Screams of laughter from the other side of the hedge informed the discomfited would-be Lothario that there had been witnesses of his ignominious defeat, and while he stood with one hand up to the side of his face, paralyzed with mortification and vexation, the palankeens moved off. Then he heard one of the observers say to the other: 'Wasn't it a sounder!'
'That it was, and no mistake,' replied his companion. Then both broke into another fit of laughter. Who the two watchers were it is not necessary to say.
When the calling hours came round they had a charming little narrative for their friends, which flew round the cantonment like wildfire, to the intense delight of the hearers as well as reporters.
Lest the more sensitive, sympathizing half of the creation might imagine that, actuated by despair, the hero of this passing scene sought some tragic remedy to quiet his distracting sorrow, or like those youths that died for love,
as Mr. Pope tells us, it is satisfactory to be able to inform these sensitive souls that the Major did this literatim, for having evaded for three days any appearance at mess by reporting sick, he obtained three months' leave of absence to the Neilgherry Hills, said to be above 6,000 feet above the level of the sea.
When on the hills, the Major must be regarded as an exalted character, but let us breathe in the softest whisper that he was not. No, he was not a heroic specimen of manhood, that is the melancholy truth; and however distressing the fact may be to Paul de Koch (or his shade), instead of resorting for help to a bullet, or prussic acid, or a pan of charcoal, as all Paul's heroes and heroines did, he only fled to the hills from the looks and laughter of his companions.
The scene that now presents itself is that of the race stand at Bangalore. The ring, twenty yards distant, is just opposite, with the winning-post about four yards in front of it. All 'the beauty and fashion,' as the newspapers phrase it, are seated in the front rows of the stand, or are fast coming in. Old Tommy H., the General, is seated beside his beloved Anna, who is not merely General, but Generaless too. She is at least forty years younger than her husband, who cannot be less than seventy, while if she numbers thirty-two or three it is the utmost she can be rated at. She is a fine woman, with fine features, and withal, and in spite of the great disparity in years, a kind, loving, affectionate wife. It is no wonder, then, that the old man loves her—he says he cannot love her enough; and truly the poor old fellow tries to act up to that saying. At a review, a brigade field-day or sham fight, Mrs. H.'s military ardour sometimes carries her away. She is a splendid horsewoman, and is seen galloping about at full speed from point to point, the Adjutant-General of Division sailing after her in the vain endeavour to keep beside her, while the General is trying to maintain his seat and a very gentle canter at the same time. To restrain the instincts of an admirably trained charger whose native fire has been cooled and partly tamed by fifteen years' service, is sometimes effected, but at other times with so little success that a horsekeeper, running on either side of him, is obliged to hold down his legs, and thus keep him in the saddle. The General is, besides, fully engaged in soothing the ungovernable creature by patting him on the neck, and speaking to him in the most endearing way, and these manœuvres seem to be perfectly well understood by the sagacious quadruped. The kind of conversation carried on between them was something after the following fashion: 'Wo ho, proud animal. Soh ho, my steed!—Neigh, neigh!—'Soh ho, soh ho! But why these bounds and curvets?'—Neigh, neigh!—'There, there! wo ho, noble beast,' the patting being all the time assiduously continued.
These exhibitions of horsemanship naturally amused all who beheld them, and led to a good deal of idle chaff and fun. Adolphe D., the Divisional Adjutant-General, was asked whether any order had yet arrived from headquarters to invest the lady in her husband's cocked hat, coat, and continuations, etc., and to clothe him in her petticoats, etc.; for, if not, and the Arabs, who at this time mustered strong at Kurnool, should make a raid into the Mysore country, all the inhabitants of Bangalore might get up one fine morning and find their throats cut; and a great deal more in the same strain.
However, as neither the old General nor his wife heard these stupendous efforts of wit, they were not rendered for ever miserable by them. On the contrary, sitting beside each other at the race-stand, they appeared particularly happy and comfortable. Pretty Mrs. D. was conspicuous amongst the ladies, she and her squire, Lieutenant M. of the Horse Artillery, being characterized as a particularly handsome pair. Unfortunately, they were neither paired nor coupled, Captain D. being the owner, or, it might be said, the reputed owner, of Eve's fair daughter.
It would be an endless task to enumerate all those who were present. First, all the sporting men were there, decked in hunting coats, buckskins, and top-boots. This list included Colonel MacC., Lieutenant M., H.A., Captain Venables, H.M.'s 39th Regiment, Long E. of 7th N. Cavalry, Suscat and Humphries of the N. Cavalry, Captain L. of the H.A., some strangers, sporting men, some civilians from Madras, and the Mofussil, several dragoon officers, and some few, besides Captain Venables, from H.M.'s 39th and the Native Infantry Regiments. Most of these occupied the ring, where the gentlemen who were to ride were dressing, or weighing, or being weighed. It was a busy, bustling scene. Some had field-glasses slung over their shoulders; the greater number had notebooks in their hands.
The race-stand was now crowded with officers of all arms, some few civilians and ladies, many of them from Madras, Arcot, etc. The jockeys were many of them dressed and ready, whip in hand, for a final weighing; the horsecloths were being taken off the horses, and all began to examine the printed papers in their hands. Ten horses were to run. Lieutenant M., in jockey costume, now walked from the band-stand to the seat in the race-stand occupied by Mrs. D., who said: 'What is it, Frank?' 'I only came over to point out the horses to you,' returned her friend; 'they are going to walk them about for a little while, and I'll stay with you till the first bell rings.' 'That's a good boy!' said the lady, looking at him as I should not have liked her to look had I been Captain D. But, alas! alas! Hei mihi quod nullis amor est, medicabilis herbis. So Ovid said years agone, and so he might say again could he again return to earth.
'Well, that beautiful creature is Colonel Cubbon's, and so is that.' 'And the dark gray, whose is that?' 'Oh, that is Anatomy. Well, he's a handsome fellow, too, but in too good condition for such a name.' 'Whose horse is he?' 'He belongs to General Mrs. H.' 'Oh, really,' said the lady, 'what an odd name! But, no; it isn't. Nothing could be more appropriate for Anna Tommy.' 'Well done, Emma!' said her escort; 'that's capital. Isn't that good, Colonel Williamson?' 'What?' said the Colonel; 'I didn't hear.' Mrs. D.'s bon mot was repeated, and all who heard it applauded loudly. 'On my word,' said Colonel W., 'Mrs. D., you're a monopolist. The ladies say you have more good looks than should fall to any one person's share, and not content with that, you throw all your friends into the shade by your wit.' 'I'm sure,' replied Mrs. D., 'the ladies didn't say that; you say it for them. It would be only too delightful if it were true.' 'It is quite true, Mrs. D.; two delightful things are wit and beauty.' 'Oh yes; quite true if one possessed them.' 'Come, come, you're not going to outface me in that way,' said Colonel W., 'with such proofs before my eyes and in my ears.' 'Oh,' said Mrs. O., in a half whisper to Mrs. C, 'she has brass enough to outface old Nick himself; anyone with half an eye could see what she is, only these men, especially old ones, are such unutterable fools.' Mrs. D. probably heard something and guessed more, for she leaned back in her chair and laughed heartily; then, casting an expressive glance towards Mrs. O., she said: 'Who is it, Frank, that says, "The highest compliment one woman can pay another is when the one exhibits malignity and envy towards the other"—who is it?' 'I fancy,' returned Frank, 'you mean that clever sample of female vanity, Madame de Staël. But how did you make acquaintance with her? I thought you didn't care for that sort of thing.' 'I do read sometimes, Frank.' 'Yes, I know you do; I caught you reading the "Bride of Abydos" the other day.' 'Yes; I do read Byron, and have the honesty and courage to admit that I do; others read, and deny that they do so. But I'm not going to fight with you now; this isn't the right time or place, sir. But I'm in high spirits this morning, and I ought to be, for I have won high compliments from Colonel Williamson—he who never speaks of our poor sex without bringing up all our transgressions, from that little mistake our unhappy great-grandmother made to the various errors, faux pas, or misdemeanours attaching to Madame de Maintenon or the Marchioness of H.'
