the position in which I stand, the position in which you stand,
too. Personal misusage I might endure. But, in this matter, I am
impersonal. Take care! I represent, in my poor person, the majesty of
English law."
He turned as if to go. If he supposed that he had crushed her, he was
very much mistaken.
"Is that your last word, Sir Tristram?"
"Miss Cullen, it is my last."
"Then, now, be so good as to listen to my last word. The Duke of
Datchet is a magistrate. I will go straight to him, and demand from
him a warrant for your arrest."
"A warrant, for my arrest? Girl!"
"I presume that it is because I am a girl, that you are enough of a
man, first to assault, and then to bully me."
Taking out his handkerchief, Sir Tristram applied it to his brow.
"Am I mad, or you? Are you utterly impervious to any sort of reason?"
"Not more than you are. I have yet to learn that, because you are Lord
Chancellor, you cannot be made to answer for your crimes, exactly like
any other criminal. Forgive my husband, forgive me, whose only crime
has been that we love each other, and who have not offended in the
sight either of heaven or of earth, and I will forgive you, who have
offended in the sight of both. Decline to do so, and, unless there
is one law for the great and another for the small, in which case the
world shall hear of it, I promise that you shall learn, from personal
experience, what it means to go to gaol."
Sir Tristram looked about him, as if he wondered why the earth did not
open to swallow her. He seemed to gasp for breath.
"Miss Cullen, I beg that you will not suppose, that, under any
possible circumstances, I could listen, even for a single instant, to
what, to me, are your hideous insinuations. But one possible solution
I do see to the painful situation in which you stand. If the person
whom you have illicitly and improperly married--"
"Not improperly married, how dare you!"
[Illustration: "'HER BEHAVIOUR FILLED ME WITH PROFOUND AMAZEMENT.'"]
"In the eyes of the court, Miss Cullen, certainly, in the eyes of
the court. Hear me out. If this person should prove to be a fit and a
proper person, of good character, of due position, and so forth, then,
taking all the circumstances into consideration, I might be moved to
leniency. What is the person's name?"
"He is of the highest lineage."
"So far, so good."
"He is a gentleman of the noblest character."
"Still better."
"He would be showing honour to any lady in the land if he made of her
his wife."
"Hem! Precisely! I asked you for his name."
"Thomas Stanham."
"Thomas Stanham!" Sir Tristram's countenance went as black as a
thundercloud. "Thomas Stanham!" He turned to her with a look of fury
on his face which took even Miss Cullen by surprise. "That vagabond!"
"How dare you speak so of my husband, sir?"
"Your husband? Girl, you are a fool! You, the owner of prospective
millions, have thrown them, even before they are in your actual
possession, into the lap of that pitiful adventurer. You ask me to
show him leniency? I will be lenient to you at least. I will protect
you from him, in spite of yourself."
He spoke with a degree of dramatic intensity which threw a lurid light
upon the cause of his success in life. Miss Cullen was silenced after
all. She stood and watched him as he strode away, with a degree of
dignity in his bearing which seemed to have suddenly made him taller.
"Tommy must have wiped his eye!"
That was what she said to herself when she was alone.
"Well, old man, have you had it out with Triggs?"
Turning, Miss Cullen found that Mr. Stanham had approached from
behind. He stood in the doorway--as usual, with his hands in his
pockets.
"Yes, young man, I've had it out with Triggs."
Miss Cullen had a little flush on her cheeks, and an added light
in her eyes, which superfluities, it might be said, unjustifiably
heightened her attractions.
"Softened his adamantine breast?"
"Well, hardly. Not what you might call quite. In fact, I should say
that, if he remains in his present frame of mind, he will send you,
for a certainty, to something much worse than penal servitude for
life."
"Is that so? Very kind of you, I'm sure. I knew you'd make a mess of
it, my love."
"Wait till the play is over. There's always a muddle in the middle.
The third act has not begun."
III.
"Triggs, this is the deuce of a nice state of things!"
The latest ornament of the woolsack was seated in the privacy of his
own apartment prior to retiring to rest. But the cares of his position
had followed him there. He was working his way through a mass of
papers when his host appeared at the door.
"To what state of things does Your Grace refer?"
The Duke looked round as if to make sure that they had the room to
themselves. He seemed to be in a state of considerable agitation;
indeed, the abruptness of his entry had in itself suggested agitation.
"Of--of course you know that I--I'm a magistrate."
"Certainly I know it."
