Produced by David Widger
JACK HINTON,
THE GUARDSMAN.
By Charles James Lever
With Illustrations by Browne
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1857.
PREFACE.
Very few words of preface will suffice to the volume now presented to my
readers. My intention was to depict, in the early experiences of a young
Englishman in Ireland, some of the almost inevitable mistakes incidental
to such a character. I had so often myself listened to so many absurd
and exaggerated opinions on Irish character, formed on the very
slightest acquaintance with the country, and by persons, too, who, with
all the advantages long intimacy might confer, would still have been
totally inadequate to the task of a rightful appreciation, that I deemed
the subject one where a little “reprisal” might be justifiable.
Scarcely, however, had I entered upon my story, than I strayed from the
path I had determined on, and, with very little reference to my
original intention, suffered Jack Hinton to “take his chance amongst the
natives,” and with far too much occupation on his hands to give time for
reflecting over their peculiarities, or recording their singular traits,
I threw him into the society of the capital, under the vice-royalty of a
celebrated Duke, all whose wayward eccentricities were less marked than
the manly generosity and genuine honesty of his character. I introduced
him into a set where, whatever purely English readers may opine, I have
wonderfully little exaggerated; and I led him down to the West to meet
adventures which every newspaper, some twenty-five years ago, would show
were by no means extravagant or strange.
As for the characters of the story, there is not one for which I did not
take a “real sitter;” at the same time, I have never heard one single
correct guess as to the types that afforded them. To Mrs. Paul Rooney,
Father Tom Loftus, Bob Mahon, O'Grady, Tipperary Joe, and even Corny
himself, I have scarcely added a touch which nature has not given them,
while assuredly I have failed to impart many a fine and delicate tint
far above the “reach of--'_my_--art,” and which might have presented
them in stronger light and shadow than I have dared to attempt. Had I
desired to caricature English ignorance as to Ireland in the person of
my Guardsman, nothing would have been easier; but I preferred merely
exposing him to such errors as might throw into stronger relief the
peculiarities of Irishmen, and, while offering something to laugh at,
give no offence to either. The volume amused me while I was writing
it,--less, perhaps, by what I recorded, than what I abstained from
inditing; at all events, it was the work of some of the pleasantest
hours of my life, and if it can ever impart to any of my readers a
portion of the amusement some of the real characters afforded myself, it
will not be all a failure. That it may succeed so far is the hope of the
reader's
Very devoted servant,
CHARLES LEVER.
Casa Capponi, Florence, March, 1857.
JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN
CHAPTER I. A FAMILY PARTY
It was on a dark and starless night in February, 181--, as the last
carriage of a dinner-party had driven from the door of a large house
in St. James's-square, when a party drew closer around the drawing-room
fire, apparently bent upon that easy and familiar chit-chat the presence
of company interdicts.
One of these was a large and fine-looking man of about five-and-forty,
who, dressed in the full uniform of a general officer, wore besides the
ribbon of the Bath; he leaned negligently upon the chimney-piece, and,
with his back towards the fire, seemed to follow the current of his own
reflections: this was my Father.
Beside him, but almost concealed in the deep recess of a well-cushioned
arm-chair, sat, or rather lay, a graceful figure, who with an air of
languid repose was shading her fine complexion as well from the glare
of the fire as from the trying brilliancy of an Argand lamp upon the
mantelpiece. Her rich dress, resplendent with jewels, while it strangely
contrasted with the careless ease of her attitude, also showed that she
had bestowed a more than common attention that day upon her toilette:
this, fair reader, was my Mother.
Opposite to her, and disposed in a position of rather studied
gracefulness, lounged a tall, thin, fashionable-looking man, with a
dark olive complexion, and a short black moustache. He wore in the
button-hole of his blue coat the ribbon of St. Louis. The Count de
Grammont, for such he was, was an _émigré_ noble, who, attached to the
fortunes of the Bourbons, had resided for some years in London, and
who, in the double capacity of adviser of my father and admirer of my
lady-mother, obtained a considerable share of influence in the family
and a seat at its councils.
