Produced by Brian Coe, Quentin Campbell, The book cover
image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the
public domain. and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ around
the text. Small capitals in the printed works have been transcribed
as ALL CAPITALS.
More Transcriber's Notes may be found at the end of this document.
THE
MILITARY SKETCH-BOOK.
VOL. I.
IN THE PRESS.
THE LANCERS.
IN THREE VOLUMES
LONDON:
PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET.
THE
MILITARY SKETCH-BOOK.
REMINISCENCES OF
SEVENTEEN YEARS IN THE SERVICE
ABROAD AND AT HOME.
BY AN OFFICER OF THE LINE.
“The wight can tell
A melancholy and a merry tale
Of field, and fight, and chief, and lady gay.”
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1827.
In presenting these Sketches to the public, the Author begs leave
to say, that although in their production he sometimes indulged his
imagination, fancy has only been employed to decorate truth. Facts form
the ground-work of his book; and although the ornaments may have been
carelessly or tastelessly placed, real incidents have neither been
obscured nor distorted.
To the gentleman who supplied the Author with the necessary hints for
the sketch entitled “_Mess Table Chat_, (_No._ IV.)” and also to the
gallant officer whose memory and kindness furnished him with the facts
relative to the Bush-rangers of Van Diemen's Land, the Author returns
his most sincere thanks.
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
Page
FIRST WEEK IN THE SERVICE 1
THE SOLDIER'S ORPHAN 43
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE, NO. I.:—STORY OF
MARIA DE CARMO 51
OLD CHARLEY 98
MESS-TABLE CHAT, NO. I. 108
A DAUGHTER OF OSSIAN 125
THE MULETEER 136
RATIONS, OR ELSE 153
INFERNAL DUTY 156
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE, NO. II. 160
THE FATE OF YOUNG GORE 173
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE WALCHEREN EXPEDITION 182
JOURNAL OF A CAMPAIGN AT THE HORSE-GUARDS 231
MESS-TABLE CHAT, NO. II. 235
GERAGHTY'S KICK 257
DUELLING IN THE SERVICE 266
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE, NO. III. 284
THE BISCUIT 300
THE BATTLE OF THE GRINDERS 309
A ROUGH PASSAGE TO PORTUGAL 319
THE
MILITARY SKETCH-BOOK.
FIRST WEEK IN THE SERVICE.
“For now sits expectation in the air,
And _shews_ a sword from hilt unto the point.”
HENRY V.
Never shall I forget the delightful sensations my mind experienced
on reading, in the long-expected _Gazette_, the announcement of my
first military appointment. I was in London at the time, and had been
residing three weeks at _Old Slaughter's_ Coffee House, in St. Martin's
Lane, deferring from Tuesday 'till Saturday, and from Saturday 'till
Tuesday, the fulfilment of my mother's strict injunctions “_to take
lodgings and live economically_,” when one evening the waiter handed
to me, damp from the press, the official sheet which was to terminate
all my anxiety. There I was in print,—in _absolute print_; and that,
too, in the GAZETTE—by the King's Royal Authority!
There are many youths, who, in such a situation, would, from the
ecstatic impulse of their feelings, have upset the table; or have flung
the decanter at the waiter's head; or, perhaps, have snatched the wig
off the head of any respectable gentleman who might have happened
to be sitting within reach; but I acted differently. Had it been an
ordinary impulse of gladness, I should, no doubt, have poured forth
my ebullition of pleasant feeling upon tables, decanters, waiters,
and wigs of elderly gentlemen; but this was no everyday sensation,—no
flash in the pan: it was a splendid coruscation, the intensity of
which dazzled all my senses, and marvellously heightened my ideas of
self-importance. The auditory organs of the Waterloo hero thrilled not
more at the first announcement of his Grace's Dukedom, than mine,
as my lips pronounced the consummation of my almost wearied hopes—an
Ensigncy. I was more than a Duke, more than a King, more than an
Emperor: I was a SUBALTERN. In idea, I was already a Captain,
a Colonel, a General! I gave the reins to my enthusiastic imagination,
and would not, I believe, have exchanged my commission for a coronet.
I instantly brought my body to an acute angle with my inferior
extremities, by placing the latter longitudinally on the seat of the
box in which I had placed myself, and, elevating my shirt-collar to a
parallel line with my nose, ordered the waiter to bring me a bottle of
claret. For the half hour I was engaged in drinking it, I continued to
gaze at the Gazette, to the no small mortification of several fidgetty
gentlemen who were waiting for a sight of it. Yet all I read, and
all I could read, was “W****, A****, B***. _Gent. to be Ensign, vice
Thompson, killed in action!_”
I was just turned of nineteen, a well grown and somewhat precocious
lad, generally considered by my father and his friends as a shrewd and
well-disposed fellow, who was likely one day or other to cut a figure
in the army; but, by my mother and her female côterie, (all above the
middle age,) I was set down, _nem. con._, as an arch wild dog, on
whom a little military discipline would be by no means thrown away;
for I was a second son, and my mother, although affectionate enough,
did not evince towards me that strength—or, more properly speaking,
that _weakness_—of maternal fondness which she lavished on my elder
brother, (her favourite,) who was specially designed for the pulpit
by her and her devout advisers. My own opinion of my disposition was
about half-way between that of my father and mother. I never, to my
knowledge, did much harm, except occasionally hoaxing our parson and
apothecary; or operating a few nocturnal exchanges of signs[1] between
barbers, pawnbrokers, inn-keepers, and undertakers; or perhaps an
occasional shot at a villager's cat. But the best cannot please every
body; and even in the case of their own fathers and mothers, young
fellows experience different opinions upon their merits. However, this
I knew—that I pleased myself: I was backed by an indulgent father,
health, spirits, and plenty of money; so, in military phrase, I may say
that I was ready primed for mischief, and did not care a doit for the
devil.
