[Illustration]
_Containing the Story of the Bagman's Uncle_
"My uncle, gentlemen," said the bagman, "was one of the merriest,
pleasantest, cleverest fellows that ever lived. I wish you had known
him, gentlemen. On second thoughts, gentlemen, I _don't_ wish you had
known him, for if you had, you would have been all, by this time, in
the ordinary course of nature, if not dead, at all events so near it,
as to have taken to stopping at home and giving up company: which would
have deprived me of the inestimable pleasure of addressing you at this
moment. Gentlemen, I wish your fathers and mothers had known my uncle.
They would have been amazingly fond of him, especially your respectable
mothers; I know they would. If any two of his numerous virtues
predominated over the many that adorned his character, I should say
they were his mixed punch and his after-supper song. Excuse my dwelling
on these melancholy reflections of departed worth; you won't see a man
like my uncle every day in the week.
"I have always considered it a great point in my uncle's character,
gentlemen, that he was the intimate friend and companion of Tom Smart,
of the great house of Bilson and Slum, Cateaton Street, City. My uncle
collected for Tiggin and Welps, but for a long time he went pretty
near the same journey as Tom; and the very first night they met, my
uncle took a fancy for Tom, and Tom took a fancy for my uncle. They
made a bet of a new hat before they had known each other half an hour,
who should brew the best quart of punch and drink it the quickest. My
uncle was judged to have won the making, but Tom Smart beat him in
the drinking by about half a salt-spoonful. They took another quart
a-piece to drink each other's health in, and were staunch friends ever
afterwards. There's a destiny in these things, gentlemen: we can't help
it.
"In personal appearance, my uncle was a trifle shorter than the middle
size; he was a thought stouter, too, than the ordinary run of people,
and perhaps his face might be a shade redder. He had the jolliest
face you ever saw, gentlemen: something like Punch, with a handsomer
nose and chin; his eyes were always twinkling and sparkling with good
humour; and a smile--not one of your unmeaning wooden grins, but a
real, merry, hearty, good-tempered smile--was perpetually on his
countenance. He was pitched out of his gig once, and knocked, head
first, against a mile-stone. There he lay, stunned, and so cut about
the face with some gravel which had been heaped up alongside it, that,
to use my uncle's own strong expression, if his mother could have
revisited the earth, she wouldn't have known him. Indeed, when I come
to think of the matter, gentlemen, I feel pretty sure she wouldn't,
for she died when my uncle was two years and seven months old, and I
think it's very likely that, even without the gravel, his top-boots
would have puzzled the good lady not a little: to say nothing of his
jolly red face. However, there he lay, and I have heard my uncle say
many a time, that the man said who picked him up that he was smiling
as merrily as if he had tumbled out for a treat, and that after they
had bled him, the first glimmerings of returning animation were, his
jumping up in bed, bursting out into a loud laugh, kissing the young
woman who held the basin, and demanding a mutton chop and a pickled
walnut. He was very fond of pickled walnuts, gentlemen. He said he
always found that, taken without vinegar, they relished the beer.
"My uncle's great journey was in the fall of the leaf, at which time he
collected debts, and took orders, in the north: going from London to
Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to Glasgow, from Glasgow back to Edinburgh,
and thence to London by the smack. You are to understand that his
second visit to Edinburgh was for his own pleasure. He used to go back
for a week, just to look up his old friends; and what with breakfasting
with this one, lunching with that, dining with a third, and supping
with another, a pretty tight week he used to make of it. I don't know
whether any of you, gentlemen, ever partook of a real, substantial,
hospitable Scotch breakfast, and then went to a slight lunch of a
bushel of oysters, a dozen or so of bottled ale, and a noggin or two
of whisky to close up with. If you ever did, you will agree with me
that it requires a pretty strong head to go out to dinner and supper
afterwards.
"But, bless your hearts and eyebrows, all this sort of thing was
nothing to my uncle! He was so well seasoned that it was mere child's
play. I have heard him say that he could see the Dundee people out, any
day, and walk home afterwards without staggering; and yet the Dundee
people have as strong heads and as strong punch, gentleman, as you are
likely to meet with, between the poles. I have heard of a Glasgow man
and a Dundee man drinking against each other for fifteen hours at a
sitting. They were both suffocated, as nearly as could be ascertained,
at the same moment, but with this trifling exception, gentlemen, they
were not a bit the worse for it.
