CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER X.

Two great sources of attraction to young men existed in Calcutta at the time of which I am now writing (upwards of twenty-five years ago), and do still exist, for anything I know to the contrary, Tulloh’s and other auction-rooms, and the China bazaar. At the former almost daily sales took place of every kind of property from a ship to a penknife, a rabbit to an elephant; inthe latter, all the heterogeneous commodities of an American store were to be seen mingled pell-mell—raspberry jam, Milroy’s saddles, best pickles, regulation-swords, wall-shades, China dishes, hog-spears, Harvey’s sauce, &c.—of which, however, more anon. Catalogues of the various articles to be disposed of at the day’s sale at Tulloh’s are (or were) left daily at the houses in or near Calcutta, and made their appearance, regularly with the newspapers at the break-table, tempting to extravagance, by stimulating latent desires or creating fictitious wants.

In our commercial country and its dependencies, where Plutus is the deity chiefly adored, it seems proper and strictly in character that the pulpits connected with his worship, however remotely, should be ably and efficiently filled. Here, in England, we know this to be generally the case, and what lustre the eloquence of some of our leading auctioneers has shed on the profession; how truly, indeed, more than one of them merit the praise which Johnson, happily quoting from Horace, bestowed on the genius of Goldsmith:—“Nihil quod tetigit non ornavit.”

There was no lack of this shining talent, oratorical power, and technical tact, amongst the auctioneers of Calcutta, seasoned with humour, pathos, or persuasion, according to the occasion. How often have I heard the merits of a venerable steed proclaimed; his infirmities and defects (with a delicate regard to his presence) lightly touched upon, or at most so disposed, like the shades in a picture, as to heighten and improve the general effect! How frequently have I been pleasantly reminded of the good old maxim “de mortuis nil nisi bonum,” when listening to the commendations of a batch of dead and ullaged beer! And how often tempted to make an investment in a cheap “gross of green spectacles,” “a lot of damaged huckaback,” or the like, from a strong impression, fostered by the auctioneers persuasive eloquence, “that they might some day come into use,” a contingent probability largely insisted upon!

What a Herculean task it is to conjure money out of some people’s pockets! Consummate tact is requisite to effect this end. What a world of machinery must be put in motion before the movable crank, the owner’s hand, finds its way into that pecuniary receptacle! A bungler may fumble for a month and not find the motive spring, whilst an adept will touch it in a moment. Yes, I see no reason on earth why the auctioneers should not rank with the liberal professions. Does not the craft combine, in an eminent degree, many of the leading features of those professions, which (always considering the predominant turn of the national mind) unaccountably rank higher in public estimation—the special pleading of the lawyer, the eloquence of the senator, and the business-like airs of the merchant? Does not the auctioneer, like another Charles Martel—ay, and with the same weapon, too—knock down his lots with as much effect as the soldier does his? Does he not pronounce orations over the dead, as has been already shown, and display a beautiful morality in covering, as with the mantle of charity, a multitude of defects? Is not his “going, going, gone,” too, a brief and pithy sermon, touchingly calculated to remind us of our common mortality?

And in all these, are not the functions of a higher pulpit strikingly exercised? Ought he not to be a poet, painter, critic—in short, a man of taste and general information, or how is he to descant with effect on the merits of his multifarious wares? Should he not be a phrenologist, that he may suit his arguments to the several developments of his bidders; a physiognomist, that he may judge of the effect by the unerring index of the countenance, whether rallying, bantering, bullying, or wheedling, is the cue; and a casuist, that he may reconcile his mind to the various tricks of the trade? and, finally, should he not have a deep insight into human nature in general, and know well its various assailable points? “Shall I say, 1,000 rupees for you,sir, for that Arab? no animal can look better, well mounted, I assure you; he will suit your weight and figure to a nicety—was ridden by the Hon. Capt. Dangle, just gone home, a gentleman very much of your appearance, sir, and who lately, to borrow the language of our immortal bard, was wont on our course here ‘to witch the world with noble horsemanship,’ upon that very Arab. Sir—shall I take your bid?” A complaisant nod—the business is done. “Thank you, sir—1,000 rupees for the Arab—going, going, gone!”