When I had finished my bottle, and tolerably satisfied myself with
repeating over and over the terms of my appointment, in a semi-audible
tone, I sallied forth. It was a fine evening in the beginning of July
1809, and town was crammed with military men in _mufti_. They had, as
it seemed to me, even in plain clothes, an air peculiarly striking; and
it excited at once my delight and envy to see them stared at by all;
but particularly by the ladies, whose glances, to me, from my earliest
age, were always bewitching in the extreme. I burned to mingle in the
glory, and to share with my _now_ brother-officers, the smiles of the
fair; but my sun-burned drab coat, with broad buttons, together with my
slouched hat, white Windsor-cord breeches and top-boots, presented an
odious barrier to my hopes and desires. O for a military tailor!—
“That great enchanter, at whose rod's command,
Beauty springs forth, and nature's self turns paler;
Seeing how art can make her work more grand,
When she don't pin men's limbs in like a jailor.”
Of course, I soon found one. My first few paces in the Strand brought
me in front of a shop-window, within which were profusely displayed
braided coats, epaulettes, sword-knots, and brass heel-spurs. I could
no more have passed it, without entering, than could the camel of the
desert a clear and gushing spring without dipping his nostrils into it.
Although particularly directed, both by my father and mother, to order
my regimentals from our family tailor, I immediately proceeded to the
man of measures, who, at first, eyed me in a careless, tooth-picking
sort of way; but when he learned the nature and purport of my visit, he
became the most polite and complaisant of tailors.
“I'm an Ensign in the army,” said I, “and I want a suit of uniform for
the ——th regiment of the line.”
“Thank you, _Captain_,” replied he, bowing and fidgetting, “I am
much obliged to you, _Captain_, for the order; and I can assure you,
_Captain_, that I can furnish you with every article of regimentals,
of a superior quality, and at the shortest notice—_Captain_.”
Although I was somewhat disgusted at the first appearance of
inattention discovered by the tailor to a man of my rank, (for
I thought any body could see I was an officer in the army, even
through my sun-burnt coat,) yet his subsequent politeness, and even
obsequiousness, joined to my anxiety to put on regimentals for the
first time—but, above all, his dubbing me “_Captain_,” at once
determined me to order my appointments from him. I soon concluded
the business; my regimentals, complete, were to be ready and on my
table at 12 o'clock the following day. Scarlet coat, with swallow
tail, yellow facings, white pantaloons, silver lace epaulette, sword,
sword-knot, sword-belt, and all, except hat, feather, and boots. But
for present purposes, what was to be done? I felt that I ought to have
something for _that_ evening to distinguish my rank. A fine braided
military frock was hung up at the tailor's door, on which I seized, and
forthwith jumped into it.
“Let me assist you, _Captain_,” said the tailor. “There—what a fit! It
was made for Colonel Mortimer, of the Dragoons. Let me button it up to
the neck, _Captain_. There—may I never cut a coat, but it is a superb
article, Captain; and as cheap at twelve pounds, as my shears for a
penny.”
There was no looking-glass in the shop, and therefore I could not
positively be certain as to the truth of what Snip asserted with regard
to the “fit.” I must confess, however, that I suspected a wrinkle or
two across the shoulders, and the waist was not quite so tight as I
could have wished: but then this coat was the only one in the shop;
and, as it was too late to look for another, I resolved to keep it on;
for, to have given up that night's exhibition of my military importance
in the throng at the West-End of the town, would have been an act of
self-denial, more becoming a member of the Abbey of _La Trappe_, than
an ensign of one of His Majesty's regiments of the line. Accordingly, I
paid the twelve pounds, which produced a double volley of complimentary
“_Captains_” from the tailor, and having been again assured that my
regimentals should be punctually sent home next day, I departed.
Whether it arose from the hurry in which I was to launch my first
military coat among the loungers that swelled the passages about
Leicester Square, Piccadilly, Bond Street, and St. James's, or whether
it was from a lack of knowledge of the etiquette of military costume,
I do not now recollect; but certain it is, that I quite overlooked the
necessity of providing for the nether portion of my person articles of
dress corresponding with those which decorated my upper half. When I
think of the figure I must have cut, I blush, even to this hour. Yet
I know not why I should blush. I am now about seventeen years older,
and my vision shows me everything with a far different aspect from
what it wore at nineteen. Yet happiness has not increased with years;
and objects, although now more perfect to my sight, have lost their
former delightful colouring. Perhaps it may be better that eyes thus
change their power, and that boys are neither philosophers nor men
of the world; if they were, where would be the enviable sweetness of
boyhood—that freshness of life, which makes youth laugh at futurity,
and which the wisest sage cannot retrospectively contemplate without a
sigh?