"One night, within four-and-twenty hours of the time when he had
settled to take shipping for London, my uncle supped at the house of a
very old friend of his, a Bailie Mac something and four syllables after
it, who lived in the old town of Edinburgh. There were the bailie's
wife, and the bailie's three daughters, and the bailie's grown-up son,
and three or four stout, bushy eye-browed, canny old Scotch fellows,
that the bailie had got together to do honour to my uncle, and help to
make merry. It was a glorious supper. There were kippered salmon, and
Finnan haddocks, and a lamb's head, and a haggis--a celebrated Scotch
dish, gentlemen, which my uncle used to say always looked to him, when
it came to the table, very much like a cupid's stomach--and a great
many other things besides, that I forget the names of, but very good
things notwithstanding. The lassies were pretty and agreeable; the
bailie's wife was one of the best creatures that ever lived; and my
uncle was in thoroughly good cue. The consequence of which was, that
the young ladies tittered and giggled, and the old lady laughed out
loud, and the bailie and the other old fellows roared till they were
red in the face, the whole mortal time. I don't quite recollect how
many tumblers of whisky toddy each man drank after supper; but this I
know, that about one o'clock in the morning, the bailie's grown-up son
became insensible while attempting the first verse of 'Willie brewed a
peak o' maut;' and he having been, for half an hour before, the only
other man visible above the mahogany, it occurred to my uncle that it
was almost time to think about going: especially as drinking had set
in at seven o'clock: in order that he might get home at a decent hour.
But, thinking it might not be quite polite to go just then, my uncle
voted himself into the chair, mixed another glass, rose to propose his
own health, addressed himself in a neat and complimentary speech, and
drank the toast with great enthusiasm. Still nobody woke; so my uncle
took a little drop more--neat this time, to prevent the toddy from
disagreeing with him--and, laying violent hands on his hat, sallied
forth into the street.
"It was a wild, gusty night when my uncle closed the bailie's door, and
settling his hat firmly on his head to prevent the wind from taking it,
thrust his hands into his pockets, and looking upward, took a short
survey of the state of the weather. The clouds were drifting over the
moon at their giddiest speed: at one time wholly obscuring her: at
another, suffering her to burst forth in full splendour and shed her
light on all the subjects around: anon, driving over her again, with
increased velocity, and shrouding everything in darkness. 'Really, this
won't do,' said my uncle, addressing himself to the weather, as if
he felt himself personally offended. 'This is not at all the kind of
thing for my voyage. It will not do, at any price,' said my uncle very
impressively. Having repeated this, several times, he recovered his
balance with some difficulty--for he was rather giddy with looking up
into the sky so long--and walked merrily on.
"The bailie's house was in the Canongate, and my uncle was going to
the other end of Leith Walk, rather better than a mile's journey. On
either side of him, there shot up against the dark sky, tall, gaunt,
straggling houses, with time-stained fronts, and windows that seemed
to have shared the lot of eyes in mortals, and to have grown dim and
sunken with age. Six, seven, eight storeys high, were the houses;
storey piled above storey, as the children build with cards--throwing
their dark shadows over the roughly paved road, and making the dark
night darker. A few oil lamps were scattered at long distances, but
they only served to mark the dirty entrance to some narrow close, or
to show where a common stair communicated, by steep and intricate
windings, with the various flats above. Glancing at all these things
with the air of a man who had seen them too often before, to think
them worthy of much notice now, my uncle walked up the middle of the
street, with a thumb in each waistcoat pocket, indulging from time to
time in various snatches of song, chanted forth with such good will
and spirit, that the quiet honest folk started from their first sleep
and lay trembling in bed till the sound died away in the distance;
when, satisfying themselves that it was only some drunken ne'er-do-weel
finding his way home, they covered themselves up warm and fell asleep
again.
"I am particular in describing how my uncle walked up the middle of the
street, with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, gentlemen, because,
as he often used to say (and with great reason too), there is nothing
at all extraordinary in this story, unless you distinctly understand at
the beginning that he was not by any means of a marvellous or romantic
turn.
