THE SOLDIER--THE NIGHT RAMBLE--AND THE WINDOW THAT LET IN MORE THAN THE
MOONLIGHT.
Short as had been O'Connor's sojourn, it nevertheless had been
sufficiently long to satisfy mine host of the "Cock and Anchor," an
acute observer in such particulars, that whatever his object might have
been in avoiding the more fashionably frequented inns of the city,
economy at least had no share in his motive. O'Connor, therefore, had
hardly entered the public room of the inn, when a servant respectfully
informed him that a private chamber was prepared for his reception, if
he desired to occupy it. The proposition suited well with his temper at
the minute, and with all alacrity he followed the waiter, who bowed him
upstairs and through a dingy passage into a room whose claims, if not
to elegance, at least to comfort, could hardly have been equalled,
certainly not excelled, by the more luxurious pretensions of most
modern hotels.
It was a large, capacious chamber, nearly square, wainscoted with dark
shining wood, and decorated with certain dingy old pictures, which
might have been, for anything to the contrary, appearing in so
uncertain a light, _chefs d'oeuvre_ of the mighty masters of the olden
time: at all events, they looked as warm and comfortable as if they
were. The hearth was broad, deep, and high enough to stable a Kerry
pony, and was surmounted by a massive stone mantelpiece, rudely but
richly carved--abundance of old furniture--tables, at which the saintly
Cromwell might have smoked and boozed, and chairs old enough to have
supported Sir Walter Raleigh himself, were disposed about the room with
a profuseness which argued no niggard hospitality. A pair of wax-lights
burned cheerily upon a table beside the bright crackling fire which
blazed in the huge cavity of the hearth; and O'Connor threw himself
into one of those cumbrons, tall-backed, and well-stuffed chairs, which
are in themselves more potent invitations to the sweet illusive
visitings from the world of fancy and of dreams than all the drugs or
weeds of eastern climes. Thus suffering all his material nature to rest
in absolute repose, he loosed at once the reins of imagination and
memory, and yielded up his mind luxuriously to their mingled realities
and illusions.
He may have been, perhaps, for two or three hours employed thus
listlessly in chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy, when his
meditations were interrupted by a brisk step upon the passage leading
to the apartment in which he sate, instantly succeeded by as brisk a
knocking at the chamber door itself.
"Is this Mr. O'Connor's chamber?" inquired a voice of peculiar
richness, intonated not unpleasingly with a certain melodious
modification of the brogue, bespeaking a sort of passionate
_devil-may-carishness_ which they say in the good old times wrought
grievous havoc among womankind. The summons was promptly answered by an
invitation to enter; and forthwith the door opened, and a comely man
stepped into the room. The stranger might have seen some fifty or sixty
summers, or even more; for his was one of those joyous, good-humoured,
rubicund visages, upon which time vainly tries to write a wrinkle. His
frame was robust and upright, his stature tall, and there was in his
carriage something not exactly a swagger (for with all his oddities,
the stranger was evidently a gentleman), but a certain rollicking
carelessness, which irresistibly conveyed the character of a reckless,
head-long good-humour and daring, to which nothing could come amiss. In
the hale and jolly features, which many would have pronounced handsome,
were written, in characters which none could mistake, the prevailing
qualities of the man--a gay and sparkling eye, in which lived the very
soul of convivial jollity, harmonized right pleasantly with a smile, no
less of archness than _bonhomie_, and in the brow there was a certain
indescribable cock, which looked half pugnacious and half comic. On the
whole, the stranger, to judge by his outward man, was precisely the
person to take his share in a spree, be the same in joke or earnest--to
tell a good story--finish a good bottle--share his last guinea with
you--or blow your brains out, as the occasion might require. He was
arrayed in a full suit of regimentals, and taken for all in all, one
need hardly have desired a better sample of the dashing, light-hearted,
daredevil Irish soldier of more than a century since.
"Ah! Major O'Leary," cried O'Connor, starting from his seat, and
grasping the soldier's hand, "I am truly glad to see you; you are the
very man of all others I most require at this moment. I was just about
to have a fit of the blue devils."
"Blue devils!" exclaimed the major; "don't talk to a youngster like me
of any such infernal beings; but tell me how you are, every inch of
you, and what brings you here?"
"I never was better; and as to my business," replied O'Connor, "it is
too long and too dull a story to tell you just now; but in the
meantime, let us have a glass of Burgundy; mine host of the 'Cock and
Anchor' boasts a very peculiar cellar." So saying, O'Connor proceeded
to issue the requisite order.
"That does he, by my soul!" replied the major, with alacrity; "and for
that express reason I invariably make it a point to renew my friendly
intimacy with its contents whenever I visit the metropolis. But I can't
stay more than five minutes, so proceed to operations with all
dispatch."
