially the two young lords, were convulsed with laughter. As soon as Lord C. could speak, he said, with tears in his eyes, 'Oh, B., you'll be the death of us if you go on in this way. E. declares that his sides are so sore that it almost makes him cry to laugh any more, and I'm just as bad. But who suggested this delicate compliment to Miss B.? I must have a glass of wine with him.' 'And I'll join you,' said his friend. 'Why, the truth is,' said D., 'there were three of us engaged in the matter, but which of us first thought of the leathers I can't say.' 'It is evidently a divided honour,' said the Colonel. 'I and Elphinstone will drink to you three,' said Lord C., and 'Hurrah for the buck-skins! hurrah for the buck-skins!' was shouted on every side.
* * * * * *
'I think it's high time for us to depart,'said Lady Jervois; 'I'm not sure that we haven't stayed too long already. At any rate, it must be near eight bells.' 'I agree with you, Lady Jervois,' said Mrs. Smythe; 'but really I did not anticipate that Dr. Ticklemore would be so minute in his detail. I can't help suspecting that he has been taking rather unwarrantable liberties with his brother's memoranda, and that his description of poor Miss B. is little more than a mischievous libel on that ill-used lady.' 'I'm sure, Dr. Ticklemore,' said Miss Perkins, 'that no correct unmarried lady would go on as you try to make out that Miss B. did.' 'Really, Miss Perkins and ladies all,' replied the Doctor, 'I do assure you I have taken no liberties with my brother's memoranda, and not for the world would I dream of taking any with such a lady as Miss B.' 'Good-night, gentlemen; good-night, Dr. Ticklemore, with thanks for your narrative, or at least for part of it; but we must put you on your good behaviour for the future, or we cannot make a part of your audience.' 'Why, I haven't said anything that's not proper, have I?' 'No, no,' said Captain Ward; 'any exuberance in his descriptions he'll avoid in future, I'm sure. You pledge yourself, mind that, Ticklemore, on my guarantee.' 'Oh, certainly!' returned the culprit; 'I'm pledged, pawned, verbally and corporeally, to avoid all exuberance, though what kind of crime that is I don't quite know; but it's all the same,' sotto voce. 'Well, remember; you are only to be honoured with an audience on the promise of future good behaviour.' 'Aye, aye, sir,' said the nautical Esculapius.
* * * * * *
'Well, now that the ladies are amongst the departed,' said Dr. T., 'I can finish the sketch my brother has given us of Colonel B.'s sayings and doings relative to Miss B. and the present of the leathers. Mrs. B., though she enjoyed the joke as much as any of the conspirators, took compassion on the wounded sensibilities of the lady, made her pass the night at the house, and kept her there as a guest for some days; in short, she did all she could to soothe and console. She would not allow anyone who called to be admitted, and when, after a day or two of seclusion, the Colonel met Miss B. in the drawing-room, he spoke to her just as if nothing had occurred to ruffle her feelings; he was ever kind and courteous to everyone, and unwilling to give pain. He would not, therefore, have made any allusion to what had recently occurred, but Miss B. felt her wrongs were too great to be passed over in silence, and her sorrows were too weighty to be repressed. With a flood of tears she referred to the outrage, the indignity, the insult that had been offered to her; it was cruel, it was unmanly it was cowardly, it was disgraceful. By-and-by she ran herself out, and began to speak of less poignant afflictions. It was not enough that she should be disappointed in receiving the dress she had been so long expecting, but she must, in addition, be subject to such vile treatment. (Sob after sob.) "Why don't you say something to soothe her distress, Dick?" said Mrs. B., "you can comfort so well if you will." "Can I?" said the Colonel. "C'est bien, madame." Then turning to Miss B., he said, "Indeed I sympathize with you deeply. Such a wicked present as you received would naturally cause much disappointment. Empty compliments always do cause disappointment; and then to have to appear before your friends without your dress must have given you deep mortification, although it is said that 'beauty unadorned is then adorned the most.'" "Dick, Dick," interposed Mrs. B., "how can you go on so?" "How could Miss B. go on so, did you say? Well, how she could is difficult to understand." "Oh, stop, will you," said Mrs. B., "you're a horrid fellow; you won't even listen to all Miss B.'s troubles and distresses." "What, anything more," asked the Colonel, "beside the costume of the Buffs, or the want of costume, that vexed her so much?" "Hold that mischievous tongue of yours and listen. Miss B. will be obliged when she leaves our roof to go and live in the Fort, because her nephew, Mr. H., has been ordered to reside there for the present." "And if it be so," replied Colonel B., "I don't see any serious hardship or misfortune in it." "No; but Miss B. regrets that she will be three miles from her friends; and there within the walls of the Fort she will have nothing to amuse her, nothing except the goats and kids, sheep and rams, and lambs, and the bare walls to look at." "Ah, now," said the Colonel, "I admit she is to be pitied; to have nothing to amuse her, nothing even to look at, except the naked walls and ramparts, is a sad and melancholy occupation. I feel for you deeply, Miss B."
