OUT of a window of the Weissen Ross, at Coblentz, looking upon the rapid
Rhine, over whose circling eddies a rich sunset shed a golden tint, two
young Englishmen lounged and smoked their cigars; rarely speaking, and,
to all seeming, wearing that air of boredom which, strangely enough,
would appear peculiar to a very enjoyable time of life. They
were acquaintances of only a few days. They had met on an Antwerp
steamer--rejoined each other in a picture-gallery--chanced to be side
by side at a table d’hôte at Brussels, and, at last, drifted into one of
those intimacies which, to very young men, represents friendship. They
agreed they would travel together, all the more readily that neither
cared very much in what direction. “As for me,” said Calvert, “it
doesn’t much signify where I pass the interval; but, in October, I must
return to India and join my regiment.”
“And I,” said Loyd, “about the same time must be in England. I have just
been called to the bar.”
“Slow work that must be, I take it.”
“Do you like soldiering?” asked Loyd, in a low quiet voice.
“Hate it! abhor it! It’s all very well when you join first You are so
glad to be free of Woolwich or Sandhurst, or wherever it is. You are
eager to be treated like a man, and so full of Cox and Greenwood, and
the army tailor, and your camp furniture, and then comes the dépôt and
the mess. One’s first three months at mess seemed to be the cream of
existence.”
“Is it really so jolly? Are the fellows good talkers?”
“About the worst in the universe; but to a young hand, they are
enchantment All their discourse is of something to be enjoyed. It is
that foot-race, that game of billiards, that match at cricket, that
stunning fine girl to ride out with, those excellent cigars Watkins is
sending us; and so on. All is action, and very pleasant action too. Then
duty, though it’s the habit to revile and curse it, duty is associated
with a sense of manhood; a sort of goosestep chivalry to be sure, but
still chivalry. One likes to see the sergeant with his orderly book, and
to read, ‘Ensign Calvert for the main guard.’”
“And how long does all this last?”
“I gave it three months, some have been able to prolong it to six. Much
depends upon where the dépôt is, and what sort of corps you’re in.”
“Now for the reaction! Tell me of that.”
“I cannot; it’s too dreadful. It’s a general detestation of all
things military, from the Horse Guards to the mess waiter. You hate
drill--parade--inspection--the adjutant--the wine committee--the
paymaster--the field-officer of the day--and the major’s wife. You are
chafed about everything--you want leave, you want to exchange, you
want to be with the dépôt, you want to go to Corfu, and you are sent to
Canada. Your brother officers are the slowest fellows in the service;
you are quizzed about them at the mess of the Nine Hundred and
Ninth--“Yours” neither give balls nor private theatricals. You wish you
were in the Cape Coast Fencibles--in fact, you feel that destiny has
placed you in the exact position you are least fitted for.”
“So far as I can see, however, all the faults are in yourself.”
“Not altogether. If you have plenty of money, your soldier life is
simply a barrier to the enjoyment of it. You are chained to one spot,
to one set of associates, and to one mode of existence. If you’re
poor, it’s fifty times worse, and all your time is spent in making
five-and-sixpence a day equal to a guinea.”
Loyd made no answer, but smoked on.
“I know,” resumed the other, “that this is not what many will tell you,
or what, perhaps, would suggest itself to your own mind from a chance
intercourse with us. To the civilian the mess is not without a certain
attraction, and there is, I own, something very taking in the aspect of
that little democracy where the fair-cheeked boy is on an equality
with the old bronzed soldier, and the freshness of Rugby or Eton is
confronted with the stern experiences of the veteran campaigner; but
this wears off very soon, and it is a day to be marked with white chalk
when one can escape his mess dinner, with all its good cookery, good
wine, and good attendance, and eat a mutton-chop at the Green Man with
Simpkins, just because Simpkins wears a black coat, lives down in the
country, and never was in a Gazette in his life. And now for _your_ side
of the medal--what is it like?”
“Nothing very gorgeous or brilliant, I assure you,” said Loyd, gently;
for he spoke with a low quiet tone, and had a student-like submissive
manner, in strong contrast to the other’s easy and assured air. “With
great abilities, great industry, and great connexion, the career is
a splendid one, and the rewards the highest. But between such golden
fortunes and mine there is a whole realm of space. However, with time
and hard work, and ordinary luck, I don’t despair of securing a fair
livelihood.”
“After--say--thirty years, eh?”
“Perhaps so.”
“By the time that I drop out of the army a retired lieutenant-colonel,
with three hundred a year, you’ll be in fair practice at Westminster,
with, let us take it, fifteen hundred, or two thousand--perhaps five.”
“I shall be quite satisfied if I confirm the prediction in the middle of
it.”
“Ah,” continued the soldier. “There’s only one road to success--to
marry a charming girl with money. Ashley of ours, who has done the thing
himself, says that you can get money--any man can, if he will; that,
in fact, if you will only take a little trouble you may have all the
attractions you seek for in a wife, plus fortune.”
“Pleasant theory, but still not unlikely to involve a self-deception,
since, even without knowing it, a man may be far more interested by the
pecuniary circumstance.”
“Don’t begin with it; first fall in love--I mean to yourself, without
betraying it--and then look after the settlement. If it be beneath your
expectation, trip your anchor, and get out of the reach of fire.”
“And you may pass your best years in that unprofitable fashion, not to
say what you may find yourself become in the meanwhile.” The soldier
looked at the other askance, and there was in his sidelong glance a sort
of irony that seemed to say, “Oh! you’re an enthusiast, are you?”
