Was there ever such confounded ill-luck? My whole life has been a tissue
of ill luck: although I have laboured, perhaps, harder than any man to
make a fortune, something always tumbled it down. In love and in war I
was not like others. In my marriages, I had an eye to the main chance;
and you see how some unlucky blow would come and throw them over. In the
army I was just as prudent, and just as unfortunate. What with judicious
betting, and horse-swapping, good luck at billiards, and economy, I do
believe I put by my pay every year,—and that is what few can say who
have but an allowance of a hundred a-year.
I'll tell you how it was. I used to be very kind to the young men; I
chose their horses for them, and their wine; and showed them how to play
billiards, or écarté, of long mornings, when there was nothing better to
do. I didn't cheat: I'd rather die than cheat; but if fellows _will_
play, I wasn't the man to say no—why should I? There was one young chap
in our regiment of whom I really think I cleared 300_l._ a-year.
His name was Dobble. He was a tailor's son, and wanted to be a
gentleman. A poor, weak young creature; easy to be made tipsy: easy to
be cheated; and easy to be frightened. It was a blessing for him that I
found him; for if anybody else had, they would have plucked him of every
shilling.
Ensign Dobble and I were sworn friends. I rode his horses for him, and
chose his champagne: and did everything, in fact, that a superior mind
does for an inferior—when the inferior has got the money. We were
inseparables—hunting everywhere in couples. We even managed to fall in
love with two sisters, as young soldiers will do, you know; for the dogs
fall in love with every change of quarters.
Well: once, in the year 1793 (it was just when the French had chopped
poor Louis's head off), Dobble and I, gay young chaps as ever wore sword
by side, had cast our eyes upon two young ladies, by the name of
Brisket, daughters of a butcher in the town where we were quartered. The
dear girls fell in love with us, of course. And many a pleasant walk in
the country; many a treat to a tea-garden; many a smart riband and
brooch, used Dobble and I (for his father allowed him 600_l._, and our
purses were in common) to present to these young ladies. One day, fancy
our pleasure at receiving a note couched thus:—
"Deer Capting Stubbs and Dobble—Miss Briskets presents their
compliments, and as it is probble that our papa will be till 12 at the
corprayshun dinner, we request the pleasure of their company to tea."
Didn't we go! Punctually at six we were in the little back parlour; we
quaffed more Bohea, and made more love, than half-a-dozen ordinary men
could. At nine, a little punch-bowl succeeded to the little tea-pot;
and, bless the girls! a nice fresh steak was frizzling on the gridiron
for our supper. Butchers were butchers then, and their parlour was their
kitchen, too; at least old Brisket's was.—One door leading into the
shop, and one into the yard, on the other side of which was the
slaughter-house.
Fancy, then, our horror when, just at this critical time, we heard the
shop door open, a heavy staggering step on the flags, and a loud husky
voice from the shop, shouting, "Hallo, Susan! hallo, Betsy! show a
light!" Dobble turned as white as a sheet; the two girls each as red as
a lobster; I alone preserved my presence of mind. "The back door," says
I.—"The dog's in the court," says they. "He's not so bad as the man,"
says I. "Stop," cries Susan, flinging open the door, and rushing to the
fire: "take _this_, and perhaps it will quiet him."
What do you think "_this_" was? I'm blest if it was not the _steak_!
She pushed us out, patted and hushed the dog, and was in again in a
minute. The moon was shining on the court, and on the slaughter-house,
where there hung a couple of white, ghastly-looking carcasses of a
couple of sheep; a great gutter ran down the court—a gutter of _blood_!—
the dog was devouring his beefsteak (_our_ beefsteak) in silence,—and we
could see through the little window the girls bustling about to pack up
the supper-things, and presently the shop door opened, old Brisket
entered, staggering, angry, and drunk. What's more, we could see,
perched on a high stool, and nodding politely, as if to salute old
Brisket, the _feather of Dobble's cocked hat_! When Dobble saw it he
turned white, and deadly sick; and the poor fellow, in an agony of
fright, sunk shivering down upon one of the butcher's cutting blocks
which was in the yard.
[Illustration]
We saw old Brisket look steadily (as steadily as he could) at the
confounded impudent, pert waggling feather; and then an idea began to
dawn upon his mind, that there was a head to the hat; and then he slowly
rose up—he was a man of six feet, and fifteen stone—he rose up, put on
his apron and sleeves, and _took down his cleaver_.
"Betsy," says he, "open the yard door." But the poor girls screamed, and
flung on their knees, and begged, and wept, and did their very best to
prevent him. "OPEN THE YARD DOOR," says he, with a thundering loud
voice; and the great bull-dog, hearing it, started up, and uttered a
yell which sent me flying to the other end of the court.—Dobble couldn't
move; he was sitting on the block, blubbering like a baby.
The door opened, and out Mr. Brisket came.
"_To him, Jowler_," says he, "_keep him, Jowler_,"—and the horrid dog
flew at me, and I flew back into the corner, and drew my sword,
determining to sell my life dearly.
"That's it," says Brisket, "keep him there,—good dog,—good dog! And now,
sir," says he, turning to Dobble, "is this your hat?"
"Yes," says Dobble, fit to choke with fright.
"Well, then," says Brisket, "it's my—(hick)—my painful duty to—(hick)—to
tell you, that as I've got your hat, I must have your head;—it's
painful, but it must be done. You'd better—(hick)—settle yourself com—
comfumarably against that—(hick)—that block, and I'll chop it off before
you can say Jack—(hick)—no, I mean Jack Robinson."
Dobble went down on his knees, and shrieked out, "I'm an only son, Mr.
Brisket! I'll marry her, sir; I will, upon my honour, sir.—Consider my
mother, sir; consider my mother."
"That's it, sir," says Brisket—"that's a good boy—(hick)—a good boy;
just put your head down quietly—and I'll have it off—yes, off—as if you
were Louis the Six—the Sixtix—the Sixtickleteenth.—I'll chop the other
_chap afterwards_."
When I heard this, I made a sudden bound back, and gave such a cry as
any man might who was in such a way. The ferocious Jowler, thinking I
was going to escape, flew at my throat; screaming furious, I flung out
my arms in a kind of desperation,—and, to my wonder, down fell the dog,
dead, and run through the body!
* * * * *
At this moment a posse of people rushed in upon old Brisket—one of his
daughters had had the sense to summon them—and Dobble's head was saved.
And when they saw the dog lying dead at my feet, my ghastly look, my
bloody sword, they gave me no small credit for my bravery. "A terrible
fellow, that Stubbs," said they; and so the mess said, the next day.
I didn't tell them that the dog had committed _suicide_—why should I?
And I didn't say a word about Dobble's cowardice. I said he was a brave
fellow, and fought like a tiger; and this prevented _him_ from telling
tales. I had the dog-skin made into a pair of pistol-holsters, and
looked so fierce, and got such a name for courage in our regiment, that
when we had to meet the regulars, Bob Stubbs was always the man put
forward to support the honour of the corps. The women, you know, adore
courage; and such was my reputation at this time, that I might have had
my pick out of half-a-dozen, with three, four, or five thousand pounds
a-piece, who were dying for love of me and my red coat. But I wasn't
such a fool. I had been twice on the point of marriage, and twice
disappointed; and I vowed by all the Saints to have a wife, and a rich
one. Depend upon this, as an infallible maxim to guide you through life—
_It's as easy to get a rich wife as a poor one_;—the same bait that will
hook a fly will hook a salmon.