'Well, "mera jan," I must run. I have scarcely time to weigh again and mount. They are ringing that bell with the utmost violence and impatience.' 'Go, then; mount and win,' said the lady. 'So I always do,' said he, whispering something in her ear. 'Begone, you wicked boy!' said she, laughing, but pushing him away. 'Now that there's a vacancy,' said the old Colonel, 'I'll occupy M.'s place, and repeat all those transgressions you refer to, solely, you know, to make myself agreeable.' 'That's rather an odd way of doing it, isn't it?' replied Mrs. D. 'It's something like beating one till you're tired, and then claiming credit for leaving off a minute or two.' 'No, no; it's a great deal more than that. I apply soothing plasters, don't I? and dress you very nicely, don't I?' 'Nothing of the sort. I have my ayah to do that; and if you're going to beat me again, on the strength of your nice dressing, I tell you I won't suffer it.' 'Well, then, just to please you, instead of dressing, I'll do the other thing, if you will only let me; in short, I'll do anything to please.' 'Well, then, Colonel W., you'll stop, if you please. I have, and you have, allowed your tongue greater latitude than ought to have been allowed, so if you please you'll stop now, and we'll talk of something else.' Old W. was quick enough to understand from the lady's tone and manner that she would resent any prolongation of the giff-gaff he had been indulging in, so, like an experienced warrior, he drew off his forces, and said: 'Come, then, I'll go on with the horses.' The lady, to show that she had forgiven the old sinner, said with an arch smile: 'I see how it is. Mrs. Williamson does not keep you at all in order; she must do better in future, or I shall warn her if she doesn't. You're such an impetuous old gentleman that she'll have you paying adoration to all the ladies in the station.' 'Oh no,' returned old W., 'you wouldn't do that: have some compassion. Spare me that.' 'A-ha!' said Mrs. D., 'so I have found a crevice in your armour, have I? Ha, ha, ha!' laughing maliciously. 'Well, sir, behave yourself, and try and control your juvenile impetuosity. Ha, ha, ha! How M. will laugh when I tell him!' 'No, no; you won't tell him—I'm sure you won't.' 'I rather think I shall,' said the lady. 'Are you afraid of twelve paces?' 'As far as that,' replied Colonel W., 'I fear nothing, and I've proved that more than once. We can settle it over a handkerchief if M. likes; but I am afraid to face the ridicule, the scandal, and the gossip that a meeting between me, a married man, and M. on account of a married lady, might and would give rise to. I confess I am afraid of that. Come, be generous, and don't say anything about my small delinquencies.' 'Well, sir, if you'll promise to behave yourself, I will for the present hold my tongue.' 'That's kind. Now we'll look at the horses.' So the horses were looked at and pointed out individually, and their qualities and prospects descanted on. By and by the start took place. M.'s horse Leander won; Trojan, the horse backed by Captain Venables, second; and Roderic, Colonel MacC.'s horse, third; the rest nowhere. Mrs. D.'s delight was inexpressibly great, and while she was talking with the utmost volubility she declared she had no words to express it.
In the midst of the glee and the rejoicing, M. made his appearance, but with a countenance expressive of anything but mirth and satisfaction. 'What's the matter, Frank?' said Mrs. D. 'Nothing,' said M., 'but that I have lost the race.' 'How can that be?' said the lady. 'Your horse came in first.' 'Yes; but when the jockey was weighed, it was found that he had lost weight.' 'Oh, how sorry I am,' said Mrs. D.; 'I could actually cry, I'm so vexed.' 'Don't do that, "mera jan," don't do that; I'd rather lose the next race than that you should do that.' 'Well, Frank, I won't if I can help it.' 'I am really sorry,' said Colonel W.; 'but how did it happen?' 'I can't tell, and the boy can't tell. He is a good lad, and is now doing what you were almost doing, Emma; he is crying his eyes out because he has lost the race and I have lost my money.' 'But how did it occur?' 'I suppose some of the shot escaped out of the shot-belt, though how they could I don't know. However it came about, it has happened, and I have lost the race.' 'Well,' said the Colonel, 'you take it very philosophically.' 'Why should I not do so? fretting or fuming won't help me. Losing my temper won't save me from losing my money.' 'True,' returned the Colonel; 'but few exhibit so much command over themselves.' 'Few are like Frank,' said Mrs. D. 'But how much weight did the boy lose?' 'I forget exactly; not many grains over allowances.' 'And must you lose the race for that? that is hard.' 'No, "mera jan," it is the law, the rule; and it is as fair for one as the other.' 'Why, then, don't they have a piece of lead scraped or filed down to what is exactly required, and then if it were sewn into the jacket it could not be lost.' 'Not a bad plan, Emma, truly; but it can only help us for the future; it cannot help us on this occasion.' 'What I can't understand is how Cubbon's horses, by far the best of those which started, did not win.' 'It was in consequence of their acknowledged superiority that they lost,' replied M. 'Isn't that a paradoxical remark,' asked Mrs. D. 'No, Emma,' said M.; 'they carried too much extra weight. I knew they would lose, and I told the Colonel so, and advised him to scratch them. I also said I thought that the committee had decided erroneously; but he was so good and so generous that he declared he would rather lose than spoil the race and the general pleasure. Oh, he is primus et solus.' All sung Colonel Cubbon's praises, and then all prepared for the second heat.
Not to make my story too long, it is merely necessary to state the facts as they occurred. Trojan was first. The little mare Kate (M.'s horse) came in second, but again M. lost through his jockey, this time evidently by villainy; the boy had chosen to lose his whip. This would not have occurred had the lad who rode the first race been allowed to ride the second, which M. himself wished. His wishes were, however, overruled by his friends; so the honest but unfortunate jockey was discarded and the scoundrel trusted, as too often happens in this world in more important matters. As he himself said, 'Fate was determined to win the race against him.'
Poor fellow! that day's sport made him an indebted and distressed man all his days. On the other hand Fate, or Dame Fortune was equally determined that Captain Venables should be a winner. First, the horse he backed so largely was an ugly, awkward, bony-looking brute that would never have had the ghost of a chance had not the committee, most unaccountably, at the last moment almost, doubled the length of the course. This enabled Trojan's wind and bottom to tell. Secondly, by another oversight, the weight named for him to carry was insignificant. For, by height, and size, and strength, he ought to have carried a stone more than he did; but, in truth, his other qualities were overlooked; his Roman nose and awkward appearance, together with his comparative want of speed, which was well known, deceived the members of the committee. He was scoffed at as a competitor, and was generally put down as nowhere in the race, and consequently the bets and odds were heavy against him. Had it not been for the double course, which made the stretch close on three miles, the knowing ones would have been quite right; but the alteration, which was purely accidental, upset all their calculations. Still, had it not been for the first jockey's accident and ill-luck, Leander would have won. As it was, Captain Venables won everything; his gains were calculated at more than £2,000, and, as everyone said, lucky it was for him that he did win. Had he lost, he had nothing, absolutely nothing, to offer in the shape of payment but his commission.
