LOYAL, AYE LOYAL
One of the dinners at the Darling Arms, and perhaps the most brilliant
and exciting of the whole, because even the waiters understood the
subject, was the entertainment given in the month of December, A.D.
1803, not only by the officers of two regiments quartered for the time
near Stonnington, but also by all the leading people round about those
parts, in celebration of the great work done by His Majesty's 38-gun
frigate Leda. Several smaller dinners had been consumed already, by way
of practice, both for the cooks and the waiters and the chairman, and
Mr. John Prater, who always stood behind him, with a napkin in one hand
and a corkscrew in the other, and his heart in the middle, ready either
to assuage or stimulate. As for the guests, it was always found that no
practice had been required.
“But now, but now”--as Mr. Prater said, when his wife pretended to make
nothing of it, for no other purpose than to aggravate him, because she
thought that he was making too much money, in proportion to what he was
giving her--“now we shall see what Springhaven can do for the good of
the Country and the glory of herself. Two bottles and a half a head is
the lowest that can be charged for, with the treble X outside, and the
punch to follow after. His lordship is the gentleman to keep the bottle
going.”
For the Lord-Lieutenant of the county, the popular Marquis of Southdown,
had promised to preside at this grand dinner; and everybody knew what
that meant. “Short tongue and long throat,” was his lordship's motto in
the discharge of all public business, and “Bottle to the gentleman on
my left!” was the practical form of his eulogies. In a small space like
this, there would be no chance for a sober-minded guest to escape his
searching eye, and Blyth Scudamore (appointed to represent the officers
of the Leda, and therefore the hero of the evening) felt as happy as a
dog being led to be drowned, in view of this liquid ordeal. For Blyth
was a temperate and moderate young man, neither such a savage as to turn
his wine to poison, nor yet so Anti-Christian as to turn it into water.
Many finer places had been offered for the feast, and foremost amongst
them the Admiral's house; but the committee with sound judgment had
declined them all. The great point was to have a place within easy reach
of boats, and where gallant naval officers could be recalled at once,
if the French should do anything outrageous, which they are apt to do
at the most outrageous time. But when a partition had been knocked down,
and the breach tacked over with festoons of laurel, Mr. Prater was quite
justified in rubbing his red hands and declaring it as snug a box
as could be for the business. There was even a dark elbow where the
staircase jutted out, below the big bressemer of the partition, and made
a little gallery for ladies to hear speeches, and behold the festive
heroes while still fit to be beholden. And Admiral Darling, as
vice-chairman, entering into facts masculine and feminine, had promised
his daughters and Miss Twemlow, under charge of the rector's wife and
Mrs. Stubbard, a peep at this heroic scene, before it should become too
convivial. The rescuers also of the Blonde, the flesh and bone, without
which the master brain must still have lain stranded, were to have a
grand supper in the covered skittle-alley, as the joints came away from
their betters, this lower deck being in command of Captain Tugwell, who
could rouse up his crew as fast as his lordship roused his officers.
Admiral Darling had been engaged of late in the service of his Country
so continually, and kept up and down the great roads so much, or in and
out of any little port where sailors grew, that his own door had nearly
forgotten his shadow, and his dining-room table the reflection of his
face. For, in those days, to keep a good table implied that the table
must be good, as well as what was put upon it; and calico spread upon
turpentine was not yet considered the proper footing for the hospitable
and social glass.
“When shall Twemlow and I have a hobnob again?” the Admiral asked
himself many a time. “How the dear old fellow loves to see the image of
his glass upon the table, and the ruby of his port reflected! Heigho!
I am getting very stiff in the back, and never a decent bit of dinner
for'ard. And as for a glass of good wine--oh Lord! my timbers will be
broken up, before it comes to mend them. And when I come home for even
half an hour, there is all this small rubbish to attend to. I must
have Frank home, to take this stuff off my hands, or else keep what I
abominate, a private secretary.”
Among the pile of letters that had lain unopened was one which he left
to the last, because he disliked both the look and the smell of it. A
dirty, ugly scrawl it was, bulged out with clumsy folding, and dabbed
with wax in the creases. With some dislike he tore it open; and the
dislike became loathing, as he read:
“Hon'd Sir. These foo lines comes from a umble but arty frend to
command. Rekwesting of your pardon sir, i have kep a hi same been father
of good dawters on the goings on of your fammeley. Miss Faith she is
a hangel sir but Miss Dolly I fere no better than she ort to be, and
wonderful fond of been noticed. I see her keeping company and carryin on
dreadful with a tall dark young man as meens no good and lives to Widow
Shankses. Too nites running when the days was short she been up to the
cornder of your grounds to meat he there ever so long. Only you hask her
if you don't believe me and wash her fase same time sir. Too other peple
besides me nose it. Excoose hon'd sir this trubble from your obejiant
servant
“FAX AND NO MISSTAKE.”