"And why all this hurry?" inquired O'Connor. "Where need you go at this
hour?"
"Faith, I don't precisely know myself," rejoined the soldier; "but I've
a strong impression that my evil genius has contrived a scheme to
inveigle me into a cock-pit not a hundred miles away."
"I'm sorry for it, with all my heart, Major," replied O'Connor, "since
it robs me of your company."
"Nay, you must positively come along with me," resumed the major; "I
sip my Burgundy on these express conditions. Don't leave me at these
years without a mentor. I rely upon your prudence and experience; if
you turn me loose upon the town to-night, without a moral guide, upon
my conscience, you have a great deal to answer for. I may be fleeced in
a hell, or milled in a row; and if I fall in with female society, by
the powers of celibacy! I can't answer for the consequences."
"Sooth to say, Major," rejoined O'Connor, "I'm in no mood for mirth."
"Come, come! never look so glum," insisted his visitor. "Remember I
have arrived at years of _in_discretion, and must be looked after.
Man's life, my dear fellow, naturally divides itself into three great
stages; the first is that in which the youthful disciple is carefully
instructing his mind, and preparing his moral faculties, in silence,
for all sorts of villainy--this is the season of youth and innocence;
the second is that in which he _practises_ all kinds of rascality--and
this is the flower of manhood, or the prime of life; the third and last
is that in which he strives to make his soul--and this is the period of
dotage. Now, you see, my dear O'Connor, I have unfortunately arrived at
the prime of life, while you are still in the enjoyment of youth and
innocence; I am practising what you are plotting. You are,
unfortunately for yourself, a degree more sober than I; you can
therefore take care that I sin with due discretion--permit me to rob or
murder, without being robbed or murdered in return."
Here the major filled and quaffed another glass, and then continued,--
"In short, I am--to speak in all solemnity and sobriety--so drunk, that
it's a miracle how I mounted these rascally stairs without breaking my
neck. I have no distinct recollection of the passage, except that I
kissed some old hunks instead of the chamber-maid, and pulled his nose
in revenge. I solemnly declare I can neither walk nor think without
assistance; my heels and head are inclined to change places, and I
can't tell the moment the body politic may be capsized. I have no
respect in the world for my intellectual or physical endowments at this
particular crisis; my sight is so infernally acute that I see all
surrounding objects considerably augmented in number; my legs have
asserted their independence, and perform 'Sir Roger de Coverley,'
altogether unsolicited; and my memory and other small mental faculties
have retired for the night. Under those melancholy circumstances, my
dear fellow, you surely won't refuse me the consolation of your
guidance."
"Had not you better, my dear Major," said O'Connor, "remain with me
quietly here for the night, out of the reach of sharks and sharpers,
male and female? You shall have claret or Burgundy, which you
please--enough to fill a skin!"
"I can't hold more than a bottle additional," replied the major,
regretfully, "if I can even do that; so you see I'm bereft of domestic
resources, and must look abroad for occupation. The fact is, I expect
to meet one or two fellows whom I want to see, at the place I've named;
so if you can come along with me, and keep me from falling into the
gutters, or any other indiscretion by the way, upon my conscience, you
will confer a serious obligation on me."
O'Connor plainly perceived that although the major's statement had been
somewhat overcharged, yet that his admissions were not altogether
fanciful; there were in the gallant gentleman's face certain symptoms
of recent conviviality which were not to be mistaken--a perceptible
roll of the eye, and a slight screwing of the lips, which
peculiarities, along with the faintest possible approximation to a
hiccough, and a gentle see-saw vibration of his stalwart person, were
indications highly corroborative of the general veracity of his
confessions. Seeing that, in good earnest, the major was not precisely
in a condition to be trusted with the management of anything pertaining
to himself or others, O'Connor at once resolved to see him, if
possible, safely through his excursion, if after the discussion of the
wine which was now before them, he should persevere in his fancy for a
night ramble. They therefore sate down together in harmonious
fellowship, to discuss the flasks which stood upon the board.
O'Connor was about to fill his guest's glass for the tenth or twelfth
time, when the major suddenly ejaculated,--
"Halt! ground arms! I can no more. Why, you hardened young reprobate,
it's not to make me drunk you're trying? I must keep senses enough to
behave like a Christian at the cock-fight; and, upon my soul! I've very
little rationality to spare at this minute. Put on your hat, and come
without delay, before I'm fairly extinguished."