All the senior officers of the 39th had been constant and earnest in their remonstrances and entreaties to Captain Venables to draw back, and not to involve himself to such a perilous extent; but all to no purpose. An obstinate fit of deafness, and, as it was looked on, madness, seemed to have got possession of him. He would hear nothing, see nothing, and say nothing except, 'Well, we shall see,' and such like cool, determined phrases. Everyone set him down as an obstinate madman, whose ruin was certain. Major S. said to him after a long, earnest, and fruitless remonstrance, 'Well, Venables, I shall be sorry, after twenty years' service, to see you carrying a musket, but there's nothing else before you that I can see.' 'But,' replied V., 'I can see something else, Major; you will never see me carrying a musket.' 'I hope not,' replied the Major, as he walked out intensely disgusted and disappointed.
The real meaning of the expression was not understood till after the speaker's death. Then, as members of the committee appointed for that purpose were examining and noting down his effects, a bottle labelled 'Cyanide of Potassium' was found; it contained fully two ounces, not having been opened. This of itself might not have excited much suspicion, as several officers were then amusing themselves with learning how to plate copper and other articles, for which the salt in question was largely used; but that it had been obtained for another and far more deadly object was made clear by a book found near the bottle. This was the last edition of Taylor on poisons. The section on prussic, or hydrocyanic, acid and its compounds had evidently been carefully studied; there were many marks and annotations in the handwriting of the winner of the race in pencil, and one which explained the writer's feelings and intentions so plainly as to remove all doubt from the minds of the committee. The words were these, after underlining the quantities required to kill an adult, 'But, after all, I may not require it.' The Father of all mercy graciously removed him from the world without having the contemplated crime to answer for.
The manner of this unfortunate man's death was as follows: After the second heat, when all doubt was removed, and it was certain that Trojan had won so largely, Captain Venables flushed up so as to appear almost purple in the face. My brother was standing directly opposite in the race-stand, and at the time watching the winner. He beheld the extraordinary flush mentioned, saw it gradually fade and pass away, and a deadly paleness succeed to it; finally, he saw the most extraordinary changes take place. The officer's face became brown, leaden, almost green, and at last a little flushed; then he tottered, and would have fallen but that a friend held him up and supported him until a palankeen could be found; into this he was placed and conveyed home. Dr. Davis, the assistant surgeon of the regiment, was sent for; he directed his patient to take a glass of hot brandy-and-water directly, to be undressed, and put to bed. The report spread everywhere that Captain Venables, the winner of the race, had been so overcome by the excitement as to be seriously ill; that he had drunk a glass of brandy-and-water, had been put to bed, and was not to be disturbed till to-morrow. Few except my brother thought that anything beyond over-excitement was the matter; but he had closely observed the extraordinary changes exhibited by the poor man's face, and feared a fatal issue. Almost every other person said: 'Oh, he'll be all right to-morrow. Oh, it's nothing but over-excitement; he knew if he had lost that he would have to sell his commission, and have to serve in the ranks, so, after all, his being upset by his wonderful escape and good fortune is nothing to be wondered at.'
This being the general opinion, little more was said or thought of Captain Venables; but there was great stir and bustle amongst the young people, and especially amongst the young ladies, nor indeed was the stir and excitement confined to the young people. A fancy ball, to follow on the evening of the races, was too important and rare an occurrence to be lightly passed over. This momentous consummation to the races had been announced more than six weeks before, so tailors and a variety of curious artificers had been busy during the month. Ladies and gentlemen had also been unusually busy. The result of all this preparation was a very splendid collection of fancy costumes and groups taken from Scott's novels, as well as from the more sober though less delightful pages of history. Some of the groups and costumes were so exceptionally good that they really deserve a passing notice.
Of these groups Queen Elizabeth and three ladies of her court, in the costume of that day, with their grand ruffs, farthingales, and trains were very effective. Their four cavaliers, all habited in the well-known dress worn by Sir Walter Raleigh, formed a much-admired set for a quadrille. Queen Mary and her four Marys, with cavaliers wearing Highland dresses, formed another set for a quadrille, and were much admired. Another group habited as Virgins of the Sun also attracted much notice, the leader being Mrs. W. This naturally gave rise to several facetious remarks, which I leave to the imagination of the reader. Then after the groups there were several couples, which elicited marked applause. Mrs. C. and Mrs. M., as two Greek ladies, were greatly admired. Then Mrs. L. and Mrs. C., habited in the costume worn in the reign of George I., were acknowledged by all to be capital, and won universal admiration. Miss S., whose fine figure, beautiful complexion, and good-natured face must not be omitted, habited as a flower-girl, won many admirers. Other young ladies were seen disporting themselves as Persians, Circassians, Swiss maidens, sylphs, and vivandieres, and were all more or less admirable, and when mingled with the requisite number of Turks, Greeks, Hungarians, devils, and scaramouches, made up a beautiful and interesting mélange of characters. But the admired of all admirers was Mrs. S., in Scott's too charming character of Rebecca. To very handsome and expressive features, and to a tall, faultlessly graceful figure, this lady added the appropriate beauty of a brunette. Her dark eyes were fringed with long silken lashes; her long and luxuriant dark tresses, partly escaping from ribbons and turban, fell in natural curls on her neck and shoulders, and, seen through her gauze veil, formed a wealth of beauty which set off and enhanced the witchery of a bust that Leda herself might have envied. Her costume, closely copied from the description given in 'Ivanhoe,' completed the enchantment wrought by her appearance. Her elegant little feet and slippers, almost concealed by her full silken trousers, when they did appear, gave a provoking glimpse of that perfection of form which her dress concealed. She was by all admitted to be the cynosure of all eyes.
But where was the Bois-Guilbert who ought to have been her cavalier? Ah, where indeed? 'Tell it not in Gath, speak it not in the streets of Ascalon.' The Bois-Guilbert, who was to have been personated by her husband, Captain S., was unable to stand or even to articulate; he was lying on his bed, partly undressed, almost unable to move, and in a pickle that cannot be described. Poor Rebecca! her sorrowful expression of countenance was felt too deeply to be regarded as acting, or if it was it was acting with an aching heart. Unhappily the condition in which Captain S. was found was almost a nightly occurrence; and yet this very man, when sober, was without exception the handsomest and finest man in the cantonment.
The sensitive mind recoils with indignation, disgust, and horror from the picture presented. God's grandest gift to man, his intellect (which, far better than any trivial anatomical distinction, distinguishes him from the beast), wilfully, wickedly, and wantonly thrown aside to gratify the lowest of all propensities. But the drunkard does more than this. It is a libel on the beast to say that the drunkard makes a beast of himself; he makes himself worse and lower than the beast, for the beast does not get drunk. It is only man who gets drunk; it is only man who dares to insult his Creator in this detestable manner—who dares to fling back in His face his best gift, and who thus displays, at one time and in one act, his disobedience, his wickedness, his folly, and his ingratitude. And if we now inquire how a persistence in drinking ends, the hospital, the gaol, and the workhouse answer. While, during life, as the man pursues the dreadful downward path, he forfeits every kindly feeling on the part of those who once loved him, and would have done their best to serve him, in death he is remembered only as 'that drunken fellow' So-and-so. Some former friend, who knew him before he had yielded to this enthralling vice, may say perhaps: 'Well, I am sorry for poor ——. I knew him when he was as nice a fellow as you could wish to see; and to think that he, or such as he, should be among the victims of the Vampire Drink, is very sad; I cannot bear to think of it.' This is the career of the drunkard in this world. What it must be in the world to come, when he must give an account of his life, is dreadful to reflect on.
