I WAS not sorry to find that Miss Bubbleton did not respond to the noisy
summons of the captain, as he flourished about from one room to the
other, making the quarters echo to the sweet name of “Anna Maria.”
“Saladin,” “Grimes,” “Peter,” were also shouted out unsuccessfully;
and with a fierce menace against various grooms of the chambers,
waiting-men, and lackeys, who happily were still unborn, Bubbleton flung
himself into a seat, and began to conjecture what had become of the
inhabitants.
“She's paying a morning call,--gone to see the Duchess; that 's it. Or
perhaps she 's looking over that suit of pearls I bought yesterday at
Gallon's; pretty baubles, but dear at eight hundred pounds. Never mind;
what 's money for, eh, Tom?”
As he looked at me for a reply, I drew my chair closer towards him, and
assuming as much of importance as my manner could command, I besought
his attention for a moment. Hitherto, partly from my own indecision,
partly from his flighty and volatile bearing, I never had an opportunity
either to explain my real position or my political sentiments, much less
my intentions for the future. The moment had at length arrived, and
I resolved to profit by it; and in as few words as I was able, gave a
brief narrative of my life, from the hour of my father's death to the
day in which I fell into his own hands in Dublin, only omitting such
portions as might, by the mention of names, compromise others concerned.
Nothing could possibly be more attentive than he was during the
entire detail. He leaned his head on his hand, and listened with eager
curiosity to all my scrapes and difficulties, occasionally nodding in
assent, and now evincing by his excited air his desire to learn farther;
and when I at last wound up by avowing my long cherished desire to
enter the French service, he sat perfectly silent, and seemed to reflect
gravely on the whole.
“I say, Tom,” said he, at length, as he stared me full in the face,
and laid his hand impressively on my knee, “there 's good stuff in
that,--excellent stuff, depend upon it.”
“Good stuff! what do you mean?” said I, in amazement.
“I mean,” replied he, “there's bone in it, sinew in it, substance in it;
there are some admirable situations too. How Fulham would come out in
Tony Basset,--brown shorts, white stockings, high shoes and buckles,
his own very costume. And there's that little thing, Miss Booth, for
Nelly; give her a couple of songs,--ballad airs take best. Williams
should be Barton; a devilish fine villain in coarse parts,
Williams,--I think I see him stealing along by the flats with his
soldiers to the attack. Then the second act should open: interior of
hut; peasants round a table (eating always successful on the stage;
nothing like seeing a fat fellow bolting hard eggs, and blustering out
unpronounceable jokes over a flagon of colored water). You, by right,
should have your own part; splendid thing, devilish fine,--your
sensations when the cabin was on tire, and the fellows were prodding
about with their bayonets to discover you.”
“And who 's to perform Captain Bubbleton?” asked I, venturing for once
to humor his absurdity.
“Eh? Oh I there's nothing for me; no marked feature, nothing strong,
nothing characteristic. That has been through life my greatest, my very
highest ambition,--that no man should ever detect, by anything in my
manner, my dress, or my style of conversation, that I was not John
Nokes or Peter Styles. You 'll meet me at a dinner party, Tom; you 'll
converse with me, drink with me; we'll sit the evening together, grow
intimate, perhaps you 'll borrow fifty pounds of me; and yet I 'd wager
another, you'd never guess that I rode a hippopotamus across the Ganges
after tiffin one day, to pay my respects to the Governor-Greneral. That,
let me tell you, Tom, is the very proudest boast a man can make. Do you
see that scar? It looks nothing now. That was a bite from a ferocious
boa: the villain got into my room before breakfast; he had eaten my
chokeedar, a fellow I was very fond of--”
“Ah, I remember you mentioned that to me. And now to come back to my
dull story, to which, I assure you, however dramatic you may deem it, I
'd prefer adding an act or so before it comes before the world. I intend
to leave this to-morrow.”
“No, no; you mustn't think of it yet awhile. Why, my dear fellow, you
've a hundred pounds; only think of that! Twenty will bring you to
Paris; less, if you choose. I once travelled from Glugdamuck to the
Ghauts of Bunderamud for half a rupee; put my elephants on three
biscuits a day; explained to them in Hindostanee--a most expressive
language--that our provisions had fallen short; that on our arrival all
arrears of grub should be made up. They tossed up their trunks thus in
token of assent, and on we marched. Well, when we came to Helgie, there
was no water--”
“Very true,” interrupted I, half in despair at the torrent of
story-telling I had got involved in. “But you forget I have neither
elephants, nor camels, nor coolies, nor chokeedars; I'm a mere
adventurer, with, except yourself, not a friend in the world.”
