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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 18:36:27 -0700 |
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diff --git a/44163-h/44163-h.htm b/44163-h/44163-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a87d120 --- /dev/null +++ b/44163-h/44163-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9476 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>London in the Sixties, by One of the Old Brigade</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, London in the Sixties, by One of the Old +Brigade + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: London in the Sixties + with a few digressions + + +Author: One of the Old Brigade + + + +Release Date: November 11, 2013 [eBook #44163] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LONDON IN THE SIXTIES*** +</pre> +<p>This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler</p> +<p style="text-align: right"> +<a href="images/logo.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Logo of Everett & Co." +title= +"Logo of Everett & Co." +src="images/logo.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +iv</span>First Edition,</p> +</td> +<td><p>June, 1908.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Second ,,</p> +</td> +<td><p>September, 1908.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Third ,,</p> +</td> +<td><p>March, 1909.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Cheap ,,</p> +</td> +<td><p>March, 1914.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h1>London in<br /> +The Sixties</h1> +<p style="text-align: right">(WITH A FEW DIGRESSIONS)</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p class="gutindent">By<br /> +ONE OF THE OLD BRIGADE</p> +<p>London:<br /> +EVERETT & CO. LTD.<br /> +42 ESSEX STREET,<br /> +STRAND, W.C.</p> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">CHAPTER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">I.</p> +</td> +<td><p>1860</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">II.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Tower</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">III.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Mott’s and Cremorne</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">IV.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Kate Hamilton’s and Leicester +Square</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">V.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Night Houses of the +Haymarket</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page48">48</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">VI.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Evans’s and the Dials</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">VII.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Ratcliff Highway</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">VIII.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Booths on Epsom Downs</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page83">83</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">IX.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Racing</span> <i>par +Excellence</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">X.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Epidemic of Cards</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XI.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Coup de Jarnac</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XII.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Public Hanging of the +Pirates</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page130">130</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XIII.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Hostelries of the +Sixties</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XIV.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Drama (Legitimate and +Otherwise)</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page151">151</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XV.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Mostly “Otherwise” +(continued)</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page163">163</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XVI.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Usurers and Millionaires</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XVII.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Some Curious Fish of the +Sixties</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page182">182</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XVIII.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Spiritualism and Realism</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page192">192</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><a name="pageviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. viii</span>XIX.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Rock and the Cape</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XX.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Eastward-ho</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page222">222</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XXI.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Guillotine and Madame +Rachel</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page232">232</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XXII.