'This meagre sketch of Colonel B. would be more imperfect than it is if nothing was said of his wonderful power as an actor. This, however, my brother passes over very slightly, and it is much to be regretted, as in some characters he was really inimitable, unapproachable. All the Falstaffs that the stage has ever seen were not so perfect in the conception and exhibition of the matchless wit of the fat old knight as Colonel B.'s. Many bigger and lustier men, properly stuffed out, would no doubt exhibit the figure which Shakespeare has given to the hoary sinner more adequately, but no one, I believe, ever came up to the Colonel in the rendering of every sentence and every word spoken by Falstaff. He made the author's meaning plain and intelligible to almost everyone; his superlative acting explained what would otherwise have escaped notice, or have been misunderstood, or not understood at all. To read the play after having witnessed his portraiture of Falstaff was like looking at a butterfly's wing with the naked eye, and then viewing it under the microscope. My brother has some rather amusing remarks on the Colonel's powers and high qualities as an actor in other characters; he mentions Tyke, Alapod, Touchstone, and many others, in all of which Colonel B. was very admirable. But a Bangalore audience, at the time to which my brother's memoranda refers, was little fitted to appreciate the higher walks of histrionic art. Farces, Bombastes Furioso, and such kind of entertainments were better suited to their mental calibre. He illustrates his meaning by the following anecdote: The Colonel's acting, though so truly admirable, had never elicited much applause until in one of his characters (I forget which) he had to bray like a donkey. This performance elicited uproarious and long-continued applause. The Colonel's only remark after this was, "He knew now what suited a Bangalore audience." This closes the sketch I have consulted of this highly gifted and talented man. Both he and the audience that excited his contempt have passed away, almost all of them: but all who ever knew Colonel B. may well say, "When shall we look upon his like again?" Yet though I am without the sources of information that I have till now relied on, my memory would rise up in judgment against me if I did not say a few words in illustration of the undeviating kindness of heart, active benevolence, and unrivalled ability which so often prompted him to stand forth as the defender of those whom misfortune, or even momentary culpability, had brought into grave trouble and danger. I shall never forget the impression made on me merely by reading his masterly defence of poor Captain E., who was brought before a court-martial for being drunk while on main guard. I do not call to mind all the circumstances of the case, but I remember the prosecutor was Major S., then commanding H.M.'s 39th Regiment, and a noble regiment it was. The facts connected with the charge were chiefly as follows: Captain O. deposed that he visited the guard at the usual hour, and the prisoner came forward to give his report, but fell down on the ground before he was near enough to hand it to him; that he called to the sergeant of the guard, who handed him the report. Captain O. then asked the sergeant if he had seen what had occurred; the sergeant replied that he had seen it all. Captain O. then rode to the quarters of the officers commanding the cantonment, and at once reported the circumstance. Colonel L. then and there placed the defaulter under arrest, and ordered Captain G., the next on the roster for that duty, to relieve Captain E. immediately. These facts were all duly set forth in the various counts into which the charge was subdivided, and were all proved by viva voce evidence in court. The prisoner had, by Colonel B.'s advice, reserved his defence until everything that could be urged against him had been stated, and, as it seemed, fully substantiated; he then recorded the plea "Not guilty," adding that he had placed his defence in the hands of Colonel B., who had kindly offered his assistance. The Court having granted Colonel B. permission to plead for the prisoner, the Colonel, having thanked the Court for having conceded to him the position he had sought, commenced his address something to this effect: As a British officer, he felt that discipline, the strictest discipline, was the life of an army, the great distinction between a mob and a regular force, and that it must be enforced on all occasions, and under every possible condition; that the pain and grief that a generous heart must sometimes feel in carrying it into execution must never for an instant be allowed to interfere or suspend, or to mitigate, the penalties or punishments awarded by military law for military offences. "With these sentiments firmly fixed in my mind, I should be the last man in the army to come forward to advocate any cause, or support any plea, that would in the remotest way tend to undermine or weaken or impair discipline. But, sir, discipline is not opposed to justice; discipline is the strong arm of justice; discipline without justice could not long exist, for then it would be injustice, and injustice would be a breach of discipline. Discipline and justice, then, must go together; they cannot be disunited. These principles, sir, are as old as the world, and as fixed as the foundations of the world; and, sir, in making this appeal to you, and to every member of this Court of Honour, I feel as sure of the response as if I saw every generous heart laid bare before me. You will all, without a doubt, uphold discipline, but you will not forget that to uphold discipline you must do justice; and to do justice you must take nothing for granted, you must insist on having proofs, undoubted, undeniable proofs; no suspicions or suspicious circumstances must be accepted as proofs. Did you, or could you, accept any such as proofs, you would not do justice, and consequently would not uphold discipline. If any one count of the charge cannot be distinctly and unequivocally proved, that count is doubtful, and the law declares that when there is a doubt the accused is to have the benefit of it. But why do I speak of law? Your own feelings will tell you most emphatically that you cannot condemn when you are in doubt. Now to apply these principles. The prisoner is charged with being drunk on duty—an unpardonable crime in a military point of view—and you have had it in evidence on oath that this unfortunate officer was so incapable that, when advancing to give in