CAPTAIN O'BLUNDERBUSS AGAIN.—ANOTHER
STRANGE VISITOR.
Sir Christopher Blunt was a man having many antipathies. Since his
rejection for Portsoken he had disliked all aldermen, individually and
collectively; and since his union with the present Lady Blunt, he had
conceived a violent aversion for all lady's-maids. He abominated Italian
organ-players, and hated mendicants. Many other dislikes had Sir
Christopher Blunt;—but of the whole batch, none was more settled, more
genuine, and more sincere than his antipathy for Irishmen generally, and
Captain O'Blunderbuss in particular.
His interview with Mr. Lykspittal had left complacent smiles upon his
countenance;—but these suddenly yielded to clouds of the darkest
description when the domestic announced the name of that dreadful and
dreaded man.
"Be the powers, and how is your wor-r-r-ship?" roared Captain
O'Blunderbuss, at the top of his stentorian voice, rattling the r most
awfully, as he strode towards the knight with outstretched hand: "tip us
your fin, my hearty—and allow me to congratulate ye on your appintment
to the Commission of the Pace!"
Thus speaking, the captain shook with such exceeding violence the member
which he metaphorically designated as a fin, that the wretched Sir
Christopher groaned aloud, while tears started into his eyes.
"Be Jasus! and it's proud I am to own ye as my frind, Sir Christopher!"
continued the gallant officer, not observing the pain which his proof of
extreme cordiality inflicted upon the worthy knight: then, throwing
himself into a chair, he exclaimed, "That rascal of a lacquey of your's
told me you was out; but I wasn't to be desayved in such a gross fashion
any how. So I just tould him my mind—"
"And what was that, captain?" asked the knight, in a half terrified—half
sulky tone.
"That he was an insolent blackguard, Sir Christopher," returned
O'Blunderbuss emphatically; "and be Jasus! I was just on the point of
taching him how to behave towards his superiors, when I saw the
gentleman who was last with ye coming out, and he tould me that your
wor-r-r-ship was at home."
"But I—I am very particularly engaged, captain," said the knight; "and
if you would excuse me now—another time I shall be happy—when you are
passing this way——"
"Be the holy poker! and there's no time like the prisint!" interrupted
the captain; "and as I want just to have a little cozie chat with you,
my dear frind, may be ye'll orther up the whiskey at once, and so save
us the throuble of talking dry-lipped."
"Really, Captain O'Blunderbuss," stammered the knight, "as a
gentleman—as a—ahem—a person being in the Commission of the Peace—I—must
protest against—this—this intrusion——"
"Inthrusion do ye call it?" vociferated the captain: then, after a few
moments' pause, during which he surveyed Sir Christopher in a most
ferocious manner, he suddenly assumed a milder demeanour, and, coolly
ringing the bell, said, "Be Jasus! I'll save ye the throuble of giving
any orthers at all, my frind."
"Captain O'Blunderbuss," cried Sir Christopher, plucking up a spirit, "I
will not be treated in this manner! One would think that I am not master
in my own house. I have already told you that I am very particularly
occupied with business—in consequence of my recent appointment to——"
"To the Commission of the Pace!" added the captain. "Well, my frind—and
we are going to dhrink success to the Commission and the Pace and all
the rist of it. My good fellow," he continued, addressing himself to the
footman who now entered the room, "bring up the whiskey and hot wather;
with the sugar and a lemon—d'ye hear?"
"Don't do any such thing," exclaimed Sir Christopher, now in a furious
passion. "Who are you, sir, that thus dares to give orders in the house
of—of an ex-sheriff and an actual magistrate?" demanded the knight, in a
stern and pompous tone, for the presence of the servant seemed to be a
kind of protection beneath the shield of which the old gentleman grew
every moment more valourous.
"Be the powers! and that same is soon answered," said the captain,
rising from his chair and drawing himself up to his full height. "Is it
myself that ye are afther enquiring about, Sir Christopher? Be Jasus,
then—it's Capthain O'Bluntherbuss, I am—of Bluntherbuss Park, Connemara;
and it's a pair of pisthols I've got for any man who dares to insulth
that same Capthain O'Bluntherbuss. So, if you're for war-r-r, Sir
Christopher-r-r," roared the gallant gentleman, "it shall be war-r-r;
and if ye're for pace, let it be pace—and potheen!"
