MY COMRADES.
Tom Kirkton was the son of a thrifty and prudent Scottish clergyman,
who had educated him for the Church, in the hope that he might be his
assistant and successor; but the wild life led by Tom when at
college, a natural impetuosity of temper, a genius for everything but
application--rash adventures and excitements--with stories of nights
spent in gambling and carousing, and rumours of various _intrigues
d'amour_, led to his formal expulsion by the Reverend Principal, and
ultimately drove him into the ranks of the Scots Greys.
Time and experience had somewhat tempered the reckless tenor of his
ways, and, though his boisterous manner was rather startling at
times, I could not but deem myself fortunate in having a companion so
well educated as he.
The story of Charters was indeed a singular one.
Five miles north-east of Dumfries there stands a tall, square, and
ancient fortress called the Castle of Amisfield, between the two head
streams of the Lochar. For centuries this great tower had been the
stronghold and residence of the Scoto-Norman family of Charters, of
whom my comrade, the corporal, was the last representative.
In that tower he was born and reared, until he joined the army as an
officer. At the age of eighteen he found himself a lieutenant in the
1st Dragoon Guards, and the inheritor of a splendid fortune, which he
lavished in London with the reckless prodigality of a Timon. He was
at that time on leave of absence, seeking a transfer into a light
dragoon regiment.
When rambling one night near Hydepark Corner, he heard the cries of a
lady whose carriage had been stopped by footpads. He hurried to her
rescue, and narrowly escaped a pistol-shot; but, closing with the
fellow who fired it, struck him down, on which his companions fled,
leaving Charters in possession of the field of battle.
The rescued lady proved to be a foreigner of very attractive face and
figure, with bright blue eyes, and a profusion of fair hair, amid
which, as well as on her neck and arms, many diamonds were sparkling.
She was richly dressed, and was returning, apparently, from a ball.
"You will permit me, madam, to escort you home?" said Charters,
bowing, hat in hand.
She entreated that he would not give himself so much trouble.
"But, madam," urged Charters, "those fellows may return, and I cannot
rest until I know that you are safe in your own residence."
"But which is your way, sir?"
"Your way is mine, madam--nay, I insist upon it." And with great
gallantry he sprang up beside the servant on the footboard behind the
carriage, and the lady, pleased, perhaps, to see that he was a
handsome young man, made no further objection to his escort.
"Drive home," said she.
Pleased with the adventure, and considerably attracted by the
personal charms of the lady, especially by her broken English, which
had a child-like lisp in its sound, Charters slipped a handsome
_douceur_ into the hand of the footman as the carriage rumbled along,
and asked the name of his lady; but the man proved to be a foreigner
also, and replied in German, of which the questioner knew not a word.
"Good!" said Charters; "the mystery increases."
Indeed it grew greater still when the carriage, after traversing the
Park by the bank of the Serpentine, drew up before the lighted portal
of a large and handsome edifice of brick, having no less than three
spacious quadrangles, ornamented with columns, quoins, and elaborate
cornices of stone. Charters immediately recognised Kensington
Palace. Save the porch--near which stood two sentinels of the Foot
Guards in their boxes--and one or two windows, the whole façade of
the building was enveloped in darkness, for the king was absent,
having gone on what proved to be his last visit to Hanover.
Charters assisted the fair unknown to alight, and led her to the door
of the palace, with an air of confidence so perfect, that anyone
might have supposed the house to be his own. Then she perceived that
he wore the Windsor uniform, at that time the usual dress of all
officers when on leave or on half-pay. Attracted, no doubt, by his
air, which, though gentle and soft to her, was proud, dashing, and
careless, she paused upon the threshold to thank him for his ready
courage and escort--then, after a little pretty hesitation, added,
that she could not think of permitting him to retire without joining
her at supper.
"I cannot but accept, madam," said he, kissing her right hand, from
which she had coquettishly drawn the kid glove, as if, perhaps, to
show its beauty.
"You have no fear?" she whispered, with a soft side-glance in her
clear blue eye, as she took his proffered arm.
"None, madam; moreover, I am the foe of all restraint and prejudice."
"Then you should not have become a soldier."
"I can understand the restraints of the service, but I cannot abide
the shallow and hackneyed usages of society."
It seemed to Charters that her little hand pressed his arm rather
palpably at that moment, and she whispered--
"If seen here--if known--"
"By whom?" asked Charters, hastily. "You have no husband, I hope?"
"No--nor lover--none here at least," replied the lady, laughing, as
she threw off her white silk capuchin or hood, and then Charters saw
quite enough of fair ringlets, and a neck and shoulders of great
beauty and wondrous delicacy, to remove any scruples or fears which
had occurred to him. He was in for an adventure now, and felt
himself compelled to go through with it. A retreat was not to be
thought of.
