Chapter Forty Five.An you like areadyknave, here is one of most approved convenience: he will cheat you moreover to your heart’s content. If you believe me not, try him.The Colony, 1635.TheAspasiacontinued her passage with light but favourable winds. As the ship made but little progress, Captain M— stood into Goa Bay, as he passed by that relic of former grandeur and prosperity—alas! like the people who raised it, how fallen from its “high estate.” The town still covers the same vast extent of ground; the churches still rear their heads above the other buildings in their beautiful proportions; the Palace of the Inquisition still lours upon you in its fanatical gloom and massive iron bars. But where is the wealth, the genius, the enterprise, the courage, and religious enthusiasm which raised these majestic piles? A scanty population, of mixed Hindoo and Portuguese blood, or of half-converted Indians, are the sole occupiers of this once splendid city of the East. Read the history of the Moors when in Spain, their chivalry, and their courage, their learning and advancement in the arts,—and now view their degraded posterity on the African coast. Reflect upon the energy and perseverance of the Spaniards, at the time when they drove out those conquerors of their country after a struggle of so many years—their subsequent discovery and possession of a western world—and behold them now. Turn to the Portuguese, who, setting an example of perseverance and activity to the nations of Europe, in vessels in which we should now think it almost insanity to make the attempt, forced their passage round the Stormy Cape, undeterred by disasters or by death, and grasped the empire of the East. What are they in the scale of nations now?How rapid these transitions! Two hundred years have scarcely rolled away—other nations, with the fabrics they have raised, have been precipitated to the dust; but they have departed, full of years, and men and things have run their race together. But here, the last in all their splendour, while the energies of the former have decayed, remain; and where have we a more melancholy picture of humanity, either in an individual or in a nation, than when we survey the body that has outlived the mind?Since the world began, history is but the narrative of kingdoms and states progressing to maturity or decay. Man himself is but an epitome of the nations of men. In youth, all energy; in prime of life, all enterprise and vigour; in senility, all weakness and second childhood. Then, England, learn thy fate from the unerring page of time. Sooner or later, it shall arrive that thou shalt be tributary to some nation, hitherto, I trust, unborn; and thy degenerate sons shall read that liberty was once the watchword of the isle, and yet not even feel a longing to be free.As theAspasialay nearly becalmed at the entrance of the harbour, a small boat, rowed by two men, pulled towards her, and the occupant of the stern-sheets, as he came alongside, stated, in bad English, that he brought “present for captain,” and was allowed to come up the side by the first-lieutenant, who was on deck. He was a native friar, and disgusting as the dress is, when worn by an European in a northern clime, it appeared still more so, enveloping a black under the torrid zone. He carried a little covered basket in his hand, and stated that he had been sent by the superior of the convent, which he pointed to, on the headland at the mouth of the harbour. The first-lieutenant went down into the cabin, and reported to the captain.“A present!” observed Captain M—; “I hope it is not a monkey. ‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.’”The first-lieutenant, who had forgotten his Latin, made no answer, but returned on deck, where he was shortly after followed by Captain M—.The sable votary of St. Francis made his bow, and opening the lid of his basket, pulled out a cabbage with a long stalk and four or five flagging leaves, but no heart to it. “Superior send present to Inglez capitown.” And having laid it carefully on the carronade slide, fumbled in his pocket for some time, and eventually produced a dirty sheet of paper, on which, written in execrable English, was a petition to assist the wants of the convent.“I expected as much,” observed Captain M—, smiling, as he ran over the ridiculous wording of the petition. “Desire the purser’s steward to get up a bag of biscuit, and put into the boat.”The bread was handed on the gangway, when the friar, observing it, went up to the captain, and said, “Superior like rum, sar; suppose you no rum, then like money.”“Perhaps he may,” replied Captain M—; “but it is against my rules to give the first, and if I recollect right, against those of your order to receive the second.”Finding that nothing more was to be obtained, the friar was about to depart, when, perceiving the cabbage lying unnoticed where he had deposited it, he observed—“Capitown, non quer cabbage—not want?”“Not particularly,” replied Captain M—, surveying it with rather a contemptuous smile.“Then take it ashore, plant it again—do for ’nother ship;” and he replaced the present in his basket, made his bow, and departed.Reader, cabbages are scarce articles in India. I have seen them at Pondicherry, growing in flower-pots, as curious exotics.Two days afterwards, theAspasiacame to an anchor at Bombay, and having saluted the admiral, Captain M— went on shore to pay his respects in person. The ship was soon crowded with a variety of people, who came off to solicit the washing, etcetera, of the officers. The gun-room officers had just finished their dinner, and the cloth had been removed, when our friend Billy Pitts entered, introducing a slim personage, attired in a robe of spotless white, with the dark turban peculiar to the Parsees, and bringing in his hand a small basket of fruit.“Massa Courtenay, here mulatta fellow want to speak to officers. Call himself Dubash—look in dictionary, and no such word in English language.”“It means a washerman, I suppose,” observed Price.“No, sir,” answered the man for himself, with a graceful bow, “not a washerman, but at same time get all your clothes washed. Dubash go to market, supply gentlemen with everything they want—run everywhere for them—bring off meat and fish, and everything else—everybody have dubash here—I dubash to all the ships come here—got very good certificate, sir,” continued the Parsee, drawing a thin book from his vest, and presenting it to Courtenay with a low bow.“Well, Mr Dubash, let us see what your character may be,” said Courtenay, opening the book.“Yes, sir, you please to read them, and I go speak to young gentlemen, before other dubash come on board; I bring gentlemen little fruit,” and laying the basket respectfully on the table, with another low salaam the man quitted the gun-room.Courtenay read for a minute, and then burst into a fit of laughter. “Very good certificates, indeed,” observed he, “only hear—“First.—This is to certify, that Hommajee Baba served the gun-room mess of his Majesty’s shipFlora, and cheated us most damnably.“Signed Peter Hicks, 1st Lieut.“Jonas Smith, Purser.“Second.—Hommajee Baba served me as dubash during my stay in this port. He is a useful fellow, but a great scoundrel. I gave him one half of his bill, and he was perfectly satisfied. I recommend others to do the same.“Signed Andrew Thompson, Company’s shipClio.“Third.—I perfectly agree with the above remarks; but as all the other dubashes are as great thieves, and not half so intelligent, I conscientiously recommend Hommajee Baba.“Signed Peter Phillips, Captain Honbl. Company’s cruiserVestal.“Fourth.—Of all the scoundrels that I ever had to deal with, in this most rascally quarter of a most knavish world, Hommajee Baba is the greatest. Never give him any money, as he will find it; but when you go away, pay him one-third of his bill, and you will still have paid him too much.“Signed Billy Helflame, Captain H.M.S.Spitfire.”About a dozen pages of the book were filled with certificates to the above effect, which the dubash, although he spoke English fluently, not being able to read, considered as he had been informed at the time, to be decidedly in his favour. They were so far valuable, that they put newcomers upon their guard, and prevented much extortion on the part of the said Hommajee.When the laughter had to a degree subsided, Billy Pitts was the first to exclaim—“Damn black villain—I think so, when he come to me; not like cut of um jib—”“‘Who steals my purse, steals trash,’” spouted Price.“’Cause you never have money, Mr Price,” cried Billy, interrupting him.“Silence, sir,—‘But he who filches from me my good name, robs me of that—of that—’”“Rob you of what, sar?”“Silence, sir,” again cried Price—“‘robs me of that—’ what is it?—that damned black thief has put it out of my head—”“I not the thief, sar—Massa Price, you always forget end of your story.”“I’ll make an end of you directly, sir, if you’re not off.”“No! don’t kill Billy,” observed Courtenay; “it’s bad enough to have murdered Shakespeare. Well, but now, it’s my opinion, that we ought to employ this fellow—and take the advice that has been given to us in this book.”Courtenay’s proposal was assented to, and on his return, Hommajee Baba was installed in office.The next morning, Seymour, Courtenay, and Macallan went on shore to meet an old acquaintance of the latter, who had called upon him on his arrival. By his advice they left the ship before the sun had risen, that they might be enabled to walk about, and view the town and its environs, without being incommoded by the heat. They reached the long plain close to the sea, upon which the admiral and many others, according to the custom of the English inhabitants, were residing in capacious tents; not such tents as have been seen in England, but impervious to the heat and rain, covering a large extent of ground, divided into several apartments, and furnished like any other residence. The broad expanse of ocean, which met their view, was unruffled, and the beach was lined with hundreds, standing on their carpets, spread upon the sand, with their faces turned toward the east. As the sun rose in splendour above the horizon, they all prostrated themselves in mute adoration, and continued in that position until his disk had cleared the water’s edge; they then rose, and throwing a few flowers into the rippling wave, folded up their carpets and departed.“Who are those people, and of what religion?” demanded Seymour.“They are Parsees, a remnant of the ancient Persians—the Guebres, or worshippers of fire. As you have witnessed, they also adore the sun. They came here long since to enjoy their tenets, free from persecution. They are the most intelligent race that we have. Many of them were princes in their own country, and are now men of unbounded wealth. They have their temples here, in which the sacred fire is never permitted to go out. If, by any chance or negligence, it should become extinct, it must be relighted from heaven alone. We have no lightning here, and they send to Calcutta, where there is plenty at the change of the monsoon, and bring it round with great ceremony.”“In other points, are their customs different from the Hindoos?”“Yes; their women are not so immured; you will meet plenty of them when you return to town. They are easily distinguished by their fair complexions, and the large thin gold rings, with three or four pearls strung upon them, worn in a hole perforated through the nostril, and hanging below their mouths.”“And what are those immense towers on the other side of the bay?”“They were built by the Parsees, as depositories for the dead; on the summit is a wide iron grating, upon which the bodies are laid, to be devoured by the birds of prey; when stripped, the bones fall through the iron bars into the receptacle below. They never bury their dead.—But breakfast must be ready, so we had better return. You have much to see here. The caves of Elephanta and Canara are well worthy of your attention—and I shall be happy to attend you, when you feel inclined to pay a visit to them.”They did not fail to profit by the offer, and before the week had passed away, they had witnessed those splendid monuments of superstition and idolatry. TheAspasiareceived her orders, and Hommajee Baba, being paid the due proportion of his bill, received his certificate from Courtenay, in the usual form, and so far from being affronted, requested the honour of being again employed in their services if ever they should return to Bombay.
An you like areadyknave, here is one of most approved convenience: he will cheat you moreover to your heart’s content. If you believe me not, try him.The Colony, 1635.
An you like areadyknave, here is one of most approved convenience: he will cheat you moreover to your heart’s content. If you believe me not, try him.
The Colony, 1635.
TheAspasiacontinued her passage with light but favourable winds. As the ship made but little progress, Captain M— stood into Goa Bay, as he passed by that relic of former grandeur and prosperity—alas! like the people who raised it, how fallen from its “high estate.” The town still covers the same vast extent of ground; the churches still rear their heads above the other buildings in their beautiful proportions; the Palace of the Inquisition still lours upon you in its fanatical gloom and massive iron bars. But where is the wealth, the genius, the enterprise, the courage, and religious enthusiasm which raised these majestic piles? A scanty population, of mixed Hindoo and Portuguese blood, or of half-converted Indians, are the sole occupiers of this once splendid city of the East. Read the history of the Moors when in Spain, their chivalry, and their courage, their learning and advancement in the arts,—and now view their degraded posterity on the African coast. Reflect upon the energy and perseverance of the Spaniards, at the time when they drove out those conquerors of their country after a struggle of so many years—their subsequent discovery and possession of a western world—and behold them now. Turn to the Portuguese, who, setting an example of perseverance and activity to the nations of Europe, in vessels in which we should now think it almost insanity to make the attempt, forced their passage round the Stormy Cape, undeterred by disasters or by death, and grasped the empire of the East. What are they in the scale of nations now?