"Gentlemen, my uncle walked on with his thumbs in his waistcoat
pockets, taking the middle of the street to himself, and singing, now
a verse of a love-song, and then a verse of a drinking one, and when
he was tired of both, whistling melodiously, until he reached the
North Bridge, which, at this point, connects the old and new towns
of Edinburgh. Here he stopped for a minute, to look at the strange
irregular clusters of lights piled one above the other, and twinkling
afar off so high, that they looked like stars, gleaming from the castle
walls on the one side and the Calton Hill on the other, as if they
illuminated veritable castles in the air; while the old picturesque
town slept heavily on, in gloom and darkness, below: its palace and
chapel of Holyrood, guarded day and night, as a friend of my uncle's
used to say, by old Arthur's Seat, towering, surly and dark, like some
gruff genius, over the ancient city he has watched so long. I say,
gentlemen, my uncle stopped here, for a minute, to look about him; and
then, paying a compliment to the weather, which had a little cleared
up, though the moon was sinking, walked on again, as royally as before;
keeping the middle of the road with great dignity, and looking as if
he would very much like to meet somebody who would dispute possession
of it with him. There was nobody at all disposed to contest the point,
as it happened; and so, on he went, with his thumbs in his waistcoat
pockets, like a lamb.
"When my uncle reached the end of Leith Walk, he had to cross a pretty
large piece of waste ground which separated him from a short street
which he had to turn down, to go direct to his lodging. Now, in this
piece of waste ground, there was, at that time, an enclosure belonging
to some wheelwright who contracted with the Post-office for the
purchase of old worn-out mail coaches; and my uncle, being very fond of
coaches, old, young, or middle-aged, all at once took it into his head
to step out of his road for no other purpose than to peep between the
palings at these mails--about a dozen of which he remembered to have
seen, crowded together in a very forlorn and dismantled state, inside.
My uncle was a very enthusiastic, emphatic sort of person, gentlemen;
so, finding that he could not obtain a good peep between the palings,
he got over them, and sitting himself quietly down on an old axletree,
began to contemplate the mail coaches with a great deal of gravity.
"There might be a dozen of them, or there might be more--my uncle was
never quite certain on this point, and being a man of very scrupulous
veracity about numbers, didn't like to say--but there they stood, all
huddled together in the most desolate condition imaginable. The doors
had been torn from their hinges and removed; the linings had been
stripped off: only a shred hanging here and there by a rusty nail; the
lamps were gone, the poles had long since vanished, the iron-work was
rusty, the paint was worn away; the wind whistled through the chinks
in the bare wood-work; and the rain, which had collected on the roofs,
fell, drop by drop, into the insides with a hollow and melancholy
sound. They were the decaying skeletons of departed mails, and in that
lonely place, at that time of night, they looked chill and dismal.
"My uncle rested his head upon his hands, and thought of the busy
bustling people who had rattled about, years before, in the old
coaches, and were now as silent and changed; he thought of the numbers
of people to whom one of those crazy, mouldering vehicles had borne,
night after night, for many years, and through all weathers, the
anxiously expected intelligence, the eagerly looked-for remittance, the
promised assurance of health and safety, the sudden announcement of
sickness and death. The merchant, the lover, the wife, the widow, the
mother, the schoolboy, the very child who tottered to the door at the
postman's knock--how had they all looked forward to the arrival of the
old coach. And where were they all now!
"Gentlemen, my uncle used to _say_ that he thought all this at the
time, but I rather suspect he learnt it out of some book afterwards,
for he distinctly stated that he fell into a kind of doze, as he sat on
the old axletree looking at the decayed mail coaches, and that he was
suddenly awakened by some deep church-bell striking two. Now, my uncle
was never a fast thinker, and if he had thought all these things, I am
quite certain it would have taken him till full half-past two o'clock,
at the very least. I am, therefore, decidedly of opinion, gentlemen,
that my uncle fell into a kind of doze, without having thought about
anything at all.
"Be this as it may, a church bell struck two. My uncle woke, rubbed his
eyes, and jumped up in astonishment.
"In one instant after the clock struck two, the whole of this deserted
and quiet spot had become a scene of most extraordinary life and
animation. The mail coach doors were on their hinges, the lining was
replaced, the iron-work was as good as new, the paint was restored,
the lamps were alight, cushions and great-coats were on every box,
porters were thrusting parcels into every boot, guards were stowing
away letter-bags, hostlers were dashing pails of water against the
renovated wheels; numbers of men were rushing about, fixing poles into
every coach; passengers arrived, portmanteaus were handed up, horses
were put to; in short, it was perfectly clear that every mail there was
to be off directly. Gentlemen, my uncle opened his eyes so wide at all
this, that, to the very last moment of his life, he used to wonder how
it fell out that he had ever been able to shut 'em again.