But to my subject. I proceeded along the Strand, Cockspur Street,
Haymarket, and Piccadilly, to the Green Park promenade, with an air
of importance perfectly consistent with the occasion: and that my
new attire produced a change in the countenances of the crowd was
manifest. To my great delight all eyes were on me—every body turned
to look after me as I passed; but when I got into the Green Park, and
was surrounded by its elegant evening loungers, the remarks made upon
me became very insulting: these, however, I set down to the account
of envy in the men, and a spirit of flirtation in the ladies. Six or
eight fellows of _ton_ followed me in line along the parade, admiring,
and _envying_ (as I then thought), the beauty of my braided frock;
but, I now believe, with no other view but that of quizzing the oddity
of my appearance.—And such an appearance—such incongruity of dress
never presented itself in the Green Park either before or since that
memorable evening. Had I been downright _shabby-genteel_ (as the phrase
is) I might have escaped; but every article upon me was new, “spick and
span.”—A highly expensive military coat, of the most abominable fit,
down to my ankles, and as wide as a sentry-box, white cord breeches,
yellow top-boots, cross-barred Marseilles waistcoat, white cravat,
and a most incorrigibly new _woolly_ hat! But the braiding on the
coat I thought covered, like charity, a multitude of offences; and I,
myself, could see no impropriety whatever in my “turn out.” The line
of coxcombs continued to follow, but never ventured to address me
directly: they kept up a sort of hedge-fire, which, I confess, a good
deal galled me; but, as I said before, if I had not then thought their
remarks sprung from pure envy, one or two of them should have gone
headlong into the pond by which we walked.
“He's a griffin,” said one.
“Perhaps he's a golok.”
“Not at all,” said another; “the gentleman's a _heron_ just _bagged_.”
“He belongs to the first regiment of _light buldhoons_,” muttered a
third.
“My life on't, Tom, you're wrong,” rejoined one of the critics; “I'll
bet any of you a dozen of Champaigne that he is a _thorough-bred
horse-marine_; you may see that by his jockey boots.”
Thus they went on at intervals during several turns on the walk. All
this time my angry feelings were forcibly getting the better of my
judgment, and I began to experience a strong desire to come to the
point with these gentlemen, and to show them that I was neither a
griffin, nor a golok, a heron, nor a horse-marine, but an Ensign in the
regular service of his Majesty.
I immediately determined on addressing them; and, in a very few
moments, had an opportunity of doing so; for the whole line,
arm-in-arm, on our next meeting, attempted to surround me; at which
moment I fixed upon the individual who had been most forward in his
observations upon me, and a scene of complete confusion followed. I
demanded an exchange of cards, but he declined with a sneer, and a
horse laugh rung from his companions. I found myself beset on all sides
with such a clamour, that I could not have made a word heard, even if I
had attempted to do so through a speaking-trumpet.
It was evident that I had no chance of obtaining satisfaction. My
assertion that I was an officer in the army was only treated with
contempt; and I had no means of finding out the address of any one of
my opponents.
I was in the midst of this disagreeable rencontre, when an elderly
gentleman, whose weather-beaten front and military air convinced me
that he belonged to “the cloth,” took me by the arm, and, leading me
aside, asked whether I was really an officer in the service? On my
answering in the affirmative, he replied, “I know the young men you
disputed with; so make yourself easy, Sir. Walk this way, and let me
have your address. I have been an eye-witness of the affair, and you
shall have satisfaction to-morrow, I promise you.”
I instantly gave the gentleman my card, thanking him warmly at the
same time for the kindness with which he seemed to treat me. He then
requested me to retire, and assured me that he would certainly be with
me next morning.
I proceeded to my hotel, on the whole not displeased, considering that
there was some importance attached to the adventure, and that I had
something like a duel already on my hands, although but one day in the
service. The idea of a newspaper paragraph setting forth an affair of
honour between Ensign B—— of the Line, and Mr. So-and-So, of So-and-so,
with a challenge, dated from SLAUGHTER'S _Coffee House_,—an address
peculiarly military at that time,—was by no means a displeasing source
of reflection; and although I occasionally read myself a different
version of the said paragraph, in which the words “_mortally wounded_”
took up an unpleasant position, I slept soundly and dreamt delightfully.
Next morning I was up early, determined to have all things arranged
_comme il faut_ before the arrival of my volunteer friend, who was
to manage matters for me. The first thing I did was to send for an
engraver, in order to have my card-plate prepared, with my _rank_
properly displayed thereon. This I managed to have executed in one
hour, on condition of paying five shillings _extra_ for dispatch;
although the _brazen_ artizan told me at first his orders were so
“_numerous_” that he _feared_ he could not get the plate done for three
days: but a _crown_ has often wonderful effect in altering the minds of
people.
Forty cards, duly printed, were on my breakfast-table at half-past nine
o'clock, and I think I had almost as much pleasure in reading my rank
upon them, as I experienced the evening before in seeing it in the
Gazette.
My expected visitor soon entered the room where I was at breakfast, and
by his manner I perceived that he was just as warm and determined in
my behalf as he was the previous evening. Perfectly frank with me, he
inquired into the nature of my family connexions, my age, how long had
I been in the service, and other matters. Having satisfied himself upon
certain points, he requested me to accompany him to ——, in St. James's
Street, whither we immediately proceeded.