If the drunkard is a married man, his offences and his wickedness are greater still; all that applies to the unmarried man applies to him, and in addition cruelty of the worst kind—cruelty so heartless and so unnatural that, though we know it, we can scarcely believe it possible. The fiercest and most ravenous beasts of prey (though not gifted with human feelings and intelligence) do not desert their mates, nor their young; but the drunkard who is married not only deserts both, but will, to gratify his filthy passion, drink away his income, drink away his status in society, drink away his future prospects, and thus reduce wife and children from the position in which they were born, and had heretofore moved, to want, penury and degradation. Still not contented, but prompted by the horrible love of drink, the married drunkard deprives his wretched, miserable wife of the trifle she earns weekly, striving to stave off actual starvation, sells or pawns everything the unhappy pair once possessed, and the wife dies in the streets of starvation, cold, and misery. This is the natural result of drunkenness when observed in its effects on the classes that live by their daily labour. Let us trace in a higher grade the effects produced by indulgence in this baleful habit. The drunkard before his marriage manages to conceal his practices not only from the young lady he woos to be his wife, but from her friends. He, however, soon shows his colours. If in the army the natural consequence is that he drinks himself out of his commission. By the generosity of his Colonel and brother officers, he is allowed to sell, and the proceeds are made over to his unfortunate wife, who is deeply compassionated by all the regiment. And shall this mean, selfish wretch, who has wrecked the peace and prosperity of those whom he has sworn to love and cherish—sworn on the altar of the Most High—not be answerable? Shall he who has kept his holy marriage vows by bringing privation and misery on those who should be nearest and dearest, not be answerable? Innocence and virtue toiling in distress appeal to Heaven strongly. Man may disregard, but there is One who will not disregard—One who has said: 'Come unto Me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' A mother toiling to feed her children—toiling in an altered and reduced position, to which she has been brought by her drunken husband—is too sad, too noble a sight, not to attract the eye of mercy. If the destroyer has one spark of human feeling left, the knowledge of what he has done must be like the fire of hell in his heart and brain; but words in such a case are vain. 'Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay,' and to the Lord's vengeance such men must be left.
The effects of drunkenness, as exhibited by married and unmarried men, have been drawn from instances unhappily too well known to the author. Let us look now at the effects of this national sin, this degrading, despicable form of selfishness, regarded from a public point of view. What do the public prints tell us? What do we read of every day? Is there a crime that can be named that cannot be shown to have originated in drunkenness? Wife and child murder are actually common as one of these results. The vile husband comes home drunk, a quarrel ensues between him and his wife, and she—perhaps with her infant, or little boy or girl—is kicked to death by the infuriated savage. And what is too often the result? If the human brute expresses sorrow, and says he had taken a drop too much, he is allowed in some way or other to escape. Either the coroner and his jury bring in manslaughter, or the sapient judge and jury, by whom the ruffian is tried, find some legal reason to let him off, or the jury refuse to hang. They are too pitiful, but they have no pity for the unfortunate woman and her child or children. Drunkenness, as it is now regarded, is positively a protection to the murderer. Let us see how it acts in cases of less enormity than murder. Someone, man or woman, is beaten or kicked within an inch of his or her life, and the excuse invariably is that the beast had been drinking. Magistrates almost always ask this question. Policemen never fail to state that the man was, or was not, drunk. If the statement is that he was not drunk, it invariably acts as an aggravation of guilt; and, vice versâ, if the culprit is pronounced to have been drunk, it is at once received as a palliation. That which in common-sense is a positive crime, per se, is made by irrational custom to lessen and mitigate a greater crime.
The plea put forward to defend this practice is this: Would you punish severely the man who, from the influence of seductive company, or from any other cause, happens to get tipsy, even if he should commit manslaughter or other serious offence while under the effects of vicious stimulation? Certainly not. But this is mere sophistry. It is not an accident we have to consider; it is that of men who night after night deprive themselves of their senses by drink. In this case it appears clear that the fact of the man being drunk is a serious addition to his crime, as he has wilfully, and with his eyes open, deprived himself of his senses. This portion of the subject is too wide, too vast, for me to enter upon, as it necessarily touches the legal aspect of the question; and there are no doubt numberless legal gentlemen, gifted with fine and acute intellects, who are fully equal to the determination of the intricacies and difficulties of the question.
To the reader, the author feels that he owes an apology for having in a light work, devoted chiefly to the worship of Momus, been led to say what he has said on legislative matters; the delict was not intentional, it arose naturally from the incident related, and from consideration of the dreadful evils of intemperance, and the defects of the statutes passed in reference to it. Yet, if from the melancholy details recorded with reference to gambling on the racecourse, and the miserable instances of drunkenness brought forward (which, be it remembered, are cases actually observed), one solitary individual be induced to reflect on the life-long misery which almost surely will result from pursuing either of these baneful paths, and he by this means is led to pause in his ruinous career, the effects of the fault may perhaps go far to obtain pardon for it. Nor can the author think that because his principal object is to amuse, he should altogether be debarred from sometimes assuming a graver tone. Examples of individual sorrows, failings or crimes, ought not to be altogether useless, seeing that they are pages of individual history, and all history we know teaches by example.
Having now offered his apology, and recorded his plea for a favourable judgment, his long digression draws to a close, and he returns to the fancy ball, the description of which was interrupted by feelings excited in consequence of the condition recorded of Captain S. Let us now forget the unhappy man, and mingle with the gay crowd.
It has been before observed that the 'Virgins of the Sun' attracted a good deal of rather quizzical notice on account of their leader, or high priestess, or whatever else she may have termed herself. Now it so happened that this lady unintentionally afforded new cause for the same sort of notice. She wore, as all the young ladies in her train did, a veil attached to her head-dress, from which it descended to her feet, falling in graceful folds about her person. As the room became warmer, in spite of the punkahs which were kept constantly going, for the dancers—among whom Mrs. W. (the quasi virgin) had distinguished herself—the veil became unbearable. Mrs. W. rejoiced in rather a superfluity of flesh; she was a sanguine, full-blooded woman, with a large endowment of adipose tissue. We would on no account be so vulgar as to say that she was a fat woman; all that can be asserted, with due regard to the bienséances, is that she was decidedly, very decidedly, stout. The heat, the dancing, and the lady's full temperament, made the veil insufferable; it was accordingly laid aside, then at once were displayed charms that it is most difficult to do justice to. A dress laced in to the last point of endurance, and at the back so liberally cut down that the view afforded was unusually extensive, may give some notion of the length and breadth of the prospect. The heat, the exercise, and the constitution of the lady may, to those who have carefully studied such natural phenomena, suggest that a lovely roseate hue, a truly infantine tint, overpowered the native alabaster of the skin. The effect of the painfully heroic efforts to obtain a waist had produced a strong line down the spine, and had, moreover, accumulated masses of roseate adipose tissue on either side of that line. The tout ensemble presented such a comical resemblance to something that may be imagined though it may not be uttered, that the whole room was in a titter.