The captain looked so very terrible—grew so awfully red in the
face—seemed to swell out so tremendously at the chest—and raised his
voice to such a thundering tone, as he enunciated his name and that of
his imaginary estate, that Sir Christopher's valour, like the courage of
Bob Acres, oozed rapidly away, and the servant drew back as near the
door as possible so as to be able to beat a retreat, in case of need,
without any assistance from the warlike Irishman's foot.
"Is it war-r-r, or pace?" demanded the captain, seeing that the enemy
was discomfited.
"Peace—peace, captain,—by all means," returned the knight, in a
tremulous voice. "You'll alarm Lady Blunt—and—and make the dear baby
cry—"
"It's pace—and potheen, sirrah," said the military gentleman, addressing
himself in a tone of stern determination to the domestic, who instantly
disappeared. "Now, my dear frind, ye're too impatient be half,"
continued the captain, resuming his chair and again speaking to the
knight: "you don't give me time to explain to ye the nature of my
business and the rayson of me calling; for sure and it was to tell ye
how plazed your nev-vy Misther Frank Curtis is to think that ye're put
in the Commission of the Pace—and how sorry he is to think that ye
should have lost any thing by that scounthrel Howard—and how plazed he
is to learn that your son and heir is flourishing just like a green
bay-leaf—and how sorry he is to think that your frind Torrens should
have got himself into such a tirrible pother—and how plazed he is to be
able to send ye back the thrifling amount of five hunthred pounds which
ye was kind enough to advance him t'other day—"
"Oh! he has done _that_, has he?" said Sir Christopher, rubbing his
hands, and evidently getting into a better humour. "Well, I am glad he
has fulfilled the little engagement, at all events; and I shall not
hesitate to receive it, because—because I am sure he would not have sent
it, if he couldn't have spared it."
"Your nev-vy, my dear sir, is a man of honour-r—like myself!" cried the
captain, striking his breast very hard, so that it gave forth a hollow,
rumbling sound, as if he had a small drum buttoned inside his
frock-coat. "But, be the powers! here's the potheen; and it's over the
glass that we'll settle the little business of the five hunthred
pounds."
The servant placed the tray upon the table, and withdrew. Sir
Christopher then, with the politeness of a man who is about to receive
the payment of money which he had never expected, did the honours in a
most affable manner, and only seemed contented when the captain, having
poured half a tumbler of scalding hot toddy down his throat, declared
that it was excellent!
"And now for the little business," resumed the gallant gentleman; and he
forthwith began to fumble in his pockets, producing various pieces of
paper, and discarding them one after the other as soon as he
consecutively glanced at their contents. "That's not it, be the powers!"
he said, laying down a piece of a play-bill;—"and that's not it, be the
holy poker!" he added, throwing aside an old account of his
washerwoman's: "nor yet that, be Jasus!" he continued, similarly
disposing of a tailor's bill. "Why—what the blazes could I have done
with the note?"
"Dear me, captain," observed Sir Christopher, in a tone of gentle
remonstrance, "it is very imprudent of you to carry notes about loose in
that way."
"So it is, my dear frind," returned the gallant gentleman; "but it's a
fashion I have, d'ye see—and it's hard to break one-self of habits of
the kind. Be the powers! and here it is at last!"
"All right—all right," said Sir Christopher, rubbing his hands.
"Ye can give me change out of a thousand pounds, can't ye, my dear
frind?" demanded the captain, crunching a bit of paper in his hand as he
spoke.
"Oh! I can write a cheque for the difference, you know," returned the
knight. "I presume it's a note for a thousand pounds?"
"Just so," responded the captain; "and as good as a Bank of England
note, be the powers—although 'tisn't quite payable at sight."
"Not payable at sight!" exclaimed Sir Christopher, in astonishment.
"Why—I never heard of the Bank of England issuing notes that weren't
payable on demand."
"Egad, nor I!" said Captain O'Blunderbuss. "But sure it isn't a Bank of
England note at all, at all: it's just my own acceptance——"
"Your acceptance!" groaned the knight, his countenance becoming suddenly
blank.