"'Now then!' said a voice, as my uncle felt a hand on his shoulder,
'you're booked for inside. You'd better get in.'
"'_I_ booked!' said my uncle, turning round.
"'Yes, certainly.'
"My uncle, gentlemen, could say nothing; he was so very much
astonished. The queerest thing of all was, that although there was such
a crowd of persons, and although fresh faces were pouring in every
moment, there was no telling where they came from. They seemed to start
up, in some strange manner, from the ground, or the air, and disappear
in the same way. When a porter had put his luggage in the coach, and
received his fare, he turned round and was gone; and before my uncle
had well begun to wonder what had become of him, half a dozen fresh
ones started up, and staggered along under the weight of parcels which
seemed big enough to crush them. The passengers were all dressed so
oddly too! Large, broad-skirted, laced coats with great cuffs and no
collars; and wigs, gentlemen--great formal wigs with a tie behind. My
uncle could make nothing of it.
"'Now, _are_ you going to get in?' said the person who had addressed my
uncle before. He was dressed as a mail guard, with a wig on his head
and most enormous cuffs to his coat, and had a lantern in one hand, and
a huge blunderbuss in the other, which he was going to stow away in his
little arm-chest. '_Are_ you going to get in, Jack Martin?' said the
guard, holding the lantern to my uncle's face.
"'Hallo!' said my uncle, falling back a step or two. 'That's familiar!'
"'It's so on the way-bill,' replied the guard.
"'Isn't there a "Mister" before it?' said my uncle. For he felt,
gentlemen, that for a guard he didn't know to call him Jack Martin, was
a liberty which the Post-office wouldn't have sanctioned if they had
known it.
"'No, there is not,' rejoined the guard, coolly.
"'Is the fare paid?' inquired my uncle.
"'Of course it is,' rejoined the guard.
"'It is, is it?' said my uncle. 'Then here goes! Which coach?'
"'This,' said the guard, pointing to an old-fashioned Edinburgh and
London Mail, which had the steps down, and the door open. 'Stop! here
are the other passengers. Let them get in first.'
"As the guard spoke, there all at once appeared, right in front of
my uncle, a young gentleman in a powdered wig, and a sky-blue coat
trimmed with silver, made very full and broad in the skirts, which were
lined with buckram. Tiggin and Welps were in the printed calico and
waistcoatpiece line, gentlemen, so my uncle knew all the materials at
once. He wore knee breeches, and a kind of leggings rolled up over his
silk stockings, and shoes with buckles; he had ruffles at his wrists,
a three-cornered hat on his head, and a long taper sword by his side.
The flaps of his waistcoat came half-way down his thighs, and the ends
of his cravat reached to his waist. He stalked gravely to the coach
door, pulled off his hat, and held it above his head at arm's length:
cocking his little finger in the air at the same time, as some affected
people do, when they take a cup of tea. Then he drew his feet together,
and made a low grave bow, and then put out his left hand. My uncle was
just going to step forward, and shake it heartily, when he perceived
that these attentions were directed, not towards him, but to a young
lady who had just then appeared at the foot of the steps, attired in
an old-fashioned green velvet dress with a long waist and stomacher.
She had no bonnet on her head, gentlemen, which was muffled in a black
silk hood, but she looked round for an instant as she prepared to
get into the coach, and such a beautiful face as she disclosed, my
uncle had never seen--not even in a picture. She got into the coach,
holding up her dress with one hand; and, as my uncle always said, with
a round oath, when he told the story, he wouldn't have believed it
possible that legs and feet could have been brought to such a state of
perfection unless he had seen them with his own eyes.
"But, in this one glimpse of the beautiful face, my uncle saw that
the young lady cast an imploring look upon him, and that she appeared
terrified and distressed. He noticed, too, that the young fellow in
the powdered wig, notwithstanding his show of gallantry, which was all
very fine and grand, clasped her tight by the wrist when she got in,
and followed himself immediately afterwards. An uncommonly ill-looking
fellow, in a close brown wig and a plum-coloured suit, wearing a very
large sword, and boots up to his hips, belonged to the party; and when
he sat himself down next to the young lady, who shrunk into a corner
at his approach, my uncle was confirmed in his original impression
that something dark and mysterious was going forward, or, as he always
said himself, that 'there was a screw loose somewhere.' It's quite
surprising how quickly he made up his mind to help the lady at any
peril, if she needed help.