At a little distance from the rest, and apparently engaged with her
embroidery, sat a very beautiful girl, whose dark hair and long lashes
deepened the seeming paleness of features a Greek sculptor might have
copied. While nothing could be more perfect than the calm loveliness of
her face and the delicate pencilling of her slightly-arched eyebrows,
an accurate observer could detect that her tremulous lip occasionally
curled with a passing expression of half scorn, as from time to time
she turned her eyes towards each speaker in turn, while she herself
maintained a perfect silence. My cousin, Lady Julia Egerton, had indeed
but that one fault: shall I venture to call by so harsh a name that
spirit of gentle malice which loved to look for the ludicrous features
of everything around her, and inclined her to indulge what the French
call the “_esprit moqueur_” even on occasions where her own feelings
were interested?
The last figure of the group was a stripling of some nineteen years,
who, in the uniform of the Guards, was endeavouring to seem perfectly
easy and unconcerned, while it was evident that his sword-knot divided
his attention with some secret thoughts that rendered him anxious and
excited: this was Myself!
A silence of some moments was at length broken by my mother, who, with
a kind of sigh Miss O'Neill was fond of, turned towards the Count, and
said,
“Do confess, Count, we were all most stupid to-day. Never did a dinner
go off so heavily. But it's always the penalty one pays for a royal
Duke. _A propos_, General, what did he say of Jack's appointment?”
“Nothing could be more kind, nothing more generous than his Royal
Highness. The very first thing he did in the room was to place this
despatch in my hands. This, Jack,” said my father, turning to me, “this
is your appointment as an extra aide-de-camp.”
“Very proper indeed,” interposed my mother; “I am very happy to think
you'll be about the Court. Windsor, to be sure, is stupid.”
“He is not likely to see much of it,” said my father, dryly.
“Oh, you think he'll be in town then?”
“Why, not exactly that either.”
“Then what can you mean?” said she, with more of animation than before.
“Simply, that his appointment is on the staff in Ireland.”
“In Ireland!” repeated my mother, with a tragic start. “In Ireland!”
“In Ireland!” said Lady Julia, in a low, soft voice.
“_En Irlande!_” echoed the Count, with a look of well got up horror,
as he elevated his eyebrows to the very top of his forehead; while
I myself, to whom the communication was as sudden and as unexpected,
assumed a kind of soldier-like indifference, as though to say, “What
matters it to me? what do I care for the rigours of climate? the snows
of the Caucasus, or the suns of Bengal, are quite alike; even Ireland,
if his Majesty's service require it.”
“Ireland!” repeated my mother once more; “I really never heard anything
so very shocking. But, my dear Jack, you can't think of it. Surely,
General, you had presence of mind to decline.”
“To accept, and to thank most gratefully his Royal Highness for such
a mark of his favour, for this I had quite presence of mind,” said my
father, somewhat haughtily.
“And you really will go, Jack?”
“Most decidedly,” said I, as I put on a kind of Godefroy de Bouillon
look, and strutted about the room.
“And pray what can induce you to such a step?”
“_Oui, que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?_'” said the Count.
“By Jove!” cried my father, hastily, “you are intolerable; you wished
your boy to be a Guardsman in opposition to my desire for a regiment on
service. You would have him an aide-de-camp: now he is both one and the
other. In Heaven's name, what think ye of getting him made a lady of the
bedchamber? for it's the only appointment I am aware of----”
“You are too absurd, General,” said my mother, pettishly. “Count,
pray touch the bell; that fire is so very hot, and I really was quite
unprepared for this piece of news.”
“And you, Julia,” said I, leaning over the back of my cousin's chair,
“what do you say to all this?”
“I've just been thinking what a pity it is I should have wasted all
my skill and my worsted on this foolish rug, while I could have been
embroidering a gay banner for our young knight bound for the wars.