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Reminiscences of the Purple</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XXIII.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Dhuleep Singh and Fifty Years +after</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page257">257</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XXIV.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The last of the Old Brigade</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page264">264</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CHAPTER +I.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1860.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">London</span> in the sixties was so +different from the London of to-day that, looking back through +the long vista of years, one is astonished at the gradual +changes—unnoticed as they proceed. Streets have been +annihilated and transformed into boulevards; churches have been +removed and flats substituted; night houses and comfortable +taverns demolished and transformed into plate-glass abominations +run by foreigners and Jews, whilst hulking louts in uniform, +electro-plate and the shabby-genteel masher have taken the place +of solid silver spoons and a higher type of humanity. So +extensive indeed has been the transformation, that, if any +night-bird of those naughty days were suddenly exhumed, and let +loose in Soho, he would assuredly wander into a church in his +search of a popular resort, and having come to scoff, might +remain to pray, and so unwittingly fall into the goody-goody ways +that make up our present monotonous existence.</p> +<p>The highest in the land in those benighted days turned up +their coat collars and rubbed shoulders after dusk with others of +their species in recreations which, if indulged in now, would be +tantamount to social ostracism, or imperilling the +“succession.”</p> +<p><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>It was, +in short, the tail end of the days of the Regency, changed, +virtuous reader, for better or worse. It was, nevertheless, +distinctly enjoyable and straightforward, for it showed its +worst, and blinked nothing in hypocrisy.</p> +<p>The only recommendation for this appearance is its +authenticity; every incident passed within (or very near) my ken, +for I was a veritable “front-rank man” in that +long-ago disbanded army—a veteran left behind when better +men have passed away—one of the few who could attend a +muster parade of that vast battalion of roysterers, and who, by +sheer physical strength, has survived what weaker constitutions +have succumbed to—a living contradiction of the theory of +the “survival of the fittest.”</p> +<p>It was one morning early in 1860 that I proudly saw my name in +the <i>Gazette</i>—as a full-blown ensign. I had +scanned every paper for weeks, although aware that our late +gracious Sovereign (or her deputy) could hardly have had time to +decide the momentous question as to whether I was to be a +fusilier, a rifleman, or a Highlander, so short was the period +between passing my examination and the announcement I so +fervently awaited. But I had great Army interest, and so it +came to pass that, within six weeks of leaving Chelsea Hospital +(where the examinations took place), I held a commission in a +distinguished regiment.</p> +<p>To give the number of the dear old corps would at best be +misleading, for numerals and the prestige that attached to them +were wiped out long ago by one scratch of the pen of that great +civilian who remodelled our Army from what it was when it +suppressed the Mutiny to what it became before the Boer War.</p> +<p>England at this period bristled with soldiers—bronzed +old warriors with beards down to their waists, who had not seen +their native shores for twelve or fifteen or twenty years; who, +till they were scraped (in conformity with St. James’s +campaigning ideas), <a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>looked fit to do anything, or go anywhere—men who +had survived the trenches and the twenty degrees of frost in the +Crimea, and sweltered twelve months later at Gwalior, Jhansi, +Lucknow, and Delhi, and had at last found their reward, amidst +cocked hats, red tape, recruits’ drill, and discharge, in +that haven of rest, “merrie England.”</p> +<p>My future regiment, then on its way home, was no exception to +the rule, and I remember, as but yesterday, the comparisons I +drew a few weeks later on the Barrack Square of the (then) new +barracks at Gosport, between the pasty-faced +“strong-detachment” from the depôt and the +grand old veterans that towered over them.</p> +<p>And every man-jack of them was possessed of valuable +jewels. Where the worthy rogues had captured the loot needs +not to inquire, suffice to say that oriental stones worth +hundreds were retailed for a few shillings, and found their way +to the coffers, and tended to build up the fortune, of an astute +Hebrew who, by “the encouragement of British +industries,” eventually became a knight, and died not long +ago in the odour of sanctity, rich and respected—as all +rich men do.</p> +<p>It was amid these surroundings that I began my military +career, despite the fact that every rascal with anything to sell +had radiated towards Gosport from every point of the compass.