"'Death and lightning!' exclaimed the young gentleman, laying his hand
upon his sword as my uncle entered the coach.
"'Blood and thunder!' roared the other gentleman. With this, he whipped
his sword out, and made a lunge at my uncle without further ceremony.
My uncle had no weapon about him, but with great dexterity he snatched
the ill-looking gentleman's three-cornered hat from his head, and,
receiving the point of his sword right through the crown, squeezed the
sides together, and held it tight.
"'Pink him behind!' cried the ill-looking gentleman to his companion,
as he struggled to regain his sword.
"'He had better not,' cried my uncle, displaying the heel of one of his
shoes, in a threatening manner, 'I'll kick his brains out if he has
any, or fracture his skull if he hasn't.' Exerting all his strength
at this moment, my uncle wrenched the ill-looking man's sword from
his grasp, and flung it clean out of the coach-window: upon which the
younger gentleman vociferated 'Death and lightning!' again, and laid
his hand upon the hilt of his sword, in a very fierce manner, but
didn't draw it. Perhaps, gentlemen, as my uncle used to say with a
smile, perhaps he was afraid of alarming the lady.
"'Now, gentlemen,' said my uncle, taking his seat deliberately, 'I
don't want to have any death, with or without lightning, in a lady's
presence, and we have had quite blood and thundering enough for one
journey; so, if you please, we'll sit in our places like quiet insides.
Here, guard, pick up that gentleman's carving-knife.'
"As quickly as my uncle said the words, the guard appeared at the
coach-window, with the gentleman's sword in his hand. He held up his
lantern, and looked earnestly in my uncle's face, as he handed it
in: when, by its light, my uncle saw, to his great surprise, that an
immense crowd of mail-coach guards swarmed round the window, every one
of whom had his eyes earnestly fixed upon him too. He had never seen
such a sea of white faces, red bodies, and earnest eyes, in all his
born days.
"'This is the strangest sort of thing I ever had anything to do with,'
thought my uncle; 'allow me to return you your hat, sir.'
"The ill-looking gentleman received his three-cornered hat in silence,
looked at the hole in the middle with an inquiring air, and finally
stuck it on the top of his wig with a solemnity the effect of which was
a trifle impaired by his sneezing violently at the moment, and jerking
it off again.
"'All right!' cried the guard with the lantern, mounting into his
little seat behind. Away they went. My uncle peeped out of the
coach-window as they emerged from the yard, and observed that the other
mails, with coachmen, guards, horses, and passengers complete, were
driving round and round in circles, at a slow trot of about five miles
an hour. My uncle burnt with indignation, gentlemen. As a commercial
man, he felt that the mail-bags were not to be trifled with, and he
resolved to memorialise the Post-office on the subject, the very
instant he reached London.
"At present, however, his thoughts were occupied with the young lady
who sat in the farthest corner of the coach, with her face muffled
closely in her hood; the gentleman with the sky-blue coat sitting
opposite to her; the other man in the plum-coloured suit, by her side;
and both watching her intently. If she so much as rustled the folds
of her hood, he could hear the ill-looking man clap his hand upon
his sword, and could tell by the other's breathing (it was so dark
he couldn't see his face) that he was looking as big as if he were
going to devour her at a mouthful. This roused my uncle more and more,
and he resolved, come what come might, to see the end of it. He had
great admiration for bright eyes, and sweet faces, and pretty legs and
feet; in short, he was fond of the whole sex. It runs in our family,
gentlemen--so am I.
"Many were the devices which my uncle practised, to attract the lady's
attention, or at all events, to engage the mysterious gentlemen in
conversation. They were all in vain; the gentlemen wouldn't talk, and
the lady didn't dare. He thrust his head out of the coach-window at
intervals, and bawled out to know why they didn't go faster? But he
called till he was hoarse; nobody paid the least attention to him. He
leant back in the coach, and thought of the beautiful face, and the
feet and legs. This answered better; it wiled away the time, and kept
him from wondering where he was going, and how it was that he found
himself in such an odd situation. Not that this would have worried him
much, any way--he was a mighty free and easy, roving, devil-may-care
sort of person, was my uncle, gentlemen.
"All of a sudden the coach stopped. 'Hallo!' said my uncle, 'what's in
the wind now?'
"'Alight here,' said the guard, letting down the steps.
"'Here!' cried my uncle.
"'Here,' rejoined the guard.