How rapid these transitions! Two hundred years have scarcely rolled away—other nations, with the fabrics they have raised, have been precipitated to the dust; but they have departed, full of years, and men and things have run their race together. But here, the last in all their splendour, while the energies of the former have decayed, remain; and where have we a more melancholy picture of humanity, either in an individual or in a nation, than when we survey the body that has outlived the mind?
Since the world began, history is but the narrative of kingdoms and states progressing to maturity or decay. Man himself is but an epitome of the nations of men. In youth, all energy; in prime of life, all enterprise and vigour; in senility, all weakness and second childhood. Then, England, learn thy fate from the unerring page of time. Sooner or later, it shall arrive that thou shalt be tributary to some nation, hitherto, I trust, unborn; and thy degenerate sons shall read that liberty was once the watchword of the isle, and yet not even feel a longing to be free.
As theAspasialay nearly becalmed at the entrance of the harbour, a small boat, rowed by two men, pulled towards her, and the occupant of the stern-sheets, as he came alongside, stated, in bad English, that he brought “present for captain,” and was allowed to come up the side by the first-lieutenant, who was on deck. He was a native friar, and disgusting as the dress is, when worn by an European in a northern clime, it appeared still more so, enveloping a black under the torrid zone. He carried a little covered basket in his hand, and stated that he had been sent by the superior of the convent, which he pointed to, on the headland at the mouth of the harbour. The first-lieutenant went down into the cabin, and reported to the captain.
“A present!” observed Captain M—; “I hope it is not a monkey. ‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.’”
The first-lieutenant, who had forgotten his Latin, made no answer, but returned on deck, where he was shortly after followed by Captain M—.
The sable votary of St. Francis made his bow, and opening the lid of his basket, pulled out a cabbage with a long stalk and four or five flagging leaves, but no heart to it. “Superior send present to Inglez capitown.” And having laid it carefully on the carronade slide, fumbled in his pocket for some time, and eventually produced a dirty sheet of paper, on which, written in execrable English, was a petition to assist the wants of the convent.
“I expected as much,” observed Captain M—, smiling, as he ran over the ridiculous wording of the petition. “Desire the purser’s steward to get up a bag of biscuit, and put into the boat.”
The bread was handed on the gangway, when the friar, observing it, went up to the captain, and said, “Superior like rum, sar; suppose you no rum, then like money.”
“Perhaps he may,” replied Captain M—; “but it is against my rules to give the first, and if I recollect right, against those of your order to receive the second.”
Finding that nothing more was to be obtained, the friar was about to depart, when, perceiving the cabbage lying unnoticed where he had deposited it, he observed—“Capitown, non quer cabbage—not want?”
“Not particularly,” replied Captain M—, surveying it with rather a contemptuous smile.
“Then take it ashore, plant it again—do for ’nother ship;” and he replaced the present in his basket, made his bow, and departed.
Reader, cabbages are scarce articles in India. I have seen them at Pondicherry, growing in flower-pots, as curious exotics.
Two days afterwards, theAspasiacame to an anchor at Bombay, and having saluted the admiral, Captain M— went on shore to pay his respects in person. The ship was soon crowded with a variety of people, who came off to solicit the washing, etcetera, of the officers. The gun-room officers had just finished their dinner, and the cloth had been removed, when our friend Billy Pitts entered, introducing a slim personage, attired in a robe of spotless white, with the dark turban peculiar to the Parsees, and bringing in his hand a small basket of fruit.
“Massa Courtenay, here mulatta fellow want to speak to officers. Call himself Dubash—look in dictionary, and no such word in English language.”
“It means a washerman, I suppose,” observed Price.
“No, sir,” answered the man for himself, with a graceful bow, “not a washerman, but at same time get all your clothes washed. Dubash go to market, supply gentlemen with everything they want—run everywhere for them—bring off meat and fish, and everything else—everybody have dubash here—I dubash to all the ships come here—got very good certificate, sir,” continued the Parsee, drawing a thin book from his vest, and presenting it to Courtenay with a low bow.
“Well, Mr Dubash, let us see what your character may be,” said Courtenay, opening the book.
“Yes, sir, you please to read them, and I go speak to young gentlemen, before other dubash come on board; I bring gentlemen little fruit,” and laying the basket respectfully on the table, with another low salaam the man quitted the gun-room.
Courtenay read for a minute, and then burst into a fit of laughter. “Very good certificates, indeed,” observed he, “only hear—
“First.—This is to certify, that Hommajee Baba served the gun-room mess of his Majesty’s shipFlora, and cheated us most damnably.
“Signed Peter Hicks, 1st Lieut.
“Jonas Smith, Purser.
“Second.—Hommajee Baba served me as dubash during my stay in this port. He is a useful fellow, but a great scoundrel. I gave him one half of his bill, and he was perfectly satisfied. I recommend others to do the same.
“Signed Andrew Thompson, Company’s shipClio.
“Third.—I perfectly agree with the above remarks; but as all the other dubashes are as great thieves, and not half so intelligent, I conscientiously recommend Hommajee Baba.
“Signed Peter Phillips, Captain Honbl. Company’s cruiserVestal.
“Fourth.—Of all the scoundrels that I ever had to deal with, in this most rascally quarter of a most knavish world, Hommajee Baba is the greatest. Never give him any money, as he will find it; but when you go away, pay him one-third of his bill, and you will still have paid him too much.
“Signed Billy Helflame, Captain H.M.S.Spitfire.”
About a dozen pages of the book were filled with certificates to the above effect, which the dubash, although he spoke English fluently, not being able to read, considered as he had been informed at the time, to be decidedly in his favour. They were so far valuable, that they put newcomers upon their guard, and prevented much extortion on the part of the said Hommajee.
When the laughter had to a degree subsided, Billy Pitts was the first to exclaim—“Damn black villain—I think so, when he come to me; not like cut of um jib—”
“‘Who steals my purse, steals trash,’” spouted Price.
“’Cause you never have money, Mr Price,” cried Billy, interrupting him.
“Silence, sir,—‘But he who filches from me my good name, robs me of that—of that—’”
“Rob you of what, sar?”
“Silence, sir,” again cried Price—“‘robs me of that—’ what is it?—that damned black thief has put it out of my head—”
“I not the thief, sar—Massa Price, you always forget end of your story.”
“I’ll make an end of you directly, sir, if you’re not off.”
“No! don’t kill Billy,” observed Courtenay; “it’s bad enough to have murdered Shakespeare. Well, but now, it’s my opinion, that we ought to employ this fellow—and take the advice that has been given to us in this book.”
Courtenay’s proposal was assented to, and on his return, Hommajee Baba was installed in office.
The next morning, Seymour, Courtenay, and Macallan went on shore to meet an old acquaintance of the latter, who had called upon him on his arrival. By his advice they left the ship before the sun had risen, that they might be enabled to walk about, and view the town and its environs, without being incommoded by the heat. They reached the long plain close to the sea, upon which the admiral and many others, according to the custom of the English inhabitants, were residing in capacious tents; not such tents as have been seen in England, but impervious to the heat and rain, covering a large extent of ground, divided into several apartments, and furnished like any other residence. The broad expanse of ocean, which met their view, was unruffled, and the beach was lined with hundreds, standing on their carpets, spread upon the sand, with their faces turned toward the east. As the sun rose in splendour above the horizon, they all prostrated themselves in mute adoration, and continued in that position until his disk had cleared the water’s edge; they then rose, and throwing a few flowers into the rippling wave, folded up their carpets and departed.
“Who are those people, and of what religion?” demanded Seymour.
“They are Parsees, a remnant of the ancient Persians—the Guebres, or worshippers of fire. As you have witnessed, they also adore the sun. They came here long since to enjoy their tenets, free from persecution. They are the most intelligent race that we have. Many of them were princes in their own country, and are now men of unbounded wealth. They have their temples here, in which the sacred fire is never permitted to go out. If, by any chance or negligence, it should become extinct, it must be relighted from heaven alone. We have no lightning here, and they send to Calcutta, where there is plenty at the change of the monsoon, and bring it round with great ceremony.”
“In other points, are their customs different from the Hindoos?”
“Yes; their women are not so immured; you will meet plenty of them when you return to town. They are easily distinguished by their fair complexions, and the large thin gold rings, with three or four pearls strung upon them, worn in a hole perforated through the nostril, and hanging below their mouths.”
“And what are those immense towers on the other side of the bay?”
“They were built by the Parsees, as depositories for the dead; on the summit is a wide iron grating, upon which the bodies are laid, to be devoured by the birds of prey; when stripped, the bones fall through the iron bars into the receptacle below. They never bury their dead.—But breakfast must be ready, so we had better return. You have much to see here. The caves of Elephanta and Canara are well worthy of your attention—and I shall be happy to attend you, when you feel inclined to pay a visit to them.”
They did not fail to profit by the offer, and before the week had passed away, they had witnessed those splendid monuments of superstition and idolatry. TheAspasiareceived her orders, and Hommajee Baba, being paid the due proportion of his bill, received his certificate from Courtenay, in the usual form, and so far from being affronted, requested the honour of being again employed in their services if ever they should return to Bombay.