"Yes—be Jasus! and here it is, my dear frind," returned O'Blunderbuss,
thrusting the rumpled slip of paper into Sir Christopher's hand. "It's
as dacent a note for a promissory one as ever you'd wish to see, and as
good as any of the palthry flimsy stuff that the Bank of England ever
issued—or the Bank of Ould Ireland either: and that's not even saying
enough for it."
Sir Christopher—looking indeed like a knight of the rueful
countenance—turned the document over and over in his hands, having
glanced impatiently at its contents, which were drawn out in the usual
style of a bill of exchange, Captain O'Blunderbuss having accepted it in
favour of Frank Curtis, for the amount of One Thousand Pounds, and at
three months after date.
"Well, Sir Christopher, and what d'ye say to that, my old buck?" cried
the captain, apparently surprised that the knight had not already
expressed his admiration at the whole proceeding.
"What—what would you have me do with this?" asked Sir Christopher, in a
hesitating manner; for the fact is, he could not think well of it, and
he dared not speak ill of it.
"Is it what you should do with it?" vociferated the captain. "Arrah! and
be Jasus, man, pay yourself out of it and write me a cheque for the
balance."
"But, captain—I—I am no discounter," remonstrated the knight. "This
little slip of paper is no use to me."
"Why! sirrah, and just now you was prepared to pay me the difference if
it had been a Bank-note!" cried O'Blunderbuss. "D'ye suspict the thing,
my frind? For if you mane to infer that it isn't as good as a Bank-note,
it's a direct insult to myself; and, be the Lord Harry! it's me that'll
resint it."
With these words, the captain assumed a most menacing attitude; and Sir
Christopher was already in a dreadful fright lest he should be compelled
to submit to this new demand on the part of the extortioner, when the
footman entered to announce that a gentleman was waiting in the parlour
down stairs to speak to him upon very particular and urgent business.
"You must excuse me for a few minutes, Captain O'Blunderbuss," said the
knight, rising to quit the apartment.
"By all manes," cried that gentleman. "We can finish the little matther
prisintly; and during your absence I'll pay my respicts to the potheen."
Sir Christopher accordingly repaired to the ground-floor parlour, where
he beheld a venerable old man who rose from the sofa whereon he was
seated, to greet him.
The stranger's aspect was indeed most imposing and respectable. From
beneath a black silk skullcap flowed hair as white as silver; and his
form seemed bowed by the weight of years. He was dressed in a complete
suit of black, having knee-breeches, silk stockings, and shoes with
large silver buckles. He supported himself by means of a stick, and
appeared to walk with considerable difficulty.
"Pray be seated, sir," exclaimed the knight, already prepossessed in
favour of his venerable-looking visitor, who resumed his place on the
sofa in such a manner that the light of the lamp should not fall upon
his countenance, which however appeared to be very pale and drawn up
about the mouth with the wrinkles of age.
"Sir Christopher Blunt," said the old gentleman, in a tremulous voice,
"I have ventured to intrude myself upon you, for the purpose of
soliciting a very great favour. It is not of the ordinary nature of
boons—it involves nothing of a pecuniary kind; for, thank heaven! I am
placed far above the necessity of requiring such succour. Indeed, I may
say that I enjoy affluence."
"Be assured, my dear sir," returned the knight, whose respect for his
visitor was amazingly enhanced by this announcement,—"be assured that if
I can serve you in any way—compatible with my honour as a man, and with
my position as an individual in the Commission of the Peace——"
"It is just because you are a magistrate, Sir Christopher," interrupted
the old gentleman, his tone becoming slightly less tremulous as he
continued, "that I have now visited you. Not that any other magistrate
would have failed to answer my purpose; but I have heard so much in your
favour—the admirable manner in which you filled the office of
Sheriff—the becoming way in which you presented the address to his
present Majesty, when Prince Regent, and which was so very properly
rewarded by the honour of Knighthood—the dignified manner in which you
left the ungrateful livery-men of Portsoken to ruminate over their folly
in bestowing their votes on your unworthy rival in that grand
contest,—in a word, Sir Christopher, the whole tenour of your life, from
the period when you were poor and friendless until now that you are a
rich, esteemed, and influential member of society——"
"My dear sir—my dear sir," cried Sir Christopher, absolutely whimpering
for joy at hearing his praises thus chanted by a gentleman of so
venerable and saint-like an appearance; "I really must know you
better—I—I—am quite at a loss to express my thanks—my——"
"No thanks are required by one who proclaims the truth," said the
stranger, shaking his respectable old head in a solemn and imposing
manner. "You will yet be a great—a very great man, Sir Christopher; or
my experience, which is of four-score winters, is miserably—miserably
deceived."
