rouse the object of his fears. It raised itself on its hands, and after
staring Caddy full in the face, as he afterwards stated, began to uncoil
itself, and, at length, rose, and stood, tolerably terrified, to judge
from appearances, gazing at the odd-looking figure which Caddy cut, with
his night-cap, spectacles, and pipe, on the large iron tripod. Cuddle
now perceived that his companion, although of masculine frame, was
arrayed in female habiliments, which were black as the exterior of an
old stew-pan. It was Martha Jones, the scullion, a Welsh girl, who,
whenever she could, indulged herself with a night's rest, in her
clothes, on the warm hearth of Caddy Castle kitchen, instead of
a comfortable bed in one of its turrets. On these occasions, she
previously swept the embers from the hearth to the stone floor; as Caddy
Cuddle had found them, on entering to smoke his pipe. She was indulged
in these and a few other odd vagaries, on account of her excellence as
an under-strapper to the cook, who frequently said, that she could,
and would, do more work in one day, than a brace of the ordinary run
of scullions did in a week. Martha possessed a pair of immense muscular
arms, which resembled, in hue, the outer leaf of a frost-bitten red
cabbage: her cheeks were of the same colour, when clean; and shone,
after a recent ablution, as though they had been smeared with bees-wax
and turpentine, and polished by means of a furniture-brush. Caddy
Cuddle, in his subsequent description of Martha, said, that her hair
was jetty as a black cart-horse's tail;--her lips pouted like a pair of
black puddings; and her eye,--for truth to say, she had but one,--was
as fiery and frightful as that of a Cyclops. Martha's features were,
however, though large, remarkably well-formed; and more than one
ploughman, in the neighbourhood, already sighed to make her a bride.
After Martha had gazed, for more than a minute, at Caddy Cuddle, who
ceased to puff, and almost to breathe, from the moment the scullion had
first begun to move, she burst out into a loud fit of laughter, in which
she indulged for some time;--occasionally stirring and raking the embers
on the floor together, to create a better blaze, in order that she might
enjoy a full view of Caddy Cuddle, who was now quite as ludicrous in
her estimation, as she had been terrible in his. Cuddle, at last, waxed
wroth; threw his pipe on the floor; thrust one of his hands beneath the
breast of his waistcoat; placed the other behind him, under the tail of
his coat, which he considerably elevated by the action; and, in this, as
he deemed, most imposing attitude, asked Martha how she dared to insult
one of her master's guests in that manner.--“Stand aside,” continued he,
“and let me withdraw to my chamber, woman!”
“Ooman!” cried the scullion, ceasing to laugh in an instant, and putting
on rather an alarming frown:--“Ooman!--her name is Martha Jones, and no
more a--Yes, her is a ooman, though, tat's true;--but Martha Jones is
her name, and her will not be called ooman py nopoty, look you; that is
what her will not--Ooman, inteet! Cot pless her! To live six long years
in the kitchen of 'Squire Morgan, and one pesides, at 'Squire Caddy's,
with a coot character, and her own aunt a laty, to be called 'ooman,' py
a little man in a white night-cap! look you, I sall tie first!”
Caddy Cuddle's experience with the woman-kind, at our excellent friend,
Jonathan Oldbuck ycleps the fair part of the creation, was very limited:
he had read of heroines, in the Latin and Greek authors; spoken to a
few demi-savages, when a boy, during his nautical adventures in foreign
parts; occasionally chucked a dairymaid under the chin, when _Bacchi
plenus_, in the reign of Caddy Caddy, at Caddy Castle; and had a few
quarrels with his housekeeper, Mrs. Watermark. He was of opinion, from
what he had witnessed, that a little flattery was of sovereign virtue
with the sex; and, in order to escape from Martha's clutches, of which
he felt in considerable awe, Caddy Cuddle essayed to soothe and allay
the fever into which he had thrown the scullion by calling her a woman,
with a few compliments. But, like all inexperienced persons, Caddy
Cuddle could not hit the golden mean; he overstepped the mark so much,
as to make honest Martha imagine that he really admired her. Caddy was
not aware to what an extent his flattery was leading him: he plumed
himself on his tact and discretion, when Martha's face began to relax
into a smile; launched boldly into hyperbole, as soon as she curtsied
at his compliments; and, in order to effect a dashing retreat, by a
bold _coup-de-main_, attacked the enemy with a brigade of classical
metaphors. The scullion could hold out no longer; she strode over the
intervening embers; clutched Cuddle in her colossal grasp; and, in an
instant, she was seated on the tripod which he had previously occupied,
with the very alarmed little gentleman perched upon her knee.
