THE RETURN.
There lies before me a copy of _The Plymouth and Dock Telegraph_,
dated Saturday, July 2nd, 1814, much tattered and broken along the
creases into which my great-grandmother (the same that left us the
Major's Cameo) folded it these many years ago, to be laid away for a
memorial.
The advertisements need not detain us long. Two husbands will not be
responsible for their wives' debts, and one of them alleges that his
lady "has behaved herself improperly during my absence at sea."
A solicitor will lend 1000 pounds on good security. A medical man,
yielding to the persuasions of numerous friends, will remain another
fortnight in the town; and may be consulted as usual at Mr. Kitt's,
Grocer, King Street, Dock, every Tuesday and Saturday from ten to
six. M. La Barre (whom I guess to have been a Royalist refugee) will
reopen instruction for young ladies and gentlemen in the French
language on the 12th inst. The tolls and profits of the Saltash and
the Ashburton turnpikes will be bidden for by public auction.
The schooner _Brothers_ and the fast-sailing cutter _Gambier_ are for
sale, together with the model of a frigate, "about six feet two
inches long, copper-bottomed, and mounted with thirty-two guns."
The Royal Auxiliary Mail will start from Congdon's Commercial Inn
every afternoon at a quarter before five, reaching the "Bell and
Crown," Holborn, in thirty-six hours: passengers for London have a
further choice of the "Devonshire" (running through Bristol) or the
"Royal Clarence" (through Salisbury). Two rival light coaches
compete for passengers to Portsmouth. The "Self-Defence," Plymouth
to Falmouth, four insides, will keep the same time as His Majesty's
Mail. The Unitarian Association advertises a meeting at which Dr.
Toulmin of Birmingham will preach. The Friends of the Abolition of
the Slave Trade print a long manifesto. The Phoenix, Eagle and Atlas
Companies invite insurers. Sufferers from various disorders will
find relief in Spilsbury's Patent Antiscorbutic, Dr. Bateman's
Pectoral, and Wessel's Jesuit's Drops.
Turning to the news columns, we find the whole country aflame with
joy at the restoration of Peace. Once again (it is ten years since
we last saw him there) the Prince Regent is at Portsmouth, feasting,
speech-making, dancing, reviewing the fleet and the troops. With him
are the Emperor of Russia; the Emperor's sister, the Duchess of
Oldenburg; the King of Prussia; the Royal Dukes of Clarence, York,
Cambridge; the Duke of Wellington and Field-Marshal Blucher. We read
that on first catching sight of Wellington the Prince Regent "seized
his hand and appeared lost in sensibility for the moment." As for
Blucher, a party of sailors, defying his escort of dragoons, boarded
and "took possession of the quarter-deck, or, in other words, the top
of the carriage."
"Some were capsized; but two of them swore to defend the brave,
and, as the carriage drew on, to the delight of all the tars
commenced reels _a la Saunders_ on the top, all the way to
Government House, where the General was received with open hands
and hearts, amid a group of as brave warriors as ever graced a
festive table or bled in defence of their country's wrongs
(_sic_)."
At the subsequent Ball:
"The Duke did not dance: and the gallant Blucher was so overcome
by the heat of the ballroom as to oblige him to retire for a
short time. . . . The two gallant Generals rode from the
Government House in the same carriage; and it was observed that
the Emperor of Russia shook hands with the illustrious
Wellington every time he was near him."
From Portsmouth next day the Duke posts up to Westminster, to be
introduced by the Dukes of Richmond and Beaufort and take his seat in
the Lords under his new patents of nobility. Simultaneously in the
Commons, Lord Castlereagh moves a Vote of Thanks, which is carried by
a unanimous House. For the rest, Parliament is mainly occupied in
discussing Lord Cochrane's case and the sorrows of Her Royal Highness
the Princess of Wales, especially "the inadequacy of her income to
support the ordinary dignities of her rank, and afford her those
consolations which the unfortunate state of her domestic feelings
require." Mr. Wilberforce delivers a most animated speech against
the Slave Trade. It is rumoured that Princess Charlotte of Wales
has definitely refused the hand of the Prince of Orange, and that
the rejected lover has left London, full of grief, in his
carriage-and-four.
In short, our Major has been lost to us for ten full years, and still
the world goes on: nay, for the moment it is going on excitedly.