</p> +<p>Gosport and Portsmouth were in those days the first stepping +stones in the filtration towards Aldershot, after which, and only +after a drill season, the grandest soldiers England ever +possessed, were considered as presentable troops.</p> +<p>The barrack squares in those happy days, after a regiment had +landed, resembled oriental bazaars rather than the starchy, +adamant quadrangles familiar to the present generation. +Every forenoon officers and men were surrounded by hucksterers of +every care and creed, and one’s very quarters were invaded +<a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>by Jews and +Gentiles anxious to sell or buy something.</p> +<p>“This is the most arakristic trap in the west of +England, so ’elp me Gawd; isn’t it, Cyril?” one +Hebrew would inquire of another, as the points of an ancient +buggy and a quadruped standing in the square were extolled to +ambitious youngsters; and “Yes it is, so ’elp me +Gawd,” often succeeded in selling a rattle-trap that had +done duty in every regiment stationed at Gosport from time +immemorial. Old clothes-dealers, too, abounded by the +score, ready to buy anything for next to nothing. But some +of us youngsters were not to be caught like the veterans who were +unfamiliar with depôt ways, and the judicious deposit of a +farthing in a pocket now and again resulted in phenomenal prices +for cast-off garments till the hucksterers “tumbled,” +and the harvests ended; and so, between the goose step and a +thousand other delights, the happiest days many of us ever +enjoyed (though unaware of it at the time) passed slowly on.</p> +<p>At this period the Volunteers had just come into existence, +and, not having developed the splendid qualities they proved +themselves possessed of during the Boer War, naturally came in +for considerable chaff and ridicule.</p> +<p>As a specimen of the senseless jokes that abounded at the +time, I may quote what was generally mooted in military messes, +that at a recent levée the volunteers who had attended had +shown so much <i>esprit de corps</i> that Her Majesty had ordered +the windows to be opened; and it is, I believe, an absolute fact +that on one occasion an inspecting officer nearly had a fit when +the major of a gallant corps appeared with the medal his prize +sow had won pinned upon his breast.</p> +<p>It was the Volunteer review in Hyde Park in 1860 that was +responsible for my first appearance in uniform. <a +name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>Determined that +the review should lack nothing of military recognition, stands +had been erected, for which officers in uniform were entitled to +tickets for themselves and their relations. In an unlucky +moment the announcement had caught the eye of a sister, with the +result that, terribly nervous, nay almost defiant, I was marched +boldly down to Bond Street on the day of the review, and, +<i>nolens volens</i>, dressed at Ridpath and Manning’s in +my brand new cast-iron uniform.</p> +<p>Conceive, kind reader, a wretched youth—dressed inch by +inch by a ruthless tailor in broad daylight on a sunny afternoon, +incapable of deceiving the most inexperienced by his amateur +attempts of appearing at home—huddled into the clothes, and +then hustled into the street by a proud sister and father, and +some idea of my abject misery will be apparent to you.</p> +<p>It was at the moment, whilst waiting on the pavement to enter +our carriage, that a huge Guardsman passed and thought fit to +“salute.” My first instinct was to wring him by +the hand and present him with a sovereign; then all became +indistinct, and I tumbled into the carriage.</p> +<p>The excitement was too much for me—I almost fainted.</p> +<p>A splendid specimen of the Hibernian type in my regiment was a +man called Madden (and by his familiars “Payther”), +who, as a character, deserves special mention. This giant +had not long previously been “claimed” by an elder +brother whilst serving in a Highland Regiment, and it was +reported that on one occasion, when on sentry at Lucknow, the +general officer impressed by his six feet three in full Highland +costume, having pulled up and addressed him with, “What +part of the Highlands do you come from, my man?” was +considerably nonplussed by being informed, “Oi come from +Clonakilty, yer honour, in the County Cork.” Our +colonel, too, was an <a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>undoubted Irishman by birth; but had succeeded, after +forty years’ service, in being capable of assuming the +Scotch, Irish, or English dialect as circumstances seemed to +require. In addition, moreover, to an excessive amount of +<i>esprit de corps</i>, he had the reputation of being the +greatest liar in the Army; not a liar be it understood in the +offensive application of the term, but incapable of accuracy or +divesting his statements of exaggeration when notoriety or +circumstances gave him an opening. This failing of +“Bill Sykes,” as he was called, was so universally +known throughout the Army, that one evening a trap was laid for +him by some jovial spirits in the smoking-room of a famous Army +club.</p> +<p>“Here comes old Bill,” was remarked by Cootie, of +the Bays, as the Colonel sauntered in with a toothpick in his +mouth. “I’ll bet a fiver I’ll start a +yarn he’ll never be able to cap.”