The nose-night-mare was a trifle, in Cuddle's estimation, compared with
what he now endured: he struggled, and roared with all his might-called
Martha Jones, “Circe, Canidia, Scylla, Medea, Harpy, Polyphemus, and
Witch of Edmonton,” without the least effect: she seemed to consider
all these appellatives as endearing epithets, and kissed Caddy, so
vehemently, that he thought his heart would break.
And it was not merely the warmth of the scullion's gratitude or
affection--whichever it might be--that so discomposed Caddy Cuddle;
Martha, in striding across the blazing embers, had ignited her greasy,
and, consequently, very combustible apparel; and although she, in her
raptures, seemed to be quite unconscious of the circumstance, Caddy
Cuddle felt that the incipient flame had begun to singe his stockings.
At length, Mistress Martha herself, became, somehow or other, cognizant
of the fact; and she instantly threw Caddy Cuddle off her knee, shrieked
like an infuriated maniac, snatched up the kitchen poker, and flourished
it about Caddy's head, threatening him, by her actions, with immediate
annihilation; as though he, good innocent man, had been the cause of the
combustion.
Luckily for Caddy and the scullion, their _tete-a-tete_ had been so
boisterous, as to have alarmed the Castle; and the French cook, with two
or three other men-servants, burst into the kitchen at a very critical
instant both for Caddy and Miss Jones. A bucket of water, dexterously
applied by the coachman, quenched the blazing petticoats, and somewhat
allayed the fiery heart of the scullion; who retreated behind a pile of
pots and kettles. While Caddy apostrophized the cook, Martha was loud
in vituperation; the men-servants were noisy as Bedlamites; and the
_cuisinier_ himself, a recently imported Frenchman, imprecated, very
loudly, in his own language,--consigning Caddy, the scullion, coachman,
and his fellow-domestics, with all other the English people, past,
present, and to come, in one lot, to the care of King Pluto and his
sable adherents. Alarmed at the uproar, the guests at Caddy Castle came
in by twos and threes, and, in a few minutes, the kitchen was thronged.
The Honourable Charles Caddy had scarcely closed his eyes, when the
exclamations, from Caddy Cuddle and the scullion, reached his ears;
the lovely Lady Letitia having amused herself by giving him a curtain
lecture, of some two hours' duration, after they had retired, on his
gross and most apparent gallantry to the plainest woman among the
visitors at the Castle. He leaped out of bed, on hearing the noise,
rather to escape from the dulcet abuse of his beautiful better-half,
than from any strong feelings of interest or curiosity; and, as soon
as he could make himself fit to be seen, hurried toward the place of
declamation. There he found Caddy Cuddle, encircled by twenty or thirty
people, (who, although they were his guests, and had dined with him, he
positively did not know in their night-caps,) exclaiming, prodigiously,
against the scullion, and endeavouring, by dint of vociferation, to
prove that he was not at all to blame.
The Honourable Charles Caddy soon cleared the kitchen, when he found
that nothing of consequence had occurred: the guests and servants
retired; and Caddy Cuddle, after making several apologies and
protestations of innocence, whatsoever the scullion might say of him,
to his cousin, took up a candle, which somebody had left on the dresser,
and marched off to the staircase. The Honourable Charles Caddy, who had
detained the cook, now inquired who and what the creature of darkness
was behind the saucepans; and while the cook was explaining, and
Martha Jones was giving most excellent account of herself, Caddy Cuddle
proceeded toward his bed-chamber. As he passed Lady Letitia's door,
he knocked, and whispered, through the key-hole, a long string of
apologies, in which he was interrupted by the lady's husband; who, after
politely marshalling him to his room, made him a most ceremonious and
courtly bow, and wished him a very excellent good night.