Chapter Forty Six.These are not foesWith whom it would be safe to strive in honour.They will repay your magnanimity,Assassin-like, with secret stabs.Anon.The strength of the monsoon had blown over, and Captain M—, in pursuance of his orders, beat across the Bay of Bengal, for the Straits of Sumatra, where he expected to fall in with some of the enemy’s privateers, who obtained their supplies of water in that direction. After cruising for six weeks without success, they fell in with an armed English vessel, who informed them that she had been chased by a large pirate proa, and had narrowly escaped—acquainting Captain M— with the islet from which she had sallied out in pursuit of them, and to which she had in all probability returned.Captain M—, naturally anxious to scour the seas of these cruel marauders, who showed no quarter to those who had the misfortune to fall into their hands, determined to proceed in quest of this vessel, and after a week’s unsuccessful reconnoitre of the various islets which cover the seas in that quarter, one morning discovered her from the mast-head, on his weather beam, sailing and rowing down towards the frigate, to ascertain whether she was a vessel that she might venture to attack.TheAspasiawas disguised as much as possible, and the pirates were induced to approach within a distance of two miles, when, perceiving their mistake, they lowered their sails, and turning the head of their vessel in the opposite direction, pulled away from the frigate, right in the wind’s eye. The breeze freshened, and all possible sail was crowded on theAspasia, to overtake them, and although, at the close of the day, they had not neared her much, the bright moon enabled them to keep the vessel in view during the night. Early in the morning (the crew being probably exhausted from their incessant labour), she kept away for some islets broad upon theAspasia’sweather bow, and came to an anchor in a small cove between the rocks, which sheltered her from the guns of the frigate.Captain M— considered it his duty at all risks to destroy the proa; and, hoisting out the boats, he gave the command to his first-lieutenant, with strict injunctions how to deal with such treacherous and ferocious enemies. The launch was under repair at the time, and could not be employed; but the barge, pinnace, and two cutters were considered fully adequate to the service. Courtenay was second in command, in the pinnace; Seymour had charge of one cutter; and at his own particular request, Prose was entrusted with the other.“I do declare, I think that I should like to go,” observed Prose, when he first heard that the vessel was to be cut out.“Why, you ought, Prose,” replied Seymour; “you have never been on service yet.”“No—and you and I are the only two passed midshipmen in the ship.” (Seymour and Prose had both passed their examination, when theAspasiawas at Bombay.) “I think that I have a right to one of the boats.”So thought the first-lieutenant, when he made his application, and he obtained the command accordingly.The boats shoved off as soon as the men had swallowed their breakfasts, and in less than an hour were but a short distance from the proa, which proved to be one of the largest size. A discharge of langrage from one of the two long brass guns, mounted on her prow, flew amongst the boats, without taking effect. A second discharge was more destructive, three of the men in the boat which Prose commanded being struck down bleeding under the thwarts—the oars, which they had not relinquished their hold of when they fell, being thrown high up in air.“Halloa! I say—All catching crabs together!” cried Prose.“Caught something worse than a crab, sir,” replied the coxswain—“Wilson, are you much hurt?”“The rascals have let daylight in, I’m afraid,” answered the man, faintly.“Well, I do declare I’d no idea the poor fellows were wounded. Coxswain, take one of the oars, and I’ll steer the boat, or we shall never get alongside. I say, Mr Jolly, can’t you pull?”“Yes, sir, upon a pinch,” answered the marine whom he addressed, laying his musket on the stern-sheets, and taking one of the unmanned oars.“Well, there now, give way.”But the delay occasioned by this mishap had left the cutter far astern of the other boats, who, paying no attention to her, had pulled alongside, and boarded the vessel. The conflict was short, from the superior numbers of the English, and the little difficulty in getting on board of a vessel with so low a gunwale. By the time that Prose came alongside in the cutter, the pirates were either killed or had been driven below. Prose jumped on the gunwale, flourishing his cutlass—from the gunwale he sprung on the deck, which was not composed of planks, as in vessels in general, but of long bamboos, running fore and aft, and lashed together with rattans; and as Prose descended upon the rounded surface, which happened where he alighted to be slippery with blood, his feet were thrown up, and he came down on the deck in a sitting posture.“Capital jump, Mr Prose,” cried Courtenay; “but you have arrived too late to shed your blood in your country’s cause—very annoying, an’t it?”“O Lord!—O Lord!—I do declare—oh—oh—oh!” roared Prose, attempting to recover his feet, and then falling down again.“Good heavens, what’s the matter, Prose?” cried Seymour running to his assistance.“O Lord!—O Lord!—another—oh!”—again cried Prose making a half spring from the deck, from which he was now raised by Seymour, who again inquired what was the matter; Prose could not speak—he pointed his hand behind him, and his head fell upon Seymour’s shoulder.“He’s wounded, sir,” observed one of the men who had joined Seymour, pointing to the blood, which ran from the trousers of Prose in a little rivulet. “Be quick, Mr Seymour, and get on the gunwale, or they’ll have you too.” The fact was, that the deck being composed of bamboos, as already described, one of the pirates below had passed his creese through the spaces between them into Prose’s body, when he came down on deck in a sitting posture, and had repeated the blow when he failed to recover his feet after the first wound.One of the seamen who had not provided himself with shoes now received a severe wound; and after Prose had been handed into one of the boats, a consultation was held as to the most eligible method of proceeding.It was soon decided that it would be the extreme of folly to attack such desperate people below, where they would have a great advantage with their creeses over the cutlasses of the seamen; and as there appeared no chance of inducing them to come up, it was determined to cut the cables, and tow the vessel alongside of the frigate, who could sink her with a broadside.The cables were cut, and a few men being left on board to guard the hatchways, the boats commenced towing out; but scarcely had they got way on her when, to their astonishment, a thick smoke was followed by the flames bursting out in every direction, consuming all on board with a rapidity that seemed incredible. From the deck, the fire mounted to the rigging; thence to the masts and sails; and before the boats could be backed astern to take them out, those who had been left were forced to leap into the sea to save themselves from the devouring element. The pirates had themselves set fire to the vessel. Most of them remained below, submitting to suffocation with sullen indifference. Some few, in the agony of combustion; were perceived, through the smoke, to leap overboard, and seek in preference a less painful death. The boats laid upon their oars, and witnessed the scene in silence and astonishment.“Desperate and determined to the last,” observed the first-lieutenant.In a very few minutes the proa, whose fabric was of the slightest materials, filled, and went down. The last column of smoke, divided from her by the water, ascended in the air as she sank down below, and nought remained but a few burnt fragments of bamboo, which lay floating on the wave. A few seconds after the vessel had disappeared, one of the pirates rose to the surface.“There is a man alive yet,” observed Courtenay. “Let us save him if we can.”The boat, by his directions, pulled a few strokes of the oars, and having rather too much way, shot ahead, so as to bring the man close to the counter of the boat. Courtenay leaned over the gunwale to haul him in; the malignant wretch grasped him by the collar with his left hand, and with his right darted his creese into Courtenay’s breast; then, as if satisfied, with an air of mingled defiance and derision, immediately sank under the bottom of the pinnace, and was seen no more.“Ungrateful viper!” murmured Courtenay, as he fell into the arms of his men.The boats hastened back to the frigate; they had but few men hurt, except those mentioned in our narrative; but the wounds of Courtenay and of Prose were dangerous. The creeses of the pirates had been steeped in the juice of the pine-apple, which, when fresh applied, is considered as a deadly poison. The Aspasia soon afterwards anchored in Madras Roads, and a removal to a more invigorating clime was pronounced essential to the recovery of the two officers. Courtenay and Prose were invalided, and sent home in an East India-man, but it was many months before they were in a state of convalescence. Captain M— gave an acting order as lieutenant to Seymour, and when he joined the admiral, expressed himself so warmly in his behalf that it was not superseded; and our hero now walked the quarter-deck as third-lieutenant of H.M. shipAspasia.If the reader is not by this time tired of India, I am. To narrate all that occurred would far exceed the limits of this work. I shall therefore confine myself to stating that, after three years, Captain M— quitted the country, having during his stay gained much in reputation, but lost more in constitution. When we return to the frigate, she will be well advanced on her passage home.
These are not foesWith whom it would be safe to strive in honour.They will repay your magnanimity,Assassin-like, with secret stabs.Anon.
These are not foesWith whom it would be safe to strive in honour.They will repay your magnanimity,Assassin-like, with secret stabs.Anon.
The strength of the monsoon had blown over, and Captain M—, in pursuance of his orders, beat across the Bay of Bengal, for the Straits of Sumatra, where he expected to fall in with some of the enemy’s privateers, who obtained their supplies of water in that direction. After cruising for six weeks without success, they fell in with an armed English vessel, who informed them that she had been chased by a large pirate proa, and had narrowly escaped—acquainting Captain M— with the islet from which she had sallied out in pursuit of them, and to which she had in all probability returned.
Captain M—, naturally anxious to scour the seas of these cruel marauders, who showed no quarter to those who had the misfortune to fall into their hands, determined to proceed in quest of this vessel, and after a week’s unsuccessful reconnoitre of the various islets which cover the seas in that quarter, one morning discovered her from the mast-head, on his weather beam, sailing and rowing down towards the frigate, to ascertain whether she was a vessel that she might venture to attack.
TheAspasiawas disguised as much as possible, and the pirates were induced to approach within a distance of two miles, when, perceiving their mistake, they lowered their sails, and turning the head of their vessel in the opposite direction, pulled away from the frigate, right in the wind’s eye. The breeze freshened, and all possible sail was crowded on theAspasia, to overtake them, and although, at the close of the day, they had not neared her much, the bright moon enabled them to keep the vessel in view during the night. Early in the morning (the crew being probably exhausted from their incessant labour), she kept away for some islets broad upon theAspasia’sweather bow, and came to an anchor in a small cove between the rocks, which sheltered her from the guns of the frigate.
Captain M— considered it his duty at all risks to destroy the proa; and, hoisting out the boats, he gave the command to his first-lieutenant, with strict injunctions how to deal with such treacherous and ferocious enemies. The launch was under repair at the time, and could not be employed; but the barge, pinnace, and two cutters were considered fully adequate to the service. Courtenay was second in command, in the pinnace; Seymour had charge of one cutter; and at his own particular request, Prose was entrusted with the other.
“I do declare, I think that I should like to go,” observed Prose, when he first heard that the vessel was to be cut out.
“Why, you ought, Prose,” replied Seymour; “you have never been on service yet.”
“No—and you and I are the only two passed midshipmen in the ship.” (Seymour and Prose had both passed their examination, when theAspasiawas at Bombay.) “I think that I have a right to one of the boats.”
So thought the first-lieutenant, when he made his application, and he obtained the command accordingly.
The boats shoved off as soon as the men had swallowed their breakfasts, and in less than an hour were but a short distance from the proa, which proved to be one of the largest size. A discharge of langrage from one of the two long brass guns, mounted on her prow, flew amongst the boats, without taking effect. A second discharge was more destructive, three of the men in the boat which Prose commanded being struck down bleeding under the thwarts—the oars, which they had not relinquished their hold of when they fell, being thrown high up in air.
“Halloa! I say—All catching crabs together!” cried Prose.
“Caught something worse than a crab, sir,” replied the coxswain—“Wilson, are you much hurt?”
“The rascals have let daylight in, I’m afraid,” answered the man, faintly.
“Well, I do declare I’d no idea the poor fellows were wounded. Coxswain, take one of the oars, and I’ll steer the boat, or we shall never get alongside. I say, Mr Jolly, can’t you pull?”
“Yes, sir, upon a pinch,” answered the marine whom he addressed, laying his musket on the stern-sheets, and taking one of the unmanned oars.
“Well, there now, give way.”
But the delay occasioned by this mishap had left the cutter far astern of the other boats, who, paying no attention to her, had pulled alongside, and boarded the vessel. The conflict was short, from the superior numbers of the English, and the little difficulty in getting on board of a vessel with so low a gunwale. By the time that Prose came alongside in the cutter, the pirates were either killed or had been driven below. Prose jumped on the gunwale, flourishing his cutlass—from the gunwale he sprung on the deck, which was not composed of planks, as in vessels in general, but of long bamboos, running fore and aft, and lashed together with rattans; and as Prose descended upon the rounded surface, which happened where he alighted to be slippery with blood, his feet were thrown up, and he came down on the deck in a sitting posture.
“Capital jump, Mr Prose,” cried Courtenay; “but you have arrived too late to shed your blood in your country’s cause—very annoying, an’t it?”
“O Lord!—O Lord!—I do declare—oh—oh—oh!” roared Prose, attempting to recover his feet, and then falling down again.
“Good heavens, what’s the matter, Prose?” cried Seymour running to his assistance.
“O Lord!—O Lord!—another—oh!”—again cried Prose making a half spring from the deck, from which he was now raised by Seymour, who again inquired what was the matter; Prose could not speak—he pointed his hand behind him, and his head fell upon Seymour’s shoulder.
“He’s wounded, sir,” observed one of the men who had joined Seymour, pointing to the blood, which ran from the trousers of Prose in a little rivulet. “Be quick, Mr Seymour, and get on the gunwale, or they’ll have you too.” The fact was, that the deck being composed of bamboos, as already described, one of the pirates below had passed his creese through the spaces between them into Prose’s body, when he came down on deck in a sitting posture, and had repeated the blow when he failed to recover his feet after the first wound.
One of the seamen who had not provided himself with shoes now received a severe wound; and after Prose had been handed into one of the boats, a consultation was held as to the most eligible method of proceeding.
It was soon decided that it would be the extreme of folly to attack such desperate people below, where they would have a great advantage with their creeses over the cutlasses of the seamen; and as there appeared no chance of inducing them to come up, it was determined to cut the cables, and tow the vessel alongside of the frigate, who could sink her with a broadside.
The cables were cut, and a few men being left on board to guard the hatchways, the boats commenced towing out; but scarcely had they got way on her when, to their astonishment, a thick smoke was followed by the flames bursting out in every direction, consuming all on board with a rapidity that seemed incredible. From the deck, the fire mounted to the rigging; thence to the masts and sails; and before the boats could be backed astern to take them out, those who had been left were forced to leap into the sea to save themselves from the devouring element. The pirates had themselves set fire to the vessel. Most of them remained below, submitting to suffocation with sullen indifference. Some few, in the agony of combustion; were perceived, through the smoke, to leap overboard, and seek in preference a less painful death. The boats laid upon their oars, and witnessed the scene in silence and astonishment.
“Desperate and determined to the last,” observed the first-lieutenant.