"Do you really think so, my dear sir?" exclaimed Sir Christopher. "Well,
I suppose you know—or perhaps you may not—that I am a very stanch and
sincere friend to the Established Church—that I am entirely opposed to
Catholic Emancipation—that I have made the subject a profound study, and
have devoted——I wish to God Lykspittal was here to prompt me," he
muttered in an under-tone to himself.
"I was not exactly aware of all that, my good—my worthy Sir Christopher
Blunt," responded the old gentleman; "but I respect you all the more now
that I am acquainted with those facts. Indeed, I am proud and delighted
to have the honour of your acquaintance—an honour for which I have long
craved urgently. But let me return to the subject of my visit? I was
saying that you could render me a great—a very great favour, and at the
same time convince the world how zealous, how active, and how worthy a
magistrate you are."
"My dear sir, I shall be quite delighted to serve you," cried Sir
Christopher, catching also at the idea of serving himself by performing
some duty which would put him in such a comfortable and desirable light
before the world.
"The fact is, most estimable man," continued the stranger, his voice
again becoming very tremulous, as if with deep emotion, so that Sir
Christopher was positively affected in no ordinary degree, "two men,
stained with a dreadful crime, and now in a position which precludes the
possibility of their appearing before a magistrate, are anxious to
confess their enormity to some competent authority; and I have selected
you for the reasons which I mentioned just now."
"You have done me infinite honour, my dear sir," cried the knight. "I
presume that this confession will be published to the world——"
"Decidedly so," interrupted the venerable stranger; "and your name will
go forth as that of the zealous, trustworthy, and highly respectable
magistrate who was selected under such peculiar circumstances to receive
the confession."
"Really this is no favour which you ask of me, my venerable friend,"
exclaimed Sir Christopher, rejoiced at the lucky chance which thus gave
promise of publishing his name in so remarkable a manner. "I shall be
delighted to serve you in that or any other way. When do you require me
to visit these unhappy men?"
"Immediately—at once," answered the old gentleman. "My own carriage is
at the door; and we can proceed to the place of destination with a
privacy which the nature of the circumstances renders imperative."
Sir Christopher rose and signified his readiness to accompany his
venerable visitor, the joy which he experienced entirely obliterating in
his mind all remembrance of the fact that he had left Captain
O'Blunderbuss in his library.
Giving his arm to his new friend, who walked with considerable
difficulty, Sir Christopher led him into the hall, where the knight only
stopped for a moment to take down his hat from a peg. They then issued
forth together, and Sir Christopher assisted the old gentleman to ascend
the steps of the vehicle which was waiting. He then leapt in himself;
and the footman belonging to the carriage had just closed the door, when
Captain O'Blunderbuss rushed from the house, exclaiming, "Be the powers,
and this is the greatest insulth 'twas ever my misfortune to mate with
in all my life!"
"Oh! the dreadful man!" murmured the knight, throwing himself back in
the carriage in a state of despair.
"Sir Christopher-r-r!" cried the captain, thrusting his head in at the
carriage window: "Sir Christopher-r-r!" he repeated, with a terrible
rattling of the r: "is this the way ye mane for to trate a gintleman?
Now, be the holy poker! if ye don't come forth and finish the little
business——"
At this moment the captain was abruptly stopped short in a most
unexpected manner; for the old gentleman, growing impatient of the
delay, and perceiving that Sir Christopher was cruelly annoyed by the
presence of the Irishman, suddenly dealt so well applied and vigorous a
blow at the gallant officer, that his countenance disappeared in an
instant from the window, and he rolled back upon the pavement,
exclaiming, "Blood and thunther!" in a tone of mingled rage and
astonishment.
At the same moment the coachman whipped his horses, and the vehicle
rolled away with extraordinary rapidity; while a merry laugh burst from
the lips of the venerable old gentleman who had so successfully
discomfited the warlike captain.