The Admiral's healthy face turned blue with rage and contempt, and he
stamped with his heel, as if he had the writer under it. To write a
stabbing letter, and to dare to deal the stab, and yet fear to show the
hand that deals it, was at that time considered a low thing to do. Even
now there are people who so regard it, though a still better tool for a
blackguard--the anonymous post-card--is now superseding it.
All the old man's pleasure, and cheer, and comfort, and joy in having
one day at home at last, were dashed and shattered and turned into
wretched anxiety by this vile scrawl. He meant to have gone down, light
of heart, with a smiling daughter upon either arm, to the gallant little
festival where everybody knew him, and every one admired and loved him.
His two pretty daughters would sit upstairs, watching from a bow-window
(though themselves unseen) all the dashing arrivals and the grand
apparel. Then when the Marquis made his speech, and the King and Queen
and Royal Family rode upon the clouds, and the grandeur of Great Britain
was above the stars of heaven, the ladies in the gallery would venture
just to show themselves, not for one moment with a dream of being looked
at, but from romantic loyalty, and the fervour of great sentiments.
People pretending not to know would ask, “Who are those very lovely
ladies?” And he would make believe to know nothing at all about it, but
his heart would know whether he knew it or not.
On the very eve of all this well-earned bliss, when it would have
refreshed his fagged body and soul--which were now not so young as they
used to be--to hear from some scoundrel without a name, that his pet
child, the life of his life, was no better than she ought to be, which
being said of a woman means that she is as bad as she can be! This fine
old gentleman had never received such a cowardly back-handed blow till
now, and for a moment he bent under it.
Then, greatly ashamed of himself, he arose, and with one strong word,
which even Mr. Twemlow might have used under such provocation, he trod
the vile stuff under foot, and pitched it with the fire-tongs into the
fire. After this he felt better, and resolving most stoutly that he
never would let it cross his mind again, made a light and cheerful
answer to the profligate one--his young girl who came seeking him.
“Oh, father, and you ought to be dressed!” she cried. “Shall we keep His
Majesty the Lord-Lieutenant waiting? Don't let us go at all. Let us stop
at home, papa. We never see you now, more than once in a month; and we
don't want to see you from a staircase hole, where we mustn't even blow
a kiss to you. I have got such a lot of things to tell you, dear father;
and I could make you laugh much more than they will.”
“But, my darling--all these grand things?” said the father, gently
fingering but half afraid to look at her, because of what had been in
his own mind; “the sweetest Navy blue, and the brightest Army red, and
little bits of silver lace so quiet in between them! I am sure I don't
know what to call a quarter of it; but the finest ship ever seen under
full sail, with the sun coming through her from her royals to her
courses--”
“Now, papa, don't be so ridiculous. You know that I am not a fine ship
at all, but only a small frigate, about eighteen guns at the outside, I
should say--though she would be a sloop of war, wouldn't she?--and come
here at any rate for you to command her, if you are not far too lofty an
Admiral.”
“Do you love your old father, my dear?” said he, being carried beyond
his usual state by the joy in her eyes as she touched him.
“What a shame to ask me such a question? Oh, papa, I ought to say, 'Do
you love me?' when you go away weeks and months almost together! Take
that, papa; and be quite ashamed of yourself.”
She swept all her breast-knots away anyhow--that had taken an hour to
arbitrate--and flung back her hair that would never be coiled, and with
a flash of tears leaping into laughing eyes, threw both arms round her
father's neck, and pressed her cool sweet lips to his, which were not at
all in the same condition.
“There, see what you've done for me now!” she cried. “It will take
three-quarters of an hour, papa, to make me look fit to be looked at
again. The fashions are growing so ridiculous now--it is a happy thing
for us that we are a hundred years behind them, as Eliza Twemlow had the
impudence to say; and really, for the daughter of a clergyman--”
“I don't care that for Eliza Twemlow,” the Admiral exclaimed, with a
snap of his thumb. “Let her show herself as much as there is demand for.
Or rather, what I mean to say is, let Miss Twemlow be as beautiful as
nature has made her, my dear; and no doubt that is very considerable.
But I like you to be different; and you are. I like you to be simple,
and shy, and retiring, and not to care twopence what any one thinks of
you, so long as your father is contented.”