</p> +<p>“Done!” cried Kirby, “and if he +doesn’t keep up his reputation I’ll pay you on the +nail, and send in my papers in the morning.”</p> +<p>“Good evening, Colonel,” began Cootie. +“I was just relating a most extraordinary coincidence that +was lately told me by a man whose veracity I can vouch +for—Shute of ours.”</p> +<p>“Indeed,” replied the Colonel, filling a +pipe—Bill invariably smoked a dudeen at the head of the +regiment. “By all means let me hear it.”</p> +<p>“It is simply this. Coming home on sick leave in a +P. and O. not long ago, the look-out man descried half a mile out +at sea what appeared to be a huge box; a long boat was +immediately lowered, and when the derelict was brought on deck, +conceive the astonishment of everybody in discovering that it was +a hencoop, and a live man inside. It was a case of +shipwreck it appears, and the man saved was the only survivor of +some 180 souls. Rum thing, wasn’t it? but some people +have infernal luck.”</p> +<p><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>“Yes,” replied the Colonel. “I +believe I was horn under a lucky star; perhaps you will be +surprised to hear that <i>I</i> was the man.”</p> +<p>A roar of astonishment greeted this admission, whilst Cootie, +hastily thrusting a fiver into Kirby’s hand, whispered, +“I presume you won’t send in your papers +to-morrow?”</p> +<p>But, despite his peculiarity, old Bill was universally +popular. A splendid billiard player, he had in India +created such excitement in a match for £500, that even Lord +Faulkland, the Governor of Bombay, who never parted with a +sixpence without looking at it twice, was said to have put a gold +mohur on it, and in later times I can remember the Club House at +Aldershot being crammed to suffocation when the same redoubtable +warrior licked Curry the Brigade Major, who till our arrival had +no compeer.</p> +<p>One curious experience he had had which he never tired of +narrating: “I was once waiting for the d— packet at +Dover to take me over to Calais, and at the hostelry I met a +d— Frenchman, who asked me if I could ‘parley +vous,’ and I said ‘no,’ but offered to play him +a game of billiards. We had a fiver on it, but I soon +discovered that no matter where I left the balls the d— +fellow made a cannon. I was only about three ahead of him, +so when next I played I knocked a ball off the table. The +first time the d— fellow sympathised with me, and picked up +the ball; after two or three repetitions the coincidence appeared +to puzzle him. ‘I can’t play if Mooser does +this,’ he said angrily. ‘I can’t help +that,’ I replied, and ran out with a break. He +declined to go double or quits, so I pocketed the fiver, and +often found myself laughing over it in the d— boat, where I +was d— ill.”</p> +<p>This persistent swearing may sound curious to the student of +to-day, but in those halcyon days everybody swore. The Iron +Duke, it is well known, never opened <a name="page8"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 8</span>his mouth without a superfluous +adjective, and General Pennefather, who commanded at Aldershot in +my time, literally “swore himself” into office. +On one occasion, when the Queen was on the ground, he wished +every regiment so vehemently to the “bottom of the +bottomless pit” that it frightened the gracious lady, who +sent an equerry to remind him of her presence. The monition +had the desired effect for ten minutes, when the bombardment +commenced afresh, and brought the field-day to an abrupt +termination. The Queen had bolted in sheer trepidation of +an earthquake.</p> +<p>Military examinations for direct commissions in those long-ago +days were held at Chelsea Hospital, and extended over a +week. On the occasion of my public appearance an +extraordinary incident occurred. Every precaution, it was +stated, had been taken against the papers getting into +unauthorised hands, but hardly had the first day passed when +every candidate was aware that the tout of a sporting tailor was +prepared to sell the paper of the day correctly answered at +£2 a head. The conspirators met at the “Hans +Hotel,” and donkeys incapable of spelling, and with no +knowledge of any language but their own, passed examinations +worthy of a senior wrangler.</p> +<p>The miscreant who thus tampered with Her Majesty’s +stationery was one Pugh, and his employer (if I remember rightly) +was one Cutler; but the golden shower came to an abrupt ending, +as on one fateful morning (the last day) General Rumley ascended +the gallery, and amid the silence of the Catacombs briefly +announced:</p> +<p>“The late examination is cancelled; candidates will +attend again next Monday.”</p> +<p>The consternation that ensued is beyond description. +Jolliffe, who, I believe, had been measured for his uniform, did +not join for at least a year after, and poor old Plummy Ruthven, +who couldn’t spell six <a name="page9"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 9</span>words correctly, abandoned all further +idea of the Army. He was sitting next me on the first day, +and I remember as if it were yesterday his whispered inquiry as +to the correct reply to a mathematical question: “At what +hour between two and three are the hands of a clock opposite one +another?” The reply, it is needless to add, had to be +“worked out” by figures, but thinking in the +excitement he was asking the time I hurriedly whispered, +“Twenty minutes to one,” and down it went on poor old +Plummy’s paper. During the subsequent days his +papers, I fancy, were vastly improved, as he was a constant +visitor at the “Hans Hotel.”