'Did ever you see anything like it, in your life?' said Mrs. C. 'Why, to tell you the truth, my dear, I think I have,' said Mrs. O., laughing immoderately; 'have not you? Think now!' 'Oh,' said one of the young ladies, 'I never!' 'On my life,' said old Mrs. Fitslik, 'it's like nothing in the world but a baby's ——.' 'Well,' replied Mrs. O., 'if it is, it must be an unusually well-developed baby; but I suppose "Virgins of the Sun" may have unusually developed babies, if they have any.'
To repeat one hundredth part of the light sarcasms and gibes and ironical praises of Mrs. W.'s liberality, beauty, and good taste, would be impossible. The universal inquiry was, during the evening, 'Have you seen Mrs. W.'s infantine back? if you haven't, you had better do so without loss of time, for I'll be bound you'll never see anything like it again, except you go into the nursery.' These, and innumerable others like these, formed the staple of the chat amongst the fairer half of the creation, and from these the talk of the gentlemen may be surmised. Some of the remarks, no doubt, were witty and caustic enough; but as the author has gone quite as far as he desired on the broad gauge in order to expose a special instance of bygone female vanity and folly, he begs to relegate the sayings of the male observers to the Greek Kalends.
The lights and shades of a ball, and especially of a fancy ball, have ever been to the author, who was not a dancer, a source of amusement. The wonder, embarrassment, pleasure, and delight of the neophytes, who made their first appearance on the scene, was to him very interesting and sometimes entertaining; as were the rivalries, flirtations, disappointments, and vexations of the more experienced practitioners. It would serve no purpose but to fatigue the reader to go into the details of these lights and shades. Everyone can picture to her or him self the usual occurrences of a ball—the eagerness of the young gentlemen to obtain as a partner for the valse, or the polka, or the galop, some particularly good dancer, or some particularly pretty girl, and the extraordinary ingenuity and tact displayed by the young ladies in avoiding and getting rid of those they did not wish to have for partners, and in waiting for, in piqueing or punishing those men whom they did wish to secure. Bless their sweet faces! all they did was equally remarkable.
The little plaisanterie about to be narrated took place at the house of the officer whose amiable disposition towards those under his command, and particularly towards my brother and Mrs. B., has previously been shown. Fortunately for all parties, the unhappy temper referred to was not always present, and, as this veritable history will prove, Colonel G. could make himself agreeable and join in fun and mirth as pleasantly even as Mrs. B. herself, who planned and originated le petit jeu now to be described. The frolic was suggested by the extreme love and reverence displayed by a young lady, then staying with Captain and Mrs. C., for titles and titled personages. The whole conversation of this young lady, a Miss Freeman, was made up with what Lord —— had thought, or said, or done; and how Sir George had remarked, with his usual good sense, so and so; and how the young Marquis of —— had been so funny about the horses, and how the ladies present had been so much amused, etc.
An exhibition of Miss F.'s feelings, likings, and instincts, took place at Mrs. G.'s house on the occasion of a morning call. Mrs. B., who happened to be there at the time, and who really had seen a good deal of high life, was so much amused that unintentionally she communicated her own feeling to Colonel G., who, we have seen, by his dexterity in turning the tables on poor Mrs. B., was by no means destitute of acuteness or satirical power. He soon comprehended the situation, and did his best to aid Mrs. B. in drawing out Miss Freeman. The conversation proceeded in a manner that may be guessed at by the following imperfect report:
'Well, but, my dear,' observed Mrs. B., 'I should like to hear some of the funny talk of the "most noble" youth that amused your lady friends so much; can't you tell us something of what he said?'
'Oh,' replied the young lady, 'I don't remember all he said.'
'But,' returned Mrs. B., 'we don't ask for all; can't you tell us something of it? You surely must remember something, and then perhaps we should be able to guess at something more.'
After a pause Miss F. said, 'I remember, amongst other funny things the young Marquis said, speaking of all the girls present, that "the young fillies were rather a promising lot taken altogether."'
'Did he really say that?' asked Mrs. B.; 'very amusing wasn't it, Colonel G.?'
'Amusing and complimentary too,' returned the Colonel.
'He must have been a delightful young man,' remarked Mrs. B.
'He was indeed, Mrs. B.,' said the young lady.
'But, come, tell us something more; don't be so stingy with your recollections: pray give us a little more.'
'I wish I could,' returned Miss F., 'but I've such a bad memory. Oh, I do call to mind. He said Miss Marks "went right well on her pasterns."'
'What an amusing fellow!' said the elder lady.
'You can't think what an amusing creature he was,' continued Miss F.
'I begin to have some notion,' replied Mrs. B.
'Oh, but you don't know what he said of Miss Smithers.'
'How should I?' returned Mrs. B. 'I wasn't so fortunate, you know, as to be one of his intimate friends.'
'That's true,' said Miss F.
'But,' continued the elder lady, 'let us hear what he said.'
'It was so funny that we all laughed.'
'How tantalizing you are! Why don't you repeat it, that we may laugh too?' said Mrs. B.
'Well,' replied Miss F., laughing, 'he said "she was bluff in the hocks."'
'Said "she was bluff in the hocks!"' said Mrs. B., as soon as she could recover from her laughter (in which her friends joined). 'No wonder you were all charmed with him; it is scarcely possible to imagine a more fascinating or witty young gentleman. But what did he mean, my dear, by bluff in the hocks?'
'I'm sure I can't say, Mrs. B.; but I know everybody thought it very funny and very amusing. I don't think anyone knew exactly what he did mean, but everyone laughed most heartily. I know I did.'
'Truly,' said Mrs. B., 'a more convincing proof of wit than that I can scarcely imagine; it must have been superlative when it amused everyone though no one understood it.'
'It must not only have been superlative, but amazing,' observed Colonel G. 'I only wish I could get people to laugh on such easy terms; but I suppose being a marquis goes some way.'
'Very likely,' said Mrs. B. 'What do you say, Miss F.?'
'Of course it does. I should say it would go a very long way,' said the young lady.
'It is greatly to be regretted,' remarked Mrs. B., 'that we have no such witty young marquises in this part of the world.'
'Yes,' said Miss F., 'that's what most makes me regret coming to India; we find no people here with handles to their names.'
'Come, come,' said Mrs. B., 'you must not exactly say that; we had Lord E., and his friend the Earl of C., here but a very short time ago.'
'Ah, but there's no one of that rank here now,' returned Miss F., 'and I really don't care much to meet those who are not in some way distingué.'
'That's to be expected,' replied Mrs. B. 'Being yourself, by your natural refinement of mind, so distingué, you would, as a matter of course, like to meet distinguished people; we will see what we can do to introduce you to someone with a handle to his name. There are two or three officers belonging to the class you admire so much about to join the 13th from England, and as soon as any one of them arrives, I'll make it my business to introduce you.'
'Oh, how very kind of you, Mrs. B.! I thank you very much.'
Mrs. C. and her guest now rose to depart. As soon as they were gone, Mrs. B., Colonel G., and his wife all indulged themselves in an unrestrained fit of laughter. 'I really have more than half a mind to play that girl a trick,' said Mrs. B., 'to punish her for her insufferable affectation.' 'On my word she does her best to make herself ridiculous.' 'Several of my servants are sick, including the cook,' said Mrs. B., 'or I'd give an evening party, and introduce some of our young fellows as people of rank.' 'Let that be no obstacle to the fun,' said Mrs. G. 'I'll give the party; do you introduce your friends.' So the two ladies and Colonel G. engaged heartily in the plot.