One morning, Grundy and I breakfasted together in my room, which was within a few doors of his own, when one of the afore-mentioned catalogues found its way into our possession.

“Grundy,” said I, “whilst I despatch this fish and rice, as you appear to have done, do just read what there is for sale to-day at the auction. I have a feeling that I want something, though, hang me if I can exactly tell what it is.”

Grundy commenced, and read as follows:—“Lot 1st. Three fine alderney cows.”

“Deuce take the cows,” said I; “push on.”

“Three calves belonging to ditto.”

“Fire away.”

“Three Cape sheep, of the Doombah breed.”

“Doombah breed! that sounds well; egad, I think I must have a bid for the sheep—what comes next?”

“A noble French mastiff, two bull-dogs, two wire-haired Scotch terriers, and a greyhound bitch with pup, just imported by theFounderwell.”

“That’s the ticket,” I exclaimed, with eagerness; “I’ll have some of the dogs, if they go reasonably—that’s a settled point—for there’s rare hunting to be had, I hear, on the way up.”

Grundy ran down several columns more of live and dead stock; and there were many things, without which I found I could not comfortably exist for twenty-fourhours longer, though, I must confess, I had not thought of them before.

“By-the-bye,” drawled Grundy, “talking of dogs, there was a black fellow at my door just now with one for sale.”

“Was there?” I eagerly asked; “what sort of an animal, and what did the fellow want for it?”

“Why,” said my friend, “I think it was a sort of a terrier; but if you choose, I’ll get my servant to call the man; he can’t be very far off.”

“Do,” said I, “send for him.”

In a few moments, the arrival of the dog and man was duly announced, and both were admitted to my apartment. The vendor was one of those black, dirty, low-caste natives, generally attached to European corps, and denominated “cookboys.” Dress—a soldier’s old castoff coat, a dirty cloth round his loins, and a skull-cap on his head. As for the dog, he is not, perhaps, so easily described; he was reddish, stood high on the legs, and had a wild look; his tail and ears, however, were clipped in a veryvarmentsort of manner, evincing decided science in the operator; and his owner assured me, in broken English, that he was “berry high caste dog,” a thoroughbred terrier; his name Teazer, and a capital fellow to worry a cat or a jackal.

The creature did not certainly look altogether like the terriers I had been in the habit of seeing in England; but still, the state of the ears and tail, the name, and above all, the qualifications, were strongprimâ facieproofs that he was one. As for the points of difference, they might, I thought, have resulted from the influence of climate, which, as it alters the appearance of the European biped very considerably, might, I very logically inferred, have a similar effect on the quadrupeds imported, or their descendants, in the first or second generation at least. In short, I bought him for Rs. 10, and a great bargain I thought I had; tied him up to the leg of my cot, intending that he should form thenucleusof a future pack. I was, however, destined very shortly after to be put a good deal out of conceit of him.

A few days after I had made my purchase, Captain Marpeet dropped in, and took a seat on my cot as he was wont. Hearing the rattling of a chain underneath, he said,

“What the deuce have you got here, Gernon?”

“A dog,” said I; “a terrier I lately bought.”

“A terrier! eh? Let’s have a look at him.”

Teazer, on being summoned, came out from under the bed, gave himself a shake, and, on seeing Marpeet, who was strange to him, and rather an odd-looking fellow to boot, incontinently cocked up his nose and emitted a most lugubrious howl, one with which the Pariars[9]in India are wont to serenade “our chaste mistress, the moon.”

“Halloo,” said Marpeet, with a look of surprise, “where on earth did you get this beast? Why, he’s a regular terrierbunnow.”[10]

“A terrierbunnow,” said I, “what’s that?”

“Why,” rejoined the captain, “he’s a thorough Pariar docked and cropped to make him look like a terrier; it’s a common trick played upon griffs, and you’ve been taken in, that’s all. What did you give for him?”

“Why, ten rupees,” I replied; “and I thought I had him remarkably cheap.”

“Cheap!” said the captain, with infinite contempt; “he’s not worth five pice; kick him out! hang him!”