Something in the other's tone seemed to have a soothing influence upon
the Duke, possibly because it roused the spirit of mischief that
was in him. He sat in an armchair. Crossing his arms upon his chest,
stretching out his long legs in front of him, he regarded the toes of
his evening shoes.
"Triggs, I have had an application made to me for a warrant for your
arrest."
The Chancellor went a peony hue, as we have seen him do before.
"Your Grace is joking."
"I wish I were. I found it anything but a joke, and I am afraid that
you are not likely to find it one either."
Sir Tristram removed his glasses. He held them in his hand. His face
became hard and stern.
"May I ask Your Grace to be more explicit?"
The Duke turned. Placing one elbow upon the arm of his chair, he
looked at Sir Tristram as he leaned his chin upon his hand.
"Triggs, Miss Cullen has applied to me to issue a warrant against you
for assault."
"Surely such an application was irregular."
"I am not so sure of that, I am not so sure. Anyhow, I told her that
it was. The only result of which, so far as I can judge, will be that
she will make the application, in more regular form, either to me, or
to someone else, to-morrow. But that is not the point. Triggs, did you
do it?"
"Is it necessary that Your Grace should ask me?"
"You didn't kiss her?"
Sir Tristram took out his handkerchief. He actually gasped for breath.
It is to be feared that at that moment the representative of English
law almost told a lie. However, it was only almost; not quite. He
merely temporised.
"The whole affair is a pure absurdity."
"How do you mean? Is the charge unfounded?"
Sir Tristram drew his handkerchief across his brow.
"Supposing I did kiss her."
"Supposing! Triggs? Good heavens! I remember your leading for a
woman who brought exactly such a charge against a man. I remember
how clearly you pointed out how, under certain circumstances, such
an action might be, and was, an offence against good morals. Didn't
Pickum give the man six months?"
The lawyer's resemblance to a bull-dog became more and more
pronounced. He all but showed his teeth.
"I don't know, Duke, if you are enjoying a little amusement at my
expense."
The Duke sprang to his feet. His bearing evinced an accession of
dignity which, in its melodramatic suddenness, almost approached to
farce.
[Illustration: "AN AMAZING RESEMBLANCE TO A SMILE."]
"It is not my habit, Sir Tristram, to regard my magisterial duties as
offering much scope for amusement. Situated as I am--as you are--as
we all are--our party!--in the eyes of the nation, it seems to me that
this matter may easily become one of paramount importance. Of such
importance that I have come to you as a friend, to-night, to ask
you, if there is a chance of Miss Cullen's charge becoming so much as
whispered abroad, to seriously consider if it would not be advisable
for you to place your resignation in the hands of the Prime Minister
before your appointment to the Chancellorship is publicly announced."
Sir Tristram's jaw dropped open. His resemblance to a bull-dog
perceptibly decreased.
"Duke!"
"I am not certain, in coming to-night, that I have not allowed my
friendship for you to carry me too far. Still, I have come."
"Your Grace is more than sufficiently severe. If you will allow me to
exactly explain my position in this matter, I shall have no difficulty
in making that evident. I fear that Miss Cullen is a dangerous young
woman."
The Duke shrugged his shoulders.
"You, of all men, ought to know that, under certain circumstances,
women are dangerous--and even girls."
"Precisely. That is so. But, I think that, after I have made my
explanation, you will allow that Miss Cullen is an even unusually
dangerous example of a dangerous sex." He paused--perhaps for
reflection. When he continued, it was with a hang-dog air. "Some short
time since I did myself the honour of asking Miss Cullen to become my
wife. I fear that--eh--circumstances induced me to take her answer too
much for granted. So much so, indeed, that--eh--while I was waiting
for her answer, I--eh--I--eh--kissed her. I do not wish to lay stress
upon the accident that the kiss was but the merest shadow of a kiss.
But such, in fact, it was."
"In plain language, Triggs, you kissed her against her will."
"I had no idea that it was against her will, or I should certainly not
have done it. Her behaviour after--eh--my action, filled me with the
most profound amazement. She jumped up. She addressed me in language
which I can only describe as more pointed than elegant. And--eh--she
walked away, leaving me, I do assure Your Grace, dumbfounded."
"Well?"
The Duke's back was turned to Sir Tristram, possibly because there was
something on His Grace's face which bore an amazing resemblance to a
smile.
"Well, I heard nothing more of the matter. Indeed, I have heard and
seen nothing of the lady till I met her here to-day. This evening she
has alluded to the matter in a manner and in terms which filled
me with even more profound amazement than her behaviour on
the--eh--original occasion."
"But, man, didn't you apologise?"