In due season invitations were issued to 'a select circle of friends,' as the stereotyped saying has it, which included the C.'s and Miss Freeman, to an evening party to meet Sir Charles Oakley and Sir Hubert Stanley. Great was the excitement amongst all invited to know all about the strangers, of whom they had never heard.
On the evening named, the guests arrived, and as they did so Colonel G., who was waiting in the hall for that purpose, cautioned everyone to say nothing if, in the strangers, they happened to recognise faces with other names than those adopted for the evening. Everyone saw there was some frolic in hand or on foot (if the latter phrase pleases better), and immediately everyone entered into it so far as to resolve to observe all but say nothing.
Mrs. C. and Miss F. soon made their appearance. Captain C., for some reason, did not go, which, as he was a man of sour disposition, inapprehensive of a joke, was lucky. By and by Mrs. B. and the guests of the evening—or, rather, the guest, Sir Hubert being sick—appeared. 'Indisposed to come, I presume,' said Colonel G. 'So I told him,' returned Mrs. B. As the drawing-room door opened, a half-caste 'writer,' dressed in livery for the occasion, announced Mrs. B. and Sir Charles Oakley, who immediately afterwards was formally introduced to Mrs. G. Irrepressible was the tittering amongst those who recognised in Sir Charles the jolly, fat, good-humoured Lieutenant Mac——ny of the 13th Dragoons; but under Colonel G.'s sharp supervision all held their peace. Sir Charles was in high spirits, made himself very amusing and agreeable, and was for the evening a real 'live lion.'
As soon as the introductions were over, Mrs. B. called Miss F. to come and sit beside her. Sir Charles was at the time standing near her chair, and a good deal of fun seemed to be going on between them, if that may be inferred from the laughter.
'You know the Marquis of Sevenoaks, I hear, Miss Freeman,' said the Baronet; 'an old schoolfellow of mine at Eton. Many a thrashing he's had from me. I was in the upper forms, and the Marquis was my fag.'
Miss F. opened her eyes very wide, and then exclaimed: 'Oh, but you're joking, Sir Charles! Surely you can't mean that you thrashed the young Marquis of Sevenoaks?'
'Why not, Miss Freeman? All fags get their share of licking, and why shouldn't he?'
'Oh, but it's so cruel; and the Marquis must have been quite a little fellow then. It's shocking to think that the bigger boys should have the power to thrash the little ones, and actually be allowed to do it, and in this case to a boy of such high rank—a Marquis. I really can't think it; you're trying to possess me' ('Upon my life!' said Mac——ny, 'I'm not') 'with absurd notions and imaginations. The idea of thrashing a young scion of nobility, quite as a matter of routine, as if he was no better than a tinker or tailor! It's quite preposterous and revolting, and seems almost an act of profanation! I never can believe it.'
'It's a pity, then, you didn't hear the young beggar singing out when he had to hold up.'
Poor Miss Freeman! all her ideas suffered a dreadful kind of revolution. She was in a sort of stupor; her brain was in a whirl. Could it be possible that a young Marquis could be thrashed at the pleasure of an elder boy merely because that boy sat on another form? To be called a young beggar besides, and to have his sufferings actually made game of by a mere baronet, it was all so dreadful, so astounding, and so utterly opposed to all her preconceived notions, that she was lost in amazement.
'You say, Miss Freeman,' said the Baronet, breaking in on her silent contemplations and reflections, 'that the fagging seems to be a matter of form. Well, so it is as to the seats of the boys, but not at all a matter of form as to the smart of the stripes; that depends on strength of arm.'
'Whatever it depends on,' said Miss F., 'it's very shocking to hear; but I'm persuaded you're hoaxing me. I'll never believe that a young nobleman of such high rank would or could be used in such a way.'
'Very sorry you don't believe,' said the Baronet, 'but all the same it's true; and, after all, his allowance as fag was nothing to what he used to get from old Thwackum regularly every day. Spoony, as the young hero was then called, used to get it regularly for his parsing, and whenever he saw the cane coming he used to begin to blubber, to the great amusement of old Snuffy, which was Thwackum's common appellation. The old fellow on these pleasant occasions used to become facetious, and, after his fashion, witty. Spoony in those days was marked pretty strongly by the small-pox, and whenever the tears filled the little pits caused by the pock marks, Snuffy used to say: "What, Mr. Puteus, the lord of the wells! Why, my little conjuring wand is as potent as the rod of Moses in raising the waters, and in setting the streams a-flowing. But why begin before there's need? The pleasure's to come, you know." The reason he called him Puteus was that this is the Latin for a well, and so afforded opportunity for his allusions, and at the same time for a vile attempt at wit, i.e., to call him Mr. Beauteous.'
'Can it be possible,' said Miss F., 'that anyone could be so cruel, cowardly, and fiend-like as to rejoice over pain, and make fun of a poor young fellow he was going to punish? I cannot believe it.'
'Don't, then,' said the heartless Baronet, turning away and laughing, 'but nevertheless it's fact, pure and simple.'
Sir Charles then sauntered away, leaving Miss Freeman considerably mystified, and in an unsatisfactory state of doubt as to how far she was to believe the various unpleasant statements made by her new acquaintance.
Mrs. B., the Colonel, and Mrs. G. were at this time making themselves very merry, but their conversation was carried on in so low a tone of voice that nothing reached Miss Freeman's ears. She was in a melancholy mood, thinking of the sufferings the young Marquis had undergone, the enormities of those who had caused them, and whether all or the greater part of what she had heard was not pure invention; and, finally, that the Baronet wasn't half so nice as the Marquis. But, then, how could he be, being only a Baronet?
While she was communing with herself, Mrs. B. returned to her former seat. As she resumed her place she said: 'And how do you like Sir Charles, Miss Freeman?'
'Oh, I like him of all things,' replied the young lady, 'only I wish he would not speak so unkindly of the Marquis.'
'I fancy he only tells you,' replied Mrs. B., 'what is common at all our public schools, particularly if the boy spoken of does not happen to understand his syntax (I think they call it) well. But,' continued she, 'I don't perceive that you are making any approach to a more cordial footing.'
'I wish I could,' returned Miss F., 'but I don't know how to manage it.'
'I am surprised at that,' said Mrs. B., 'since you have been so intimate with so many titled personages; but I will try if I can't help you.'
'Oh, Mrs. B., if you would I should be so grateful.'
Mrs. B., as soon as she caught his eye, beckoned to Sir Charles. When he came up to her, she said: 'I thought you were to be in waiting on me, sir, for this evening; but I find you're a very careless squire.'
'Haven't you elected me for your knight? How, then, can I be a careless squire? But mille pardons,' continued the gentleman, 'I do confess to a temporary dereliction.'
'Which,' returned Mrs. B., 'if I were not most royally disposed I should not forgive so readily.'
'I think if I were forgotten so I would not be so merciful,' observed the young lady.
'Why, what would you do under such circumstances?' asked Sir Charles. 'Would you order the culprit to be shut up in the Tower? or would you order him to be beheaded at once?'
'Not being a Queen,' returned Miss F., 'I would not resort to such measures.'
'Then what would you do?' continued the gentleman. 'Would you have a riband or a silk cord tied to the rover's leg or arm, and fastened by the other end to your fan or your waistband?'
'No,' replied Miss F., 'I would not do that.'