The procession with which the officers and artificers of Plymouth
Dockyard yesterday celebrated the establishment of Peace alone
occupies five columns of the paper.
What, then, of Troy? Ah, my friends, never doubt that Troy did its
part, and, what is more, was beforehand as usual!
REJOICINGS AT TROY
"In consequence of the re-establishment of Peace, the inhabitants
of Troy were at an early hour on _Monday_, June 13th, busily
employed in decorating their houses with laurel, etc., and
forming arches in the streets, variegated with flowers and
emblematical representations; and thirty-eight well-formed
arches soon graced the joyful town. . . ."
Thirty-eight arches! Consider it, you provincial towns of twice,
thrice, ten times Troy's size, who erected a beggarly five or six on
Queen Victoria's last Jubilee, and doubtless plumed yourselves on
your exuberant loyalty!
". . . To regale the poor, a bullock, two sheep (each weighing a
hundred pounds), eight hundred twopenny loaves, with a
great quantity of beer and porter, the gift of Sir Felix
Felix-Williams, were distributed in the Market House and
Town Hall by the Mayor (Dr. Hansombody) and gentlemen.
Every individual appeared happy: indeed it was highly gratifying
to see so many people with joy painted on their countenances
showing forth the delight of their hearts. To crown the day, a
number of respectable citizens drank tea with the Mayoress,
after which they adjourned to the Town Hall and commenced
dancing, which was kept up for a long time with great spirit and
regularity.
"_Tuesday_ morning was ushered in with ringing of bells, etc.,
and a great number of people assembled before the 'Ship' Inn to
dance, during which the ladies were engaged in ornamenting, with
flowers, flags and emblems, two boats placed on wheel sledges
drawn by the populace. In fitting them up with such taste and
elegance, Miss P--d and Miss S. T--l were particularly active
and deserve every praise. At three o'clock the Mayor and a
respectable company sat down to an excellent dinner at the
'Ship' Inn, the band playing many grand national tunes in an
adjoining room. After the repast signals were given from the
Town Quay for the Battery guns to fire, and they accordingly
fired three royal salutes in compliment to the Allied
Sovereigns. The boats before mentioned were soon ready to
start, the former filled by ladies with garlands and other
emblems of Peace in their hands, and the latter with musicians;
but previous to their removal Lord Wellington and some Cossacks
appeared on horseback in search of Bonaparte, who according to
his late practice had taken flight. However, he was soon driven
back and taken, being met by a miller, who jumped up behind him
and, observing his dejected and mournful countenance, embraced
him with all the seeming fondness of a parent, desiring him to
rouse up his spirits, if possible, to preserve his life.
The grand procession of boats now began by a slow but graceful
movement of the first, in the bow of which was a dove with
outspread wings, holding an olive branch in her mouth.
The boats were followed by a great concourse of people through
the streets, and on their return were met by many gentlemen with
wine, etc. This day, like the preceding, ended with a merry
dance in the Town Hall.
"_Wednesday's_ rejoicings opened at noon with a dinner at the
'King of Prussia,' attended by the survivors of the disbanded
Troy Volunteer Artillery, attired in the uniforms of that
ever-famous corps. The sight of the old regimentals evoked the
tears of sensibility from more than one eye which had never
flinched before the prospect of actual warfare. After the meal,
at which many a veteran 'told his battles o'er again,' a number
of toasts were proposed by the Mayor, including 'The Allied
Sovereigns,' 'The Prince Regent,'' The Duke of Wellington'
(with three times three), 'The Troy Gallants,' 'The Memory of
their first beloved Commander, Major Hymen'--this last being
drunk in silence. The company then dispersed, to reassemble
below the Town Quay, where the boats which had adorned Monday's
festivities were again launched, this time upon their native
element, and proceeded, amid the clanging of joy-bells from the
church tower, to cross the harbour, on the farther shores of
which a large and enthusiastic crowd awaited them. In the first
boat were the musicians; in the second a number of ladies and
gentlemen in fancy costumes. A score of boats followed, filled
with spectators; and were welcomed, as they reached the shore,
with loud expressions of joy. Lord Wellington was again mounted
on horseback, with General Platoff and some Cossacks.
Bonaparte and his followers were also mounted, and some
skirmishes took place of so lifelike a character as to evoke
universal plaudits. . . ."