"I apologised in terms of almost abject humility. But that did
not content her. I will be frank with Your Grace. She made me a
proposition which----"
The Duke waved his hands. He cut Sir Tristram short.
[Illustration: "SHE LOOKED CHARMING."]
"I have heard too much already. Triggs, I have allowed my friendship
for you to play havoc with my discretion, let me hear no more. My
advice to you is compromise, compromise, at almost any cost. You don't
want to have your career ruined by a girl, and for the mere shadow of
a kiss. To consider nothing else, think of the laughter there would
be. As you say, the young woman can be dangerous, and, if nothing
happens to change her purpose, you may take my word for it that she
means to be."
Before Sir Tristram could reply, the Duke was gone. The newly
appointed representative of the majesty of English law was left alone
with his papers and his reflections. These latter did not seem to
be pleasant ones. Words escaped his lips which we should not care to
print;--we fear they referred to that undutiful ward of his lordship's
court. Inwardly, and, for the matter of that, outwardly, he cursed her
with bell, book, and candle; certainly never was heard a more terrible
curse. And, so thoroughly did he enter into the spirit of the thing,
that he was still engaged in cursing her when the door opened, and in
front of him was Miss Cullen with the handle in her hand.
She looked charming, and by that we mean even more charming than
usual. She had changed her dress for a _peignoir_, or a dressing-gown,
or something of the kind. Beyond question Sir Tristram had no notion
what the thing was called. It suited her to perfection--few men had a
better eye for that sort of thing in a woman than he had. There is no
fathoming feminine duplicity, but no one ever _looked_ more surprised
than did that young woman then. She had thrown the door wide open and
rushed into the room, and half closed it again behind her before she
appeared to recognise in whose presence and where she really was.
"I--I thought--isn't this Mary Waller's room? Oh--h!"
As struck with panic she turned as if to flee. But Sir Tristram, who
was gifted, before all else, with presence of mind, interposed. He
rose from his chair.
"Miss Cullen, may I beg you for moment?"
"Sir! Sir Tristram Triggs!" Miss Cullen's air of dignity was perfect,
and so bewitching. "I had something which I wished to say to Lady Mary
Waller. There has been some misunderstanding as to which was her room.
I must ask you to accept an apology."
"Unlike you, Miss Cullen, I always accept an apology."
"Indeed. Then my experience in that respect has, I presume, been the
exception which proves the rule."
"May I ask when you apologised to me,--and for what?"
"This evening--," the lady looked down; her voice dropped; thrusting
the toe of her little shoe from under the hem of her skirt, she tapped
it against the floor--"for becoming a wife."
The grim man behind the table regarded her intently. Although he knew
that the minx was worsting him with his own weapons, she appealed
to, at any rate, one side of him so strongly, that he was unable to
prevent the corners of his mouth from wrinkling themselves into a
smile.
"May I ask, Mrs. Stanham----"
"Sir Tristram!" She threw out her arms towards him with a pretty
little gesture. "You have set my heart all beating! You have brought
the tears right to my eyes! You are the first person who has called me
by my married name."
[Illustration: "'THEN I'LL KISS YOU.'"]
He moved his hand with a little air of deprecation--as if the thing
were nothing.
"May I ask, Mrs. Stanham, if Mr. Thomas Stanham is related to the Duke
of Datchet?"
"Related?--Of course he is!--He's his favourite cousin."
"His _favourite_ cousin?" We doubt if she was justified in her use of
the adjective, but, the simple truth is, she _was_ a dangerous young
woman. "I see. The plot unfolds. May I ask, further, if this little
comedy was rehearsed in advance?"
"And in my turn, may I ask, Sir Tristram, what it is you mean?"
They looked at each other, eye to eye. They understood each other
pretty well by the time Sir Tristram's glance dropped down again to
the papers on his table. His tone became, as it were, judicial.
"Well, Mrs. Stanham, I have been considering the matter of which you
spoke to me this evening, and, having regard to the whole bearing of
the case, to the social position of Mr. Thomas Stanham, and so forth,
speaking, of course, _ex parte_, and without prejudice, I may say
that, as at present advised, if proper settlements are made,
the marriage might be one which would not meet with the active
disapprobation of the court."
Sir Tristram raised his eyes. The lady shook her head--very decidedly.
"That won't do."
"Won't do?--What do you mean?"
"What I say. I'm not going to have Tommy bothered about settlements.