“Then why not join us?” cried the ever ready captain. “We are to
have our orders for foreign service in a few weeks; you 've only to
volunteer; you 've money enough to buy your kit. When you 're fairly in,
it 's only writing to your brother. Besides, something always turns
up; that 's my philosophy. I rarely want anything I don't find means to
obtain, somehow or other.”
“No,” said I, resolutely, “I will never join the service of a country
which has inflicted such foul wrong on my native land.”
“All stuff and nonsense!” cried Bubbleton. “Who cares the deuce of clubs
about politics? When you 're my age, you 'll find that if you 're not
making something of politics, they 'll make very little of you. I 'd as
soon sell figs for my grocer or snuff for my tobacconist as I 'd bother
my head governing the kingdom for Billy Pitt. He 's paid for it,--that's
his business, not mine. No, no, my boy; join us,--you shall be 'Burke
of Ours!' We 'll have a glorious campaign among the Yankees. I 'll teach
you the Seneca language, and we 'll have a ramble through the Indian
settlements. Meanwhile you dine to-day at the mess; to-morrow we picnic
at the Dargle; next day we--What the deuce is next day to be? Oh yes!
next day we all dine with you. Nothing stiff or formal,--a snug, quiet
thing for sixteen; I'll manage it all.”
Here was an argument there was no resisting; so I complied at once,
comforting myself with a silent vow, come what might, I 'd leave Ireland
the day after my dinner party.
Under whatever guise--with what history of my rank, wealth, and family
influence--Bubbleton thought proper to present me to his brother
officers, I cannot say; but nothing could possibly be more kind, or
even more cordial, than their reception of me. And although I had some
difficulty in replying to questions put under mistaken notions of my
position and intentions, I readily followed, as far as I was able,
the line suggested by my imaginative friend, whose representations,
I suspected, would be received with a suitable limitation by his old
associates.
There is, perhaps, no species of society so striking and so captivating
to the young man entering on life as that of a military mess. The easy,
well-bred intimacy, that never degenerates into undue familiarity;
the good-humored, playful raillery, that never verges on coarseness
or severity; the happy blending of old men's wisdom and young men's
buoyancy,--are all very attractive features of social intercourse, even
independently of the stronger interest that invests the companionship of
men whose career is arms. I felt this, and enjoyed it too; not the
less pleasantly that I discovered no evidence of that violent partisan
feeling I had been led to believe was the distinguishing mark of the
Royalist soldier. If by chance any allusion was made to the troubles
of the period, it was invariably done rather in a tone of respect for
mistaken and ill directed political views, than in reprehension of
disloyalty and rebellion; and when I heard the dispassionate opinions
and listened to the mild counsels of these men, whom I had always
believed to be the veriest tyrants and oppressors, I could scarcely
credit my own senses, so utterly opposed were my impressions and my
experience. One only of the party evinced an opposite feeling. He was
a pale, thin, rather handsome man, of about five and twenty, who had
lately joined them from a dragoon regiment, and who by sundry little
innuendoes, was ever bringing uppermost the preference he evinced
for his former service, and his ardent desire to be back again in the
cavalry.
Captain Montague Crofts was indeed the only exception I witnessed to the
almost brotherly feeling that prevailed in the Forty-fifth. Instead
of identifying himself with the habits and opinions of his brother
officers, he held himself studiously apart. Regarding his stay in the
regiment like a period of probation, he seemed resolved to form neither
intimacies nor friendships, but to wait patiently for the time of his
leaving the corps to emancipate himself from a society below his caste.