A wooden-legged man, who had been stumping it for many hours along
the high road from Plymouth, paused on the knap of the hill, mopped
his dusty brow, and gazed down upon the harbour, shading his eyes.
He wore a short blue jacket with tattered white facings, a pair of
white linen trousers patched at the knees, a round tarpaulin hat, a
burst shoe upon his hale foot, and carried a japanned knapsack--all
powdered with white dust of the road in which his wooden leg had been
prodding small round holes for mile after mile.
He had halted first as his ear caught the merry chime of bells from
the opposite shore. Having mopped his brow, he moved forward and
halted again by a granite cross and drinking-trough whence the road
led steeply downhill between the first houses of the village. He was
visibly agitated. His hand trembled on his stick: his face flushed
hotly beneath its mask of dust and sweat, and upon the flush a
cicatrix--the mark of a healed bullet-wound--showed up for the moment
on his left cheek, white as if branded there.
The people were shouting below, cheering vociferously. Yes, and
along the harbour every vessel, down to the smallest sailing-boat,
was bedecked with bunting from bowsprit-end to taffrail. The bells
rang on like mad. The bells. . . . He dropped the hand which had
been shading his eyes, let dip his frayed cuff in the water of the
fountain and, removing his hat, dabbed his bald head. This--had he
known it--worsened the smears of dust. But he was not thinking of
his appearance.
He was thinking--had been thinking all the way from Plymouth--only of
the harbour at his feet, and the town beyond. His eyes rested on
them again, after ten years. All the way his heart had promised him
nothing but this. He had forgotten self; having in ten years, and
painfully, learnt that lesson.
But the music of the bells, the distant sounds of cheering, recalled
that forgotten self; or perhaps it leapt into assertiveness again
unwittingly, by association of ideas with the old familiar scene.
He had left the people cheering. . . . Was it ten years ago?
They were cheering still. . . .
The road within view was deserted. But from below the dip of the
hill the cheers ascended, louder and louder yet, deepening in volume.
He had intended to walk down the hill--as he hoped, unrecognised--
cross the ferry, and traverse the streets of Troy to his own front
door; then, or later, to announce himself. A thousand times in his
far prison in Briancon among the high Alps he had pictured it.
He had discounted all possibilities of change. In ten years, to be
sure, much may happen. . . .
But here below him lay the harbour and the town, save for these
evidences of joy surprisingly unchanged.
Why were the church bells ringing; the people shouting? Could word
have been carried to them? He could not conceive how the news had
managed to outstrip him.
He had left the people cheering; they were cheering still. . . . Were
these ten years, then, but a grotesque and hideous dream? He gazed
down upon his wooden leg, stiffly protruding before him and pointing,
as it were ironically, at the scene of which it shared no memories.
A moment later he lifted his head at the sound of hoofs galloping up
the road towards him. Round the corner, on a shaggy yellow horse
almost _ventre-a-terre_, came a little man in a cocked hat, who rose
in his stirrups drunkenly and blew a kiss to a dozen armed pursuers
pounding at his heels.
Between wonder and alarm, the Major (you have guessed it was he)
sprang up from his seat by the fountain. Fatal movement! At the
sudden apparition the yellow horse shied violently, swerving more
than halfway across the road; and its rider, looking backwards and
taken at unawares, was shot out of his stirrups and flung
shoulders-over-head in the dust, where he rolled sideways and lay
still. His pursuers reined up with loud outcries of dismay.
The Major advanced to the body, knelt beside it and turned it over.
The man was bleeding from a cut in the head; but this and a slight
concussion of the brain appeared to be the extent of his injuries.
His neck-cloth being loosened, he groaned heavily. The Major looked
up.
"A nasty shock! For the moment I was half afraid--"
The words died away on his lips. One or two of the riders had
alighted and all stood, or sat their horses, around him in a ring.
He knew their faces, their names; yes, one and all he knew them; and
they wore the uniform of the Troy Volunteer Artillery!
With a tightly beating heart he waited for their recognition. . . .
No sign of recognition came. They eyed him curiously. It seemed to
them that he spoke with something of a foreign accent. To be sure he
articulated oddly--owing to his wound, of which his cheek bore the
visible scar.