“There you have me, Loyd,” said he, hurriedly: “that is the weak point
of my whole system; but remember, after all, do what one will, he can’t
be as fresh at five-and-thirty as five-and-twenty--he will have added
ten years of distrusts, doubts, and dodges to his nature in spite of
himself.”
“If they must come in spite of himself, there is no help for it; but let
him at least not deliberately lay a plan to acquire them.”
“One thing is quite clear,” said the other, boldly: “the change will
come, whether we like it or not, and the wisest philosophy is to plan
our lives so that we may conform to the alterations time will make in
us. I don’t want to be dissatisfied with my condition at five-and-forty,
just for the sake of some caprice that I indulged in at five-and-twenty,
and if I find a very charming creature with an angelic temper, deep blue
eyes, the prettiest foot in Christendom, and a neat sum in Consols, I’ll
promise you there will soon be a step in the promotion of her Majesty’s
service, vice Lieutenant Harry Calvert, sold out.”
The reply of the other was lost in the hoarse noise of the steam which
now rushed from the escape-pipe of a vessel that had just arrived
beneath the window. She was bound for Mayence, but stopped to permit
some few passengers to land at that place. The scene exhibited all that
bustle and confusion so perplexing to the actors, but so amusing to
those who are mere spectators; for while some were eagerly pressing
forward to gain the gangway with their luggage, the massive machinery of
the bridge of boats was already in motion to open a space for the vessel
to move up the stream. The young Englishmen were both interested in
watching a very tall, thin old lady, whose efforts to gather together
the members of her party, her luggage, and her followers, seemed to have
overcome all the ordinary canons of politeness, for she pushed here
and drove there, totally regardless of the inconvenience she was
occasioning. She was followed by two young ladies, from whose courteous
gestures it could be inferred how deeply their companion’s insistence
pained them, and how ashamed they felt at their position.
“I am afraid she is English,” said Loyd.
“Can there be a doubt of it? Where did you ever see that reckless
indifference to all others, that selfish disregard of decency, save in a
certain class of our people? Look, she nearly pushed that fat man down,
the hatchway; and see, she will not show the steward her tickets, and
she will have her change. Poor girls! what misery and exposure all this
is for you!”
“But the steamer is beginning to move on. They will be carried off!
See, they are hauling at the gangway already.”
“She’s on it; she doesn’t care; she’s over now. Well done, old lady!
That back-hander was neatly given; and see, she has marshalled her
forces cleverly: sent the light division in front, and brings up the
rear herself with the luggage and the maids. Now, I call that as clever
a landing on an enemy’s shore as ever was done.”
“I must say I pity the girls, and they look as if they felt all the
mortification of their position. And yet, they’ll come to the same sort
of thing themselves one of these days, as naturally as one of us will to
wearing very easy boots and loose-fitting waistcoats.”
As he said this, the new arrivals had passed up from the landing-place,
and entered the hotel.
“Let us at least be merciful in our criticisms on foreigners, while we
exhibit to their eyes such national specimens as these!” said Calvert
“For my own-part, I believe, that from no one source have we as a people
derived so much of sneer and shame, as from that which includes within
it what is called the unprotected female.”
“What if we were to find out that they were Belgians, or Dutch, or
Americans? or better still, what if they should chance to be remarkably
good sort of English? I conclude we shall meet them at supper.”
“Yes, and there goes the bell for that gathering, which on the present
occasion will be a thin one. They’re all gone off to that fair at
Lahnech.” And so saying, Calvert drew nigh a glass, and made one of
those extempore toilets which young men with smart moustaches are
accustomed to perform before presenting themselves to strangers. Loyd
merely took his hat and walked to the door.
“There! that ought to be enough, surely, for all reasonable
captivation!” said he, laughingly.
“Perhaps you are right; besides, I suspect in the present case it is a
mere waste of ammunition;” and, with a self-approving smile, he nodded
to his image in the glass, and followed his friend.
One line at this place will serve to record that Calvert was very
good looking; blue-eyed, blond-whiskered, Saxon-looking withal; erect
carriage and stately air, which are always taken as favourable types
of our English blood. Perhaps a certain over-consciousness of these
personal advantages, perhaps a certain conviction of the success that
had attended these gifts, gave him what in slang phrase, is called a
“tigerish” air: but it was plain to see that he had acquired his ease of
manner in good company, and that his pretension was rather the stamp of
a class than of an individual.
Loyd was a pale, delicate-looking youth, with dark eyes set in the
deepest of orbits, that imparted sadness to features in themselves
sufficiently grave. He seemed what he was, an overworked student, a man
who had sacrificed health to toil, and was only aware of the bad bargain
when he felt unequal to continue the contest. His doctors had sent
him abroad for rest, for that “distraction” which as often sustain its
English as its French acceptance, and is only a source of worry and
anxiety where rest and peace are required. His means were of the
smallest--he was the only son of a country vicar, who was sorely pinched
to afford him a very narrow support--and who had to raise by a loan
the hundred pounds that were to give him this last chance of regaining
strength and vigour. If travel therefore had its pleasures, it had also
its pains for him. He felt, and very bitterly, the heavy load that his
present enjoyment was laying upon those he loved best in the world, and
this it was that, at his happiest moments, threw a gloom over an already
moody and depressed temperament.
The sad thought of those at home, whose privations were the price of
his pleasures, tracked him at every step; and pictures of that humble
fireside where sat his father and his mother, rose before him as he
gazed at the noble cathedral, or stood amazed before the greatest
triumphs of art. This sensitive feeling, preying upon one naturally
susceptible, certainly tended little to his recovery, and even at times
so overbore every other sentiment, that he regretted he had ever come
abroad. Scarcely a day passed that he did not hesitate whether he should
not turn his steps homeward to England.