Caddy paced two or three times up and down the room, lamenting his
misfortunes, and inwardly vowing never to quit his cottage for a castle
again. He was so anxious not to disturb the household, that he
neither stamped on the floor, nor groaned audibly; but rather “stepped
a-tip-toe,” from the window to the fire-place, and thence to the window
again, scarcely breathing as he moved. Finding but little relief from
this state of constraint, he threw himself on the old chair that stood
on the right-hand side of the bed, and began to recover a little of
his usual good humour. He reviewed the circumstances which had happened
during the night; and they now presented themselves in so droll a light
to Caddy's mind, that he could not help smiling at his mishaps, and
proceeded to unbutton his waistcoat All at once, the remembrance of the
moving tapestry flashed across him, and his eye was instantly fixed
on the figure that had alarmed him, previous to his retiring to rest
“Surely,” thought he, “it could not have been imagination, for it
moveth, even now, most palpably!--or my visionary organs are singularly
impaired;--or these new spectacles lead me into very unpleasant
errors. Would that I had never accepted them!” He removed the suspected
offenders from his nose, wiped them carefully with the tail of his coat,
and was going to put them on again, when a tall, stout-built person,
slipped out from behind the arras, and advanced, with hasty steps,
toward him, exclaiming, “Soho! friend Caddy Cuddle, you're come at
last!”
“What, in the name of all that's good, art thou?” exclaimed Caddy,
feeling surprised that he was not more frightened;--“who art thou?”
“Don't you know me, Caddy?” said the intruder, laying his hand on
Cuddle's arm; who was very much pleased to feel that his visitor
possessed the property of tangibility, and was, therefore, no
ghost.--“Don't you know me, Caddy?” repeated the figure, in rather a
reproachful tone.
“I dare say I should, sir, if you would permit me to put on my
spectacles,--bad as they are,” replied Caddy; “and if you'd step back
a yard or two, so as to get, as it were, at the proper focus of my
sight:--suppose you take a chair.”
The tall man retreated some paces, and Caddy put on his
spectacles:--“Now, sir,” said he, “we shall see:--Where are you?--Oh! I
perceive--Why, bless my soul, sir--is it--can it be? Are these glasses
really playing me tricks? or have I, in truth, leaped out of the
frying-pan into the fire?--You surely can't be my very unfortunate and
most respected friend, Caddy Caddy, of Caddy Castle!”
“The same,” replied the tall old man, with a sigh:--“Caddy Caddy, sir,
of Caddy Castle.”
“And how the nipperkins did you break loose?” cried Cuddle, rising from
the chair, and advancing two or three steps.
“Where now, where now, sir?” said Caddy Caddy, taking a gentle hold of
Cuddle's arm:--“Where now, friend Cuddle?”
“Where?--why, to the door, doubtless!--Am I doomed to do nothing but
alarm the castle?”
“Alarm the castle!” exclaimed Caddy Caddy; “are you out of your senses?
why, they'd lock me up, man, if you did.”
“To be sure they would, and that's precisely what I want them to do.--My
dear sir, I beg pardon; I wouldn't give offence I'm sure,--neither to
you nor the people of the Castle; but I can't help it.--You must allow
me to give the alarm.--I cannot submit to be shut up with a madman.”
“So, then, you join in the slander, do you?” said Caddy Caddy; “Cuddle,
you hurt me to the soul!”
“Well, well,--my dear friend,--my respected friend,--I am sorry I said
so;--it was but in joke.”