In a very few minutes the proa, whose fabric was of the slightest materials, filled, and went down. The last column of smoke, divided from her by the water, ascended in the air as she sank down below, and nought remained but a few burnt fragments of bamboo, which lay floating on the wave. A few seconds after the vessel had disappeared, one of the pirates rose to the surface.
“There is a man alive yet,” observed Courtenay. “Let us save him if we can.”
The boat, by his directions, pulled a few strokes of the oars, and having rather too much way, shot ahead, so as to bring the man close to the counter of the boat. Courtenay leaned over the gunwale to haul him in; the malignant wretch grasped him by the collar with his left hand, and with his right darted his creese into Courtenay’s breast; then, as if satisfied, with an air of mingled defiance and derision, immediately sank under the bottom of the pinnace, and was seen no more.
“Ungrateful viper!” murmured Courtenay, as he fell into the arms of his men.
The boats hastened back to the frigate; they had but few men hurt, except those mentioned in our narrative; but the wounds of Courtenay and of Prose were dangerous. The creeses of the pirates had been steeped in the juice of the pine-apple, which, when fresh applied, is considered as a deadly poison. The Aspasia soon afterwards anchored in Madras Roads, and a removal to a more invigorating clime was pronounced essential to the recovery of the two officers. Courtenay and Prose were invalided, and sent home in an East India-man, but it was many months before they were in a state of convalescence. Captain M— gave an acting order as lieutenant to Seymour, and when he joined the admiral, expressed himself so warmly in his behalf that it was not superseded; and our hero now walked the quarter-deck as third-lieutenant of H.M. shipAspasia.
If the reader is not by this time tired of India, I am. To narrate all that occurred would far exceed the limits of this work. I shall therefore confine myself to stating that, after three years, Captain M— quitted the country, having during his stay gained much in reputation, but lost more in constitution. When we return to the frigate, she will be well advanced on her passage home.
Chapter Forty Seven.When souls which should agree to will the same—To have one common object for their wishes,Look diff’rent ways, regardless of each other,Think what a train of wretchedness ensues!Rowe.But we must return to England, or we shall lose sight of the Rainscourt family, in which much that is interesting has occurred since our hero’s absence in the East.Mr Rainscourt made occasional visits to the Hall, with the hope of inducing his wife to break through her resolution, and once more to reside with him under the same roof; but in this he could not succeed; for although Mrs Rainscourt received him with kindness and urbanity, she was too well aware, by information received from many quarters, of the life of excess which he indulged in, ever again to trust her happiness in his keeping. Nevertheless, pursuing his point with an obstinacy that seemed surprising, Rainscourt always was to be found at the watering-place to which Mrs Rainscourt might remove for change of scene; and for nearly five years from the time when he first paid a visit to his once neglected wife, did he continue to press his suit. The fact was, that, so far from tiring, his anxiety to effect the reunion was constantly on the increase, from the general admiration which was bestowed upon Emily when she made her appearance in public; and Rainscourt felt that his house would be more resorted to, and his company be more courted, if he could have under his immediate protection one who had beauty sufficient to satisfy the most fastidious, and a certainty of ultimate wealth, exceeding the views of the most interested.It was two years, or more, after the departure of Seymour, that Mrs Rainscourt and Emily determined upon passing the autumnal months at Cheltenham, accompanied by the McElvinas. A few days after their arrival, Mr Rainscourt made his appearance. He was now determined, if possible, to bring his suit to an issue. Some months back, he had formed the plan which he thought most likely to succeed. This was to repair and refurnish the castle in Galway, and persuade Mrs Rainscourt to pass a few weeks there—when he hoped that, having her in a more isolated position, she might be induced to accede to his wishes. Workmen had been employed for some time repairing the exterior of the ancient pile—the interior had been embellished under the guidance of a man of taste, and without any regard to expense. Splendid furniture had already been forwarded from London; so that Mr Rainscourt’s agent had written to him that in a few weeks the castle would be ready for his reception.Upon his arrival at Cheltenham, Mr Rainscourt astonished everybody by his splendid equipage. His carriages, his stud, and the whole of his establishment, were quite unique. On the other hand, Mrs Rainscourt and her daughter were equally objects of curiosity, not likely to pass unnoticed in such a place as Cheltenham, where people have nothing else to do but talk scandal, and to drink salt water as a punishment.The arrival of a pretty heiress increased very much the flow of bile in the young ladies, and in their mammas, who did not bring them to Cheltenham merely to drink the waters. The gentlemen, moreover, did not admire being so totally eclipsed by Mr Rainscourt, who rendered insignificant what, previous to his appearance, had been considered “to be quite the thing.” The ladies would talk of nothing but Mr Rainscourt and his equipage—and such a handsome man, too. But, on the whole, the females were the most annoyed, as there threatened to be a stagnation in the market, until this said heiress was disposed of: Gentlemen who had been attentive more than a week, who had been asked twice to dinner, and who had been considered to have nibbled a sufficient time to ensure their eventually taking the bait, had darted in full liberty in the direction of the great heiress. Young ladies who were acknowledged to have the most attractions, pecuniary or personal, who simpered and smiled to twenty young philanderers, as they took their morning glass, now poured down their lukewarm solution in indignant solitude, if Mrs Rainscourt and her daughter made their appearance on the promenade. Real cases of bile became common; and the fair sex, in despair, although they did not, as they were evidently requested by the conduct of the gentlemen, “to a nunnery go,” to preserve their complexions, were necessitated to repair to the pump.“Don’t you think that Miss Rainscourt’s nose is rather too straight?” asked a young lady, with one on her own face that had a strong tendency towards the pug.“Indeed, I do not,” replied a light-hearted Irish girl, “although she has put ours out of joint, as they call it. I only wish I’d her face or her fortune—either the one or the other—and I wouldn’t be coming to Cheltenham after a husband—the gentlemen should trot over to Ireland.”“How very odd that Mr and Mrs Rainscourt should not live together—such good friends as they seem to be.”“Oh, I know the reason of that; I was told it yesterday by Lady Wagtail. It was a runaway match, and they happened to be related within the canonical law; they are both Roman Catholics; and the Pope found it out, and ordered them to be separated, upon pain of excommunication.”“Indeed!”“Yes, and Mr Rainscourt is waiting for a licence from the conclave—a dispensation they call it. They say it is expected from Rome next post, and then they can be united again immediately.”“What beautiful horses Mr Rainscourt drives!”“Yes, that curricle, with the greys and the outriders, is quite superb. He always drives through the turnpike, I observe.”“To be sure he does. Why, they say that he has 40,000 pounds a year.”“And the whole is entailed upon his daughter.”“Every farthing of it.”“And who are those McElvina’s?—What an odd name!”“Oh, I can tell you. Mrs Fitzpatrick says that he is of a very ancient Irish family—they are very rich. Mr McElvina made his fortune in India, by a speculation in opium, and his wife was the only daughter of a stock-broker in the city, who died worth a plum.”“Number 4—a little warm, if you please, Mrs Bishop.”“Yes, Miss.”About a fortnight after his arrival, Rainscourt received the intelligence from his agent that everything was complete at the castle, and he determined to go over himself to examine it previous to communicating his interested act of gallantry to his wife. He proposed to McElvina, with whom he was on very friendly terms, to accompany him, and McElvina was decided in accepting the offer, in consequence of Mr Rainscourt’s having informed him that a large property, contiguous to his own, which had almost from time immemorial been in possession of the McElvina family, was now for sale, the last possessor having gambled the whole of it away.“It may be worth your while,” continued he, “if you are inclined to possess landed property, to look at it; as my agent informs me that it will be disposed of very cheap, and will give you good interest for your money.”McElvina had long wished to live in Ireland, from which country he derived his descent, and he could not but feel that some untoward recognition might possibly take place in such a place of numerous resort as Cheltenham, by which some of the passages in his early career might be exposed. This appeared to be a chance which might not again present itself: and he gladly consented to accompany Rainscourt in his excursion. After an absence of three weeks they returned. The castle had been fitted out in a style of lavish expenditure and taste, and Rainscourt could find little to improve or add. The property which McElvina went over to examine, suited him both in price and in situation; and having consulted his wife, who cordially acquiesced in his view, he wrote to Mr Rainscourt’s agent, requesting him to conclude the purchase.Rainscourt now determined upon making his last effort for a resumption of marital rights. Having introduced the conversation by stating in minute detail the alterations and improvements which he had made at the castle, he then informed Mrs Rainscourt that he had been to that expense in the hope that she would take possession of it for the remainder of the autumn.“If:” said he, “you knew the pleasure it would give me once more to see you surrounded with every luxury, in the place where we formerly resided in poverty—if you knew the joy which your presence would diffuse among your affectionate tenants, and the anxiety with which they are expecting your appearance,—for I must acknowledge that I promised them that you should gladden them with your return,—you would not refuse the request I have made.”But Rainscourt had not calculated well. If there was any spot of which the reminiscences were peculiarly painful to his wife, it was the castle in Galway. It was there that she had been treated with severity and contempt—it was there that she had been cruelly deserted by her husband, when he was restored to affluence. With the bitter feelings attendant upon these recollections, Mrs Rainscourt penetrated into the motives which had induced her husband to act, and the balance was more than ever against his cause. “If you have fitted up the castle to oblige me, Mr Rainscourt, I return you my grateful thanks for your kindness and consideration; but I do not think that I could enter the castle with pleasure; there are so many more painful than agreeable remembrances connected with it, that I had rather decline going there—the more so as I consider it too secluded for Emily.”“But not too secluded, Mrs Rainscourt,” replied her husband, dropping on one knee, “for me to beseech pardon for my errors, and prove the sincerity of my repentance. Let me conjure you to allow it to be the scene of the renewal of my love and my admiration, as it unfortunately was of my folly and indifference.”“Mr Rainscourt, this interview must be decisive. Know, once for all, that such a reconciliation as you would desire never can or shall take place. Spare me the pain of recapitulation. It is enough to say that, once thrown from you, I cannot nor will not be resumed at your pleasure and fantasy. Although injured in the tenderest point, I forgive all that has passed, and shall be happy to receive you as a friend, in private as well as in public; but all attempts to obtain more will only meet with mortification and defeat. Rise, Mr Rainscourt; take my hand in friendship—it is offered with cordiality; but if you again resume the subject of this meeting, I shall be forced to deny myself to you when you call.”Rainscourt turned pale as he complied with her request. He had humiliated himself to no purpose. Mortified pride, mingled with rejected passion, formed a compound of deadly hate, which raged with fury against the late object of his desire. He commanded himself sufficiently to stammer out his regrets, and promised not again to introduce the subject; and lifting up the offered hand respectfully to his lips, he quitted her presence to meditate upon revenge.The liberal settlements which he had made at the time of separation were too firmly secured to be withheld. To remove his daughter was the next idea which presented itself; but that could not be effected. Emily was of a resolute disposition, and would not consent to leave her mother; and an appeal to Chancery would show how unfit a person he was to have the responsible charge of a young woman. The night was passed in anxious meditation, and before the morning his plans were arranged. Nothing could be accomplished by force; he must therefore resort to address—he would be more than ever attentive, and trust to time and opportunity for the gratification of his revenge.The parties continued at Cheltenham; and Mr Rainscourt, following up his plan, made an avowal to his wife, that he had now abandoned all hopes of success, and would not importune her any more. He only requested that she would receive him on those terms of intimacy in which consisted the present happiness of his life. Mrs Rainscourt, who, although she had resolution sufficient to refuse him, felt great struggles in her own mind to decide the victory in favour of prudence, now leaned more favourably towards her husband than before. His assiduity for years—his indifference to money in fitting up the castle to please her—his humiliation when he kneeled to her—his subsequent humble expressions of regret—his polite attention, notwithstanding his repulse—and, added to all these, her gratified pride—all tended to soften her heart; and it is more than probable that, in a few months, she would have thought him sufficiently punished to have acceded to his wishes;—but it was fated to be otherwise.One morning, Rainscourt called in his curricle, and as the horses stood at the door, champing their bits, and tossing their heads as they were held by the dismounted grooms, Mrs Rainscourt, who was looking out of the window with her husband, and whose heart was fast warming towards him (for the tide once turned, the flow of affection is rapid), playfully observed, “Mr Rainscourt, you often take Emily out with you in your curricle, but you have never offered to take me; I presume you think that I am too old.”“Indeed, Mrs Rainscourt, if I had thought that you would have ventured, Emily would not so often have been seated at my side. If not too late, and you will pardon my negligence, oblige me by permitting me to drive you now.”“I don’t know whether I ought to do so; but as married ladies have been, from time immemorial, forced from the field by their daughters, I believe I shall submit to the affront, and accept your offer.”“I feel much flattered,” replied he, “by your kind acquiescence; but you must allow me to desire my grooms to take these horses out, and put the others to, which are much quieter. It will be a delay of only a few minutes.”Mrs Rainscourt smiled, and quitted the room, to prepare for her excursion, while Rainscourt descended to the street door.“William, drive to the stables; take these horses out, and put in the two others.”“The others, sir,” replied the man with surprise; “what! Smolensko and Pony-towsky?”“Yes—be smart, and bring them round as soon as you can.”“Why, sir, the two young ’uns have never been in together yet—Smolensko’s but a rum customer, when aside of a steady horse; and as for Pony-towsky, he jibs just as bad as ever.”“Never mind—put them in and bring them round.”“Then I’d better tie up the dog, sir, for they can’t neither of them abide him.”“Never mind—they must be accustomed to him—so let the dog follow as usual. Be quick;” and Rainscourt returned to the house.“Sam, I can’t for the life of me fancy what master’s at today,” said William, who had delivered his horse over to the other groom, and had mounted the curricle to drive it to the stable. “If he means to drive them two devils together, there’s no road in England wide enough for him.”“I’m sure I can’t tell,” replied the other.“No man in his senses would do it—unless, indeed, he’s going to drive his wife.”“Why, hardly that, for they say he wants to marry her again.”“Marry his wife again—no, no, Bill: master’s too wide awake for that.”The curricle re-appeared at the door—Rainscourt handed in his wife, and the horses set off tightly reined by Rainscourt, and flying to and fro from the pole, so as to alarm Mrs Rainscourt, who expressed a wish to alight.“They are only fresh at first starting, my dear—they will be quiet directly.”“Look there!” observed one of the promenaders; “there’s Rainscourt driving his wife in the curricle.”“Oh then, the bull has arrived, you may depend upon it.”As they spoke, the dog made a spring at the horses’ heads,—they plunged violently, and shortly after set off at full speed.Rainscourt could not have stopped them if he had wished it; but the fact was, that he had entered the curricle determined to hazard his own life rather than not gratify his revenge. All that was left for him was to guide them, and this he did so that the near wheel came in contact with a post. The horses, with the pole and broken traces, continued their rapid career, leaving Rainscourt, his wife, and the fragments of the vehicle, in the road.Rainscourt’s plan had been successful. Although much contused by the fall, he was not severely injured. Mrs Rainscourt, who had been thrown out with more violence, over the head of her husband, was taken up with a fractured skull, and in a few minutes breathed her last.