"'I'll do nothing of the sort,' said my uncle.
"'Very well, then stop where you are,' said the guard.
"'I will,' said my uncle.
"'Do,' said the guard.
The other passengers had regarded this colloquy with great attention,
and finding that my uncle was determined not to alight, the younger man
squeezed past him to hand the lady out. At this moment the ill-looking
man was inspecting the hole in the crown of his three-cornered hat.
As the young lady brushed past, she dropped one of her gloves into my
uncle's hand, and softly whispered, with her lips so close to his
face that he felt her warm breath on his nose, the single word 'Help!'
Gentlemen, my uncle leaped out of the coach at once with such violence
that it rocked on the springs again.
"'Oh! You've thought better of it, have you?' said the guard when he
saw my uncle standing on the ground.
"My uncle looked at the guard for a few seconds, in some doubt whether
it wouldn't be better to wrench his blunderbuss from him, fire it in
the face of the man with the big sword, knock the rest of the company
over the head with the stock, snatch up the young lady, and go off in
the smoke. On second thoughts, however, he abandoned this plan, as
being a shade too melodramatic in the execution, and followed the two
mysterious men, who, keeping the lady between them, were now entering
an old house in front of which the coach had stopped. They turned into
the passage, and my uncle followed.
"Of all the ruinous and desolate places my uncle had ever beheld,
this was the most so. It looked as if it had once been a large house
of entertainment; but the roof had fallen in, in many places, and the
stairs were steep, rugged, and broken. There was a huge fireplace in
the room into which they walked, and the chimney was blackened with
smoke; but no warm blaze lighted it up now. The white feathery dust of
burnt wood was still strewed over the hearth, but the stove was cold,
and all was dark and gloomy.
"'Well,' said my uncle, as he looked about him, 'a mail travelling
at the rate of six miles and a half an hour, and stopping for an
indefinite period at such a hole as this, is rather an irregular sort
of proceeding, I fancy. This shall be made known. I'll write to the
papers.'
"My uncle said this in a pretty loud voice, and in an open, unreserved
sort of manner, with the view of engaging the two strangers in
conversation if he could. But, neither of them took any more notice of
him than whispering to each other, and scowling at him as they did so.
The lady was at the farther end of the room, and once she ventured to
wave her hand, as if beseeching my uncle's assistance.
"At length the two strangers advanced a little, and the conversation
began in earnest.
"'You don't know this is a private room, I suppose, fellow?" said the
gentleman in sky-blue.
"'No, I do not, fellow,' rejoined my uncle. 'Only if this is a private
room specially ordered for the occasion, I should think the public
room must be a _very_ comfortable one;' with this my uncle sat himself
down in a high-backed chair, and took such an accurate measure of the
gentleman with his eyes, that Tiggin and Welps could have supplied him
with printed calico for a suit, and not an inch too much or too little,
from that estimate alone.
"'Quit this room,' said both the men together, grasping their swords.
"'Eh?' said my uncle, not at all appearing to comprehend their meaning.
"'Quit the room, or you are a dead man,' said the ill-looking fellow
with the large sword, drawing it at the same time and flourishing it in
the air.
"'Down with him!' cried the gentleman in sky-blue, drawing his sword
also, and falling back two or three yards. 'Down with him!' The lady
gave a loud scream.
"Now, my uncle was always remarkable for great boldness, and great
presence of mind. All the time that he had appeared so indifferent to
what was going on, he had been looking slyly about, for some missile or
weapon of defence, and at the very instant when the swords were drawn,
he espied, standing in the chimney corner, an old basket-hilted rapier
in a rusty scabbard. At one bound, my uncle caught it in his hand, drew
it, flourished it gallantly above his head, called aloud to the lady
to keep out of the way, hurled the chair at the man in sky-blue, and
the scabbard at the man in plum-colour, and taking advantage of the
confusion, fell upon them both, pell-mell.
"Gentlemen, there is an old story--none the worse for being
true--regarding a fine young Irish gentleman, who being asked if
he could play the fiddle, replied he had no doubt he could, but he
couldn't exactly say, for certain, because he had never tried. This is
not inapplicable to my uncle and his fencing. He had never had a sword
in his hand before, except once when he played Richard the Third at a
private theatre: upon which occasion it was arranged with Richmond that
he was to be run through, from behind, without showing fight at all.