“Thank you,” said I; “but as I’ve bought him, I’ll keep him; he’ll help to make up a pack, and I don’t see why he should not act up to his assumed character, and hunt very well; you see he knows how to give tongue, at all events.”

“Ha! ha!” said Marpeet; “come, that’s not so bad; but he’s a brute, upon my life—a useless brute, kick him to the d—l.”

“No,” I rejoined, a little nettled to hear my dogabused after that fashion; “I tell you I’ll keep him; besides, I have no acquaintance in the quarter you mention, and should be sorry to send him where he would be likely to annoy you again.”

Here were symptoms of downright insubordination. The captain stared at me in astonishment, and emitted a long and elaborate “whew!”

“’Pon my honour, regular disrespect to your superior officer. Well, after that, I must have a glass of brandy-pawny.”

“So you shall,” said I, “with all my heart; but you really were a little too hard, and forgot the saying, ‘Love me, love my dog.’”

To return, however, from this little episode. Grundy and I, in pursuance of our determination to visit the auction, got into our palankeens, and soon found ourselves amidst the dust, noise, and motion of Tank Square, near which the auction, or outcry (as it is more usually termed in India) is held. A long covered place, something like a repository, filled with palankeens, carriages, horses, &c., for sale, had to be passed through before we reached the auction-room, where goods of all kinds were disposed of. This we found crammed with natives, low Europeans, black Portuguese, and others of the motley population of Calcutta, mingled with a few civilians, and a “pretty considerable” sprinkling of redcoats from Barrackpore or the fort, all more or less intent upon the bidding.

The auctioneer, a good-looking man and remarkably fluent, was mounted on his rostrum, and holding forth upon the merits of certain goods, which a native assistant, on a platform a little lower than the pulpit, was handing round for inspection. Grundy and I forced our way in, watching anxiously to see if any thing “in our way” was exhibiting. At last, the auctioneer took up a goodly-sized knife, with some dozen blades, &c. These he opened daintily and deliberately, and then, holding up the knife and turning it about, he said,

“Now here’s a pretty thing—a highly-finished article—a perfectmultum in parvo. Don’t all of you bid for this at once, gentlemen, if you please. Here’s a large blade, you see, to cut bread and cheese with, a small one to mend your pens, a corkscrew to open a bottle of Hodgson’s pale ale when you are out shooting, tweezers to pull the thorns out of your toes, pincers, file, gimlet—all complete. A most useful article that, and (with marked emphasis, and an eye towards Grundy and me, which made us exchange looks significant of purchase), one which no young sportsman should be without.”

That was sufficient; I was determined to have it, and after an eager bid or two, it was knocked down to me. I found afterwards, however, to my extreme surprise and dismay, I had unconsciously purchased a lot of three dozen of them, enough to set up a cutler’s stall in a small way. There was no help for it, however; I was obliged to take them all, though I determined in future to study well the catalogue before I ventured on a bid.

The dogs, I found, had attracted the particular notice of more sportsmen than myself. A young ensign from Barrackpore carried off the greyhound hitch for Rs. 200, a little more than a month’s pay. A writer in the buildings bought the French mastiff and the terrier, which went high, and I was obliged to content myself with one of the bull-dogs, a sinister-looking old fellow, with one eye, who went cheap, and would have been cheaper still, had not Grundy, whom I requested to secure it, bidden silently against me in the crowd several times before I had providentially discovered my opponent. Poor beast! he died three months after, on my way up, ofnostalgia, I rather think, and I gave him decent sepulture on a spit of sand in the Ganges.

From the auction we proceeded to the China bazaar.

“Grundy,” said I, as we went along, rathernonchalamment, “you need not say anything to Captain Marpeet, about my buying those knives.”

“What knives?” he asked.

“I have my reasons for it,” said I, “that’s enough.”

Grundy promised to be mum.

The China bazaar! What Bengalee, military man in particular, who does not know that attractive resort—that repository of temptations! What a host of pleasant recollections it is calculated to revive!