When souls which should agree to will the same—To have one common object for their wishes,Look diff’rent ways, regardless of each other,Think what a train of wretchedness ensues!Rowe.
When souls which should agree to will the same—To have one common object for their wishes,Look diff’rent ways, regardless of each other,Think what a train of wretchedness ensues!Rowe.
But we must return to England, or we shall lose sight of the Rainscourt family, in which much that is interesting has occurred since our hero’s absence in the East.
Mr Rainscourt made occasional visits to the Hall, with the hope of inducing his wife to break through her resolution, and once more to reside with him under the same roof; but in this he could not succeed; for although Mrs Rainscourt received him with kindness and urbanity, she was too well aware, by information received from many quarters, of the life of excess which he indulged in, ever again to trust her happiness in his keeping. Nevertheless, pursuing his point with an obstinacy that seemed surprising, Rainscourt always was to be found at the watering-place to which Mrs Rainscourt might remove for change of scene; and for nearly five years from the time when he first paid a visit to his once neglected wife, did he continue to press his suit. The fact was, that, so far from tiring, his anxiety to effect the reunion was constantly on the increase, from the general admiration which was bestowed upon Emily when she made her appearance in public; and Rainscourt felt that his house would be more resorted to, and his company be more courted, if he could have under his immediate protection one who had beauty sufficient to satisfy the most fastidious, and a certainty of ultimate wealth, exceeding the views of the most interested.
It was two years, or more, after the departure of Seymour, that Mrs Rainscourt and Emily determined upon passing the autumnal months at Cheltenham, accompanied by the McElvinas. A few days after their arrival, Mr Rainscourt made his appearance. He was now determined, if possible, to bring his suit to an issue. Some months back, he had formed the plan which he thought most likely to succeed. This was to repair and refurnish the castle in Galway, and persuade Mrs Rainscourt to pass a few weeks there—when he hoped that, having her in a more isolated position, she might be induced to accede to his wishes. Workmen had been employed for some time repairing the exterior of the ancient pile—the interior had been embellished under the guidance of a man of taste, and without any regard to expense. Splendid furniture had already been forwarded from London; so that Mr Rainscourt’s agent had written to him that in a few weeks the castle would be ready for his reception.
Upon his arrival at Cheltenham, Mr Rainscourt astonished everybody by his splendid equipage. His carriages, his stud, and the whole of his establishment, were quite unique. On the other hand, Mrs Rainscourt and her daughter were equally objects of curiosity, not likely to pass unnoticed in such a place as Cheltenham, where people have nothing else to do but talk scandal, and to drink salt water as a punishment.
The arrival of a pretty heiress increased very much the flow of bile in the young ladies, and in their mammas, who did not bring them to Cheltenham merely to drink the waters. The gentlemen, moreover, did not admire being so totally eclipsed by Mr Rainscourt, who rendered insignificant what, previous to his appearance, had been considered “to be quite the thing.” The ladies would talk of nothing but Mr Rainscourt and his equipage—and such a handsome man, too. But, on the whole, the females were the most annoyed, as there threatened to be a stagnation in the market, until this said heiress was disposed of: Gentlemen who had been attentive more than a week, who had been asked twice to dinner, and who had been considered to have nibbled a sufficient time to ensure their eventually taking the bait, had darted in full liberty in the direction of the great heiress. Young ladies who were acknowledged to have the most attractions, pecuniary or personal, who simpered and smiled to twenty young philanderers, as they took their morning glass, now poured down their lukewarm solution in indignant solitude, if Mrs Rainscourt and her daughter made their appearance on the promenade. Real cases of bile became common; and the fair sex, in despair, although they did not, as they were evidently requested by the conduct of the gentlemen, “to a nunnery go,” to preserve their complexions, were necessitated to repair to the pump.
“Don’t you think that Miss Rainscourt’s nose is rather too straight?” asked a young lady, with one on her own face that had a strong tendency towards the pug.
“Indeed, I do not,” replied a light-hearted Irish girl, “although she has put ours out of joint, as they call it. I only wish I’d her face or her fortune—either the one or the other—and I wouldn’t be coming to Cheltenham after a husband—the gentlemen should trot over to Ireland.”
“How very odd that Mr and Mrs Rainscourt should not live together—such good friends as they seem to be.”
“Oh, I know the reason of that; I was told it yesterday by Lady Wagtail. It was a runaway match, and they happened to be related within the canonical law; they are both Roman Catholics; and the Pope found it out, and ordered them to be separated, upon pain of excommunication.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, and Mr Rainscourt is waiting for a licence from the conclave—a dispensation they call it. They say it is expected from Rome next post, and then they can be united again immediately.”
“What beautiful horses Mr Rainscourt drives!”
“Yes, that curricle, with the greys and the outriders, is quite superb. He always drives through the turnpike, I observe.”
“To be sure he does. Why, they say that he has 40,000 pounds a year.”
“And the whole is entailed upon his daughter.”
“Every farthing of it.”
“And who are those McElvina’s?—What an odd name!”
“Oh, I can tell you. Mrs Fitzpatrick says that he is of a very ancient Irish family—they are very rich. Mr McElvina made his fortune in India, by a speculation in opium, and his wife was the only daughter of a stock-broker in the city, who died worth a plum.”
“Number 4—a little warm, if you please, Mrs Bishop.”
“Yes, Miss.”
About a fortnight after his arrival, Rainscourt received the intelligence from his agent that everything was complete at the castle, and he determined to go over himself to examine it previous to communicating his interested act of gallantry to his wife. He proposed to McElvina, with whom he was on very friendly terms, to accompany him, and McElvina was decided in accepting the offer, in consequence of Mr Rainscourt’s having informed him that a large property, contiguous to his own, which had almost from time immemorial been in possession of the McElvina family, was now for sale, the last possessor having gambled the whole of it away.
“It may be worth your while,” continued he, “if you are inclined to possess landed property, to look at it; as my agent informs me that it will be disposed of very cheap, and will give you good interest for your money.”
McElvina had long wished to live in Ireland, from which country he derived his descent, and he could not but feel that some untoward recognition might possibly take place in such a place of numerous resort as Cheltenham, by which some of the passages in his early career might be exposed. This appeared to be a chance which might not again present itself: and he gladly consented to accompany Rainscourt in his excursion. After an absence of three weeks they returned. The castle had been fitted out in a style of lavish expenditure and taste, and Rainscourt could find little to improve or add. The property which McElvina went over to examine, suited him both in price and in situation; and having consulted his wife, who cordially acquiesced in his view, he wrote to Mr Rainscourt’s agent, requesting him to conclude the purchase.
Rainscourt now determined upon making his last effort for a resumption of marital rights. Having introduced the conversation by stating in minute detail the alterations and improvements which he had made at the castle, he then informed Mrs Rainscourt that he had been to that expense in the hope that she would take possession of it for the remainder of the autumn.
“If:” said he, “you knew the pleasure it would give me once more to see you surrounded with every luxury, in the place where we formerly resided in poverty—if you knew the joy which your presence would diffuse among your affectionate tenants, and the anxiety with which they are expecting your appearance,—for I must acknowledge that I promised them that you should gladden them with your return,—you would not refuse the request I have made.”
But Rainscourt had not calculated well. If there was any spot of which the reminiscences were peculiarly painful to his wife, it was the castle in Galway. It was there that she had been treated with severity and contempt—it was there that she had been cruelly deserted by her husband, when he was restored to affluence. With the bitter feelings attendant upon these recollections, Mrs Rainscourt penetrated into the motives which had induced her husband to act, and the balance was more than ever against his cause. “If you have fitted up the castle to oblige me, Mr Rainscourt, I return you my grateful thanks for your kindness and consideration; but I do not think that I could enter the castle with pleasure; there are so many more painful than agreeable remembrances connected with it, that I had rather decline going there—the more so as I consider it too secluded for Emily.”
“But not too secluded, Mrs Rainscourt,” replied her husband, dropping on one knee, “for me to beseech pardon for my errors, and prove the sincerity of my repentance. Let me conjure you to allow it to be the scene of the renewal of my love and my admiration, as it unfortunately was of my folly and indifference.”
“Mr Rainscourt, this interview must be decisive. Know, once for all, that such a reconciliation as you would desire never can or shall take place. Spare me the pain of recapitulation. It is enough to say that, once thrown from you, I cannot nor will not be resumed at your pleasure and fantasy. Although injured in the tenderest point, I forgive all that has passed, and shall be happy to receive you as a friend, in private as well as in public; but all attempts to obtain more will only meet with mortification and defeat. Rise, Mr Rainscourt; take my hand in friendship—it is offered with cordiality; but if you again resume the subject of this meeting, I shall be forced to deny myself to you when you call.”