Dolly looked at her father, as if there were no other man in the world
for the moment. Then her conscience made her bright eyes fall, as she
whispered: “To be sure, papa. I only put these things on to please you;
and if you don't like them, away they go. Perhaps I should look nicer in
my great-aunt's shawl. And my feet would be warmer, oh ever so much! I
know where it is, and if you prefer the look of it--”
“No, no!” cried the simple old father, as the girl tripped away in hot
haste to seek for it; “I forbid you to make such a guy of yourself. You
must not take my little banter, darling, in such a matter-of-fact way,
or I must hold my tongue.”
“Thank God,” he continued to himself, as Miss Dolly ran away, to repair
her damages; “the simple little soul thinks of nobody but me! How could
I be such a fool as to imagine harm of her? Why, she is quite a child, a
bigger child than I am. I shall enjoy my evening all the more for this.”
And truly there seemed to be no reason why all the guests at that great
festival, save those who had speeches to make, should not enjoy their
evening thoroughly. Great preparations had been made, and goodly
presents contributed; plenty of serving-men would be there, and John
Prater (now growing white-headed and portly) was becoming so skilful a
caterer that if anything was suggested to him, he had always thought of
it long ago. The only grief was that the hour should be so late--five
o'clock, an unchristian time, as they said, for who could have manners
after starving so long?
There was some sense in this; but the unreasonable lateness of the hour
could not be helped, because the Lord-Lieutenant had to wait upon the
King at eight o'clock that morning. That he could do so, and yet be in
Springhaven by five, seemed almost impossible; for only ten years ago
the journey took two days. But the war seemed to make everything go
quicker, and it was no use to wonder at anything. Only if everything
else went quicker, why should dinner (the most important of them all)
come slower? And as yet there was nobody to answer this; though perhaps
there is no one to ask it now.
All things began very beautifully. The young ladies slipped in
unobserved, and the elder blessings of mankind came after, escorting
themselves with dignity. Then the heroes who had fought, and the
gallants who had not had the luck yet, but were eager for it, came
pleasantly clanking in, well girt to demolish ox and sheep, like Ajax,
in lack of loftier carnage. The rector said grace, and the Marquis amen,
and in less than two minutes every elbow was up, and every mouth at
business. There was very little talking for the first half hour. In
those days emptiness was not allowed to make the process of filling a
misery.
While these fine fellows were still in the prime of their feeding, bent
over and upon it, two men with empty stomachs, and a long way between
them and their victuals, stood afar regarding them. That is to say, just
far enough to be quite out of sight from the windows, in the gloom of
the December evening; but at the same time near enough, to their own
unhappiness, to see and even smell the choice affairs across the road.
“For what, then, hast thou brought me here?” the shorter man sharply
asked the tall one, both being in an uncomfortable place in a hedge, and
with briars that scratched them. “Is it to see other people eat, when
to eat myself is impossible? You have promised to show me a very fine
thing, and leagues have I traversed to please you. Fie, then, what is
it? To see eat, eat, eat, and drink, drink, drink, and have nothing for
myself!”
“My friend,” said the tall man, “I have not brought you here with any
desire to improve your appetite, which is always abundant, and cannot be
gratified for several hours, and with poor stuff then, compared to what
you are beholding. Those men are feeding well. You can see how they
enjoy it. There is not a morsel in their mouths that has not a very
choice flavour of its own distinguished relish. See, there is the
venison just waiting to be carved, and a pheasant between every two of
them. If only the wind was a little more that way, and the covers taken
off the sauce-boats, and the gravy--ah, do I perceive a fine fragrance,
or is it a desirous imagination?”
“Bah! you are of the cold-blood, the wicked self-command. For me it is
either to rush in, or rush away. No longer can I hold my nose and mouth.
And behold they have wine--grand wine--the wine of Sillery, of Medoc, of
Barsac, and of Burgundy! By the bottles I can tell them, and by all the
Saints--”
“Be not so excited, for you cannot smack the lips. It is too late now to
envy them their solids, because they have made such speed with them. But
listen, my dear friend”--and here the tall man whispered into the ear of
his brisk companion, who danced with delight in the ungenial hedge, till
his face was scarred with brambles.
“It is magnificent, it is droll, it is what you call in England one
grand spree, though of that you understand not the signification. But,
my faith, it is at the same time barbarous, and almost too malignant.”
“Too benevolent Charron,” said the tall stern man, “that shall rest
upon my conscience, not on yours. The object is not to spoil their noisy
revel, but to gain instruction of importance. To obtain a clear idea
of the measures they adopt--ah, you see, you are as quick as lightning.