his report, he fell on the ground. This has been stated on oath by Captain O. and Sergeant Maguire, both witnesses of unimpeachable credit, and both without any adverse bias or leaning. But, Mr. President and gentlemen, we must not forget that opinions are not proofs. To prove that the fall and the incapability resulted from drunkenness we must have more than opinions. First, we must inquire if any liquor or spirit was drunk at the guard-room. The prisoner admits that he drank while on guard the quantity that you see is absent out of this small flask. It was nearly full when he left home, and the Sergeant found it on the table in the guard-room, with this quantity in it; this he has sworn to. Thus it is clear that Captain E. did not, out of this flask, while on guard, drink more than one glass of brandy, and he was there for six hours. The Sergeant has further deposed that no liquor except that brought in the flask by the prisoner was brought into the guard-room by any other person. How, then, is the drunkenness to be accounted for? One glass of brandy taken in six hours will not make any man drunk. There is the fall and the incapability, but one glass of brandy in the time stated will not account for these. If they cannot be attributed to drunkenness there must be some other cause. The prisoner will, if cross-examined, confirm what I have now to state. During the day of that night when Captain E. was to remain on guard, he had suffered more or less from neuralgia of the left side of the face; he has, I may now state, ever since he was in Burmah, suffered at times from this complaint, and on account of this wearing and painful affection he has been obliged to take morphine and other narcotics to a great extent. He also admits that he had at times taken alcoholic stimulants in considerable quantity, and that shortly before going on guard he had done so. While on guard he further admits that he took several doses of morphine. To the combined effects of these remedies he attributed the fall and the incapability; he was overcome by the action of stimulants and narcotics, but surely this is not drunkenness? Dr. MacD. is also prepared to state on oath that he is fully aware of the fact that Captain E. has for a long time past suffered from neuralgia, more or less severe, and that he has on many occasions prescribed for him on account of it. These circumstances, I submit, relieve the case of its worst features, and I confidently appeal to the gallant officer who has felt it to be his duty to bring the charge into Court, whether he does not now feel that the case wears a new aspect? Major S. generously and frankly admits that he is not now so certain of the prisoner's guilt as he was when he first took up the case. Nothing less was to be expected from his well-known character, zealous as he is that the reputation of his far-famed regiment, primus in Indus, should remain unsullied and unspotted. Earnest as he is to preserve its honour and its discipline, he is yet too magnanimous, too just, too truthful, to press his charge unduly. He has admitted that he is not now so certain as he was. What do those noble words amount to? Do they not admit a doubt—a doubt entertained by a frank and lofty mind not shut against conviction? He says his opinion is not to decide. No, we know full well for what purpose this Court is now sitting; we know that a wife and family are now enduring the agony of suspense; we know that degradation and disgrace, nay, future poverty and misery, depend on your decision; we know that though you, too, are zealous and eager to uphold discipline, you are not forgetful of justice; we know that, not less magnanimous and truthful than Major S., you will, like him, not refuse to admit a doubt, where doubt really is; we know to whom we trust, and if trust cannot be reposed in such an assembly of British officers, it is nowhere to be found in the world! May I say one word more? May that Great and Just Being before whom we must all one day appear, direct and guide you so that your rest may be sweet and unbroken, and never be disturbed by the thought that you refused to a poor suffering brother that justice tempered with mercy which we all shall one day need, and all look to obtain, through merits not our own."
A hum and buzz of applause ran through the Court; then the President and members retired, and there was an interval of silence and suspense. Whispers were the only mode of communication employed. After nearly twenty minutes had elapsed, a member of the Court opened the door and directed Captain E. to attend him, that the sentence of the Court might be communicated by the President. It is not necessary to trace all the steps or forms adopted by military tribunals; all that is needful to record is that after a severe admonition, and the loss of some steps in rank, Captain E.'s sword was restored to him. Everyone in Court congratulated him warmly on his escape. The poor man seemed stunned; he could only say, 'Thank you, thank you.'
Colonel B., who was overwhelmed by compliments and praises, as soon as he could disengage himself from the General and Major S., came up to Captain E., and hurrying him into his carriage, drove him away amidst the cheers of the assembly. But words are wanting to describe the meeting of the wife and the husband. The lady wished to throw herself at Colonel B.'s feet, but he would not suffer it. He placed her in her husband's arms, and then left them with their mingled benedictions making sweet music in his ears, and gratitude too great for utterance streaming from their eyes. Colonel B. directed his coachman to go slowly round the racecourse before he drove home. Is there a living man who does not envy him the luxury of that solitary drive? And what are the compliments and praises of the world compared to the approval of that still small voice that God has placed within our breasts?
Let us leave the excellent man of whom we have been speaking to the sweet converse with that silent voice. That the rewards he thus experienced were inexpressibly dear to him is proved by his practice through life. He stood forth on every possible occasion as the champion of distress, making his unrivalled talents the servants of his humanity, and the ministers of relief and safety to many who, like Captain E., had none but him to help them.
Who, then, knowing these things, can doubt that the soldier with his motto, "En avant," has found the path to realms beyond the sky, to fields of glory unprofaned by blood and death, but yet where few shall go before him?