'No! Then what would you do?'
'I think I know what I would do,' returned Miss F.
'I say,' said Mrs. B., 'for the sake of similarly neglected ladies, do inform us.'
'Yes,' said Sir Charles, 'it would only be fair to tell.'
'I think,' said Miss F., whispering the words into Mrs. B.'s ear, 'I would try and retain him by the language of the eyes.'
'Oh,' said Mrs. B., laughing, 'but all ladies may not have such proficiency in that language as you may possess.'
'I have a notion,' said Miss F., 'that most ladies understand that language, and all, I fancy, do employ it sometimes.'
'But,' inquired the Baronet, 'what's the dodge? Put us up to the dodge, Miss Freeman.'
'Oh, I can't do that,' said the young lady, looking at the gentleman in a sort of languishing, sufficiently expressive, way.
He then, turning to Mrs. B., said: 'Come, Mrs. B., won't you tell us what this knowing dodge is?'
'No, no; don't tell, Mrs. B.!' exclaimed the young lady; 'pray don't. I beg you won't.'
'Miss Freeman is inclined to trust to the power of invisible chains, that's all,' said Mrs. B.
'Oh, that's it, is it?' said the Baronet. 'I should fancy such chains very infirm, and little to be depended on—in fact, I should regard them as utterly worthless and flimsy, except, indeed, they happened to be that kind of flimsy that the fat old banker's widow hung round the neck of young Lord Manners; that might hold.'
'And what kind of chain is it that you describe by this word flimsy?'
'Don't you know?' replied the gentleman. 'I thought everyone knew that.'
'He means a chain of bank-notes,' said Mrs. B. 'A bank-note is with men on the turf, and other classes less respectable, termed a "flimsy."'
'And that's the meaning of a "flimsy," is it?' said Miss F.
'Yes, my dear,' returned Mrs. B.; 'that's the meaning.'
'And that's the sort of chain that would, in your opinion, be of force sufficient to restrain a wanderer from straying, is it, Sir Charles?'
'If it is,' interposed Mrs. B., 'I for one don't agree with him. Experience tells us that all such chains are scarcely ever found binding.'
'But what a mercenary view to take of the matter! I'm sure, Sir Charles, that's not your belief in your heart of hearts. I'm certain you have too much chivalry in you to think so.'
'Well, I don't know,' returned the Baronet; 'I've always thought I had a great deal too much heart, but at any rate I'm sure I haven't more than one. As to the chivalry, if we get a chance at the Russians I may perhaps find out if I've got any, and so perhaps may they.'
'I think, Mrs. B.,' said Miss F., 'I begin to understand your friend Sir Charles; he is one of those who delight in making themselves appear worse than they are, and not only worse, but the very reverse of what they are.'
'Take care,' said Mrs. B., 'that you don't pursue that style of reasoning too far. By following it up you might invest him with all the attributes of an 'Admirable Crichton,' and, after all, find out that he is only Sir Charles Oakley.'
'Oh, but,' said the Baronet, 'she says she has found me out, and thus indirectly asserts that I am supporting an assumed character.'
'Oh, Sir Charles!' exclaimed the young lady, 'how can you say so? I only said that I thought I began to understand you.'
'Well,' returned the gentleman, 'isn't understanding me finding me out?'
'Oh, but!' returned Miss F., 'you put such a different construction on the words; and I never said or thought you were supporting an assumed character.'
'Didn't you?' said the Baronet, laughing; 'I thought you did, and if you had, only conceive how wrong you would have been.' The laughter seemed infectious, for Mrs. B. restrained the tendency that beset her with no little difficulty. 'But didn't you say,' continued the Baronet, 'that I was one of those who delighted in making myself appear worse than I was, and not only worse, but the reverse of what I was; and if that is true, is not that supporting an assumed character?'
'Oh!' replied Miss F., 'you do twist things in such a way, you know I only meant that you might be what I supposed, in spite of your seeming.'
'It seems, then, after all, Miss F.,' said Sir C, 'that you have not found me out, since you persist in believing me to be not only a dragoon and a baronet, but a chivalrous, unselfish, unmercenary sort of fellow, with more hearts than one.'
'More hearts than one was entirely your own, Sir C.,' said Miss F., 'made out by an obvious perversion of language; and with regard to the other matters, I suspect I'm not so wrong as you try to make me appear.'
'It's very ridiculous, isn't it, Mrs. B.?' said Sir C.
'What's ridiculous?' said Miss F.
'Why,' replied Sir C., 'it's very ridiculous to me to find myself ranked so high without deserving it, and credited with a lofty, unmercenary character, because I alluded to the power of bank-notes, to say nothing of being also credited with possessing more hearts than one; while, at the same time, it is asserted, or insinuated, that I am supporting an assumed character. All this is charmingly ridiculous to my mind.'
'Well, well, it's useless for me to say anything; you will have it all your own way, Sir Charles,' said the young lady, 'and you have managed to misinterpret everything I have said in such a comical manner that I own it is very ridiculous.'
'Capital!' said the Baronet; 'then after all we do agree, which, considering that we have differed in everything, is in itself sufficiently ridiculous, and will, I trust, afford us both ground for laughter for many a day to come.'
'As for me,' said Mrs. B., 'I'm sure the remembrance of this evening will afford me food for laughter whenever it recurs to my mind; and now I'll wish my friends good-night; and then, Sir Charles, I shall be obliged if you'll order my carriage.'
So the party broke up, the secret having been thoroughly well kept, thanks to the vigilance of Colonel and Mrs. G.
As soon, however, as Mrs. C. and her charge departed, there was a general unloosing of tongues, bursts of laughter were unrestrained, and there was much rejoicing over the fun of the evening, and much fresh merriment. The next morning, rather before the customary hour for visiting, Mrs. B. and Lieutenant Mac——ny called on Mrs. C. and Miss Freeman, for the purpose of enlightening them as to the playful deception that had been practised on the previous evening, which Mrs. B. confessed she had originated. Miss Freeman was at first a little put out, and Mrs. C. was extremely astonished; but very soon both ladies yielded to Mrs. B.'s fascinating manner and strong feeling for fun and frolic, aided by the dragoon's rollicking good-humour and handsome apologies; in short, they were so pleased with their visitors that they quite forgot every feeling of annoyance, and agreed that as the gentleman had supported his assumed character so well, he was still to be 'Sir Charles' with them, as it is hoped he will be with all who love a harmless joke.
To make a scene is generally considered, and really is in most cases, an unfailing method of affording amusement to the bystanders, and as this amusement is always at the expense of the actors, such performances are very generally avoided. No one willingly, except under unusual and extreme provocation, will run the risk of making himself ridiculous, which making a scene almost always involves. For these reasons exhibitions of this kind are rare, very rare. The fiat of polite society has gone forth; this fiat announces that performances of this kind are forbidden, tabooed. Who is there that has not repeatedly heard, in his or her younger days, that so and so, or anything of that kind, 'is a breach of etiquette;' 'the refinement of the age does not permit it;' or 'good taste and good manners will not sanction such expressions of feeling,' etc.? Yet, notwithstanding all these clearly defined laws, unalterable as those of the Medes and Persians, we know that scenes in high life, as well as in low life, do occur; and sometimes even in military life, despite the stringent restrictions of discipline which are superadded to those already mentioned.
