They must have seen him yesterday, if you didn’t.”
“Please, sir, I s’pose it’s ’cause this morning he was dressed
different, sir. Had a large hat pulled over his eyes, sir; and muffled
up in a long cloak, sir. Shouldn’t not have knowed him myself, sir, only
if it hadn’t not a-been for his nose, sir.”
“Stood treat, though? How?—did he treat the whole party?”
“Please, sir, I won’t tell you no lie, sir. Jest after the fellers
turned out in the morning, sir—jest as I was a-washing my face in this
’ere horse trough, sir—there come along a man with a couple of barrils,
sir; which the barrils was slung on a-top of a donkey, sir. So he took
and stopped the donkey close to that ’ere gateway, sir, which some of
the fellers was standing at it, sir. So they knowed at once it was wine,
sir—in course they did, by the look on it, sir—so they got a-bargaining
with him for a drink, sir. So, jest as they was a-bargaining come along
that ’ere Nosey, sir; which, as soon as he see the fellers a-talking to
the man what belonged to the donkey, sir, he looked very pleasant, and
stopped and spoke to him, sir. Then he spoke to the fellers, sir, and
told ’em they might drink as much as they pleased, sir; might drink it
all, if they liked, sir; and he’d stand it, sir.”
“Did he speak English, then?”
“Yes, he did, sir; sitch Hinglish as they speaks here, sir; not sitch as
you and I speaks, sir. I won’t tell you no lie, sir.”
The case was too clear. Hookey was still on our traces. Disappointed in
his two previous attempts to turn us from our route, he meant to keep
near us, watch his opportunity, and act accordingly. Making the men
drunk just when we were about to start on a dangerous part of the road,
was as unquestionably part of some more extensive plot as it was
palpably Hookey’s doing. I briefly stated the matter to Mr Chesterfield,
adding, “We shall see that fellow again to-day.”
“If he comes once more within the range of a firelock,” said Mr
Chesterfield, “we must not let him get off so easily.”
Meanwhile, the immediate question was a practical one: What course was
best, under existing circumstances? In spite of the state of the men, I
was still for proceeding.
“Very well,” said Mr Chesterfield; “then let the packing commence. We
will take all the infantry who are fit to march when the mules are
loaded, and go on with them and the cavalry. Such as are too bad must
remain behind, and come up afterwards with other parties, as they can.”
Mr Chesterfield then went to see after his own men; the mules arrived,
and the muleteers began loading. Jones stepped up to me: he had
apparently overheard our conversation.
“Please, sir, none of the fellers won’t not stay behind, sir.”
“How do you know?”
“’Cause, sir, when the mules is ready, they’ll be ready, sir.”
“Ready? How ready, if they ’re beastly drunk?”
“Please, sir, they won’t be beastly by that time, sir.”
“How can you tell that?”
“Please, sir, ’cause I knows they won’t, sir; ’cause it’s only that ’ere
wine, sir. Please, sir, that ’ere hasn’t not got no varchy in it, like
the sperrits has, sir. ’Cause, please, sir, when a feller gets drunk on
sperrits, sir, they makes him rale drunk, sir; but that ’ere wine only
jest makes him drunkish-like, sir; ’cause it’s only jest for a time,
sir, and then it goes off again, sir; ’cause there’s no good in it, sir,
if you drink a butt of it, sir. Hope no offence, sir.”
“Common country wine, was it?”
“Please, sir, it was new wine, sweetish-like, sir. That’s what did it,
sir. Sitch new wine gits into a feller’s headpiece at once, sir; makes
him silly drunk directly instant, sir; but then he soon gits sober agin,
sir. Consickvent, I considers the fellers will all be sober agin in an
hour or two, sir; and then they’ll be able to fall in, sir. ’Cause I
knowed it was new, sir; ’cause it sparkled like cider do when it’s
drawed frish from the barril, sir.”
Jones’s prognosis, though not very clearly expressed, was verified by
the result. Ere the loading was completed, all the men had become either
sober or nearly so. Even those who had been most affected fell in, and
mustered with the rest; and though our rank and file displayed some set
and gummy eyes, only two or three of the worst betrayed the disaster by
their gait. Hookey had thus outwitted himself. By dosing the men with
new wine, (which, as all persons acquainted with the wine countries are
well aware, flies at once to the head, even if taken moderately,) he
had, indeed, succeeded in making them drunk at once; but not in making
them drunk for a continuance. “Let alone it’s new,” said Jones, “it
isn’t no wine, sitch as the fellers gits, as would make ’em rale drunk;
nayther Spanish wine, nor yit Frinch wine, except it’s the jinny-wine.”