I'm settlement enough for Tommy. What you have to do is to sit down
and to simply write this: 'My dear Mrs. Stanham,--Speaking as Lord
Chancellor, it gives me much pleasure in assuring you, as a ward of
the court, that your marriage with Mr. Thomas Stanham meets with my
entire and unreserved approval.--Yours faithfully, Tristram Triggs!'"
Sir Tristram glowered--he might! But she was undismayed. "You will
have to do it, sooner or later--you're a very clever man, and you know
you will!--so why not do it at once?"
He did it at once. Actually! Possibly because the whole affair
appealed keenly to his sense of humour,--one never knows! She read the
paper, folded it, and then she said--with such a pout! and with such
malice in her eyes!--
"Now you may kiss me again; if you like."
"I am obliged to you; but the costs in the suit have already been too
heavy."
"Then I'll kiss you!"
And she did--with some want of precision, just over the right eye.
Then she fled to the door. When she was half-way through it, she
turned, and waved towards him the hand which held the paper.
"You are my guardian, you know."
[Illustration: THE QUEEN'S BODYGUARD.]
SOME COSTLY PETS.
[Illustration: 1. Mr. S. Woodiwiss's short-haired English tabby,
"Champion Zenophon" (worth £100). 2. The Hon. Mrs. McLaren Morrison's
Persian, "Ameer" (worth £100). 3. Mrs. C. Hill's short-haired blue,
"Patrick Blue" (worth £50). 4. Madame Portier's long-haired blue,
"Blue Boy" (worth £100). 5. Mrs. L. G. Leverson's Siamese, "Rynda"
(worth £30). 6. Miss G. Willoughby's chinchilla long-haired, "Zaida"
(worth £160). 7. Miss G. Willoughby's Siamese, "Fulmer Banjo" (worth
£50). 8. Mrs. Herring's "Champion Jemmy," English silver tabby (worth
£100). 9. Hon. Mrs. McLaren Morrison's long-haired black, "Satan"
(worth £100).]
[Illustration: Music (BUGLE CALL SUMMONING THE COOKS TO GET THE MEN'S
GROG FOR THE DAY.)]
HOME LIFE ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR.
DESCRIBED BY ONE WHO HAS LIVED THERE.
To the majority of Englishmen the phrase "Life on board a Man-of-War"
calls up pictures of smart gun-drill, tactical exercises, and other
more or less irksome though necessary duties. Few people indeed have
any cognizance of the way in which our bluejackets live their daily
life and how they manage to amuse themselves in the spare time at
their disposal during the three years afloat, which is the usual
period of a seagoing ship's commission.
Jack is awakened at 5 a.m. in summer and 6 a.m. in winter by the
loud blare of a bugle under his hammock, and the hoarse voices of the
bosun's-mates shouting "Show a leg there. Arise and shine, 'rise and
shine. All ha- - - - - -nds lashupandstowhammocks." Having lashed his
bedding in his hammock in the regulation manner, by taking seven turns
round it with his hammock-lashing, he has his breakfast, for which
meal he is allowed half an hour.
He then works and drills more or less continuously until noon, with
the exception of 15 minutes' "stand easy" at 8 a.m., when he is
allowed to smoke, and to go down to his mess and eat and drink if he
feels so inclined.
At noon the ship's company is "piped to dinner."
Noon is the dinner hour of our navy right throughout the world, and
though things have greatly changed since the introduction of steam and
the torpedo, the navy still retains the "bosun's pipes" of the days of
Nelson. No sooner is the shrill pipe sounded than there is an excited
rush of men to the cook's "galley," whence arises a cloud of odorous
steam redolent of baked meats, vegetables, and baked and boiled
"duffs" (so dear to the naval heart of all ages), which are to feed
the 600 or 700 odd hungry men just released from work.
[Illustration: _Photo. R. Thiele & Co._
SERVING OUT JACK'S GROG (12.30).]
Men going on watch at noon--as the Marine sentries, for example--are
allowed to fetch their dinner at "seven bells" (11.30), and sometimes
ludicrous mistakes will arise through this privilege. The men take
turns to prepare the dinner, and the cook of the mess for the day
usually fetches his mess-mates' dinner from the "galley." On one
occasion which the writer recalls, the cook was at work on deck
when the bell struck seven, and could not get away. Several of his
mess-mates (he was a Marine Artillery man) having to go on watch at
noon, proceeded to the "galley" in quest of their dinner, and "fisted"
(seized) a savoury dish they imagined to be theirs, without first
examining the brass mess-number on the side thereof. The dinner was
divided and eaten, and the plates were being washed up, when a group
of excited bluejackets, having questioned every other mess in the
ship, made their way to No. 19 mess and hungrily demanded their
dinner.