Rainscourt turned pale as he complied with her request. He had humiliated himself to no purpose. Mortified pride, mingled with rejected passion, formed a compound of deadly hate, which raged with fury against the late object of his desire. He commanded himself sufficiently to stammer out his regrets, and promised not again to introduce the subject; and lifting up the offered hand respectfully to his lips, he quitted her presence to meditate upon revenge.
The liberal settlements which he had made at the time of separation were too firmly secured to be withheld. To remove his daughter was the next idea which presented itself; but that could not be effected. Emily was of a resolute disposition, and would not consent to leave her mother; and an appeal to Chancery would show how unfit a person he was to have the responsible charge of a young woman. The night was passed in anxious meditation, and before the morning his plans were arranged. Nothing could be accomplished by force; he must therefore resort to address—he would be more than ever attentive, and trust to time and opportunity for the gratification of his revenge.
The parties continued at Cheltenham; and Mr Rainscourt, following up his plan, made an avowal to his wife, that he had now abandoned all hopes of success, and would not importune her any more. He only requested that she would receive him on those terms of intimacy in which consisted the present happiness of his life. Mrs Rainscourt, who, although she had resolution sufficient to refuse him, felt great struggles in her own mind to decide the victory in favour of prudence, now leaned more favourably towards her husband than before. His assiduity for years—his indifference to money in fitting up the castle to please her—his humiliation when he kneeled to her—his subsequent humble expressions of regret—his polite attention, notwithstanding his repulse—and, added to all these, her gratified pride—all tended to soften her heart; and it is more than probable that, in a few months, she would have thought him sufficiently punished to have acceded to his wishes;—but it was fated to be otherwise.
One morning, Rainscourt called in his curricle, and as the horses stood at the door, champing their bits, and tossing their heads as they were held by the dismounted grooms, Mrs Rainscourt, who was looking out of the window with her husband, and whose heart was fast warming towards him (for the tide once turned, the flow of affection is rapid), playfully observed, “Mr Rainscourt, you often take Emily out with you in your curricle, but you have never offered to take me; I presume you think that I am too old.”
“Indeed, Mrs Rainscourt, if I had thought that you would have ventured, Emily would not so often have been seated at my side. If not too late, and you will pardon my negligence, oblige me by permitting me to drive you now.”
“I don’t know whether I ought to do so; but as married ladies have been, from time immemorial, forced from the field by their daughters, I believe I shall submit to the affront, and accept your offer.”
“I feel much flattered,” replied he, “by your kind acquiescence; but you must allow me to desire my grooms to take these horses out, and put the others to, which are much quieter. It will be a delay of only a few minutes.”
Mrs Rainscourt smiled, and quitted the room, to prepare for her excursion, while Rainscourt descended to the street door.
“William, drive to the stables; take these horses out, and put in the two others.”
“The others, sir,” replied the man with surprise; “what! Smolensko and Pony-towsky?”
“Yes—be smart, and bring them round as soon as you can.”
“Why, sir, the two young ’uns have never been in together yet—Smolensko’s but a rum customer, when aside of a steady horse; and as for Pony-towsky, he jibs just as bad as ever.”
“Never mind—put them in and bring them round.”
“Then I’d better tie up the dog, sir, for they can’t neither of them abide him.”
“Never mind—they must be accustomed to him—so let the dog follow as usual. Be quick;” and Rainscourt returned to the house.
“Sam, I can’t for the life of me fancy what master’s at today,” said William, who had delivered his horse over to the other groom, and had mounted the curricle to drive it to the stable. “If he means to drive them two devils together, there’s no road in England wide enough for him.”
“I’m sure I can’t tell,” replied the other.
“No man in his senses would do it—unless, indeed, he’s going to drive his wife.”
“Why, hardly that, for they say he wants to marry her again.”
“Marry his wife again—no, no, Bill: master’s too wide awake for that.”
The curricle re-appeared at the door—Rainscourt handed in his wife, and the horses set off tightly reined by Rainscourt, and flying to and fro from the pole, so as to alarm Mrs Rainscourt, who expressed a wish to alight.
“They are only fresh at first starting, my dear—they will be quiet directly.”
“Look there!” observed one of the promenaders; “there’s Rainscourt driving his wife in the curricle.”
“Oh then, the bull has arrived, you may depend upon it.”
As they spoke, the dog made a spring at the horses’ heads,—they plunged violently, and shortly after set off at full speed.
Rainscourt could not have stopped them if he had wished it; but the fact was, that he had entered the curricle determined to hazard his own life rather than not gratify his revenge. All that was left for him was to guide them, and this he did so that the near wheel came in contact with a post. The horses, with the pole and broken traces, continued their rapid career, leaving Rainscourt, his wife, and the fragments of the vehicle, in the road.
Rainscourt’s plan had been successful. Although much contused by the fall, he was not severely injured. Mrs Rainscourt, who had been thrown out with more violence, over the head of her husband, was taken up with a fractured skull, and in a few minutes breathed her last.
Chapter Forty Eight.Oh, for a forty-parson power to chantThy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymnLoud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,Not practise!Byron.Hypocrisy, the thriving’st calling,The only saint’s-bell that rings all in:A gift that is not only ableTo domineer among the rabble,But by the law’s empowered to rout,And awe the greatest that stand out.Hudibras.“All-pervading essence, whose subtle spirit hath become a part component of everything this universe contains—power that presidest over nations and countries, kingdoms and cities, courts and palaces, and every human tenement, even to the lowly cot—leaven of the globe, that workest in the councils of its princes, in the reasonings of its senates, in the atmosphere of the court, in the traffic of the city, in the smiles of the enamoured youth, and in the blush of the responding maid—thou that clothest with awe the serjeant’s coif and the bishop’s robe—thou that assistest at our nurture, our education, and our marriage, our death, our funeral, and habiliments of woe,—all hail!“Chameleon spirit—at once contributing to the misery of our existence and adding to its fancied bliss—at once detested and a charm, to be eschewed and to be practised—that, with thy mystic veil, dimmest the bright beauty of virtue, and concealest the dark deformity of vice—imperishable, glorious, and immortalHumbug! Hail!“Thee I invoke—and thus, with talismanic pen, commence my spells,—and charge thee, in the name of courtiers’ bows, of great men’s promises, of bribery oaths, of woman’s smiles, and tears of residuary legatees—“Appear!“By thy favourite works,—thy darling sinking fund,—the blessings of free-trade,—thy joint-stock companies,—the dread of Popery,—the liberality of East India Directors, and the sincerity of West India philanthropists—“Descend!“By the annual pageants—by the Lord Mayor’s show, and reform in parliament—by Burdett’s democracy, and the first of April—by explanations, and calls for papers—by Bartlemy fair, and the minister’s budget—“Come!“By lawyers’ consultations, and Chancery delay—public meetings, and public dinners,—loyal toasts, and ‘three times three’—lady patronesses, and lords directors,—and by the decoy subscription of the chair—“Descend!“By thenolo episcopariof the Bishops—“Come!“By newspaper puffs, and newspaper reports,—by patent medicines, and portable dressing-cases, wine-merchant’s bottles, ne-plus-ultra corkscrews,—H—t’s corn, C—tt’s maize, W—’s blacking, and W—’s champagne—“Appear!“By thy professional followers, the fashionable tailors, hairdressers, boot-makers, milliners, jewellers—all the auctioneers, and all the bazaars—“Come to my aid!“By thy interested worshippers by shuffling W—e, by Z— M—y, Lawyer S—ns, W—m S—th, T—l B—n, Sir G—r McG—r, and Dom M—l—“Appear!“By thy talented votaries—“Descend!“Still heedless!—Then by the living B—m, and the shade of C—g, come!“Rebellious and wayward spirit! I tell thee, come thou must, whether thou art at a council to wage a war in which thousands shall perish, or upon the padding of a coat, by which, unpaid for, but one ninth part of a man shall suffer—whether thou art forging the powerful artillery of woman against unarmed man, and directing the fire from her eye, which, like that of the Egyptian queen, shall lose an empire—or art just as busy in the adjustment of the bustle (see note 1) of a lady’s-maid—appear thou must. There is one potent spell, one powerful name, which shall force thee trembling to my presence.—Now—“By all that iscontemptible—“By all his patriotism, his affection for the army and the navy—by his flow of eloquence, and his strength of argument—by the correctness of his statements, and the precision of his arithmetic—by his sumtottle, and by Joey H—e, himself—“Appear!”(Humbug descends, amidst a discharge of Promethean and copperplate thunder.)“’Tis well! Now perch upon the tip, and guide my pen, and contrive that the wickedness and hypocrisy of the individual may be forgotten in the absurdity of the scene.”The grooms made no scruple, after the catastrophe, to state all that had passed between them and their master; it was spread through Cheltenham with the usual rapidity of all scandal, in a place where people have nothing to do but to talk about each other. The only confutation which the report received, was the conduct of Mr Rainscourt. He was positively inconsolable—he threw himself upon the remains, declaring that nothing should separate him from his dear—dear Clara. The honest old curate, who had attended Mrs Rainscourt in her last moments, had great difficulty, with the assistance of the men servants, in removing him to another chamber on the ensuing day. Some declared that he repented of his unkind behaviour, and that he was struck with remorse; the females observed, that men never knew the value of a wife until they lost her; others thought his grief was all humbug, although they acknowledged, at the same time, that they could not find out any interested motives to induce him to act such a part.But when Mr Rainscourt insisted that the heart of the deceased should be embalmed, and directed it to be enshrined in an urn of massive gold, then all Cheltenham began to think that he was sincere,—at least all the ladies did; and the gentlemen, married or single, were either too wise or too polite to offer any negative remark, when his conduct was pronounced to be a pattern for all husbands. Moreover, Mr Potts, the curate, vouched for his sincerity, in consequence of the handsome gratuity which he had received for consigning Mrs Rainscourt to the vault, and the liberal largess to the poor upon the same occasion. “How could any man prove his sincerity more?” thought Mr Potts, who, blinded by gratitude, forgot that although in affliction our hearts are softened towards the miseries of others, on the other hand, we are quite as (if not more) liberal when intoxicated with good fortune.Be it as it may, the conduct of Mr Rainscourt was pronounced most exemplary. All hints and surmises of former variance were voted scandalous, and all Cheltenham talked of nothing but the dead Mrs Rainscourt, the living Mr Rainscourt, the heart, and the magnificent gold urn.“Have you heard how poor Mr Rainscourt is?” was the usual question at the pump, as the ladies congregated to pour down Number 3, or Number 4, in accordance with the directions of the medical humbugs.“More resigned—they say he was seen walking after dark?”“Was he, indeed? to the churchyard, of course. Poor dear man!”“Miss Emily’s maid told my Abigail last night, that she looks quite beautiful in her mourning. But I suppose she will not come on the promenade again, before she leaves Cheltenham.”“She ought not,” replied a young lady who did not much approve of so handsome an heiress remaining at Cheltenham. “It will be very incorrect if she does; some one ought to tell her so.”With the exception of Mr Potts, no one had dared to break in upon the solitude of Mr Rainscourt, who had remained the whole day upon the sofa, with the urn on the table before him, and the shutters closed to exclude the light. The worthy curate called upon him every evening, renewing his topics of consolation, and pointing out the duty of Christian resignation. A deep sigh! a heavy Ah! or a long drawn Oh! were all the variety of answers that could be obtained for some days. But time does wonders; and Mr Rainscourt at last inclined an ear to the news of the day, and listened with marked attention to the answers which he elicited from the curate, by his indirect questions, as to what the world said about him.