This urgent message is upon official paper, which I have taken from the
desk of that very stupid Stubbard. Take the horse Jerry holds at the
corner, and the officer's hat and cape provided are ample disguise for
so dark a night. Take the lane behind the hills, and gallop two miles
eastward, till you come to the shore again, then turn back towards the
village by way of the beach, and you will meet the Coast-guard on duty,
a stupid fellow called Vickers. Your horse by that time will be piping
and roaring: he can go like the wind, but his own is broken. The moment
you see Vickers, begin to swear at your horse. I have practised you in
d--ns, for an emergency.”
“Ten thousand thunders, I can say d--n now to equal and surpass the
purest born of all Britons.”
“Not so loud, my friend, until by-and-by. The Coast-guard will come
to you, and you pull up with your horse hanging down his head, as if
dead-beaten. Using your accomplishment again, you say: 'Here, take
this on to Admiral Darling. My nag is quite done, and I must get to
Stonnington to call Colonel James. For your life, run, run. You'll get a
guinea, if you look sharp.' Before he can think of it, turn your horse,
and make back to the lane, as if for Stonnington. But instead of that,
gallop back to our ruins; and we'll go up the hill, and see what comes
of it.”
“It is very good, it is magnificent. But will not the sentinel perceive
my voice and accent?”
“Not he; he is a very honest and therefore stupid fellow. Give him no
time, answer no questions. Be all in a rush, as you so generally are. I
would do it myself, but I am too well known. Say, will you undertake it?
It will be a fine joke for you.”
About half an hour after this, the Lord-Lieutenant having hammered on
the table with an empty bottle, stood up to propose the chief toast
of the evening--the gallant crew of the Leda, and the bold sailors of
Springhaven. His lordship had scarcely had a bottle and a half, and
was now in the prime of his intellect. A very large man, with a long
brocaded coat of ruby-coloured cloth, and white satin breeches, a
waistcoat of primrose plush emblazoned with the Union-jack (then the
popular device) in gorgeous silks with a margin of bright gold, and a
neckcloth pointed and plaited in with the rarest lace, worth all the
rest put together--what a pity it seemed that such a man should get
drunk, or at any rate try so hard to do it. There was not a pimple on
his face, his cheeks were rosy and glistening, but not flushed; and his
eyes were as bright and clear and deep as a couple of large sapphires.
This nobleman said a few words, without any excitement, or desire to
create it, every word to the point, and the best that could be chosen
not to go beyond the point. There was no attempt at eloquence, and yet
the speech was eloquent, because it suggested so much more than was
said. More excitable natures, overcome by half a bottle, resolved to
have the other half, in honour of that toast.
Then the Marquis did a very kind and thoughtful thing, for which he
deserved a bottle of the Royal Tokay, such as even Napoleon could not
obtain. When the cheering was done, and every eye was fixed upon the
blushing Scudamore--who felt himself, under that fixture, like an insect
under a lens which the sun is turning into a burning-glass--the Chairman
perceived his sad plight, and to give him more time and more spirit,
rose again.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “or I would rather call you brother Englishmen at
this moment, I have forgotten one thing. Before our young hero replies
to his health, let us give him that spirited song 'Billy Blue,' which is
well known to every man here, I'll be bound. Tell the drummer down
there to be ready for chorus.” Billy Blue, though almost forgotten now
(because the enemy would not fight him), the blockader of Brest, the
hardy, skilful, and ever watchful Admiral Cornwallis, would be known to
us nearly as well as Nelson, if fame were not a lottery.
As the Lord-Lieutenant waved his hand, the company rose with one accord,
and followed the lead of his strong clear voice in the popular song,
called
“BILLY BLUE”
1
“'Tis a terrible time for Englishmen;
All tyrants do abhor them;
Every one of them hath to fight with ten,
And the Lord alone is for them.
But the Lord hath given the strong right hand,
And the courage to face the thunder;
If a Frenchman treads this English land,
He shall find his grave thereunder.
CHORUS
Britannia is the Ocean-Queen, and she standeth staunch and
true,
With Nelson for her faulchion keen, and her buckler Billy Blue.
2
“They are mustering on yon Gallic coasts,
You can see them from this high land,
The biggest of all the outlandish hosts
That ever devoured an island.
There are steeds that have scoured the Continent,
Ere ever one might say, 'Whoa, there!'
And ships that would fill the Thames and Trent,
If we would let them go there.
CHORUS
But England is the Ocean-Queen, and it shall be hard to do;
Not a Frenchman shall skulk in between herself and her Billy
Blue.
3
“From the smiling bays of Devonshire
To the frowning cliffs of Filey,
Leaps forth every son of an English sire,
To fight for his native isley.