As soon as Sir Christopher Blunt had recovered from the alarm and
excitement which the conduct of Captain O'Blunderbuss had caused him, he
was seized with a strange surprise, not altogether unaccompanied by
vague fear, at the sudden demonstration of vigour and strength made by
his companion. This feeling was enhanced by the youthful tones of the
merry laugh, which lasted long after the performance of the pleasant
feat; and the knight began to tremble with apprehension, when that same
mysterious companion hastily drew up the windows and the wooden blinds
of the carriage, the interior thus being thrown into a state of utter
darkness.
"My dear Sir Christopher Blunt," said a voice, now tremulous no more,
but still evidently disguised, "you will pardon me for having practised
upon you a slight deception, which would indeed have been sustained
until the end of the present adventure, had not the chastisement which I
was tempted to administer to that bullying fellow convinced you that I
cannot be an old gentleman of four-score. In all other respects no
duplicity was practised upon you; for I am a great admirer of your
character—the object I have in view is precisely the one I named to
you—and I selected you to receive the confessions of the two men,
because I knew no magistrate better qualified to answer the purpose in
every way."
A faint degree of irony marked the manner in which these last words were
uttered; but Sir Christopher Blunt observed it not—for he was now a prey
to oppressive fears and vague apprehensions.
"Do not alarm yourself, my dear sir," resumed the stranger: "I pledge
you my most solemn word of honour that no harm shall befall you.
Circumstances which I cannot disclose render it necessary to observe all
possible mystery in respect to the present transaction. To you the
results will be just as I ere now promised. You will receive and attest
the confession of two criminals; and in forty-eight hours the contents
of that confession, coupled with an account of how you became possessed
of it, will appear in every London newspaper. Thence the whole
transaction will be transferred to the provincial press; and in less
than a week, the name of Sir Christopher Blunt, Knight, and Justice of
the Peace, will be published and proclaimed throughout these islands."
"And you really mean me no harm?" said Sir Christopher, considerably
reassured as well as consoled by this intelligence.
"Give me your hand, my dear sir," exclaimed his companion. "There! And
now I swear that as there is a God above us, you hold the hand of
friendship in your's; and may that hand wither if I forfeit my word, or
do you harm."
"I believe you, sir—I believe you," said the knight, pressing the hand
which he held, with convulsive ardour. "But who are you that act thus
mysteriously? what is your name? where do you live? and whither are we
going?"
"Not one of those questions can I answer," was the reply; "and it is
expressly to prevent you from ascertaining the route which we are
pursuing that I have drawn up the wooden blinds. I must also inform you
that ere we alight at the place where you will have to receive the
confession of the two men, I must bind a handkerchief over your eyes, so
that you may obtain no clue to the point of our present destination.
Recollect, the event of this evening will give you an immense
popularity: you will become the hero of one of the most romantic—one of
the most extraordinary—one of the most unheard-of adventures that have
ever occurred, or will again occur in this metropolis. You will be
courted by all the rank, beauty, and fashion of the West End, to learn
the narrative from your own lips; and if you write a novel founded upon
the occurrence," added the stranger, again in a slight tone of
unperceived irony, "you will instantaneously become the most popular
author of the day."
"Upon my honour—my dear sir," said Sir Christopher, rubbing his hands,
"I am not altogether sorry that—that—ahem!—that you should have pitched
upon me to become the hero of this adventure: at the same time you must
confess that never was a hero placed in a position so well calculated to
alarm him."
"The character of a hero is not to be bought cheaply in the world,"
observed the knight's companion. "To become such a character, one must
necessarily pass through extraordinary circumstances; and extraordinary
circumstances are never without their degree of excitement."
"Very true, my dear sir—very true," said Sir Christopher. "But I don't
care how extraordinary the circumstances may be, so long as I run no
risk. It's the risk—the danger I care about; and I shall be very happy
indeed, if I can become a hero—as you are pleased to call it—without
undergoing any such peril."
"You shall become a hero, Sir Christopher, without having undergone the
slightest danger," returned his companion; "and that's even more than
can be said by people who go up in balloons or by men who put their
heads into lions' mouths in menageries."
"Upon my honour, your observations are most true—most just," exclaimed
the knight, now finding himself almost completely at his ease. "I
suppose that if I do get my friend Lykspittal to write me——I mean, if I
do write a novel founded on the occurrences of this night, you will have
no objection to my putting in all our present conversation?"