The men having somehow discovered that they were likely to be put on
their mettle during the day’s march, were all, in appearance, truly
sorry for what had occurred. They became aware, through Jones, of
Hookey’s real character; saw through his contrivance to make them all
drunk; and, feeling that they had been in a measure his dupes, were
savage at the artifice, and burned for an opportunity to retrieve their
character in the course of the day. Mr Chesterfield now returned: he
glanced at the men, and afterwards took an opportunity of speaking to
me.
“That fellow with the nose,” said he, “according to your account of him,
must be a dangerous character. Should not steps be taken for his
apprehension?”
“If you like, I will go to the Mairie, and make inquiries about him.”
“I fear,” said he, “you will not be very cordially seconded in that
quarter, judging, at least, from my own last night’s experience, when I
applied for billets. However, it can do no harm.”
“Well, then, the sooner I go the better. I will take with me the Spanish
Capataz. As soon as we have gone in, be so kind as to keep an eye on the
entrance. If Señor Roque puts his head out, send me three or four
dismounted dragoons. We must see if we can’t teach those fellows good
manners.”
I took with me Señor Roque, and explained to him, by the way, what I
wished him to do. If, after we entered the bureau of the Mairie, I gave
him a look, he was to go down to the door, and bring up the dragoons.
We entered; and, as at a previous interview the night before, found
three gentlemen busily employed in writing, each at his desk. The
interval had wrought no improvement in their manners. When I saluted
them, neither of the three took the least notice—all went on writing. I
addressed the head man of the party.
“I have the honour of waiting on you, Monsieur, for the purpose of
soliciting your co-operation.”—Still he writes. Wait awhile. Try again.
“I must soon be leaving this place, Monsieur, and have duties which will
occupy me in the interval. May I claim a moment’s attention?”—Scribble,
scribble, scribble.
One or two similar attempts were similarly met. I then gave friend Roque
the concerted look; and he, nothing loath, went off to fetch the
dragoons. Meanwhile, no seat having been offered me, I took one, and
remained quiet. The three official gentlemen, though so dreadfully busy,
just before, that they could not notice my application, now began
jabbering amongst themselves upon some indifferent topic, as if no one
else had been in the room. When a Frenchman really wishes to treat you
with insolence, I must say he has a neat, quiet way of doing it, which
no other people on earth can equal. An Englishman, I admit, can beat him
in vulgarity; but for _elegance_ of execution, there is no intentional
rudeness like the rudeness of a Frenchman.
Presently was heard on the stairs a stumping—ha!—a hoof-like tread!—the
tramp of heavy feet! With it ascended the clatter of accoutrements! Four
scabbards were mounting the stairs, each scabbard marking each step by a
bang! The three officials started—exchanged looks—wrote on in silence
with redoubled energy, while their faces twitched.
The door opened! Four big fellows entered the bureau, with clattering
accoutrements and resounding steps. Señor Roque, his face burnished with
exultation—for he hated the French—followed, and closed the door. The
bold dragoons ranged themselves in line, with their backs to the wall.
Nay, more: their four right hands, probably by a hint from the Capataz,
moved simultaneously towards their left sides; four enormous swords
leaped from their scabbards, flashed in the air, and slumbered on the
bearers’ shoulders. The writing was now intense.
The display of arms in such a place, though, might compromise us with
our own authorities. I made a sign, and the swords were sheathed.
Having so often spoken in vain, I was determined that the civic
dignities should speak first. I therefore quietly took out a cigar.
Quick as lightning, my friend the Capataz whipped out his smoking gear,
and went to work with flint, steel, and junk. At the first click, my
three polite entertainers almost jumped from their stools. The twinkle
of the jolly old Spaniard’s eye, as he handed me a light, was worth a
dollar any day. The four dragoons, much to their credit, maintained the
most perfect gravity throughout. I lit, and blew a cloud.
The panic of the three writers increased. They were evidently
telegraphing. At length the chief turned round on his seat, and, with
alarm and courtesy comically mingled in his visage, begged to be
informed in what way he could be of service to me.