The waiter showed us into a private room, and my conductor asked if
Mr. **** was yet up. On being informed that he was, and at breakfast,
my friend expressed his wish to see him. The waiter withdrew, and
returned in a few minutes, with an answer that Mr. **** was sorry he
could not be seen for an hour. Upon this, my friend drew forth a card,
and desired that it should be given to him immediately; observing,
that he wished _particularly_ to see him. The waiter obeyed; and had
not been out of the room two minutes, when all the bells in the house
seemed to have been set in motion, and the servants began to run to and
fro about the lobbies, as if they had all been under the influence of
the laughing gas.
Thinks I to myself, the card has had a good effect: and I thought
rightly; for in a moment the door of our apartment opened, and the most
polite and powdered valet imaginable bowed himself into our presence,
to inform us that Mr. **** would wait upon us immediately. Scarcely had
he bowed himself out again, when Mr. **** himself, the very man I had
singled out the night before, entered.
His demeanour was now completely changed, and his air subdued; the fire
of his insolence had burnt out, and a placid ray of the purest sunshine
of good humour beamed from his gentlemanly countenance. The very
honey of politeness was on his tongue, as he uttered the introductory
words, “_General_, I hope I have not kept you waiting?” By the bye, my
importance was not a little swelled on hearing the rank of my friend;
yet my gratitude, I felt, swelled higher; for, in proportion to the
rank I found him to hold, I felt my sense of his kindness[2] increase.
The General, when all the parties were seated, carelessly threw his
right leg across his left knee, and thus addressed Mr. ****. “I have
called upon you, Sir, not officially, but as a private individual, in
which light I request to be received; and my object in calling, is to
demand a satisfactory adjustment of an affair which occurred yesterday
evening in the Green Park, in which you took a very prominent part.
This is the gentleman, whose feelings you and your companions trifled
with so freely on that occasion. Like yourself, he is an officer in the
service, and entitled to its privileges and the support of its members.
I was an eye-witness of the scene; and, during the many years I have
been in the army, I never saw a more wanton insult passed by one
officer upon another, than was inflicted upon this unoffending young
gentleman last night by you and your party. I am an old officer, Mr.
****, and would wish to prevent quarrelling as much as possible; but in
this case an ample apology must be made to this young officer, or he
must have another kind of satisfaction.”
At the conclusion of this address, my opponent put on the most
_engaging_ smile; and, offering his opened gold snuff-box to the
General, replied, as nearly as I can recollect, in the following
words:—“I assure you, General, we had been swallowing ‘_the enemy_’
last night pretty freely, and as freely did he ‘_steal away our
brains_,’ as our immortal Shakspeare says. We were perfectly
_ambrosial_, General—three bottles a man, exclusive of Champagne;
and, 'pon my honour, I have but a very faint recollection of what
occurred between your friend and us. However, I-a-rather suspect we
were rude; but quite unintentionally so, I assure you, General,—had not
the slightest idea of any thing in the world but good-humour. Sir,
(addressing himself to me,) I beg you will accept my apology. You must,
my dear Sir, give me your hand: you shall dine with us to-day,—you must
indeed,—six precisely. We take no excuse.”
There was such an air of frank good-nature in this apology, that both
the General and myself were highly pleased, and about to express
ourselves to that effect, when Mr. **** ran out of the room, calling
out “Sir John!”—“Captain Jackson!”—“Williams!”—“Smith!”—and God knows
how many names more; and in a moment returned with the identical posse
that had attacked me the evening before, each of whom were introduced
to us by Mr. ****, and apologized to me as he had done,—a circumstance
which appeared to please the General as much as it delighted me.
Thus ended all unpleasant feelings on the matter; and we sat together
for about an hour, during which time the General gave us his opinions
on the laws of honour, commenting on the impropriety of their violation
by officers in the army in particular. Indeed, by what fell from
his lips, on that morning, as well as by his conduct in my affair,
I am convinced that he was a highly prudent man, who was brave but
inoffensive. Had the business been taken up by a hot-headed fire-eating
subaltern or Captain, who possessed but a smattering of the laws of
honour, I am convinced that a duel must have been the consequence;
but instead of taking a “_message_,” or directing me to send one, the
General first sought an _explanation_, knowing that the offenders did
not believe, from the oddity of my appearance, that I was what I wished
to be considered; and that it was only necessary to make them sensible
of their error, to end the matter satisfactorily.
We separated: the General went to Bath, and I returned to my hotel in
St. Martin's Lane. I declined the invitation to dinner which I had
received from my apologizing friends; but we nevertheless continued
thenceforward on very good terms.