O'Connor accordingly donned his hat and cloak, and yielding the major
the double support of his arm on the one side, and of the banisters on
the other, he conducted him safely down the stairs, and with wonderful
steadiness, all things considered, they entered the street, whence,
under the major's direction, they pursued their way. After a silence of
a few minutes, that military functionary exclaimed, with much
gravity,--
"I'm a great social philosopher, a great observer, and one who looks
quite through the deeds of men. My dear boy, believe me, this country
is in the process of a great moral reformation; hospitality--which I
take to be the first, and the last, and the only one of all the virtues
of a bishop which is fit for the practice of a gentleman--hospitality,
my dear O'Connor, is rapidly approaching to a climax in this country. I
remember, when I was a little boy, a gentleman might pay a visit of a
week or so to another in the country, and be all the time nothing more
than tipsy--_tipsy_ merely. However, matters gradually improved, and
that stage which philosophers technically term simple drunkenness,
became the standard of hospitality. This passed away, and the sense of
the country, in its silent but irresistible operation, has substituted
_blind_ drunkenness; and in the prophetic spirit of sublime philosophy,
I foresee the arrival of that time when no man can escape the fangs of
hospitality upon any conditions short of brain fever or delirium
tremens."
As the major delivered this philosophic discourse, he led O'Connor
through several obscure streets and narrow lanes, till at length he
paused in one of the very narrowest and darkest before a dingy brick
house, whose lower windows were secured with heavy bars of iron. The
door, which was so incrusted with dirt and dust that the original paint
was hardly anywhere discernible, stood ajar, and within burned a feeble
and ominous light, so faint and murky, that it seemed fearful of
disclosing the deeds and forms which itself was forced to behold. Into
this dim and suspicious-looking place the major walked, closely
followed by O'Connor. In the hall he was encountered by a huge
savage-looking fellow, who raised his squalid form lazily from a bench
which rested against the wall at the further end, and in a low, gruff
voice, like the incipient growl of a roused watch-dog, inquired what
they wanted there.
"Why, Mr. Creigan, don't you know Major O'Leary?" inquired that
gentleman. "I and a friend have business here."
The man muttered something in the way of apology, and opening the dingy
lantern in which burned the wretched tallow candle which half lighted
the place, he snuffed it with his finger and thumb, and while so doing,
desired the major to proceed. Accordingly, with the precision of one
who was familiar with every turn of the place, the gallant officer led
O'Connor through several rooms, lighted in the same dim and shabby way,
into a corridor leading directly to the rearward of the house, and
connecting it with some other detached building. As they threaded this
long passage, the major turned towards O'Connor, who followed him, and
whispered,--
"Did you mark that ill-looking fellow in the hall? Poor Creigan!--a
gentleman!--would you think it?--a _gentleman_ by birth, and with a
snug property, too--four hundred good pounds a year, and more--all
gone, like last year's snow, chiefly here in backing mains of his own!
poor dog! I remember him one of the best dressed men on town, and now
he's fain to pick up a few shillings by the week in the place where he
lost his thousands; this is the state of man!"
As he spoke thus, they had reached the end of the passage. The major
opened the door which terminated the corridor, and thus displayed a
scene which, though commonplace enough in its ingredients, was,
nevertheless, in its _coup d'oeil_, sufficiently striking. In the
centre of a capacious and ill-finished chamber stood a circular
platform, with a high ledge running round it. This arena, some fourteen
feet in diameter, was surrounded by circular benches, which rose one
outside the other, in parallel tiers, to the wall. Upon these seats
were crowded some hundreds of men--a strange mixture; gentlemen of
birth and honour sate side by side with notorious swindlers; noblemen
with coalheavers; simpletons with sharks; the unkempt, greasy locks of
squalid destitution mingled in the curls of the patrician periwig;
aristocratic lace and embroidery were rubbed by the dusty shoulders of
draymen and potboys;--all these gross and glaring contrarieties
reconciled and bound together by one hellish sympathy. All sate locked
in breathless suspense, every countenance fixed in the hard lines of
intense, excited anxiety and vigilance; all leaned forward to gaze upon
the combat whose crisis was on the point of being determined. Those who
occupied the back seats had started up, and pressing forward, almost
crushed those in front of them to death. Every aperture in this living
pile was occupied by some eager, haggard, or ruffian face; and, spite
of all the pushing, and crowding, and bustling, all were silent, as if
the powers of voice and utterance were unknown among them.
The effect of this scene, so suddenly presented--the crowd of
ill-looking and anxious faces, the startling glare of light, and the
unexpected rush of hot air from the place--all so confounded him, that
O'Connor did not for some moments direct his attention to the object
upon which the gaze of the fascinated multitude was concentrated; when
he did so he beheld a spectacle, abstractedly, very disproportioned in
interest to the passionate anxiety of which it was the subject. Two
game cocks, duly trimmed, and having the long and formidable steel
weapons with which the humane ingenuity of "the fancy" supplies the
natural spur of the poor biped, occupied the centre of the circular
stage which we have described; one of the birds lay upon his back,
beneath the other, which had actually sent his spurs through and
through his opponent's neck. In this posture the wounded animal lay,
with his beak open, and the blood trickling copiously through it upon
the board. The victorious bird crowed loud and clear, and a buzz began
to spread through the spectators, as if the battle were already
determined, and suspense at an end. The "law" had just expired, and the
gentlemen whose business it was to _handle_ the birds were preparing to
withdraw them.