“I interrupt you, Monsieur. Pray, finish the business you have in hand.”
“Monsieur, I have no business so cherished as to expedite yours.”
I then told my object—that there had been in the place a suspicious
_sujet_, whom I described. Should he again make his appearance, he must
be apprehended _tout-de-suite_, and kept in safe custody, till he was
surrendered to the normal authorities. “Messieurs, has he presented
himself here?”
Three voices answered simultaneously—“Yes”—“No”—“Yes.”
“Do you know anything of him?”
“He is an Englishman—a courier from Madrid.”—“He bears despatches to the
British headquarters.”—“Nothing whatever.”
“He is neither an Englishman nor a courier; consequently, he must be
provided with a passport. Has he presented it HERE?”
“Viewing him as attached to the British service, we did not consider it
our affair.”
“Where is he now?”
“He is not here.”—“He didn’t state his intended route.”—“He has left
this place.”
“By what route?”
“We don’t know.”—“He went, within the last hour, towards St Sever.”
“Is that an ascertained fact?”
“Yes, Monsieur, yes,” they all answered; “he is gone in the direction of
St Sever.”
“If, Messieurs, what you have now stated should prove correct, and if I
find that you have told me all you know, I trust I shall not feel it
necessary to report the matter to our commander-in-chief.”
These gentlemen, I felt, could have told me more, had they chosen; and
I, with time at my command, could have extracted more. But in our case
it was touch and go. We could not, with such a charge, stop to pursue
investigations. So I took my leave, deeming it, at any rate, something
to have ascertained that friend Hookey, in accordance with my
anticipations, though not in accordance with his own statements, had
preceded us by the route which we were so soon to follow.
The civic trio were as courteous at my departure as they were rude at my
entry. First stumped out the cavalry—who had really done the business;
then followed the old unctuous Capataz; and I, with a horizontal
tripartite bow, closed up the rear. Ere I had fairly quitted the room,
the three were all at work again, intently scribbling. The “dressing” of
a _procèsverbal_, with formal and full details of the whole transaction,
was probably their occupation for the rest of the morning. I was sorry
that we had compromised ourselves by the exhibition of cold steel. But,
under all the circumstances, I felt little apprehension, to borrow an
expression from Jones, of their “telling that ’ere to my Lord
Valentine.”
The mules were loaded, the men fell in; and, though some of them were
still a little the worse for the disaster of the morning, we were quite
in a condition to lick any Frenchmen that might come across us, and made
a very respectable march of it to the outskirts of the town. There we
were again joined by Pledget and Gingham; and shortly after, Fraser, by
Mr Chesterfield’s direction, made the infantry load, and saw that each
had a supply of cartridges—a process which caused the muleteers to look
a little queer. We then proceeded on our march.
Passing through an open country, Mr Pledget and Mr Chesterfield rode on
side by side in conversation, at the head of the line; while Gingham and
I followed close, in similar guise. Suddenly was heard, in the rear, the
crack of a musket! A ball whistled close over our heads, and struck the
road, a few yards before us. Mr Chesterfield immediately called a halt
of the whole party; and he and I proceeded to the rear. As we were
riding back, Corporal Fraser came running forward to meet us, and soon
explained. Our Yorkshire lad, it appeared, had been larking with another
soldier, one of those whose early sobriety the wine had most disturbed,
and had got him into a scrape. The result was, that the musket of the
half-tipsy soldier had gone off, and had so nearly done execution
amongst us in front. It was evident our infantry were not yet in a state
to be trusted with loaded arms; it wouldn’t do. Mr Chesterfield gave
directions at once, that they should all draw their charges. And as our
route for some distance appeared perfectly level and open, so as to
afford no cover for a sudden attack, (it was that sort of country so
common in France, cultivated to the road-side, but totally bare of
hedges, copse, or trees,) it was settled that they should not load again
till circumstances rendered it necessary. The man whose musket had
caused the alarm looked stupid and bewildered—could give no explanation,
but that “it went off.” I observed, however, that Mr Chesterfield
quietly spoke a few words to the Yorkshireman. What they were, I did not
hear; but they certainly had the effect of making that worthy a
better-behaved, though not a merrier man, during the rest of our march.
CHAPTER XVI.