</p> +<p>The Aldershot of the sixties was a very different place to +what it is to-day. Three rows of huts—as the lines of +three regiments—constituted the North Camp, and about an +equal number and two blocks of permanent barracks represented the +South Camp. During the drill season everything else was +under canvas, and heaven help those who ever experienced the +watertight capacity of the regulation bell tent. I can well +remember one night, when the windows of heaven had been open for +days, a dripping figure in regimental great-coat and billycock +hat appearing in the mess tent with, “The horse is +disthroyed, and I don’t know what the Jasus to do,” +and as he dripped at “attention” we realised it was +only the adjutant’s Irish groom that had been washed out of +the temporary stable.</p> +<p>These wooden huts were peculiarly adapted for practical +joking. Within a week of my joining whilst contemplating +with admiration, previous to turning in, my brand new possessions +of portable furniture, I was astonished by a brick rattling down +the chimney. Barely had I dodged it when bang came another, +whilst not a sound disturbed the peaceful repose of the +camp. “Great heavens,” I thought, “there +must be an earthquake,” and rushing out <a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>frantically +to give the alarm, I paused, and on second thoughts +returned. But in the few seconds that had elapsed there +must have been another violent shock, for everything in my room +was upside down—the bedding was capsized, my boots were +swimming in the tub, table-cloths, carpet, everything one huge +mass. It was then that it dawned upon me, “this is +the finger of man,” and I proceeded to adjust my +belongings. “Anything up?” now sounded through +the window, and the appearance of two brother ensigns explained +the rest. I was never molested afterwards.</p> +<p>Practical joking, however, occasionally assumed serious +proportions, and ended in courts-martial, as did the Crawley +case. It was on this occasion that Sir William Harcourt +first came prominently to notice by the brilliant oration he put +into his client’s mouth: “Give me back my +sword,” was the dramatic phrase with which the old bully +ended his address. As if Crawley cared one rap what became +of his sword so long as the £10,000 attached to his +commission as colonel of the Inniskillings was safe.</p> +<p>The Robertson court-martial, of which I was an eyewitness, +also created a stir in the long-ago sixties. The colonel of +the 4th Dragoon Guards was at the time one Bentinck, who, despite +his heirship to the Dukedom of Portland, was about as uncouth a +being as can well be conceived. As field officer of the +day, no matter how late, he never missed dismounting and walking +through the officers’ guard room without a word, as if he +were inspecting the married quarters, and it was this amiable +creature who eventually prosecuted, in conjunction with Adjutant +Harran, as harmless an individual as ever posed as a +sabreur. Captain Robertson was the son of a Highland laird, +and, if I remember rightly, had a very handsome wife. What +it was all about I have long since forgotten, though the cloud of +witnesses that radiated towards the Royal barracks is in many +ways impressed on my <a name="page11"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 11</span>memory. Captain Owen—an +important witness as he described himself—was an officer of +militia, and, more military than the military, he revelled in +things military. His staple conversation was military; a +sort of peakless cap his everyday head-dress; his very +dressing-gown was frogged like a light dragoon’s frock +coat; for gloves he affected the buckskin class, and carried +glove-trees and pipeclay, at least whilst in Dublin. These +peculiarities were grafted on my memory by his having doubled up +for six weeks in my solitary room in Dublin. I had spoken +to him on one occasion, and in a weak moment invited him to +mess. How it all came about I have no recollection beyond +finding him located on me; having every meal at my expense, and +incurring a mess bill of over £8, which I eventually had to +pay. “D— it, old man,” he often said, +“this is like old times” (when the annual training +was on, presumably); “I can’t tear myself away from +the bugles.” And he didn’t, till peremptorily +requested to go.</p> +<p>Other witnesses of a more desirable type also swarmed for +weeks at our mess. Ginger Durant, who had never been out of +London since he left the 12th Lancers, was daily to be heard +bellowing “To the rag, to the rag” to the tune of +“Dixey’s Land,” and General Dickson, a grand +old warrior (happily still as fresh as paint) who commanded the +Turkish contingent in the Crimea, champed his bit and cursed the +necessity that detained him in Dublin.