The first thing that greeted my eyes, when I re-entered my hotel, was
my suit of regimentals, which the tailor had just laid down at full
length upon the table. Never did I behold so beautiful—so ravishing a
sight! The coat like silk—_scarlet_ silk; the pantaloons blue as the
sky—ethereal blue; the epaulette and lace as bright as the sun—or
twenty suns! Price! what was the price to me? I paid the tailor,
directly, a part and portion of the price of the suit; he was only
waiting (as he said) to fit the articles on; but (as _I_ now think) to
receive the amount of his bill—as every prudent tailor ought in such
cases to do. However, I cared not about matters of pounds, shillings,
and pence: my ideas were upon the _intellectual_ enjoyments of my
ensigncy—the glory of my new rank; and tailors or tailors' bills were
of no consideration, except as mere mechanical instruments to raise me
to my then state of mental elevation. I now only wanted the cocked hat,
feather, sash, boots, gloves, sword, and sword-belt, which to procure
I knew must absorb at least an hour, or perhaps two, of my valuable
time. I therefore requested the tailor (having first paid his bill) to
send them to me, which he most willingly promised to do: and he kept
his word; for in ten minutes I was in possession of the articles, for
which also he was paid. Another ten minutes passed, and I was “armed
_cap-à-pie_,” elegantly fitted—a perfect prodigy of beauty—in my own
accommodating imagination!
It would be endless to describe the evolutions, the marches, and the
countermarches, which I performed before the looking-glass that day.
I nearly wore out my scabbard with drawing and sheathing my sword;
I absolutely tarnished my epaulette by dangling the bullion of it,
and the peak of my cocked hat was very much ruffled and crushed by
practising my intended salutes to the ladies. I dined—in all the
happiness of self-important solitude—in full uniform, and unshackled by
the presence of strangers to interrupt my admiration of it. When did I
enjoy such a day? Never. This was the climax of my hopes; I felt that I
was _bona fide_ an officer in the army.
After dinner I wrote short letters to my relations and friends, in
which every event of the foregoing twenty-four hours was set forth in
my very best style of description; and to each letter, signed with my
rank in full, was appended a postscript, requesting the answers to be
directed to “ENSIGN W*** A*** B*** _of His Majesty's ——th Regiment
of the Line, Old Slaughter's Coffee House, London_.” As most of the
newspapers of that day contained the military promotions of the night
before, I ordered at least sixteen; all of which I enclosed, and sent
among my friends at home, by post, that night, having first underlined
with red ink the words “_Ensign W*** A*** B***, vice Thompson, killed
in action_,” and put a cross in the margin opposite to the passage.
So little was I acquainted with the usages of London, as they regard
officers in the army, that I absolutely went to the theatre that night
dressed, as I had dined, in full uniform. I had been in the habit of
seeing military officers from time to time, who had been quartered in
my native town, dressed generally in their regimentals, not only in
the street, but at the theatre and at private parties; and I could not
suppose that in London, the capital city, and the head-quarters of the
army, there was any other custom whatever observed among officers: on
the contrary, I considered that, above all other cities, London was the
place in which a man was bound to appear in all his glory.
If I was stared at in the Green Park the night before, I was still
more so this night; but although I encountered the gaze and the sneers
of hundreds, yet nobody dared to insult me directly. The greatest
nuisance was, that the box in which I took my seat was crammed almost
to suffocation with the _fair_ sex—so much so, that the whole pit
stood up to observe us; and so tightly was I squeezed by these ladies,
that not having room to display my figure and dress in a sufficiently
graceful posture, I was obliged to sit upright, like a gentleman in a
vapour-bath. And indeed the simile bears in another way upon the fact;
for I felt all the sudorific effects of vapour-bathing, occasioned
partly by the perfume of the ladies, partly by the eternal gaze of
the spectators, and partly from the tightness of my stock, sash,
and sword-belt. I found very soon that my situation was by no means
enviable, and I accordingly removed from the box, to better myself by
a walk in the saloon; but here I found matters still worse. I was in a
moment surrounded by a myriad of damsels, and about as many dandies—the
latter of whom became by far the most annoying. I was literally hustled
to and fro without being able to keep my legs, while liberties of
every description were taken with my dress: one plucked me by the
skirts of my coat; another half-drew my sword, while a third (a tall
Irish _lady_) ran off with my cocked hat, to strut about in it, and
burlesque my style of walking, &c. All this was done with the best
possible humour on _their_ parts, but as to _myself_,—I must confess,
I was most particularly annoyed, though I found it of no use to appear
so: therefore I laughed, or seemed to laugh with my persecutors, like
Mirabel in the play. However, I found that a quiet retreat was the most
advisable manœuvre, and accordingly seized a favourable opportunity
of “bolting in double quick time” out of the theatre, amidst crowds
of dirty link boys, who drew the attention of the whole world upon me
with “_Coach, General_”—“_Noble Commander_”—“_Royal Highness_,” and
the rest, until I found myself absolutely wedged in by a throng of
greasy ragamuffins, and the wonder of a hundred passers by. “O curse
the regimentals! I wish I were in a sack,” thought I, as I ploughed
my way out of the crowd, which I had not distanced many yards, when
I was assailed by dozens of drunken stragglers with “_heads up,
sodger_,”—“_lobster, hoi!_” &c. and was at length absolutely jostled
into the gutter by three impudent cheesemongers, from Bread Street,
Cheapside. The honour of the profession was fired; “D——!” thought I,
“is this fit treatment for one of his Majesty's Ensigns?” so seizing
the nearest fellow by the collar, I pulled him, much against his
will, over to a watchman, who stood within about a dozen yards of us,
and gave him in charge to the man of corners, together with his two
comrades, who had followed him closely.
“_Charge_, Chester, _charge_.”