But here he was, cutting and slashing with two experienced swordsmen:
thrusting and guarding and poking and slicing, and acquitting himself
in the most manful and dexterous manner possible, although up to that
time he had never been aware that he had the least notion of the
science. It only shows how true the old saying is, that a man never
knows what he can do, till he tries, gentlemen.
"The noise of the combat was terrific; each of the three combatants
swearing like troopers, and their swords clashing with as much noise
as if all the knives and steels in Newport market were rattling
together, at the same time. When it was at its very height, the lady
(to encourage my uncle most probably) withdrew her hood entirely from
her face, and disclosed a countenance of such dazzling beauty, that
he would have fought against fifty men, to win one smile from it, and
die. He had done wonders before, but now he began to powder away like a
raving mad giant.
"At this very moment, the gentleman in sky-blue turning round, and
seeing the young lady with her face uncovered, vented an exclamation of
rage and jealousy, and, turning his weapon against her beautiful bosom,
pointed a thrust at her heart, which caused my uncle to utter a cry
of apprehension that made the building ring. The lady stepped lightly
aside, and snatching the young man's sword from his hand, before he had
recovered his balance, drove him to the wall, and running it through
him, and the panelling, up to the very hilt, pinned him there, hard
and fast. It was a splendid example. My uncle, with a loud shout of
triumph, and a strength that was irresistible, made his adversary
retreat in the same direction, and plunging the old rapier into the
very centre of a large red flower in the pattern of his waistcoat,
nailed him beside his friend; there they both stood, gentlemen, jerking
their arms and legs about, in agony, like the toy-shop figures that are
moved by a piece of packthread. My uncle always said, afterwards, that
this was one of the surest means he knew of, for disposing of an enemy;
but it was liable to one objection on the ground of expense, inasmuch
as it involved the loss of a sword for every man disabled.
"'The mail, the mail!' cried the lady, running up to my uncle and
throwing her beautiful arms round his neck; 'we may yet escape.'
"'_May!_' cried my uncle; 'why, my dear, there's nobody else to
kill, is there?' My uncle was rather disappointed, gentlemen, for he
thought a little quiet bit of love-making would be agreeable after the
slaughtering, if it were only to change the subject.
"'We have not an instant to lose here,' said the young lady. 'He
(pointing to the young gentleman in sky-blue) is the only son of the
powerful Marquess of Filletoville.'
"'Well then, my dear, I'm afraid he'll never come to the title,' said
my uncle, looking coolly at the young gentleman as he stood fixed up
against the wall, in the cockchafer fashion I have described. 'You have
cut off the entail, my love.'
"'I have been torn from my home and friends by these villains,' said
the young lady, her features glowing with indignation. 'That wretch
would have married me by violence in another hour.'
"'Confound his impudence!' said my uncle, bestowing a very contemptuous
look on the dying heir of Filletoville.
"'As you may guess from what you have seen,' said the young lady,
'the party were prepared to murder me if I appealed to any one for
assistance. If their accomplices find us here, we are lost. Two minutes
hence may be too late. The mail!' With these words, overpowered by
her feelings, and the exertion of sticking the young Marquess of
Filletoville, she sunk into my uncle's arms. My uncle caught her
up, and bore her to the house-door. There stood the mail, with four
long-tailed, flowing-maned, black horses, ready harnessed; but no
coachman, no guard, no hostler, even, at the horses' heads.
"Gentlemen, I hope I do no injustice to my uncle's memory when I
express my opinion, that although he was a bachelor, he _had_ held
some ladies in his arms, before this time; I believe, indeed, that he
had rather a habit of kissing barmaids; and I know, that in one or two
instances, he had been seen, by credible witnesses, to hug a landlady
in a very perceptible manner. I mention the circumstance to show what
a very uncommon sort of person this beautiful young lady must have
been, to have affected my uncle in the way she did; he used to say,
that as her long dark hair trailed over his arm, and her beautiful
dark eyes fixed themselves upon his face when she recovered, he felt
so strange and nervous that his legs trembled beneath him. But, who
can look in a sweet soft pair of dark eyes, without feeling queer? _I_
can't, gentlemen. I am afraid to look at some eyes I know, and that's
the truth of it.
"'You will never leave me?' murmured the young lady.
"'Never,' said my uncle. And he meant it, too.
"'My dear preserver!' exclaimed the young lady. 'My dear, kind, brave
preserver!'
"'Don't,' said my uncle, interrupting her.
"'Why?' inquired the young lady.