"By what name am I to have the honour of addressing you?" asked
Charters, in a half-whisper, as they sat down to supper, with the
German valet in close attendance, and in a snug little room in that
portion of the palace which had been built by the Lord Chancellor
Finch. It was panelled and richly gilded, and from the walls one or
two dark Holbeins looked grimly down upon their _tête-à-tête_. "Pray
tell me, madam," he urged; "for I am dying of curiosity."
"Call me Sophia," said the lady, looking down for a moment, and then
bending her bright eyes on him smilingly; "and you?" she inquired.
"I am Lieutenant Charters, of the 1st Dragoon Guards," replied the
other. "Sophia?" he repeated, in a soft, low voice, as he mentally
ran over all the names of the female members of the royal family, for
he concluded that his new friend must be a princess at least. Thus
some very wild ideas began to float through his busy brain; but at
that moment he could remember no Sophia among all the ladies who were
about the Court.
Amid all the rings that glittered on her hand--and a beautiful little
hand it was--he could see no plain marriage hoop; so his mind felt
considerably relieved on that score. The valet in attendance wore
the royal livery; but an earl's coronet and the letter Y were on all
the plate, and graven somewhat ostentatiously, too.
Though some years his senior, this lady, by the charm of her manner,
her wit, and conversation, bewildered Charters so much, that in less
than an hour he was desperately in love with her; but she seemed
resolved to preserve her incognita, and they separated, with an
arrangement, however, to meet next day in Hyde Park, at an early
hour, and before it was thronged by promenaders.
In short, they met frequently there, and oftener still in the green
alleys of old Kensington Gardens--I mean that portion of them which
was laid out by Wise, the gardener of Queen Anne; and Charters' love
for his unknown became a confirmed passion, so much so that he
thought of visiting the Horse Guards and withdrawing his application
for a transfer to a light dragoon regiment, as he now anticipated
with dread a separation from his captivating Sophia.
As she expressed a wish to visit the opera one night, he begged
permission to escort her there; and on their entrance all eyes were
turned towards them. Her fine hair was dressed to perfection; her
bright eyes sparkled; her soft cheek was flushed with pleasure, and
the richness of her dress and the splendour of her diamonds so
enhanced her fair and remarkable beauty, that Charters was enchanted
and felt proud of her.
Yet he could not conceal from himself that she was the object of more
than common--and more than well-bred--interest. The ladies whispered
to each other behind their fans, and some of the gentlemen looked at
Sophia so boldly and so laughingly, that Charters felt inclined to
teach them a rough lesson, if he could but fix upon one or two in
particular.
They had seats next the royal box, which was empty, as the king was
still absent, though expected to arrive at St. James's next day.
The opera over, Charters escorted Sophia to her carriage, and
proposed to accompany her home, for he was resolved to remain in a
state of suspense no longer. If her rank was so great that she
concealed her name from him, why accompany him to the opera, where
she was certain of recognition? The mystery was now greater than
ever!
On attempting to step into her carriage she said--
"You must not--you cannot come with me--to-night at least."
"Why?" he asked, with surprise.
"The king returns to-morrow from Hanover."
"The king!" repeated Charters, in a bewildered manner. "What has he
to do with the love I bear you--the love you have made me so happy by
accepting."
"Alas! I cannot tell you here; but we must meet no more," said she,
sighing deeply.
The pressure of carriages compelled them to separate. Sophia sank
back upon her cushioned seat, and covered her face with her
handkerchief, as if she wept bitterly. The heart of Charters was
filled with acute sorrow and vague alarm; but could he have seen her
fair little face, he would have found it convulsed with--_laughter_!
"Hallo, Charters! so your fair one is gone?" said some one whose
voice he recognised; and turning angrily, he found himself face to
face with Frederick Shirley, a cornet of his own regiment. "A rare
scrape you are in!" the cornet added, with a loud laugh.
"How so, sir?" asked Charters, sharply.
"What on earth tempted you to appear in an opera box with that woman?"
"_That_ woman?" he repeated, fiercely; "what woman--who?"
"She who just left you in that absurd turn out--for it is
absurd--horses, harness, and all," continued the unabashed Shirley;
"coronets, plating, and panels."
"Who is she?" asked Charters, somewhat crestfallen.
"What--is it possible that you do not know?" queried Shirley, with an
air of utter bewilderment.
"I know that she is adorable, and is called Sophia----"
"Sophia Amelia de Walmoden, Countess of Yarmouth, and bosom friend of
his majesty the king!" added Shirley, with another burst of laughter,
as he took the arm of Charters and led him away.
Charters was stupified!