Three mouths now opened against me, and insisted on “charging” _me_! I
thought of the dog of hell—the triple-headed monster—as they barked. My
blood was boiling; I _ordered_ the watchman to take them instantly to
the watch-house, on pain of being next morning reported; but what was
my indignation—my almost distraction, at finding the fellow altogether
deaf to my command, although I was in _regimentals_! Instead of taking
my assaulters to the judge of the night, he absolutely seized _me_ by
the collar, and as he forced me along, roared out something like the
following:—
“Oh! by Jasus, man, yir not in the barracks now. Who cares about your
ordthers? By my sowl! I'll tache you betther manners, though ya _have_
a red coat upon ya; yar not to be salting the dacent people in the open
sthreets. Is it becaise I've lost my eye in the sarvice, that you want
to get the blind side o' me?”
“You infernal Cyclops!” returned I, “you cannot see plainly with the
one that is left to you.”
Remonstrance was useless. I put, not only my powers of speech in
the fullest action, but also my powers of muscle: all in vain—four
pair of arms pulling at one coat, are too much for any _body_. I
was absolutely _trotted_ off to the watch-house. Here I expected to
obtain ample satisfaction for the injury I had sustained, and with
this feeling addressed the “Commanding officer”—a fellow with a huge
red-cabbage face, a pot of porter before him, a pipe in his hand, and a
rabbit-skin cap on his greasy head. I told my story in very few words;
but dwelt with “becoming warmth” upon the manner in which justice
was administered by the men of lanterns and rattles, and concluded
with a severe philippic against the watch department in general. I
demanded that the watchmen, as well as the three men who had caused the
confusion, should be locked up forthwith. Whether it was my natural
powers of speech, or my all powerful energy of voice and manner, which
procured for me this hearing, I cannot tell—but I have to regret the
privilege; for my address, so far from being relished by the constable,
inclined him, I think, to lend a more favourable ear to my adversaries;
and his bias inclined still more towards them, when they appealed to
him as “_the representative of magistracy_.” In short, they had it
all their own way, and old Dogberry, in accordance with the feelings
excited in him, by abuse on the one side, and flattery on the other,
declared against me.
“This here thing,” said he, “is a conspiracy against these three
respectable men, and that 'ere vatchman; but it 'ont do. You see, you
comes and you 'tacks these here people a going to their perspective
homes, as honest citizens should. What _are_ you, gemmen?” (_To the
cheesemongers._)
“We are gentlemen in the city,” replied the “spokesman” of the
triumvirate.
“What's your names?” inquired the constable.
“John Stilton,” was the reply.
“John Stilton! eh! what—of _Green, Stilton, Mite, and Co._?” exclaimed
the constable.
“Yes, the same, and these two gentlemen are my partners.”
The constabulary tobacco-pipe was now withdrawn from its office, and
an additional importance diffused itself over the features of the
presiding judge, as he recognized the firm of Messrs. Green, Stilton,
Mite, and Company.
“I know the house well,” said he; “and as spectable as any in the
parish of Botolph. The commerce of London is not to be insulted by
the milentary. So I tell ye vat, Master, (addressing me,) you must be
locked up. Who _are_ you? What's your name?”
“Oh!” exclaimed one of the cheesemongers, “he's a drum-major in the
Wolunteers.”
This was “the most unkindest cut of all;” it perfectly silenced me.
The only reply I could make, was to throw down my card indignantly,
which Dogberry took up, and after gazing gravely upon it, exclaimed,
“He's a Hinsign, I see: But if he was the _sarjeant-major_ himself,
he shall not escape public contribution. I'll take care he's made a
proper sample of; so now, gemmen, you are all at liberty to proceed to
your peaceful homes, and leave this red-herring to be managed by me.
I'll larn him, that he sha'n't come out of a night with his feathers,
and his flipper flappers, and his red coat, to kick up a bobbery with
the people. Ve dont vant sodgers in London—thank God! ve can do without
'em. Ve vant no milentary govament here, my lad; and if you come
amongst us, vy you must leave off your implements o' var, and behave
like a spectacle abitant. The sodgers, I say, ought to be pulled up,
for they are a d——d impudent set; tickerly the guards: they try to come
it over us venhever they have a tunity; but I'll let them know vhat's
vhat, and larn them how to bemean themselves. So here you stop, young
man, for this here night.”
At the conclusion of this constitutional harangue, the cheesemongers
departed, laughing at me in the most provoking manner. The
mortification I felt, was indescribable. I threatened, stormed, and
strutted, but all to no purpose; I only received fresh insults. At
last it was hinted to me by one of the watchmen, who was inclined to
indulge in a little repose, that if I would send for a respectable
housekeeper, I might be bailed; and though this kindness evidently
arose from a wish to get rid of me, on account of the noise I created,
I availed myself of the privilege, and immediately sent to the landlord
of my hotel, who soon appeared, and I was liberated.
This evening's adventure gave me ample food for rumination, and I
chewed my cud upon it half the night. I felt thoroughly ashamed of my
folly, in having displayed my gaudy suit of regimentals, when I plainly
perceived, that custom was so decidedly against it: but—_experientia
docet_. I next morning locked up my uniform, and determined never to
wear it, until I joined my regiment.
There has been a great deal said about the “_privileges_” of the City
of London, in reference to the appearance of soldiers in its streets;
and some, who rank high in the republic of letters, have spun out many
fine periods upon the subject; but I must confess myself sceptical
enough to think, that all this is “leather and prunella;” though, I
maintain, that I am neither inimical to civil nor religious liberty.