The cold, repulsive, steady stare, the scarcely bowed head, the
impassive silence with which he heard the words of Bubbleton's
introduction of me, formed a strong contrast with the warm cordiality
of the others; and though at the time little disposed to criticise the
manner of any one, and still less to be dissatisfied with anything, I
conceived from the moment a dislike to Captain Crofts, which I felt to
increase with every minute I spent in his company. The first occasion
which suggested this dislike on my part, was from observing that while
Bubbleton--whose historical accuracy or blind adherence to reality no
one in the corps thought of requiring--narrated some of his incredible
adventures. Crofts, far from joining in the harmless mirth which
such tales created, invariably took delight in questioning and
cross-questioning the worthy captain, quoting him against himself, and
playing off a hundred tricks, which, however smart and witty in a law
court, are downright rudeness when practised in society. Bubbleton, it
is true, saw nothing in all this save the natural interest of a good
listener,--but the others did; and it was quite clear to me, that while
one was the greatest favorite in the regiment, the other had not a
single friend amongst them. To me, Crofts manifested the most perfect
indifference, not ever mixing himself in any conversation in which I
bore a part. He rarely turned his head towards that part of the table at
which I sat; and by an air of haughty superciliousness, gave me plainly
to understand that our acquaintance, though confessedly begun, was to
proceed no further. I cannot say how happy I felt to learn that one I
had so much cause to dislike was a violent aristocrat, an ultra-Tory,
a most uncompromising denouncer of the Irish Liberal party, and an
out-and-out advocate of severe and harsh measures towards the people.
He never missed an opportunity for the enunciation of such doctrines,
which, whatever might be the opinions of the listeners, there was at
the time I speak of no small risk in gainsaying, and this immunity did
Crofts enjoy to his heart's content.
Slight as these few reminiscences of the mess are, they are the
called-up memories of days not to be forgotten by me; for now, what with
my habitual indecision on the one hand, and Bubbleton's solicitations
on the other, I continued to linger on in Dublin,--leading the careless,
easy life of those about me, joining in all the plots for amusement
which the capital afforded, and mixing in every society to which
my military friends had access. Slender as were my resources, they
sufficed, in the eyes of all who knew not their limit, to appear
abundant. Crofts was the only rich man in the regiment; and my
willingness to enter into every scheme of pleasure, regardless of cost,
impressed them all with the notion that Bubbleton for once was right,
and that “Burke was a kind of Westcountry Croesus,” invaluable to the
regiment.
Week after week rolled on, and still did I find myself a denizen of
George's Street. The silly routine of the barrack life filled all my
thoughts, save when the waning condition of my purse would momentarily
turn them towards the future; but these moments of reflection came but
seldom, and at last came not at all. It was autumn; the town almost
divested of its inhabitants,--at least of all who could leave it,--and
along the parched, sunburned streets a stray jingle or a noddy was
rarely seen to pass. The squares, so lately crowded with equipages and
cavalcades of horsemen, were silent and deserted; the closed shutters of
every house, and the grass-grown steps, vouched for the absence of the
owners. The same dreamy lethargy that seemed to rest over the deserted
city appeared to pervade everything; and save a certain subdued activity
among the officials of the Castle,--a kind of ground-swell movement
that boded something important,--there was nothing stirring. The great
measure of the Union, which had been carried on the night of the riots,
had, however, annihilated the hopes of the Irish Liberal party; and many
who once had taken a leading part in politics had now deserted public
life forever.
They with whom I associated cared but little for these things. There
were but two or three Irish in the regiment, and they had long since
lost all their nationality in the wear and tear of the service; so that
I heard nothing of what occupied the public mind, and lived on, in the
very midst of the threatening hurricane, in a calm as deep as death
itself.
I had seen neither Barton nor Basset since the day of my leave-taking;
and, stranger still, never could meet with Darby, who seemed to have
deserted Dublin. The wreck of the party he belonged to seemed now
effectually accomplished, and the prospect of Irish independence was
lost, as it seemed, forever.
I was sitting one evening in the window of Bubbleton's quarters,
thinking over these things; not without self-reproach for the life I
was leading, so utterly adverse to the principles I had laid down for my
guidance. I thought of poor De Meudon, and all his ambitious dreams for
my success, and I felt my cheek flush with shame for my base desertion
of the cause to which, with his dying breath, he devoted me. I brought
up in memory those happy evenings as we wandered through the fields,
talking over the glorious campaigns of Italy or speculating on the
mighty changes we believed yet before us; and then I thought of the
reckless orgies in which my present life was passed. I remembered how
his full voice would falter when one great name fell from his lips;
and with what reverence he touched his chapeau as the word “Bonaparte”
escaped from him; and how my heart thrilled to think of an enthusiasm
that could light up the dying embers of a broken heart, and make it
flash out in vivid brilliancy once more,--and longed to feel as he did.