“Cuddle,” replied Caddy, “I was ruined by a joke:--somebody called me a
madman, in jest; the rest of the world joined in the cry, though it was
a fool who gave tongue; and, at last, they ran me down; proved, to their
own satisfaction, that I was out of my wits, for being in a passion
with, and turning upon, those who were hunting me. Nothing is more easy
than to prove a man mad:--begin, by throwing a slur upon his mental
sanity; watch him narrowly; view all he does with a jaundiced eye; rake
up a score of facts, which occurred a year apart,--facts that are really
frolics, freaks, whims, vagaries, or what you will, of the like nature;
place them all together, and the business is done; you make as fine a
picture of lunacy as a man would wish to look at. I assure you, Caddy
Cuddle, I am no more a lunatic than you are,--take my word for it; so
sit down and tune the fiddle.”
“Fiddle! what?--where?--which fiddle?”
“Oh! they allow me my fiddle; I should go crazy in earnest without that
I left it behind the arras;--come--”
“Come! come where?”
“Come and fetch it,” said Caddy, dragging Cuddle toward the place from
which he had issued.
“Nipperkins, cousin!” cried Cuddle, “go and get it yourself.”
“No, no,” replied the other, with a knowing look; “If I were to do so,
you'd slip out, while my back was turned, and raise the Castle. I've had
trouble enough to elude their vigilance, during the bustle, to lose my
liberty so easily again. By-and-bye, we'll go down stairs together, and
break open the cellar;--it's all my own, you know, if right was cock of
the walk. I'm for gamocks and junketting, I forewarn you, and we'll have
a jolly night of it.” By this time, Caddy had approached the arras, with
Cuddle fast in his clutch; he stooped down, and drawing forth an old
fiddle and stick, put them into the hands of Cuddle; who, as may readily
be imagined, was by no means enamoured of his situation.
“Now,” said Caddy, “in the first place, my friend, play Rowley Waters.
I have been trying to recollect the two last bars of it for these three
years, but I cannot. Do you remember how beautifully my drunken old
butler, Barnaby, used to troul it?”
“Ay, those were merry days, cousin,” said Cuddle; “poor Barnaby! his
passion for ale laid him low, at last.”
“And many a time, before.”
“What! was it in time of your sanity? I beg pardon--Do you remember,
then, our finding him, flat on his back, by the side of an untapped vat
of the stoutest beer that ever Caddy Castle could boast?--Methinks I
can see him now, with the gimlet in his hand, with which he had made an
aperture in the cask, and sucked the blood of barley-corn, to such an
abominable extent--the old beast did--that--”
“Don't asperse him, Cuddle,” said Caddy; “he put a peg in the hole
before he died. He was the best of butlers; if he always drank a
skinful, he never wasted a noggin. But now for Rowley Waters;--play up,
and I'll jig.”
“No, no,” said Cuddle, laying down the instrument; “I'll do no such
thing;--I won't, by Jupiter!--that's resolute.”
“Well, then, I'll play, and you shall dance.”
“Don't make me swear,” said Cuddle; “don't, Caddy Caddy!--What! raise
a riot again?--You don't know, perhaps, that I have, already, sinned
egregiously;--although, I protest, without the least evil intention.
Besides, it would produce that very effect which you wish to--Eh! what
was I saying?--Well, I don't mind if I _do_ give you _one_ tune.”
“Thank you, kindly, cousin Cuddle,” said Caddy, taking up the fiddle;
“but you have raised an objection, which I admit to be of great weight.
Oh! cousin Cuddle! Did you want to betray me?--I thank you for the
hint:--we should, indeed, alarm my enemies. You overreached yourself,
and saved me, cousin.”
“Well, I scorn a lie,” replied Cuddle; “such a thought as you suspect
did occur to me; for I protest I am not very comfortable in your
company, much as I respect you. Go back to your bed; do, pr'ythee now,
be ruled--oblige me, cousin;--for your own sake, go.”
“Oh! what a thing self-interest is!” exclaimed Caddy; “'for your own
sake, go,' quoth he, when it is solely for his! Cousin Cuddle, I shall
not;--that's a plain answer for you.”