“Come, come, Mr Rainscourt, do not indulge your grief any more. Excess becomes criminal. It is my duty to tell you so, and yours to attend to me. It is not to be expected that you will immediately return to the world and its amusements; but as there must be a beginning, why not come and take your family dinner to-day with Mrs Potts and me? Now let me persuade you—she will be delighted to see you—we dine at five. A hot joint—nothing more.”Rainscourt, who was rather tired of solitude, refused in such a way as to induce the worthy curate to reiterate his invitation, and at length, with great apparent unwillingness, consented. The curate sat with him until the dinner hour, when, leaning on the pastor’s arm, Rainscourt walked down the street, in all the trappings of his woe, and his eyes never once raised from the ground.“There’s Mr Rainscourt! There’s Mr Rainscourt!” whispered some of the promenaders who were coming up the street.“No! that’s not him.”“Yes it is, walking with Mr Potts! Don’t you see his beautiful large dog following him? He never walks without it. An’t it a beauty? It’s a Polygar dog from the East Indies. His name is Tippoo.”The house of the curate was but a short distance from the lodgings occupied by Mr Rainscourt. They soon entered, and were hid from the prying eyes of the idle and the curious.“I have persuaded Mr Rainscourt to come and take a family dinner with us, my dear.”“Quite delighted to see him,” replied Mrs Potts, casting a sidelong angry glance at her husband.Mr Rainscourt made a slight bow, and threw himself on the sofa, covering his face with his hand, as if the light was hideous.Mrs Potts took the opportunity of escaping by the door, beckoning to her husband as soon as she was outside.“And I will go and decant the wine.—Quite in the family way, Mr Rainscourt—no ceremony. You’ll excuse me,” continued the curate, as he obeyed the summons of his wife, like a school-boy ordered up to bebirched.“Well, my dear,” interrogated Mr Potts, humbly, as soon as the door was closed. But Mrs Potts made no reply, until she had led her husband to such a distance from the parlour as she imagined would prevent Mr Rainscourt from being roused by the high pitch to which she intended to raise her voice.“I do declare, Mr Potts, you are a completefool. Saturday—all the maids washing—and ask him to dinner! There’s positively nothing to eat. It really is too provoking.”“Well, my dear, what does it matter? The poor, man will, in all probability, not eat a bit—he is so overcome.”“So over-fiddlesticked!” replied the lady. “Grief never hurts the appetite, Mr Potts; on the contrary, people care more then about a good dinner than at other times. It’s the only enjoyment they can have without being accused by the world of want of feeling.”“Well, you know better than I, my dear; but I really think that if you were to die I could not eat a bit.”“And I tell you, Mr Potts, I could, if you were to die tomorrow.—So stupid of you!—Sally, run and take off the tablecloth,—it’s quite dirty; put on one of the fine damask.”“They will be very large for the table, ma’am.”“Never mind—be quick, and step next door, and ask the old German to come in and wait at table. He shall have a pint of strong beer.”Sally did as she was bid. Mr Potts, whose wine had been decanted long before, and Mrs Potts, who had vented her spleen upon her husband, returned into the parlour together.“My dear Mr Potts is so particular about decanting his wine,” observed the lady, with a gracious smile, as she entered—“he is so long about it, and scolds me so if ever I wish to do it for him.”Mr Potts was a little surprised at the last accusation: but as he had long been drilled, he laughed assent. A tedious half-hour—during which the lady had all the conversation to herself, for the curate answered only in monosyllabic compliance, and Rainscourt made no answer whatever—elapsed before dinner was announced by the German mercenary who had been subsidised.“Meinheer, de dinner was upon de table.”“Come, Mr Rainscourt,” said the curate, in a persuasive tone.Rainscourt got up, and without offering his arm to the lady, who had her own bowed out in readiness, stalked out of the room by the side of Mr Potts, followed by his wife, who, by her looks, seemed to imply that she considered that the demise of one woman was no excuse for a breach of politeness towards another.The covers were removed—two small soles (muchtoo smallfor three people), and a dish of potatoes. “Will you allow me to offer you a little sole, Mr Rainscourt? I am afraid you will have a very poor dinner.”Rainscourt bowed in the negative, and the soles disappeared in a very short time between the respective organs of mastication of Mr and Mrs Potts.The dishes of the first course were removed; and the German appeared with a covered dish, followed by Sally, who brought some vegetables, and returned to the kitchen for more.“I’m afraid you will have a very poor dinner,” repeated the lady.—“Take off the cover, Sneider.—Will you allow me to help you to a piece of this?”Rainscourt turned his head round to see if the object offered was such as to tempt his appetite, and beheld a—smoking bullock’s heart!“My wife, my wife!” exclaimed he, as he darted from his chair; and covering his face, as if to hide from his sight the object which occasioned the concatenation of ideas, attempted to run out of the room.But his escape was not so easy. In his hurried movement he had entangled himself with the long table-cloth that trailed on the carpet, and, to the dismay of the party, everything that was on the table was swept off in his retreat; and as he had blindfolded himself, he ran with such force against the German, who was in the act of receiving a dish from Sally, that, precipitating him against her, they both rolled prostrate on the floor.“Ah, mein Got, mein Got!” roared the German, as his face was smothered with the hot stewed peas, a dish of which he was carrying as he fell on his back.“Oh, my eye, my eye!” bellowed Sally, as she rolled upon the floor.“My wife, my wife!” reiterated Rainscourt, as he trampled over them, and secured his retreat.“And oh, my dinner, my dinner!” ejaculated the curate, as he surveyed the general wreck.“And oh, you fool, you fool, Mr Potts!” echoed the lady, with her arms akimbo—“to ask such a man to dine with you!”“Well, I had no idea that he could have taken it so much toheart,” replied the curate meekly.But we must follow Rainscourt, who—whether really agitated by the circumstance, or, aware that it would be bruited abroad, thought that a display of agitation would be advisable—proceeded with hurried steps to the promenades, where he glided through the thoughtless crowd with the silent rapidity of a ghost. Having sufficiently awakened the curiosity of the spectators, he sank down on one of the most retired benches, with his eyes for some time thrown up in contemplation of the fleecy clouds, beyond which kind spirits are supposed to look down, and weep over the follies and inconsistencies of an erring world. Casting his eyes to earth, he beheld—horror upon horrors—the detested bullock’s heart, which his great Polygar dog had seized during the confusion of the dinner scene, and had followed him out with it in his mouth. Finding it too hot to carry immediately after its seizure, he had, for a time, laid it down, and had just arrived with it. There he was, not a foot from the bench, his jaws distended with the prize, tossing up his head as if in mockery of his master, and wagging his long, feathered tail.Rainscourt again made a precipitate retreat to his own lodgings, accompanied by the faithful animal, who, delighted at the unusual rapidity of his master’s movements, bounded before him with his treasure, of which he was much too polite to think of making a repast until a more seasonable opportunity. Rainscourt knocked at the door—as soon as it was opened, the dog bounced up before him, entering the chamber of woe, and crouching under the table upon which the golden urn was placed with the heart between his paws, saluted his master with a rap or two of his tail on the carpet, and commenced his dinner.The servant was summoned, and Rainscourt, without looking at either the urn, the dog, or the man, cried—in an angry tone, “Take that heart, and throw it away immediately.”“Sir!” replied the domestic with astonishment, who did not observe the dog and his occupation.“Throw it away immediately, sir—do you hear?”“Yes, sir,” replied the man, taking the urn from the table, and quitting the room with it, muttering to himself, as he descended the stairs “I thought it wouldn’t last long.” Having obeyed his supposed instructions, he returned—“If you please, sir, where am I to put the piece of plate?”“The piece of plate!” Rainscourt turned round, and beheld the vacant urn. It was too much—that evening he ordered the horses, and left Cheltenham for ever.Various were the reports of the subsequent week. Some said that the fierce dog had broken open the urn, and devoured the embalmed heart. Some told one story—some another; and before the week was over, all the stories had become incomprehensible.In one point they all agreed—that Mr Rainscourt’s grief was all humbug.“’Tis well!—Thou hast ‘done thy spiriting gently,’ or, for thy tardy coming, I would have sentenced thee to the task of infusing thy spirit into the consistent Eldon, or into Arthur Duke of Wellington—where, like a viper at a file, thou shouldest have tortured thyself in vain.”Note 1. Bustle. I am not certain whether I spell this modern invention correctly; if not, I must plead ignorance. I have asked several ladies of my acquaintance, who declare that they never heard of such a thing, which, perhaps, the reader will agree with me, is all humbug.
Oh, for a forty-parson power to chantThy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymnLoud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,Not practise!Byron.Hypocrisy, the thriving’st calling,The only saint’s-bell that rings all in:A gift that is not only ableTo domineer among the rabble,But by the law’s empowered to rout,And awe the greatest that stand out.Hudibras.
Oh, for a forty-parson power to chantThy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymnLoud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,Not practise!Byron.Hypocrisy, the thriving’st calling,The only saint’s-bell that rings all in:A gift that is not only ableTo domineer among the rabble,But by the law’s empowered to rout,And awe the greatest that stand out.Hudibras.
“All-pervading essence, whose subtle spirit hath become a part component of everything this universe contains—power that presidest over nations and countries, kingdoms and cities, courts and palaces, and every human tenement, even to the lowly cot—leaven of the globe, that workest in the councils of its princes, in the reasonings of its senates, in the atmosphere of the court, in the traffic of the city, in the smiles of the enamoured youth, and in the blush of the responding maid—thou that clothest with awe the serjeant’s coif and the bishop’s robe—thou that assistest at our nurture, our education, and our marriage, our death, our funeral, and habiliments of woe,—all hail!
“Chameleon spirit—at once contributing to the misery of our existence and adding to its fancied bliss—at once detested and a charm, to be eschewed and to be practised—that, with thy mystic veil, dimmest the bright beauty of virtue, and concealest the dark deformity of vice—imperishable, glorious, and immortalHumbug! Hail!
“Thee I invoke—and thus, with talismanic pen, commence my spells,—and charge thee, in the name of courtiers’ bows, of great men’s promises, of bribery oaths, of woman’s smiles, and tears of residuary legatees—
“Appear!
“By thy favourite works,—thy darling sinking fund,—the blessings of free-trade,—thy joint-stock companies,—the dread of Popery,—the liberality of East India Directors, and the sincerity of West India philanthropists—
“Descend!
“By the annual pageants—by the Lord Mayor’s show, and reform in parliament—by Burdett’s democracy, and the first of April—by explanations, and calls for papers—by Bartlemy fair, and the minister’s budget—
“Come!
“By lawyers’ consultations, and Chancery delay—public meetings, and public dinners,—loyal toasts, and ‘three times three’—lady patronesses, and lords directors,—and by the decoy subscription of the chair—
“Descend!
“By thenolo episcopariof the Bishops—
“Come!
“By newspaper puffs, and newspaper reports,—by patent medicines, and portable dressing-cases, wine-merchant’s bottles, ne-plus-ultra corkscrews,—H—t’s corn, C—tt’s maize, W—’s blacking, and W—’s champagne—
“Appear!
“By thy professional followers, the fashionable tailors, hairdressers, boot-makers, milliners, jewellers—all the auctioneers, and all the bazaars—
“Come to my aid!
“By thy interested worshippers by shuffling W—e, by Z— M—y, Lawyer S—ns, W—m S—th, T—l B—n, Sir G—r McG—r, and Dom M—l—
“Appear!
“By thy talented votaries—
“Descend!
“Still heedless!—Then by the living B—m, and the shade of C—g, come!
“Rebellious and wayward spirit! I tell thee, come thou must, whether thou art at a council to wage a war in which thousands shall perish, or upon the padding of a coat, by which, unpaid for, but one ninth part of a man shall suffer—whether thou art forging the powerful artillery of woman against unarmed man, and directing the fire from her eye, which, like that of the Egyptian queen, shall lose an empire—or art just as busy in the adjustment of the bustle (see note 1) of a lady’s-maid—appear thou must. There is one potent spell, one powerful name, which shall force thee trembling to my presence.—Now—
“By all that iscontemptible—
“By all his patriotism, his affection for the army and the navy—by his flow of eloquence, and his strength of argument—by the correctness of his statements, and the precision of his arithmetic—by his sumtottle, and by Joey H—e, himself—
“Appear!”