This place is situated at the back of Tank Square, and is enclosed by walls, and entered by gates, at several points. The shops are in long flat-roofed ranges, generally of (I believe) two stories, intersecting each other at right angles; a margin of terrace, a foot or two from the ground, runs along the front of the several shops or stores. Sheltered here and there by an eave or thatched projection, seated in chairs, cross-legged, and in other un-English attitudes, quite at their ease, and smoking their pipes, the baboos, or shopkeepers, may be seen, each opposite his emporium, into which they invite the numerous visitors to the bazaar to enter, assuring them they will find everything they may want “chip,” and of the first quality.

As Grundy and I sauntered down one of the streets, we were struck by the appearance of one of the native shopkeepers, who, with an air of courtier-like urbanity, invited us to enter his store. In stature, he was about six feet three or four, stout in proportion; a muslin chudder or toga was thrown over his shoulders, and a piece more round his waist, but slightly concealing his brawny form; altogether he was the finest-looking Bengalee I ever beheld; indeed, I thought it a pity such thews and sinews, so well calculated for the tug of war, should be lost in the inglorious inaction of the China bazaar. This worthy I afterwards learnt was that celebrated character “Jawing Jack,” well known amongst cadets for hiscopia verborumand dignified address. Nature and destiny had evidently been at cross-purposes in the management of Jack; the former had clearly intended him morally for what he was physically, a great man, but his stars had thwarted the design.

Jack rose from his chair as we drew near, overshadowing us striplings with his Patagonian bulk. I, for my part (being then what is vulgarly called a “lathy chap”), felt myself disagreeablysmallbeside him, doubly so he being a “black fellow,” and thought I was under the necessity of speaking pretty big, in order to make up for the deficiency, and to place myself more on a level with him. “Jawing Jack” had had large experience of griffs, and, though he treated us in a kind of patronising manner, he cautiously avoided anything that might lead to offence, and a consequent lowering of his own dignity.

There is a sly satire sometimes in the calm and imperturbable deportment of the Asiatic, when dealing with the rattling, blustering, overbearing European, which conveys a tacit censure well calculated to shame our boasted civilization. “Lately arrived from Europe, gentlemen, I suppose? Hope you are quite well? Will you please do me the honour to walk into my shop—shall be happy to supply anything re-qui-red, at very reasonable price. I have honour to be well known to all military gentlemen at Barrackpore, and sell best of European articles, and no ‘Niverpool[11]goods.’” Having rummaged “Jawing Jack’s” shop, and bought a few articles, we took our departure, promising at parting to honour him with our future custom.

The Bengalese have a wonderful deal of versatility and acuteness, certainly not naturally the mental power and energy of the European; but as they live temperately, and do not clog the intellectual wheels with beef and malt liquor, the mental machinery is generally in capital working order.

On returning to my quarters, I found a chupprassy, or messenger, with a note from General Capsicum, acknowledging the receipt of a letter I had sent him from his friend Sir Toby Tickle, and requesting mycompany to tiffin and dinner on the following day, at his house at Garden Reach.

A little before the appointed hour, I ordered a palankeen, and proceeded to the general’s residence, situated in a pleasant domain, some two or three miles from Calcutta. On arriving, I was shown up-stairs into the drawing room, which commanded a pleasant view of the Hoogly, with its moving scene of boats and shipping, and a distant peep of Fort William.

I was standing gazing on the prospect, admiring the boats under sail gliding from side to side, walking as it were the minuet of the waters, the shadows skimming over the river, and the milk-white villas on the opposite bank starting out from amidst the bright green of surrounding groves, when the rustle of a gown and a slight touch on the shoulder aroused me from my state of abstraction. It was the young widow of whom I have already made mention, “the softened image” of the rough old general, my Hibernian host.

“How do you do, Mr. Gernon?” said she, extending her hand with exceeding frankness and smiling cordiality; “I am so glad to see you again and not looking in any way the worse for your sojourn in Calcutta.” (Oh! that our English pride and sensitiveness, those adamantine trammels of caste, which strangle so many of our virtues, would let us have a little more of that single-hearted openness “which thinketh no evil”—it is so comfortable!) “Have you seen my father yet?” asked Mrs. Delaval, for that was her name.