He knew them all. Had they not, each one of them, aforetime saluted
him their commander, raising their hand to the peaks of these very
shakos? Had they not marched, doubled, halted, presented arms, stood
at attention, all as he bade them? He recognised the victim of the
accident, too--a little tailor, Tadd by name, who in old days had
borne a reputation for hard drinking.
"I reckon they must ha' stationed you here for a relay," suggested
Gunner Sobey (ever the readiest man, no matter in what company he
found himself) after eyeing the Major for a while.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I beg _yours_. Seemin' to me I've seen your features before,
somewhere, though I can't call up your name." It is a point of
honour with the men of Troy (I may here observe) to profess an
ignorance of their less-favoured neighbours across the harbour.
"I can't call up your name for the moment, dressed as you be--but
'twas thoughtful of 'em, knowing Tadd's habit, to post up a second
figger for a relay. The man seems to be shaken considerable," he
went on. "'Twould be a cruelty, as you might say, to ask him to go
on playin' Boney, with a wife and family dependent and his heart not
in it."
"He certainly isn't fit to mount again, if that is what you mean,"
said the Major, and glanced up the road where one of the troop
(Bugler Opie) had ridden in pursuit of the yellow horse and now
reappeared leading back the captive by the bridle.
"That's just what I'm saying," agreed Gunner Sobey; "and
you'll do very well if you change hats." He stooped and picked
Tadd-Bonaparte's _tricorne_ out of the dust and brushed it with the
sleeve of his tunic. "Here, let's see how you look in it."
He flipped off the Major's tarpaulin hat, clapped on the substitute,
and fell back admiringly. "The Ogre to the life," he exclaimed; "and
_with_ a wooden leg! Hurroo, boys!"
Before the Major could expostulate a dozen hands had lifted him into
the saddle astride the yellow horse.
"But--but I don't know in the least, my friends, what you intend!
I cannot ride; indeed I cannot!"
"_With_ a wooden leg! The idea!" answered Gunner Sobey, cheerfully.
"Never you mind, but catch hold o' the pommel. We'll see to the
rest."
The riders closed in and walked him forward down the hill, Gunner
Sobey pressing close and supporting him, holding his wooden leg tight
against the saddle-flap. The Major cast a wild look about him and
saw Bugler Opie and another Gallant (Gunner Warboys--he knew all
their names) lifting the half-unconscious Tadd and bearing him
towards the fountain, to revive him. What was happening? Should he
declare himself, here and now?
The company broke into cheers as they set their horses in motion.
Had they indeed recognised him? The procession was assuredly a
triumph, of some sort or another. But what did they intend?
From across the harbour the bells of Troy were ringing madly.
The Major shut his teeth. If this were indeed the town's fashion of
welcoming him, well and good! If it were a mistake--a practical joke
(but why should it be either?)--he had not long to wait for his
revenge. . . .
Let _The Plymouth and Dock Telegraph_ narrate, in its own succinct
language, what followed:
"The Corsican tyrant coming to grief in an attempt to elude the
righteous wrath of his pursuers, another impersonator was
speedily found, with the additional touch of a wooden leg, which
was generally voted to be artistic. This new Boney on being
conveyed down to the water's edge was driven into a boat, his
countenance eliciting laugher by its almost comic display of the
remorse of fallen ambition. A pair of his _soi-disant_
supporters leapt in and affected to aid his escape, and were
followed by pursuing boats in every direction, which had a most
pleasing effect. At length, being hemmed in and made captive,
he was taken to an island near the shore, supported by two
officers of the Troy Volunteers, who affixed a board over him,
upon which was printed, in large letters, 'ELBA.' We regret to
say that in his vivacious efforts to reproduce the feelings of
the fallen tyrant, the impersonator--who by latest accounts is a
seaman recently paid off and impressed, almost at a moment's
notice, for the _role_ he sustained with such impromptu
spirit--slipped on the wet seaweed and sustained a somewhat
serious injury of the hip. Being with all expedition rescued,
he was conveyed ashore to the Infirmary, which, founded by the
late Major Hymen as a War Hospital, henceforward will open its
doors to those diseases and casualties from which even Peace
cannot exempt our poor humanity. By latest advices the invalid
is well on his way to recovery. In the evening there was a
grand display of fireworks on the Town Quay, conducted by the
Magistrates, to whom every praise is due for their efforts to
promote conviviality and order."