"Oh! not the least!" cried the stranger. "It is however a great pity
that the night is calm, serene, and beautiful."
"Why so?" enquired Sir Christopher, in a tone of profound astonishment.
"Simply because it would be such scope for a splendid opening, if there
were a fearful storm, with all the usual accessories of thunder and
lightning," observed the stranger, in a cool, quiet, but dry way. "Only
fancy, now, something like this:—'_It was on a dark and tempestuous
night—the wind blew in fitful gusts—the artillery of heaven roared
awfully—the gleaming shafts of electric fluid shot in eccentric motion
across the sky_;'——and so on."
"Upon my honour, that commencement would be truly grand!" cried the
knight, altogether enraptured by the turn which his companion had given
to the discourse. "And, after all, as it would be a novel, I might
easily begin with the storm. Let me see—I must recollect that sentence
which you composed so glibly. How did it run? Oh! I recollect:—'_It was
on a dark and tempestiferous night—the wind roared—the artillery blew in
fitting gusts—the streaming shafts of electricity shot across the
eccentric sky_.' Eh? that will do, I think," exclaimed Sir Christopher,
rubbing his hands joyously. "You see I have not got such a very bad
memory, my dear sir."
"Not at all," answered the stranger; "and I should certainly advise you,
Sir Christopher, not to lose sight of the novel. If you publish it by
subscription, you may put down my name for half a dozen copies."
"But I don't know your name," cried the knight. "And yet," he added,
after a moment's pause, "I suppose you must have one."
"I believe that I have," responded the stranger, in a tone suddenly
becoming solemn—even mournful; and it struck Sir Christopher that his
ear caught the sound of a half-stifled sigh.
But he had not many instants to reflect upon this occurrence—nor even to
continue the discourse upon the topic which had so much interested him;
for the carriage suddenly stopped, and his companion immediately said,
"Now Sir Christopher, you must permit me to blindfold you."
The operation was speedily completed; and the stranger led the knight
from the vehicle, into a house, the door of which immediately closed
behind them. Up a flight of stairs they then proceeded, and entered a
room, where the stranger desired Sir Christopher to remove the bandage.
As soon as this was done, and the knight had recovered his powers of
vision, he found himself in a well-furnished room, with the shutters
closed, the curtains drawn, and a lamp standing in the middle of a table
spread with wine and refreshments of a luxurious description.
His companion still retained the garb and disguise, but no longer
affected the decrepitude of old age; and, seating himself with his back
to the light, he invited Sir Christopher to take wine with him.
They then sate chatting for upwards of half an hour, when the sound of
several footsteps ascending the stairs fell upon their ears: the door
opened—and two men entered, leading between them a gentleman with a
bandage over his eyes.
The two men retired,—and the stranger desired the gentleman to remove
the bandage, adding, "Dr. Lascelles, you will pardon this apparent
outrage, the motives of which have doubtless been explained to you by my
dependants."
"I am led to believe that my presence is required to witness the
confession of two criminals," said the physician, affecting complete
ignorance alike of the mysterious master of the house and his affairs;
"and if no treachery be intended towards me, I do not feel inclined to
complain much of the treatment I have already received."
"I am delighted to hear you express yourself in these moderate terms,"
observed the prime mover of those widely ramified schemes which are now
occupying the reader's attention. "Allow me to introduce you to a
gentleman whose name is doubtless familiar to you—Sir Christopher
Blunt:" then, turning towards the knight, he added, "Sir Christopher,
this is Dr. Lascelles, the eminent physician."
"I think I have had the honour to meet Sir Christopher Blunt on a former
occasion—at Lady Hatfield's," said the doctor, offering the knight his
hand.
"It is therefore a strange coincidence which has thus brought you
together again under such circumstances as the present," observed the
stranger. "But you are both no doubt anxious to depart hence as speedily
as possible, and I will not detain you longer than is absolutely
necessary."
He then rang a bell; and in a few minutes four of his dependants entered
the room, leading in Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler, both strongly
bound with cords, and having handkerchiefs over their eyes. These
bandages were removed—the two villains cast rapid and searching glances
around them—the stranger ordered them to be seated and his dependants to
retire—and the business of that memorable night commenced.