"Twenty to one on the grey cock," exclaimed a large, ill-looking
fellow, who sat close to the pit, clutching his arms in his brawny
hands, as if actually hugging himself with glee, while he gazed with an
exulting grin upon the combat, whose issue seemed now beyond the reach
of chance. The challenge was, of course, unaccepted.
"Fifty to one!" exclaimed the same person, still more ecstatically.
"One hundred to one--_two_ hundred to one!"
"I'll give you one guinea to two hundred," exclaimed perhaps the
coolest gambler in that select assembly, young Henry Ashwoode, who sat
also near the front.
"Done, Mr. Ashwoode--done with _you_; it's a bet, sir," said the same
ill-looking fellow.
"Done, sir," replied Ashwoode.
[Illustration: "Again the conqueror crowed the shrill note of
victory."
_To face page 34_.]
Again the conqueror crowed the shrill note of victory, and all seemed
over, when, on a sudden, by one of those strange vicissitudes of which
the annals of the cock-pit afford so many examples, the dying bird--it
may be roused by the vaunting challenge of his antagonist--with one
convulsive spasm, struck both his spurs through and through the head of
his opponent, who dropped dead upon the table, while the wounded bird,
springing to his legs, flapped his wings, as if victory had never
hovered, and then as momentarily fell lifeless on the board, by this
last heroic feat winning a main on which many thousands of pounds
depended. A silence for a moment ensued, and then there followed the
loud exulting cheers of some, and the hoarse, bitter blasphemies of
others, clamorous expostulation, hoarse laughter, curses, congratulations,
and invectives--all mingled with the noise occasioned by those who came
in or went out, the shuffling and pounding of feet, in one torrentuous
and stunning volume of sound.
Young Ashwoode having secured and settled all his bets, shouldered his
way through the crowd, and with some difficulty, reached the door at
which Major O'Leary and O'Connor were standing.
"How do you do, uncle? Were you in the room when I took the two hundred
to one?" inquired the young man.
"By my conscience, I was, Hal, and wish you joy with all my heart. It
was a sporting bet on both sides, and as game a fight as the world ever
saw."
"I must be off," continued the young man. "I promised to look in at
Lady Stukely's to-night; but before I go, you must know they are all
affronted with you at the manor. The girls are positively outrageous,
and desired me to command your presence to-morrow on pain of
excommunication."
"Give my tender regards to them both," replied the major, "and assure
them that I will be proud to obey them. But don't you know my friend
O'Connor," he added, in a lower tone, "you are old acquaintances, I
believe?"
"Unless my memory deceives me, I have had the honour of meeting Mr.
O'Connor before," said the young man, with a cold bow, which was
returned by O'Connor with more than equal _hauteur_. "Recollect, uncle,
no excuses," added young Ashwoode, as he retreated from the
chamber--"you have promised to give to-morrow to the girls. Adieu."
"There goes as finished a specimen of a mad-cap, rake-helly young devil
as ever carried the name of Ashwoode or the blood of the O'Leary's,"
observed the uncle; "but come, we must look to the sport."
So saying, the major, exerting his formidable strength, and
accompanying his turbulent progress with a large distribution of
apologetic and complimentary speeches of the most high-flown kind,
shoved and jostled his way to a vacant place near the front of the
benches, and, seating himself there, began to give and take bets to a
large amount upon the next main. Tired of the noise, and nearly stifled
with the heat of the place, O'Connor, seeing that the major was
resolved to act independently of him, thought that he might as well
consult his own convenience as stay there to be stunned and suffocated
without any prospect of expediting the major's retreat; he therefore
turned about and retraced his steps through the passage which we have
mentioned. The grateful coolness of the air, and the lassitude induced
by the scene in which he had taken a part, though no very prominent
one, induced him to pause in the first room to which the passage, as we
have said, gave access; and happening to espy a bench in one of the
recesses of the windows, he threw himself upon it, thoroughly to
receive the visitings of the cool, hovering air. As he lay listless and
silently upon this rude couch, he was suddenly disturbed by a sound of
someone treading the yard beneath. A figure sprang across toward the
window; and almost instantaneously Larry Toole--for the moonlight
clearly revealed the features of the intruder--was presented at the
aperture, and with an energetic spring, accompanied by a no less
energetic, devotional ejaculation, that worthy vaulted into the
chamber, agitated, excited, and apparently at his wits' end.