[Illustration: _Photo. R. Thiele & Co._
TEETOTAL SAILORS RECEIVING CASH INSTEAD OF RUM.]
The Marines had taken the wrong one, but offered their own in
exchange. Search at the "galley" failed to produce the missing meal,
which was eventually discovered stowed away beneath a wash-tub under
the Marines' mess-table, uncooked. The absent-minded cook for the day,
who was much taken up with a song of his own composition, entitled
"A Barrack-room Dinner," which he was to sing at a forthcoming
entertainment, had, in his contemplation of the visionary meal he was
to sing of, forgotten to take the actual dinner to the galley, and
there it lay in the mess in all its uncooked glory.
After a somewhat heated discussion, the Marines appeased the
bluejackets by paying for a dinner of corned beef and pickles from the
canteen, and thought they had heard the last of the matter; but the
sailors had determined to pay the "Joeys" in their own coin, and did
so a few days later, when the ship's company, being at "collision
quarters," the Marines' messes were emptied of all their inmates. A
party of bluejackets was stationed with the diving apparatus on the
main-deck near the Marines' messes, and in the party were several who
had suffered the loss of their dinner. It was 4 p.m., and noticing a
large "plum-duff" on the table, evidently intended as a delicacy for
tea, they pounced on it to a man. When the Marines came down in hungry
expectation, behold! there was but an empty dish.
Dinner time lasts an hour and a quarter, and at "one bell" (12.30) the
bugle-call for grog--"Nancy Dawson," as it is nick-named--summons the
cooks to the grog tub.
The bugle-call, which is unknown even to army men, is given on the
previous page.
Each man above the age of eighteen is allowed half a pint of grog,
usually mixed in the proportion of one part of rum to three of
water, and hence familiarly termed "three water"; and the number of
half-pints due to each mess is served out to the cook of that mess
for the day. The cooks stand _à queue_ in the numerical order of their
messes, the mess whose turn it is to pump the grog-water for that
day (the messes take daily turns at so doing, petty officers' mess
excepted) standing first "on tally," and the grog is served out by
a petty officer and the Marine sergeant of the guard, under the
supervision of a warrant officer and the ship's steward, who, book in
hand, checks off the number of pints allotted to each cook.
The grog-tub is usually decorated with some loyal motto worked in
brass, a first favourite being "The Queen, God bless Her."
A large proportion of men, thanks to the praiseworthy exertions of
that true friend of Naval mankind, Miss Agnes Weston, are teetotalers;
and these men, together with the boys under 18, are allowed money
instead of rum at the rate of one penny one day and three farthings
the next alternately. This is paid them once a quarter (monthly in
harbour ships) by the paymaster in exactly the same manner in which
the entire ship's company receive their ordinary pay.
The dinner-hour, too, is a convenient time for the sale of dead or
"run" men's effects.
When a man has absented himself without leave for seven days he is
officially posted a deserter, and any clothes, uniform, &c., he may
have left behind him are sold by auction to the highest bidder, the
proceeds going to the Government.
[Illustration: _Photo. R. Thiele & Co._
AN AUCTION--SELLING A DESERTER'S CLOTHES.]
Jack Tar, like a great number of his social superiors, does not
believe in giving a paternal Government any more than he can
conveniently help; and many a great bargain does he pick up at these
sales. For instance, a white duck tunic, such as the master-at-arms
is holding up for inspection in our illustration, and which costs
Jack 4s. to 5s., will start at 3d. and slowly mount up to 6d. or 8d.,
beyond which sum the bidding seldom rises.
At 1.15 p.m., dinner being over, on ordinary week days the bugle
sounds "Clean Guns," and work recommences; but on Sundays and
Thursdays (known to the bluejacket as "Spun-yarn Sunday") the ship's
company are granted an afternoon of rest.
As soon as dinner time is over the bosun's mate pipes the sufficiently
obvious pipe "Hands make and mend clothes"; and, as Jack makes all
his own wearing apparel, he is not slow to take advantage of the time
allowed him.
In fine weather the men bring their machines on deck and smoke and
sew together. Every conceivable kind of needlework does Jack execute
equally well. And not only the rank and file, but the petty officers
also are glad to make their own clothes rather than buy them ready
made; and though Jack is generally a self-taught tailor, he turns out
far smarter work than the slop-shops. The difference is very obvious
if one compares a bluejacket wearing uniform "built" by his own
deft fingers, with one who is wearing a suit bought at some "Naval
Outfitter's."