Finding no foe to fight withal, we began to suspect that Mr
Chesterfield, as a new-comer, had been hoaxed, in our last
halting-place, by some military wag; and Gingham and I fell into a long
conversation, which he commenced by reminding me of our arrangement to
campaign together, entered into a year before, at Falmouth. All
obstacles, he said, were removed; he hoped, therefore, the plan would
now be carried out. To this I readily consented; the advantages, indeed,
were all on my side. Gingham then, in his own way, introduced a
discussion respecting his plans and mine. Be it however premised, we had
dined together the night before; and I had shown him some methods—more
expeditious than those in common use, which were the only ones he
knew—of reducing one denomination of coin to another: _e. g._, dollars
to pounds sterling, pounds sterling to francs, &c. He expressed, as
before, his high gratification; and begged my MS. calculations “in the
strictest confidence,” depositing them in the recesses of his
writing-desk. He now, as we were riding along, commenced an important,
and, on his part, highly diplomatic conference, by a friendly
examination as to the nature of my official duties at Lisbon. I
described them, as I have described them to the reader a few chapters
back.
“Then, in fact,” said Gingham, “your last year has been employed to as
good purpose as it could have been in any London counting-house.” (That
was Gingham’s standard.) “You have had the keeping of a distinct
account, and that in all its parts, from the items to the account
current. Of course, it occupied your whole time.”
“Not the whole,” said I. “There was some to spare, for which I had other
employment.”
“Indeed!” said Gingham, with interest. “Will you, Mr Y—, as a particular
favour, permit me—confidentially of course—to make an inquiry?”
“Make any inquiry you like: I shall feel pleasure in answering it.”
“Would you, then,” said Gingham, “have the kindness to inform me—that
is, unless you feel it a violation of official confidence—what were your
other duties?”
“No violation whatever. I kept the letter-books; managed the
correspondence: not the whole correspondence of the department, but that
of the branch I belonged to—the account office.”
“Your duty, then,” said he, “was to arrange and enter all letters
received, and to keep copies of all letters sent?”
“Sometimes to copy, sometimes to make the draughts. A man soon gets into
the way, you know.”
“One entire account,” said Gingham, speaking to himself, “and one whole
branch of correspondence! What an excellent introduction!”
Not understanding in what sense he used the word “introduction,” I made
no reply.
“Of course,” he proceeded, “the correspondence was in English?”
“Almost exclusively. I should scarcely feel equal to any other, except
perhaps Portuguese.”
“Might I not,” said Gingham, “add Spanish and French?”
“Well, if I get a little polishing, perhaps you might. Italian I hope to
be able to add ere long; and, in due time, German.”
Gingham now turned half round in his saddle, and addressed me with great
gravity. “Mr Y—, my dear sir, I venture, as a friend, to offer one
suggestion. If a person, not older than yourself, applied for an
engagement in the corresponding line, I would say to him—that is, in the
strictest confidence, speaking as a friend—‘Say only three languages;
wouldn’t advise you to say more.’ The principal, however unjustly, might
suspect—excuse me, I speak candidly—might suspect a little romancing. In
short, if a person under eight-and-twenty or thirty said five languages,
it might prevent an engagement.”
Gingham, I should observe, talked just as he always did. There was still
the touch of mannerism, the quiet earnestness blended with courtesy. I
never viewed any man with more unfeigned respect and esteem; and yet
there were moments, in the course of our present conversation, when I
could scarcely refrain from laughing in his face. True, I was one year
farther removed from boyhood than when our acquaintance commenced; and
more than one incident had taught me, in the interval, the necessity of
respecting “time, place, and circumstances.” But the trial was great; a
gravity that even Liston could not shake, would have been shaken by
Gingham. Still there was his comical solemnity. Still there was his
politeness, touched off with formality. Still there were his green
barnacles, and his two little winky-pinky eyes. Still, still there was
his irresistible nose. Stand everything else, I would defy you to stand
that. Great, please to observe, was the difference between Gingham’s
nose and Hookey’s, though both arrested the beholder. When Hookey and
Gingham met on board the packet, each observed of the other that he had
a very odd nose. The first meeting of the two noses, and the look
exchanged by the two wearers, beat anything in Molière—so much more
comical is nature than fancy. Hookey’s, unquestionably the most marked
feature of a very marked countenance, did nevertheless so far maintain
the unities, that it perfectly harmonised with the rest of his
physiognomy. It was an eagle’s beak, and his whole face was aquiline.