For the first time for some weeks I found myself alone. Bubbleton was
on guard; and though I had promised to join him at supper, I lingered
at home to think and ponder over the past,--I scarcely dared to face the
future. It was growing dusky. The richly golden arch of an autumn moon
could be seen through the hazy mist of that half frost which is at this
season the sure harbinger of a hot day on the morrow. The street noises
had gradually died away, and save the distant sound of a ballad-singer,
whose mournful cadence fell sadly on the ear, I heard nothing.
Without perceiving it, I found myself listening to the doggerel of the
minstrel, who, like most of her fellows of the period, was celebrating
the means that had been used by Government to carry their favorite
measure,--the Union with England. There was, indeed, very little to
charm the ear or win the sense, in either the accent or the sentiment of
the melody; yet somehow she had contrived to collect a pretty tolerable
audience, who moved slowly along with her down the street, and evinced
by many an outburst of enthusiasm how thoroughly they relished the
pointed allusions of the verse, and how completely they enjoyed the dull
satire of the song.
As they approached the barracks, the procession came to a
halt,--probably deeming that so valuable a lesson should not be lost
to his Majesty's service; and forming into a circle round the singer,
a silence was commanded, when, with that quavering articulation so
characteristic of the tribe, and that strange quality of voice that
seems to alternate between a high treble and a deep bass, the lady
began:--
“Don't be crowdin' an me that a way. There it is now,--ye 're tearin'
the cloak off the back o' me! Divil receave the note I 'll sing, if ye
don't behave! And look at his honor up there, with a tenpenny bit in the
heel of his fist for me. The Lord reward your purty face; 't is yourself
has the darlin' blue eyes! Bad scran to yez, ye blaggards! look at my
elegant bonnet the way you 've made it!”
“Arrah! rise the tune, and don't be blarneying the young gentleman,”
said a voice from the crowd,--and then added, in a lower but very
audible tone, “Them chaps hasn't a farthin' beyond their pay,--three
and ninepence a day, and find themselves in pipeclay!”
A rude laugh followed this insolent speech; and the ballad-singer, whose
delay had only been a ruse to attract a sufficient auditory, then began
to a very well-known air:
“Come hither, M.P.'s, and I 'll tell
My advice, and I 'm sure you 'll not mock it:
Whoe'er has a country to sell,
Need never want gold in his pocket.
Your brother a bishop shall be;
Yourself--if you only will make a
Voice in our ma-jo-rity--
We'll make you chief judge In Jamaica.
Tol, lol de rol, tol de rol lay!”
The mob chorus here broke in, and continued with such hearty enthusiasm
that I lost the entire of the next verse in the tumult.
“Your father, they say, is an ass,
And your mother not noted for knowledge;
But he 'll do very well at Madras,
And she shall be provost of college.
Your aunt, lady's-maid to the Queen;
And Bill, if he 'll give up his rakin',
And not drunk in daytime be seen,
I 'll make him a rosy archdeacon.
Tol, lol de rol, tol de rol lay!
“A jollier set ne'er was seen
Than you 'll be, when freed from your callin';
With an empty house in College Green,--
What an elegant place to play ball in!
Ould Foster stand by with his mace,
He 'll do mighty well for a marker;
John Toler--”
“Here 's the pollis!” said a gruff voice from the crowd; and the word
was repeated from mouth to mouth in every accent of fear and dread;
while in an instant all took to flighty--some dashing down obscure lanes
and narrow alleys, others running straight onwards towards Dame Street,
but all showing the evident apprehension they felt at the approach of
these dreaded officials. The ballad' singer alone did not move,--whether
too old or too infirm to trust to speed, or too much terrified to run, I
know not; but there she stood, the last cadence of her song still dying
on her lips, while the clattering sounds of men advancing rapidly were
heard in the distant street.
I know not why,--some strange momentary impulse, half pity, half
caprice, moved me to her rescue, and I called out to the sentry, “Let
that woman pass in!” She heard the words, and with an activity greater
than I could have expected, sprang into the barrack yard, while the
police passed eagerly on in vain pursuit of their victims.
I remained motionless in the window-seat, watching the now silent
street, when a gentle tap came to my door. I opened it, and there stood
the figure of the ballad-singer, her ragged cloak gathered closely
across her face with one hand, while with the other she held the bundle
of printed songs, her only stock-in-trade.