Having by accident, or by good luck, if the reader prefers the latter phrase, been present at an exhibition of this nature, which occurred many years ago at Trichinopoly, and having been much diverted by it, I have endeavoured by the aid of my pen to present it to the reader. I feel painfully the impossibility of conveying by this means what should have been witnessed to be fully appreciated—the looks, the tones, the expression of the faces, the actions, and the attitudes, cannot be given by the pen; and in the attempt to describe them, the essence of the fun, the humour of the scene, evaporates. Even were such a thing possible, the repetition of such a scene would be tame compared with the original performance. On all these accounts, I trust that the shortcomings of my attempt will be judged with generosity and with leniency. In this hope, I shall strive to the utmost with the difficulties of my task, so that if I cannot achieve success, I may at least fail with some degree of credit.
I shall now, as the first step in the execution of this my self-appointed task, endeavour to describe as accurately as I can the actors and the scene. But it is needful for the full understanding of the comedy that I should also explain (so far as I am cognizant of them) what the circumstances were that led up to it. The actors were Lieutenant-General Blundermore Bluster, K.C.B., commanding the southern division of the Madras Presidency; and Colonel Prolix Pertinacity, C.B., and V.C. commandant of H.M.'s —— Regiment of Infantry, stationed at Trichinopoly.
The General was a man of large and burly form, six feet two inches in height, and of proportionate bulk. His countenance expressed unmistakably the high estimation in which he held himself and all his belongings, even his goods and chattels—everything, in fact, that was his, and, above all, his views and opinions. These last he seemed to regard almost as things sacred, and not to be questioned. With this was conjoined a manner that expressed a sort of lofty indifference, if not contempt, for all surroundings, both men and things; regarding all those who ventured to differ from him in opinion on any subject as guilty of gross impertinence, as well as bereft of common-sense, the fact of the disagreement proving their folly.
Colonel Prolix Pertinacity was a red-haired gentleman, who stood five feet four inches in his shoes, with a broad bald head, bull neck, and massive shoulders, of greater bulk even than the General's, and of such corpulent body that he could almost say with Falstaff that it was a long time since he had seen his own knee. His countenance expressed unconquerable determination, but was nevertheless frank and open when not under excitement; it was also evident that he possessed a fiery, quick, irritable temper, and an undaunted, immovable disposition.
From these outline sketches of these two officers, it may readily be inferred that they did not and could not agree. There had been, indeed, during nearly two years constant misunderstandings and altercations between them, causing unpleasant references to higher authority. Colonel Pertinacity considered himself ill-used, oppressed, and tyrannically dealt with; the General complained of disrespect, and unmilitary conduct almost amounting to insubordination, and generally of behaviour to the prejudice of good order and military discipline. He had on several occasions sent the Colonel home with a public reprimand, and had threatened ulterior proceedings. In reply to the references that had, up to this time, been made, it appeared that his Excellency the Commander-in-Chief of the Madras Army did not take exactly the same view of Colonel P.'s conduct that General Bluster did; at all events, nothing very serious came of the General's references and complaints, and Colonel P. always returned to his duty without having received any damaging reprimand or 'wigging' (as the phrase is) from the higher powers. He was advised to be more cautious and circumspect in his behaviour towards the General in future, and to avoid if possible any expression capable of misconstruction, and, finally, not to insist on his own view of affairs so determinedly as he seemed to have done, etc., etc. What was said on these occasions to General Bluster was only known to himself, and perhaps to his staff; but as he did not communicate the contents of all the letters received from the Chief, it was strongly surmised that these letters were not all sugar-candy. However this may have been, the general opinion of the officers in the cantonment, and of the society at large, was rather in favour of the Colonel, although some took the part of the General. The argument used by these persons was usually something to this effect: 'Why does Colonel P. persist in maintaining his opinions when they differ from those of the General? If he is ever so right, what does it matter? Why does he not suffer the old gentleman to have his say without contradiction? What can the opinions of any such grand sample of bombastic self-sufficiency signify?' To this it was replied by those who took the part of the Colonel that so long as the General's remarks applied to abstract opinions, or to things in general, it would be wise on the Colonel's part to hear and say nothing; but that the General did not confine himself to any such line, or, indeed, to any line at all, but in the amplitude of his observations frequently made assertions that bore hard on others, not merely in their capacity as officers, but as men, many of whom, having received a much better education than the speaker, were in a manner called upon to admit his assertions as facts, although they knew the statements to be erroneous.
Instances of this love of dictation, and the determination to lay down the law on all subjects, whether military or not, were constantly occurring, not seldom to the discredit of the General's scholarship. One day he downfaced young Arnold on a point on which the 'sub' was far ahead of him. The youngster was saying something about platinum to some of the other young lads, who, though they may have been well up in Euclid, and in fortifications, and could give you back accurately all that they had learned about 'momentum, velocity, and the square of distances whether inverse or not,' were not quite so well up in physics or chemical analysis. In reply to one of these young gentlemen who had been asking questions about platinum, Arnold stated that it was an elementary substance, adding that it was one of the sixty-three such substances.
'Hulloa!' cried the General. 'What's that you say, Arnold—sixty-three elements? I fancy your elementary education has been rather neglected, my lad. Don't you know, having so lately come from school, that there are only four elements—air, earth, fire, and water? Why, they knew that as far back as the days of Aristotle!'
Poor Arnold, not knowing the General's ways (he had only just joined), unconsciously replied: 'They don't teach that nowadays, General.' One of the young men who had been at Sandhurst with him whispered Arnold not to say anything; but he, knowing no reason why he should be silent, replied as I have stated, and thereby drew on himself the extreme anger and indignation of the General. 'Do you mean seriously to tell me that, sir? Do you mean to say that the small men of these days pretend to be wiser than Sir Isaac Newton, the greatest philosopher the world ever produced? He never said that there were sixty-three elements, and you, a youth not twenty, just free from the pedagogue's ferula—you pretend to be wiser than that great man, and all your seniors beside.'
Arnold was going to say something, when luckily the General stopped him with a violent gesture and angry visage, saying: 'Go home, sir, and if you learn nothing else, learn a little respect for your superiors.' Poor Arnold was kindly hustled out of the mess-house where this little episode occurred, lest, as one of his friends from the Land of Cakes said, 'waur should come of it.'
The General seemed to be partial to Aristotle and his philosophy, although he was not able to read the easiest class-book in the original language. He had, however, made acquaintance with the famous old Greek through the medium of translations, and was ever ready to do battle in his defence.
He fought furiously on one occasion to prove that Nature abhors a vacuum, and stormed so violently against those who expressed any doubts as to the accuracy of the dogma, that the innocent old philosopher, who had been at rest since the days of Alexander, might really have thought that his disciple meant to harry him out of his grave, such was the din and uproar made. And when the doctor of the regiment presumed to suggest that Torricelli had proved that it was the pressure of the atmosphere that had produced the phenomena that Aristotle had mistaken for Nature's abhorrence of a vacuum, the unfortunate man received such a torrent of abuse, delivered with such tremendous emphasis and vociferation, and such tremendous gestures, that he was glad to make his escape, as soon as he could find an opportunity, without saying another word. But he did not depart without receiving a closing broadside from the General. 'I should advise you, Mr. Cutter, in future,' said the General, 'to be cautious how you expose yourself to the ridicule of your friends, and to beware of venturing on such a palpable absurdity as to compare a paltry Italian fellow, like your Torricelli, with one of the sages of antiquity; perhaps I might say, considering Aristotle as the founder of the syllogistic method of reasoning, the greatest of those great men.'