Gingham’s, on the contrary, was conspicuous by contrast. It had no
appearance of belonging to his face. You might fancy him one of the
triumphs of Talicotius—a man (on which subject see Lavater) with a false
nose. Neither broad nor massive, yet prominent and conspicuous, it was
slightly crooked, flattened on one side; as if, when a baby, he had
slept too much on his right cheek, and his nose, from its thinness, had
got bent towards his left. This nose, I say, from its peculiar
expression, or rather want of expression, appeared no part or parcel of
the face in which it stood. And, what was unfortunate, its extraneous
appearance was most marked when Gingham was most in earnest; so that it
provoked you to laugh just at the time when a man is least disposed to
be laughed at.
Well, Gingham having thus accomplished his first object, by ascertaining
all that he wished to ascertain concerning myself, now went on, in the
second place, to develop his own plans.
“You are, I believe,” said he, “to a certain extent aware of the scheme
which brought me out from England. By the public prints, and still more
by my private correspondence, I am now led to conclude that Napoleon’s
day is near its close, and that the war will soon be terminated. In that
event, my plan falls to the ground. But should we carry on the war here
another twelvemonth, I shall have time to try it; and, if we go on
permanently, I mean to carry it out.”
“I have some general idea of your plan, and that is all. You wish to
meet the monetary difficulties connected with the operations of our
army, by a method which you have concocted; and which you intend to
start, for self and friends, as a private speculation. Don’t see how you
can make a beginning: where’s the opening?”
“An opening is afforded by the necessity of the case,” replied he;
“which necessity my plan will meet.”
“Don’t see how. Look here; the difficulty is just this: Here are certain
headquarters transactions, which require ready money; and that ready
money must be current coin. Credit will not do; bank notes will not
answer the purpose; no, nor yet bills, nor any kind of available
security. It must be specie, minted gold and silver, hard cash. For
example, the troops have hitherto been usually paid in dollars. When we
have got dollars in the military chest, the troops can be paid; when our
dollars are gone, they must wait till we get more. And though we had
power to draw at will on the British treasury, for three months’ pay to
the whole army, not a stiver can the army receive till we have more
dollars.”
“That’s just it,” said Gingham; “and I beg to ask, is such a state of
things desirable? The efficiency of our army depends, not on the
solvency of our Government, but upon the activity of money-dealers in
raking up specie in the four quarters of the globe. That is the state of
things which my plan proposes to remedy.”
“Do that, and you will effect a great object. The mode, though, is quite
beyond me.”
“I mean to do it, sir,” said Gingham, almost sternly, (for the little
man, as he sat on his splendid horse, swelled with the grandeur of his
conceptions)—“I mean to do it, sir, by a twofold method: not by two
independent methods, operating simultaneously; but by the united
operation of two systems combined in one.” His eyes looked full in mine;
but his nose pointed at Pledget, who was riding before. I didn’t
laugh—in face at least I didn’t—though suddenly seized with a dreadful
twitching of the intercostal muscles. “I shall effect my object, sir,
partly by paper, partly by hard cash. I shall issue notes payable at
sight; and I shall get all the dollars I can into my own keeping. You,
when you want dollars to pay the troops, come to me. I, on receiving
what I deem an equivalent, let you have them. What will be the result?
Instead of requiring a fresh supply of dollars from the coast every time
you give the soldiers their pay, you will pay them with the same dollars
twice over, nay, over and over again.”
“Why, that’s a bank! You will be banker to the British army!”
“Exactly,” said Gingham, subsiding all at once into his ordinary style
of speech: “I mean to establish a headquarters bank. Suggest a title.”
“Suppose,” said I, “as of course you will move with the army, you borrow
a suggestion from the military hospitals of the French, and call it “The
Ambulatory Bank.” No, that title doesn’t go well. Let me see. A good
title requires time and consideration.”
“To be candid, sir,” said Gingham, “you need not trouble yourself: the
title is already decided. I won’t tell it, I’ll show it you. Have the
kindness to draw up by the road-side.”
We halted, the convoy passed, the cart came on in the rear, and was
stopped by Gingham. He then dismounted, gave the bridle to Coosey,
stepped up into the cart, opened the tarpaulin at its back, raised a
lid, and exhibited a green baize frame fitting into the top of a box,
which frame contained a large and splendid brass plate.