I answered in the negative.

“Oh, then,” she continued, “he will be here immediately when he knows of your arrival, for he is anxious, I know, to see you; he is somewhere in the house, amusing himself with his violin. But pray, Mr. Gernon, be seated,” she continued, “and tell me how you like India, now that you have seen a little more of it.”

“I like it much,” I replied, “and never was happierin my life. I have got my commission, and as soon as posted to a regiment, am off to the Upper Provinces by water. I have some idea of applying for a particular corps, but have not yet decided on that point: they say you should not interfere with the operations of the Fates, but leave yourself to their direction. What, madam,” continued I, “would you advise me to do?”

“Oh! really,” said Mrs. Delaval, smiling at the idea of my asking her advice on such a point, “I fear I am incompetent to advise you, not knowing all the circumstances of your position; you ought, of course, to consider well before you act, and having so done, leave the result to Providence. I am, however,” said she, somewhat seriously, “a decided predestinarian, and believe that

‘There is a providence that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will.’”

‘There is a providence that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will.’”

‘There is a providence that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will.’”

‘There is a providence that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will.’”

“It is a puzzling subject,” said I, “and one that is rather beyond me; one if I remember rightly, that even bewildered the devils in Pandemonium. However, I think the safest maxim to hold by is, that ‘conduct is fate.’”

This was rather a philosophical opinion for a griffin, but one which I have always held, though young blood at that time and since has often capsized the philosopher.

“Well, Mr. Gernon,” continued she, “you have my best wishes for your happiness and success in life; all iscouleur de rosewith you now; may it ever so continue! Already,” said she, and the tear glistened, “the clouds of life are beginning to pass over me.”

As she said this, she crossed her fair white hands on her lap, and the widow’s eyes sadly dropped on her wedding ring, the little golden circlet type of eternal fidelity. I understood it, and was silent. Silence is preferable on such occasions, perhaps, to the commonplaces of condolence. We both continued mute forsome moments; she looking at her ring, I out of the window.

At length, I ventured to say,

“Dear madam, do not deem me impertinent, I pray; but cheer up; remember, as my Irish half-countryman beautifully expresses it, ‘every dark cloud has a silver lining,’ and there are doubtless many, many happy days yet in store for you.”

I should have premised, that Mrs. Delaval had lately lost her husband, a fine young fellow, who fell in the storm of a small Polygar fort on the coast, and Time had not yet brought that balm with which in due course he heals the wounds of the heart, unless the very deepest. I was certainly waxing tender, when the idea of Olivia, my poor abandoned Olivia, crossed my mind. “What would Mrs. Grundy say,” thought I, “if she knew of it?”

The widow gave her auburn locks a toss, made an effort at self-possession, smiled through her tears, and was herself again.

“By-the-bye, Mr. Gernon,” said she, “though but a recent acquaintance, I will assume the privilege of an old friend, and give you some little information whilst we are alone, which may be of some advantage to you in your intercourse with this family.”

I looked alarmed, not knowing what was forthcoming. She perceived what was passing in my mind.

“You need not think, Mr. Gernon,” and she smiled, “that you have come amongst giants or ogres, who are likely to form designs against your life and liberty. Nothing quite so bad as that—no. What I wished to say is, that my father is a man of warm and generous impulses, but violently passionate and eccentric; and I entreat you to be cautious in what you say before him, and do not press any subject if you find him evincing impatience. If he likes he may serve you; but if he takes a prejudice, he is exceedingly persecuting and bitter: a warm friend but an inexorable foe. Mrs.Capsicum, to much vulgarity adds all my father’s violence and irritability, with none of his redeeming qualities. You must be submissive, and prove yourself a ‘good listener,’ or you will have little chance of standing well with her.”

This was said with some little asperity of manner, plainly indicating that the step-mother was not more popular than step-mothers generally are.

“As for the others you will see here, you may safely be left to the guidance of your own judgment and discretion in your conduct towards them.”

I thanked Mrs. Delaval for her information, which, I saw, emanated from the purest feeling of womanly kindness, and promised to be on my guard, and endeavour to profit by it.

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