He hath drawn the sword of his father now
From the rusty sheath it rattled in;
And Dobbin, who dragged the peaceful plough,
Is neighing for the battle-din.
CHORUS
For Albion still is Ocean-Queen, and though her sons be few,
They challenge the world with a dauntless mien, and the flag
of Billy Blue.
4
“Then pledge me your English palm, my lad;
Keep the knuckles for Sir Frenchman;
No slave can you be till you change your dad,
And no son of yours a henchman.
The fight is to come; and we will not brag,
Nor expect whatever we sigh for,
But stand as the rock that bears the flag
Our duty is to die for.
CHORUS
For Englishmen confront serene whatever them betideth;
And England shall be Ocean's Queen as long as the world
abideth.”
What with the drum and the fifes of one of the regiments now at
Stonnington, and the mighty bass of some sea-captains vehement in
chorus, these rough and rolling lines were enough to frighten a thousand
Frenchmen, while proving the vigour of British nerve, and fortitude both
of heart and ear. When people have done a thing well, they know it, and
applaud one another to include themselves; and even the ladies, who were
meant to be unseen, forgot that and waved their handkerchiefs. Then up
and spoke Blyth Scudamore, in the spirit of the moment; and all that he
said was good and true, well-balanced and well-condensed, like himself.
His quiet melodious voice went further than the Lord-Lieutenant's,
because it was new to the air of noise, and that fickle element loves
novelty. All was silence while he spoke, and when he ceased--great
uproar.
“That lad will do,” said the Marquis to his supporter on the right hand;
“I was just like him at that age myself. Let me draw this cork--it is
the bottle of the evening. None but my own fellows understand a cork,
and they seem to have got away somewhere. What the doose are they
about--why, halloa, Darling! What's the meaning of all this, at such a
time?”
“Well, my lord, you must judge for yourself,” said the Admiral, who had
made his way quietly from the bottom of the table. “We know that false
alarms are plentiful. But this looks like business, from the paper it is
written on; and I know that old Dudgeon is as solid as myself. Vickers
the Coast-guard brought it in, from an officer whose horse was blown,
who had orders to get somehow to Stonnington.”
“Is Vickers a knave, or a fool who is likely to be made the victim of a
very low joke? There are hundreds of jealous scoundrels eager to spoil
every patriotic gathering. Ah, this looks rather serious, though, if you
can vouch for the paper.”
“I can vouch for the paper, my lord, and for Vickers; but not for
Dudgeon's signature. Of that I have no knowledge--though it looks right
enough, so far as I know. Shall I read it aloud, and let officers who
are not under my command judge for themselves, as I shall judge for
those I have the honour to command?”
The Lord-Lieutenant, with his cork just squeaking in the neck of the
bottle, nodded; and the Admiral, with officers crowding round, read
aloud as follows, part being in type, and part in manuscript:
“Commander of Coast-defence at Hythe, to Vice-Admiral Darling,
Springhaven.
“French fleet standing in, must have slipped Cornwallis. Do all you can.
Not a moment to lose.
(Signed) “BELLAMY DUDGEON.”
“Well, it may be true, or it may be a lie,” said the Marquis, pouring
carefully; “my opinion is the latter; but I have nothing to do with
it officially, according to the new arrangements. Every gentleman
must judge for himself. And I mean to abide by my own judgment, which
strongly recommends me to finish this bottle.”
“Probably you are right enough; and in your place perhaps I should do
the same,” the Admiral answered, quietly; “but be the alarm either true
or false, I am bound to act otherwise. All Naval Officers present will
be good enough to follow me, and prepare to rejoin if ordered. We shall
very soon know from the signal-point, unless fog has set in suddenly,
whether we are bound to beat a general alarm.”
All the sons of the sea arose quietly, and were despatched with brief
orders to the right and left, to communicate with their signal stations,
while Stubbard hurried back to his battery.
“What cold blood they do display!” whispered the Frenchman, who had
returned with the author of the plot to watch the issue from a point of
vantage. “My faith, they march slowly for their native land! Not less
than six bottles of great French wine did I anticipate to steal through
the window, while they fell out precipitous. But there sits a man big
enough to leave me nothing--not even a remainder of my own body. Soul of
St. Denis, can it be that they question the word of a gentleman?”
“Not they!” replied Carne, who was vexed, however; “they are taking
things easily, according to the custom of the nation. But two good
things we have done, friend Charron; we have learned their proceedings,
and we have spoiled their feasting.”
“But not at all; they are all coming back to enjoy it all the more!”
cried the Frenchman. “Oh that I were an Englishman, to get such a
dinner, and to be so loyal to it!”