"'Because your mouth looks so beautiful when you speak,' rejoined my
uncle, 'that I'm afraid I shall be rude enough to kiss it.'
"The young lady put up her hand as if to caution my uncle not to do so,
and said--no, she didn't say anything--she smiled. When you are looking
at a pair of the most delicious lips in the world and see them gently
break into a roguish smile--if you are very near them, and nobody else
by--you cannot better testify your admiration of their beautiful form
and colour than by kissing them at once. My uncle did so, and I honour
him for it.
"'Hark!' cried the young lady, starting. 'The noise of wheels and
horses!'
"'So it is,' said my uncle, listening. He had a good ear for wheels,
and the trampling of hoofs; but there appeared to be so many horses
and carriages rattling towards them, from a distance, that it was
impossible to form a guess at their number. The sound was like that of
fifty breaks, with six blood cattle in each.
"'We are pursued!' cried the young lady, clasping her hands. 'We are
pursued. I have no hope but in you!'
"There was such an expression of terror in her beautiful face that my
uncle made up his mind at once. He lifted her into the coach, told her
not to be frightened, pressed his lips to hers once more, and then
advising her to draw up the window to keep the cold air out, mounted
the box.
"'Stay, love,' cried the young lady.
"'What's the matter?' said my uncle from the coach-box.
"'I want to speak to you,' said the young lady; 'only a word. Only one
word, dearest.'
"'Must I get down?' inquired my uncle. The lady made no answer, but she
smiled again. Such a smile, gentlemen! It beat the other one, all to
nothing. My uncle descended from his perch in a twinkling.
"'What is it, my dear?' said my uncle, looking in at the coach window.
The lady happened to bend forward at the same time, and my uncle
thought she looked more beautiful than she had done yet. He was very
close to her just then, gentlemen, so he really ought to know.
"'What is it, my dear?' said my uncle.
"'Will you never love any one but me; never marry any one beside?' said
the young lady.
"My uncle swore a great oath that he would never marry anybody else,
and the young lady drew in her head, and pulled up the window. He
jumped upon the box, squared his elbows, adjusted the ribbons, seized
the whip which lay on the roof, gave one flick to the off leader, and
away went the four long-tailed, flowing-maned black horses, at fifteen
good English miles an hour, with the old mail coach behind them. Whew!
How they tore along.
"The noise behind grew louder. The faster the old mail went, the faster
came the pursuers--man, horses, dogs, were leagued in the pursuit. The
noise was frightful, but above all rose the voice of the young lady,
urging my uncle on, and shrieking, 'Faster! Faster!'
"They whirled past the dark trees, as feathers would be swept before a
hurricane. Houses, gates, churches, haystacks, objects of every kind
they shot by, with a velocity and noise like roaring waters suddenly
let loose. Still the noise of pursuit grew louder, and still my uncle
could hear the young lady wildly screaming, 'Faster! Faster!'
"My uncle plied whip and rein, and the horses flew onward till they
were white with foam; and yet the noise behind increased; and yet the
young lady cried, 'Faster! Faster!' My uncle gave a loud stamp on the
boot in the energy of the moment, and--found that it was grey morning,
and he was sitting in the wheelwright's yard, on the box of an old
Edinburgh mail, shivering with the cold and wet, and stamping his feet
to warm them! He got down, and looked eagerly inside for the beautiful
young lady. Alas! There was neither door nor seat to the coach. It was
a mere shell.
[Illustration: "_My uncle gave a loud stamp on the boot in the energy
of the moment_"]
"Of course my uncle knew very well that there was some mystery in the
matter, and that everything had passed exactly as he used to relate it.
He remained staunch to the great oath he had sworn to the beautiful
young lady: refusing several eligible landladies on her account, and
dying a bachelor at last. He always said, what a curious thing it
was that he should have found out, by such a mere accident as his
clambering over the palings, that the ghosts of mail-coaches and
horses, guards, coachmen, and passengers, were in the habit of making
journeys regularly every night. He used to add, that he believed he was
the only living person who had ever been taken as a passenger on one of
these excursions. And I think he was right, gentlemen--at least I never
heard of any other."
* * * * *
"I wonder what these ghosts of mail-coaches carry in their bags?"
said the landlord, who had listened to the whole story with profound
attention.
"The dead letters, of course," said the bagman.
"Oh, ah! To be sure," rejoined the landlord. "I never thought of that."