(Humbug descends, amidst a discharge of Promethean and copperplate thunder.)
“’Tis well! Now perch upon the tip, and guide my pen, and contrive that the wickedness and hypocrisy of the individual may be forgotten in the absurdity of the scene.”
The grooms made no scruple, after the catastrophe, to state all that had passed between them and their master; it was spread through Cheltenham with the usual rapidity of all scandal, in a place where people have nothing to do but to talk about each other. The only confutation which the report received, was the conduct of Mr Rainscourt. He was positively inconsolable—he threw himself upon the remains, declaring that nothing should separate him from his dear—dear Clara. The honest old curate, who had attended Mrs Rainscourt in her last moments, had great difficulty, with the assistance of the men servants, in removing him to another chamber on the ensuing day. Some declared that he repented of his unkind behaviour, and that he was struck with remorse; the females observed, that men never knew the value of a wife until they lost her; others thought his grief was all humbug, although they acknowledged, at the same time, that they could not find out any interested motives to induce him to act such a part.
But when Mr Rainscourt insisted that the heart of the deceased should be embalmed, and directed it to be enshrined in an urn of massive gold, then all Cheltenham began to think that he was sincere,—at least all the ladies did; and the gentlemen, married or single, were either too wise or too polite to offer any negative remark, when his conduct was pronounced to be a pattern for all husbands. Moreover, Mr Potts, the curate, vouched for his sincerity, in consequence of the handsome gratuity which he had received for consigning Mrs Rainscourt to the vault, and the liberal largess to the poor upon the same occasion. “How could any man prove his sincerity more?” thought Mr Potts, who, blinded by gratitude, forgot that although in affliction our hearts are softened towards the miseries of others, on the other hand, we are quite as (if not more) liberal when intoxicated with good fortune.
Be it as it may, the conduct of Mr Rainscourt was pronounced most exemplary. All hints and surmises of former variance were voted scandalous, and all Cheltenham talked of nothing but the dead Mrs Rainscourt, the living Mr Rainscourt, the heart, and the magnificent gold urn.
“Have you heard how poor Mr Rainscourt is?” was the usual question at the pump, as the ladies congregated to pour down Number 3, or Number 4, in accordance with the directions of the medical humbugs.
“More resigned—they say he was seen walking after dark?”
“Was he, indeed? to the churchyard, of course. Poor dear man!”
“Miss Emily’s maid told my Abigail last night, that she looks quite beautiful in her mourning. But I suppose she will not come on the promenade again, before she leaves Cheltenham.”
“She ought not,” replied a young lady who did not much approve of so handsome an heiress remaining at Cheltenham. “It will be very incorrect if she does; some one ought to tell her so.”
With the exception of Mr Potts, no one had dared to break in upon the solitude of Mr Rainscourt, who had remained the whole day upon the sofa, with the urn on the table before him, and the shutters closed to exclude the light. The worthy curate called upon him every evening, renewing his topics of consolation, and pointing out the duty of Christian resignation. A deep sigh! a heavy Ah! or a long drawn Oh! were all the variety of answers that could be obtained for some days. But time does wonders; and Mr Rainscourt at last inclined an ear to the news of the day, and listened with marked attention to the answers which he elicited from the curate, by his indirect questions, as to what the world said about him.
“Come, come, Mr Rainscourt, do not indulge your grief any more. Excess becomes criminal. It is my duty to tell you so, and yours to attend to me. It is not to be expected that you will immediately return to the world and its amusements; but as there must be a beginning, why not come and take your family dinner to-day with Mrs Potts and me? Now let me persuade you—she will be delighted to see you—we dine at five. A hot joint—nothing more.”
Rainscourt, who was rather tired of solitude, refused in such a way as to induce the worthy curate to reiterate his invitation, and at length, with great apparent unwillingness, consented. The curate sat with him until the dinner hour, when, leaning on the pastor’s arm, Rainscourt walked down the street, in all the trappings of his woe, and his eyes never once raised from the ground.
“There’s Mr Rainscourt! There’s Mr Rainscourt!” whispered some of the promenaders who were coming up the street.
“No! that’s not him.”
“Yes it is, walking with Mr Potts! Don’t you see his beautiful large dog following him? He never walks without it. An’t it a beauty? It’s a Polygar dog from the East Indies. His name is Tippoo.”
The house of the curate was but a short distance from the lodgings occupied by Mr Rainscourt. They soon entered, and were hid from the prying eyes of the idle and the curious.
“I have persuaded Mr Rainscourt to come and take a family dinner with us, my dear.”
“Quite delighted to see him,” replied Mrs Potts, casting a sidelong angry glance at her husband.
Mr Rainscourt made a slight bow, and threw himself on the sofa, covering his face with his hand, as if the light was hideous.
Mrs Potts took the opportunity of escaping by the door, beckoning to her husband as soon as she was outside.
“And I will go and decant the wine.—Quite in the family way, Mr Rainscourt—no ceremony. You’ll excuse me,” continued the curate, as he obeyed the summons of his wife, like a school-boy ordered up to bebirched.
“Well, my dear,” interrogated Mr Potts, humbly, as soon as the door was closed. But Mrs Potts made no reply, until she had led her husband to such a distance from the parlour as she imagined would prevent Mr Rainscourt from being roused by the high pitch to which she intended to raise her voice.
“I do declare, Mr Potts, you are a completefool. Saturday—all the maids washing—and ask him to dinner! There’s positively nothing to eat. It really is too provoking.”
“Well, my dear, what does it matter? The poor, man will, in all probability, not eat a bit—he is so overcome.”
“So over-fiddlesticked!” replied the lady. “Grief never hurts the appetite, Mr Potts; on the contrary, people care more then about a good dinner than at other times. It’s the only enjoyment they can have without being accused by the world of want of feeling.”
“Well, you know better than I, my dear; but I really think that if you were to die I could not eat a bit.”
“And I tell you, Mr Potts, I could, if you were to die tomorrow.—So stupid of you!—Sally, run and take off the tablecloth,—it’s quite dirty; put on one of the fine damask.”
“They will be very large for the table, ma’am.”
“Never mind—be quick, and step next door, and ask the old German to come in and wait at table. He shall have a pint of strong beer.”
Sally did as she was bid. Mr Potts, whose wine had been decanted long before, and Mrs Potts, who had vented her spleen upon her husband, returned into the parlour together.
“My dear Mr Potts is so particular about decanting his wine,” observed the lady, with a gracious smile, as she entered—“he is so long about it, and scolds me so if ever I wish to do it for him.”
Mr Potts was a little surprised at the last accusation: but as he had long been drilled, he laughed assent. A tedious half-hour—during which the lady had all the conversation to herself, for the curate answered only in monosyllabic compliance, and Rainscourt made no answer whatever—elapsed before dinner was announced by the German mercenary who had been subsidised.
“Meinheer, de dinner was upon de table.”
“Come, Mr Rainscourt,” said the curate, in a persuasive tone.
Rainscourt got up, and without offering his arm to the lady, who had her own bowed out in readiness, stalked out of the room by the side of Mr Potts, followed by his wife, who, by her looks, seemed to imply that she considered that the demise of one woman was no excuse for a breach of politeness towards another.
The covers were removed—two small soles (muchtoo smallfor three people), and a dish of potatoes. “Will you allow me to offer you a little sole, Mr Rainscourt? I am afraid you will have a very poor dinner.”
Rainscourt bowed in the negative, and the soles disappeared in a very short time between the respective organs of mastication of Mr and Mrs Potts.
The dishes of the first course were removed; and the German appeared with a covered dish, followed by Sally, who brought some vegetables, and returned to the kitchen for more.
“I’m afraid you will have a very poor dinner,” repeated the lady.—“Take off the cover, Sneider.—Will you allow me to help you to a piece of this?”
Rainscourt turned his head round to see if the object offered was such as to tempt his appetite, and beheld a—smoking bullock’s heart!
“My wife, my wife!” exclaimed he, as he darted from his chair; and covering his face, as if to hide from his sight the object which occasioned the concatenation of ideas, attempted to run out of the room.
But his escape was not so easy. In his hurried movement he had entangled himself with the long table-cloth that trailed on the carpet, and, to the dismay of the party, everything that was on the table was swept off in his retreat; and as he had blindfolded himself, he ran with such force against the German, who was in the act of receiving a dish from Sally, that, precipitating him against her, they both rolled prostrate on the floor.
“Ah, mein Got, mein Got!” roared the German, as his face was smothered with the hot stewed peas, a dish of which he was carrying as he fell on his back.
“Oh, my eye, my eye!” bellowed Sally, as she rolled upon the floor.
“My wife, my wife!” reiterated Rainscourt, as he trampled over them, and secured his retreat.
“And oh, my dinner, my dinner!” ejaculated the curate, as he surveyed the general wreck.
“And oh, you fool, you fool, Mr Potts!” echoed the lady, with her arms akimbo—“to ask such a man to dine with you!”
“Well, I had no idea that he could have taken it so much toheart,” replied the curate meekly.
But we must follow Rainscourt, who—whether really agitated by the circumstance, or, aware that it would be bruited abroad, thought that a display of agitation would be advisable—proceeded with hurried steps to the promenades, where he glided through the thoughtless crowd with the silent rapidity of a ghost. Having sufficiently awakened the curiosity of the spectators, he sank down on one of the most retired benches, with his eyes for some time thrown up in contemplation of the fleecy clouds, beyond which kind spirits are supposed to look down, and weep over the follies and inconsistencies of an erring world. Casting his eyes to earth, he beheld—horror upon horrors—the detested bullock’s heart, which his great Polygar dog had seized during the confusion of the dinner scene, and had followed him out with it in his mouth. Finding it too hot to carry immediately after its seizure, he had, for a time, laid it down, and had just arrived with it. There he was, not a foot from the bench, his jaws distended with the prize, tossing up his head as if in mockery of his master, and wagging his long, feathered tail.
Rainscourt again made a precipitate retreat to his own lodgings, accompanied by the faithful animal, who, delighted at the unusual rapidity of his master’s movements, bounded before him with his treasure, of which he was much too polite to think of making a repast until a more seasonable opportunity. Rainscourt knocked at the door—as soon as it was opened, the dog bounced up before him, entering the chamber of woe, and crouching under the table upon which the golden urn was placed with the heart between his paws, saluted his master with a rap or two of his tail on the carpet, and commenced his dinner.
The servant was summoned, and Rainscourt, without looking at either the urn, the dog, or the man, cried—in an angry tone, “Take that heart, and throw it away immediately.”
“Sir!” replied the domestic with astonishment, who did not observe the dog and his occupation.
“Throw it away immediately, sir—do you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the man, taking the urn from the table, and quitting the room with it, muttering to himself, as he descended the stairs “I thought it wouldn’t last long.” Having obeyed his supposed instructions, he returned—“If you please, sir, where am I to put the piece of plate?”
“The piece of plate!” Rainscourt turned round, and beheld the vacant urn. It was too much—that evening he ordered the horses, and left Cheltenham for ever.
Various were the reports of the subsequent week. Some said that the fierce dog had broken open the urn, and devoured the embalmed heart. Some told one story—some another; and before the week was over, all the stories had become incomprehensible.
In one point they all agreed—that Mr Rainscourt’s grief was all humbug.
“’Tis well!—Thou hast ‘done thy spiriting gently,’ or, for thy tardy coming, I would have sentenced thee to the task of infusing thy spirit into the consistent Eldon, or into Arthur Duke of Wellington—where, like a viper at a file, thou shouldest have tortured thyself in vain.”
Note 1. Bustle. I am not certain whether I spell this modern invention correctly; if not, I must plead ignorance. I have asked several ladies of my acquaintance, who declare that they never heard of such a thing, which, perhaps, the reader will agree with me, is all humbug.