He had been thus fooled by the mere mistress of this very
unattractive king, some of whose "amorous sallies" in Hanover had
excited _her jealousy_, and she was now anxious to revenge herself by
exciting his in turn; for she was certain that the Defender of the
Faith would hear of her appearance at the opera with a handsome young
cavalry officer. So Charters trembled with rage at the thought of
his own folly, and began to school himself--however difficult and
unpalatable the task--to hate her as much as he had formerly loved
her.
Shirley's laughter galled him to the soul at first; but afterwards,
over their wine, he showed about a dozen of little pink and peagreen
notes, which he had received from his faithless Walmoden, all signed
"Sophia."
His appearance in public with the Countess of Yarmouth had given rise
to much speculation and gossip in the vicinity of Kensington Palace,
and St. James's too; and Shirley was unwise enough to boast
frequently of having seen the notes in the possession of Charters;
consequently, the latter soon found a secret influence at work
against him at headquarters, and that there was little chance of
obtaining either a transfer to another corps, or an extension of
leave. This was unpleasant, as his funds were so much impaired by
extravagance, that he could scarcely rejoin the Dragoon Guards.
While he was in this dilemma, Shirley called at his hotel one
morning, and mentioned in confidence, that if he would give up
Walmoden's letters, he would find, on looking at the _Gazette_, the
position of his affairs materially altered.
Further information he stated himself to be unable, as yet, to
afford; so poor Charters, though not of a temper to be threatened
even by the king, was scared by the thought of his creditors, and
gave up the letters of the Countess to Shirley.
Impatiently he waited for the next _Gazette_; but on opening it, how
great was his astonishment and rage to find the following notice:--
"1st Dragoon Guards. Cornet Frederick Shirley to be Lieutenant,
_vice_ Charters, _who resigns_!"
For some time he could scarcely believe his eyesight. Then he called
for his horse and rode to the Horse Guards; but neither the
Commander-in-Chief nor the military secretary would receive him, and
for weeks he remained a prey to despair and mortification. He sought
in vain for the perfidious Shirley, who kept sedulously out of his
way, and had now left London.
"My commission, the pride of my heart, was gone," said Charters with
a sigh, as he concluded his story; "and by my own folly and
extravagance, together with the active assistance of others, my
fortune was nearly gone too. Friends disappeared as my purse
emptied, and ere long I knew not what to do, or whither to turn me.
"As for Shirley, my lieutenancy availed him but little, as he was
dismissed from the service soon after for declining to _go out_ with
a brother officer. Gradually he became a gambler, a blackleg--in
fact, a common robber in London, and his fate was a fearful one; so
in my heart, I now forgive him.
"Was he executed?" I inquired.
"Worse. His brother, Sir Jasper Shirley, being out of town, at his
place in Hants, the household plate was lodged, as usual, at his
banker's. It was valuable, for among it was a princely service he
had received from the empress-queen when he was our Ambassador at
Vienna; and when a sudden order came to the wary old butler, desiring
him to get it all out, as Sir Jasper was returning to town, he showed
the letter to my ci-devant friend, Fred Shirley, who said 'it was all
right, as his brother would be in London to-morrow.'
"The butler, however, still had his secret fears; and after bringing
home the plate, borrowed from a friend a bulldog--a surly and savage
brute of great strength and ferocity, which he chained to the chest
over night.
"Shortly before daybreak, a dreadful noise was heard in the apartment
where the plate lay. Lights were procured--the butler and other
servants hurried to the place, and found that a window had been
forced by the usual implements of a housebreaker, who lay on the
floor dead, but still warm, and in a pool of blood, for his throat
and tongue were completely torn out by the fangs of the ferocious
dog; and who think you he proved to be? Sir Jasper's younger
brother--Frederick Shirley.
"So," added Charters, through his clenched teeth, "so perished he who
betrayed me!
"Drinking, gambling, and reckless dissipation among the _condottieri_
of London society, soon brought me like the prodigal of old to the
husks and the swine trough; till one day, when my better angel
triumphed over the evil spirit who had guided me so long, I conceived
the idea of endeavouring to regain, by mere force of merit, the
commission of which I had been so lawlessly deprived.
"Inspired by this resolution, so consistent with my warm and sanguine
temperament, I enlisted in the Scots Greys; but my evil genius still
follows me, for I have never got beyond the rank of corporal.
"I am not the man I once was, and may never rise higher. Perhaps I
am too reckless, too much soured in temper, and too much of a
misanthrope, to deserve a commission, or it may be that the secret
vengeance of the king and his devil of a Walmoden, still pursues me
even here. I cannot see my future, but, happily,
"'There is a Providence doth shape our ends,
Rough hew them how we will.'"