In despite of “liberal” cant, I must always opine, that the appearance
of regimental uniforms in London, (so long as they are _British_,) can
never either endanger the liberty of the subject, or disgrace the good
people of the metropolis. I allow, that no officer of good sense or
good taste would dress in regimentals, while sojourning in London, and
absent from his regiment; but I cannot see why the inhabitants assume
it as almost a _right_, to exclude the appearance of uniforms, if
individuals in the service choose to wear them. The household troops,
foot-guards, &c. on the King's duty, in London, appear in regimentals
with impunity; but if an officer who is doing duty with his regiment,
at Woolwich, or Deptford, or Hounslow, or any other place near London,
has occasion to visit the metropolis, he must either go in plain
clothes, or submit to ridicule, if he ventures to appear amongst the
cockneys in his professional dress. Habit is a powerful master, and
if this intolerance of military and naval uniforms becomes a general
prejudice, it cannot be fairly argued against; but when a metropolitan
magistrate declares, in his public seat, that such uniforms must not
appear in London,[3] there is something more than habit in it. Are the
people of London afraid of officers belonging to their own regiments?
This they cannot reasonably be, for such officers are subordinate
to the civil power. Are they ashamed of them? This belief cannot be
for a moment entertained; therefore, let there be no more talk of
“privileges:” and if either duty or taste direct an officer to wear his
uniform in the public places or streets of the metropolis, let him be
scrutinized only by the same rule, that would guide our opinions upon
the black gown of a lawyer or the shovel-hat of a clergyman.
Although reflections similar to these occupied me during the greater
part of the night which gave occasion to them, yet the view I took of
the matter at that time, was widely different from that which I now
take; for I then thought, that the man who was entitled to wear a
regimental uniform, should exhibit it on all occasions, even when _out
shooting_. No man ever went to sleep more mortified and chagrined than
I did, from my reflections on what had past. The thing had one good
effect, however; which was, that it started me off from London, and
thereby, perhaps, saved me from more sleepless nights. I went by coach
next day to Brighton; and in six hours was at the head-quarters of my
regiment.
I reported myself to the commanding officer, Colonel ——, who in the
most cordial and frank manner, invited me to dine with him at the
mess that day; sent for the Quartermaster, and settled me at once in
my barrack-room. He next assigned to me a servant from the ranks,
introduced me to all the officers of the regiment, and with one of
the Captains took my arm, and walked out to show me the _lions_ of
Brighton. All this attention from the commanding officer, was duly
appreciated by me. I felt already fascinated with my regiment, and
with good reason, for this commanding officer was very different in
his conduct towards the junior officers, from many I have since had
occasion to serve under. He was the father of his corps; of the most
strict, impartial, and inflexible character in all matters of duty; but
a friend and companion, without severity or unnecessary exactness when
duty was done; he was, in short, a perfect model of the officer and the
gentleman.
For two hours previous to dinner, that is to say, from four 'till
six o'clock, I employed myself in going through a set of practical
evolutions before my looking-glass, in full regimentals, and even when
warned by the striking up of
“O the roast beef of old England,”
I had not quite concluded.
I proceeded to the mess-room, and was placed on the right hand of
the Colonel, who that day happened to be president. Except on the
announcement of my appointment in the Gazette, I never felt such
exultation, as when I found myself seated at the mess-table, surrounded
by about thirty officers: my appetite was completely gone; I took soup
and almost every other thing offered me, but _tasted_ scarcely any
thing except wine; indeed of this I partook pretty liberally, for every
member of the table requested “_the honour_,” &c. and in about one hour
I had swallowed, on a rough calculation, about thirty half glasses of
pale sherry—_ergo_, a full bottle.
Now were the pleasures of a regimental mess completely developed before
me, and my mind most exquisitely prepared for the enjoyment of them, in
which preparation my thirty half glasses of sherry exerted not a little
influence. The fine appearance of the officers, the splendour of the
full-dress uniforms in the blaze of the wax lights, the excellence of
the dinner, the attention of the servants, the merry and gentlemanly
conversation of the party, the diversified beauty of the music from our
band without, the whole crowned by the affability of our commanding
officer, rendered the scene to a young military enthusiast the most
delightful that can be imagined; and, indeed, to any military man, what
can be a more charming place than the mess-room of a united corps of
officers? It is the home, the _happiest_ home, perhaps, of its members;
and its enjoyments serve to compensate for the rougher endurances of
a military life. In a properly regulated mess, indeed, the very best
enjoyments of refined society are to be found.
The wine went round, I talked to every body, and every body talked to
me; with the old Captains, who “had seen service,” I talked of the
Indian and American wars; to the pipe-clay Adjutant,—of drills and
field days; to the Surgeon—of wounds and hospitals; to the Paymaster—of
cash and accounts; to the Quartermaster—of beef and clothing: with
all I was at home, and from all I bore a joke or two on my _newcome_
situation with genuine patience, nay, with some degree of pleasure.