Caddy now placed a chair immediately opposite to that one on which he
had found Cuddle sitting, on his entrance; he forced the alarmed
little gentleman into his seat; and, in a few moments, resumed the
conversation.
“Cuddle,” said he, looking very seriously, “as the world goes, I take
you to be an honest man, and my friend. Now, I'll confide something to
your ear that will perfectly astonish you. The people about me, don't
know a syllable of the matter; I kept it snug from them; if I had not,
they would have restricted me to one room, instead of allowing me the
liberty and use of three.--Draw your chair close.--About three years'
since, I broke loose.”
“So I heard,” said Cuddle, trembling as he remembered what had been
related of Caddy's violence on that occasion. The great staircase of
the better part of Caddy Castle, was circular, and surmounted by a
magnificent dome, which lighted it completely down to the hall; Caddy
had thrown himself over the banisters, and must, inevitably, have been
dashed to pieces, had it not been for a scaffolding, which some workmen
had erected within the circle of the staircase, for the purpose of
repairing some part of the masonry, a few days before. Caddy fell among
the people on the temporary platform, and was taken up, apparently,
lifeless; but, in the course of a couple of months, his bodily health
was restored,--his mental malady remaining nearly in its former state.
“You know,” continued Caddy, “of my leap; I gave them the slip, then,
cousin, in good earnest I fell a terrific depth, and did the business at
once. I recollect the moment of my near approach to the scaffolding, of
the erection of which, I was ignorant; but, as it happened, it did not
frustrate my intentions.”
“I feel very ailing--very indisposed, indeed,” said Cuddle; “pray,
cousin Caddy, permit me to--”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Caddy; “you are as well as ever you were in your
life; I am sure of it; so hear me out:--of course, you heard their
account of restoring me to health;--but they know nothing of the matter,
cousin Cuddle:--when I seemed to them to revive, I felt that I was
_disembodied!_”
“Disembodied!” cried Cuddle, staring wildly at Caddy.
“Ay, disembodied, cousin,” said Caddy; “and my sole with, except for
liberty, now is, to obtain a disembodied companion, who--”
Cuddle could hear no more. To describe his thoughts or feelings at this
moment, would be a task beyond the power of our feeble pen. We shall
attempt, only, to relate his actions.--He threw himself back in the
capacious chair which he had hitherto occupied, but by no means filled;
brought his knees on a level with, and as near as he possibly could to,
his face; and then, suddenly throwing out his legs, with all the energy
he possessed, struck Caddy in the breast with his feet so violently, as,
in an instant, to turn him and his chair topsy-turvy on the floor. He
exhibited a specimen of that agility for which he had been famed in
his younger days, as well in this, as in his subsequent proceedings.
Skipping over Caddy and the chair, he flew to the door, and made for
the staircase at full speed. It is useless to conceal that Cuddle was
dreadfully frightened; he heard Caddy striding after him at a fearful
rate; and felt satisfied, by the evidence of his ears, that his dreaded
pursuer would very speedily overtake him. People in similar situations
adopt plans for escaping, which men, sitting calmly over their coffee,
would never dream of. Cuddle knew that he should have no chance in a
grapple with Caddy: it was ridiculous to hope for help if he cried
out; for, before any one could come to his assistance, Caddy would have
sufficient time to disembody his spirit; and his pursuer was evidently
an over-match for him in speed. Cuddle was desperate: he suddenly
determined on attempting to evade his enemy by a bold and dangerous
manouvre. He leaped upon the banisters, which were massive and broad
enough for a man to stand upon with ease; caught hold of the rope, by
which the dinner bell, above the cupola, was rung by the porter, in the
hall below; and threw himself upon it,--in a style which would have done
honour to a thorough-bred seaman,--at the moment the tops of Caddy's
fingers touched his heels. We cannot wait to describe the consternation
into which the ringing of the dinner bell, at that time of the night,
threw all the inmates of Caddy Castle;--our hero claims our undivided
attention; for his position was most perilous--at least, in Cuddle's own
opinion.