'_Partant pour la Syrie_,'” hummed she, half pensively, while I could
see a struggling effort to suppress a laugh. I turned indignantly
away, and walked towards the fire, where the Count was expending his
consolations on my mother.
“After all, _Miladi_, it is not so bad as you think in the provinces;
I once spent three weeks in Brittany, very pleasantly indeed: _oui,
pardieu_, it's quite true. To be sure, we had Perlet, and Mademoiselle
Mars, and got up the _Précieuse Ridicules_ as well as in Paris.”
The application of this very apposite fact to Ireland was clearly
satisfactory to my mother, who smiled benignly at the speaker, while my
father turned upon him a look of the most indescribable import.
“Jack, my boy!” said he, taking me by the arm, “were I your age, and had
no immediate prospect of active service, I should prefer Ireland to any
country in the world. I have plenty of old friends on the staff there.
The Duke himself was my schoolfellow----”
“I hope he will be properly attentive,” interrupted my mother. “Dear
Jack, remind me to-morrow to write to Lady Mary.”
“Don't mistake the country you are going to,” continued my father; “you
will find many things very different from what you are leaving; and,
above all, be not over ready to resent, as an injury, what may merely be
intended as a joke: your brother officers will always guide you on these
points.”
“And above all things,” said my mother, with great earnestness, “do not
adopt that odious fashion of wearing their hair. I've seen members of
both Houses, and particularly that little man they talk so much of, Mr.
Grattan, I believe they call him----”
“Make your mind perfectly easy on that head, my lady,” said my father,
dryly, “your son is not particularly likely to resemble Henry Grattan.”
My cousin Julia alone seemed to relish the tone of sarcasm he spoke
in, for she actually bestowed on him a look of almost grateful
acknowledgment.
“The carriage, my lady,” said the servant. And at the same moment my
mother, possibly not sorry to cut short the discussion, rose from her
chair.
“Do you intend to look in at the Duchess's, General?”
“For half an hour,” replied my father; “after that I have my letters to
write. Jack, you know, leaves us to-morrow.”
“'Tis really very provoking,” said my mother, turning at the same time a
look towards the Count.
“_A vos ordres, Madame_,” said he, bowing with an air of most
deferential politeness, while he presented his arm for her acceptance.
“Good night, then,” cried I, as the party left the room; “I have so much
to do and to think of, I shan't join you.” I turned to look for Lady
Julia, but she was gone, when and how I knew not; so I sat down at the
fire to ruminate alone over my present position, and my prospects for
the future.
*****
*****
*****
These few and imperfect passages may put the reader in possession of
some, at least, of the circumstances which accompanied my outset in
life; and if they be not sufficiently explicit, I can only say, that he
knows fully as much of me as at the period in question I did of myself.
At Eton, I had been what is called rather a smart boy, but incorrigibly
idle; at Sandhurst, I showed more ability, and more disinclination to
learn. By the favour of a royal Duke (who had been my godfather), my
commission in a marching regiment was exchanged for a lieutenancy in
the Guards; and at the time I write of I had been some six months in
the service, which I spent in all the whirl and excitement of London
society. My father, who, besides being a distinguished officer, was one
of the most popular men among the clubs, my mother, a London beauty
of some twenty years' standing, were claims sufficient to ensure me no
common share of attention, while I added to the number what, in my own
estimation at least were, certain very decided advantages of a purely
personal nature.
To obviate, as far as might be, the evil results of such a career, my
father secretly asked for the appointment on the staff of the noble
Duke then Viceroy of Ireland, in preference to what my mother
contemplated--my being attached to the royal household. To remove
me alike from the enervating influence of a mother's vanity, and the
extravagant profusion and voluptuous abandonment of London habits, this
was his object. He calculated, too, that by new ties, new associations,
and new objects of ambition, I should be better prepared, and more
desirous of that career of real service to which in his heart he
destined me. These were his notions, at least; the result must be
gleaned from my story.