On the whole, I was pretty well _au fait_, till the time when the
non-commissioned officers came in to hand round the order-book for
inspection. At first, when they entered in line, and faced about with
the salute, I thought they were _singers_ specially brought in for the
amusement of the mess, and was listening for a glee or a song from
them, when one approached my chair, and placed before me, in his right
hand, the order-book, which I conceived to be the song or music-book to
serve as a reference while the singers performed their duty, and took
it out of the sergeant's hand, coolly placing it before me. A smile and
a stare from every face were directed at me, and in a few moments a
general titter went round, which threw me into no little confusion. The
sergeant now in a low tone said to me, “_The orders, Sir_.”
“Oh!” replied I, “it is all the same to me, what you sing; the
_Colonel_ here will give you the orders.”
The stiffly screwed countenance of the sergeant, in spite of his
efforts, relaxed into a smile, and a loud burst of laughter rung round
the table, in which I very good-humouredly joined, when I learned my
mistake from the president.
The mess broke up about half-past eleven o'clock, with a bumper to
the new member—three times three—and the Colonel withdrew, as did
the Captains and most of the Lieutenants, leaving me in company with
three jolly Subs, like myself, very little inclined for “balmy sleep.”
At their proposal, we sallied forth, and after a serenade or two of
the most transcendent nature beneath some windows, better known to
my companions than to me, we proceeded to “finish” the evening. The
particulars of our proceedings I almost forget, and therefore must let
them rest in the tomb of all the devilries.
The next day I may consider to have been my first appearance in
public as a PROPERLY _authenticated_ officer in the army. I stood
upon the parade fully equipped, and with my regiment. During all the
time, I might as well have been in the pillory—nothing relieved me
but pulling on and off my gloves, fixing my cravat, and playing with
my sword-knot. I formed _one_ of those whom the admiring crowd gazed
at. I was saluted every where by passing soldiers, and I gratified my
vanity in this point, by repeatedly walking past the sentries on duty
at the Palace, to hear them slap the butt-ends of their muskets, as
they “carried arms” to compliment me. I was gazed at on the Steyne
by the most captivating eyes—I was smiled at in the Library by the
most fascinating faces—lovely lights gleamed on me from balconies,
barouches, and donkeys' backs—pelisses flounced, and feathers waved for
me—I was somebody, I was _everybody_—there was nobody in the world but
_me—myself!_ at least I saw no one else worth a moment's consideration,
except as far as their admiration of me was concerned. I never ate so
many ices and jellies in my life; not for the love my appetite bore to
such confections, but the lounge—the graceful halo which the discussion
of an ice throws round the military figure in a pastry-cook's shop is
every thing: It was delightful! and as to paying, I paid for all my
friends; who, to say the truth of them, were obliging enough to assist
in the ceremony as often as I pleased. Of course, many _agreeable_
ladies were present at these happy displays, who, with a _lee-tle_
persuasion (bless their modesty!) did their parts _remarkably_ well.
The intervals of lounging thus about the town, the cliffs, &c. were
filled up by billiards—at which game I delighted to play, merely
because I could _not_ play, but fancied myself, like smatterers in
all arts and sciences, a “pretty considerable” sort of performer. I,
however, got a few good lessons, which, although I did not _profit_
by, yet they served the purpose of enabling me to pass an idle hour,
and to set off my pecuniary advantages in a _proper_ manner. I lost
some pounds at this “_amusement_” as it is called; but I had received
a good stock of cash from my father on my appointment, for I believe
the “old boy” was as much delighted with my ensigncy as I was myself,
and would spare nothing to forward his son's interests in life, and
enable him to support the dignity of his situation. Heaven help the
worthy man! _interest_ and _dignity_ indeed! It would have been much
better for me, and for himself, that he had confined his liberality to
furnishing me with necessaries only, and obliged me to live on my pay.
Before I had been three days at Brighton, my purse was in a rapid
consumption, and the air of that fashionable watering-place was in
no way calculated to recover it from the effects of the shock it
had received in London. I beheld it dwindling to a shadow; and what
was worse, there was no soothing restorative in the hands of its
physicians, Doctors Greenwood and Cox, of Craig's Court, London. In
consequence of this decay of my purse, I passed Sunday in rather a
sombre mood, and, with the exception of marching to church with my
regiment, I had nothing to lighten the forenoon. In this disposition I
sat down to write to all my friends, and in the descriptions, wherein
I detailed to them my proceedings, lived my time in the service
over again. I described my setting out from London “_to join_”—my
arrival at the _barracks_—_reporting_ myself to the _commanding
officer_—my servant—my preparations for the mess—mess drums and
fifes—the dinner—thirty _honours of wine_—the band (not a word about
the “singers” and their books)—our serenade—my first parade—my
attendance of officers' drills—mode of saluting with the sword at
the “_present_”—account of orders for _marching_ to embark for Spain
(this we only _expected_ at the regiment)—a sentimental adieu, and
injunctions in case I should _fall_—heroism and glory—England and his
Majesty! In short, I wrote from one till six that day, and not less
than half a dozen letters. In the last, which was to my father, I did
not forget the main point—I spoke of _finance_ in such a way, that I
received in return three sides of a sheet of paper closely written and
crossed, containing, however, a handsome remittance, which happily
arrived just as I concluded my FIRST WEEK IN THE SERVICE.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The practical joke of changing signs from one house to another,
well nigh cost some officers of infantry their lives, some years ago,
in the good city of Bath.