Having descended, with moderate haste, for a few yards, he felt, by
certain jerks of the rope, that Caddy had followed his example, and was
pursuing him down the rope,--with such hair-brained velocity too, as he
very speedily ascertained, that he was in greater danger than ever.
The rope was swung to and fro, by his own exertions and those of his
enemy,--bumping him against the banisters with considerable force; but
the blows he thus received were beneath his notice; he thought only of
escaping. Finding that Caddy gained upon him, he contrived, as the rope
swung toward the side of the staircase, to catch hold of one of the
stout iron rails of the banister;--secure in his clutch, he quitted the
rope with considerable dexterity, and had the satisfaction, while he
dangled, of seeing Caddy slide by him. He now began to roar lustily; but
his efforts were needless, for almost every living creature in the house
was already on the alert; the watch dogs were barking without, and the
lap-dogs within; the ladies were shrieking; the gentlemen calling
the servants, and the latter wondering, and running here and there,
exceedingly active, but not knowing what to do or what was the matter.
By degrees, the male portion of the inhabitants of the Castle became
concentrated in the hall: lights were procured; and while the ladies and
their attendants peeped over the rails of the great staircase, in their
night-caps, to watch the proceedings of the party below, Martha, armed
with the kitchen poker, volunteered to search every hole and corner
in the Castle: but her master forbade her on pain of his displeasure;
“For,” said he, “I feel satisfied that it is a disgraceful hoax of some
scoundrel in the house, who shall certainly be ducked if ever I discover
him.--Is any one absent?”
“All the men servants are here, sir,” said the coachman; “and all the
gentlemen, too, I think.”
“No, they are not,” exclaimed Martha, with a ludicrous grin; “where is
my sweetheart, can you tell?--I do not see him.”
“Oh! he's fast asleep, good man!” said the Honourable Charles Caddy.
“I wish he were;--I do most sincerely wish he were!” quoth Cuddle, who
had released himself, by his own exertions, from his pendent position,
and was now hastening down the lowest flight of stairs. “You may stare,
my good host,” continued he, “but to sleep in Caddy Castle is perfectly
impossible!”
“So I find, to my cost,” replied the Honourable Charles Caddy; “and if I
can find out the rascal who--”
“Do not waste time in threats,” said 'Cuddle; “but fly--disperse, in
quest of my respected, unhappy friend, poor Caddy Caddy, who has been
with me this half hour, and would have disembodied me, if I hadn't given
him a kick in the stomach, and put my trust in the bell-rope.”
At the request of his host, Cuddle gave a hurried detail of what had
taken place between himself and Caddy Caddy; while those domestics, who
had the immediate care of the lunatic, hastened up to his rooms. They
returned just as Cuddle had concluded, and stated that Caddy Caddy
was undressed, and fast asleep in his bed;--that they found the doors
locked, and every thing about the apartments in the precise state in
which they had left them. One of the party said, that he slept in the
next room to Caddy Caddy, and was quite certain that he should have
been, as usual, roused, had the lunatic but merely moved: and as to
the old Squire having been at large, the fellow swore that it was
impossible.
It was useless for Cuddle to vow and solemnly declare that Caddy Caddy
had been with him, in the face of this evidence: the gentlemen shook
their heads; the men grumbled; the ladies on the stair-case tittered;
and their maids pronounced Mr. Cuddle's conduct to be altogether
shocking.
“It is a very distressing case,” said the Honourable Charles Caddy; “and
I protest I never was in so awkward a situation before. I feel bound to
apologize,” continued he, “to every lady and gentleman in the Castle,
for the uproar, which my relation, Mr. Caddy Cuddle, has, doubtless,
unintentionally, produced. I am bound to add, in justice to myself,
that, upon my honour as a gentleman, I had not the most remote idea that
either of my guests was a somnambulist.”