</p> +<p>At Aldershot was a regiment that was supposed to have stormed +some place with ours a hundred years before, and in those days of +“Regent’s allowances” and tolerably hard +drinking the occasion of again meeting in camp could not be +allowed to pass without various reciprocal hospitalities. +Their colonel was an old toper who never consumed less than +fifteen brandies-and-sodas after dinner, and well I recollect +hearing a mess waiter, as he helped him on with his <a +name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>coat, +expressing the hope, in a whisper, that if a man came before him +in the morning for being drunk, he would not think it necessary +to give him forty-eight hours cells. But the interchange of +civilities was by no means over with the dinner, and a dozen of +our heroes insisting on seeing their guests home, deliberately +swam the Canal, and their comrades not to be outdone, insisted on +seeing our contingent back, till the innumerable duckings +restored sobriety and every one retired to his respective +hut.</p> +<p>Not having been at the storming in the Peninsula, I had +retired to bed early.</p> +<p>The purchase system, however personally delightful, was +undoubtedly a very cruel regulation. I myself within seven +years passed over five men who had joined when I was two years +old; but the injustice of it never struck me till on one occasion +the junior major of a regiment in the same brigade, who had got +his commission on the same day as I had, turned me out as +subaltern of a guard. But he had not obtained this luck +without risking “Yellow Jack,” for exchanging to a +West India regiment and jumping from bottom to top in every grade +by bribing the entire regiment was a thoroughly recognised +arrangement by our amiable authorities. D’Arcy +Godolphin Osborne was an exponent of this brilliant bare-backed +(or bare-faced) vaulting, and despite being the brother of the +Duke of Leeds was not an ideal field officer.</p> +<p>“Purchase” literally killed poor ’Gus Anson, +brother of the Earl of Lichfield. With a constitution +shattered since Lucknow, where he won the V.C., night after night +found him arguing against its abolition in the House of Commons; +and the almost nightly intimations I sent him, at his request, +“that we had enough for Baccarat” did the rest, and I +eventually saw the best and bravest of men on his death-bed at +Dudley House.</p> +<h2><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>CHAPTER II.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE TOWER.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">About</span> this time all England was +ringing with what was known as the “Trent affair”; +10,000 troops had been ordered to Montreal, of which a +considerable portion were Guards, and so it devolved on certain +line battalions to garrison London, and we were ordered to the +Tower.</p> +<p>It was the regimental guest-night, and all the plate of which +the regiment was so proud decked the table in the dark wainscoted +room of the Mess House. In the middle of the table stood a +centre-piece displaying the soldiers in the uniforms of the days +of Marlborough, the Peninsular, and later on, when the hateful +Albert Shako did duty as the headgear of British infantry; +extending down each side were scrolls containing the names of +brave men who had fallen with their faces to the enemy at Quebec, +Quatre Bras, and the Redan, whilst flanking the massive trophy +were silver goblets varying in size—from those that held a +quart down to others of more modern dimensions, indicative of +presentations on promotion, marriage, or “selling +out.” It had, indeed, once been a custom for the last +joined ensign to drain the largest tankard on his first +appearance at mess; but that was in the days when four bottles +under a man’s belt was deemed a reasonable amount, and +before the Regent’s allowance enabled every one to consume +nightly a half-glass of port or sherry free of expense.</p> +<p>The Colonel, as may be supposed, was in great form, each of +his yarns exceeding in improbability <a name="page14"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 14</span>the one preceding it. +“Yes, gentlemen,” he was saying, “I remember my +father saying how at Quatre Bras the regiment found itself +confronted by the 88th French Infantry Corps, and he overheard +the right-hand man of his company saying, as he bit off the end +of his cartridge, ‘Jasus, boys, here’s a +case—here we are opposite the French Connaught +Rangers!’”</p> +<p>“I was saying, gentlemen,” the Colonel’s +voice was here heard declaring, “that I shall never +forget”—and then followed a tissue of fabrications +every one had frequently heard before, but which nobody but the +worthy old warrior for one moment believed.</p> +<p>Coffee and cigars had meanwhile made their welcome appearance, +and as guests began to think of home, and others settled down to +muff whist, the ante-room resumed the humdrum appearance so +familiar to every one who can speak from experience.</p> +<p>By the irony of fate, also, the regiment was furnishing the +guards on this special guest-night, a circumstance that claimed +more than one punter; not satisfied with which, the field +officer’s “roster” had apparently joined issue +and requisitioned the old Major who, on these festive occasions +was always a sure hand at loo, and who at the identical moment +when he should have been “taking the miss,” was +probably bellowing out “Grand Rounds,” to some +distant guard in tones that belied his amiable genial +disposition.</p> +<p>George, on these occasions, was the recognised organiser, and +by herculean efforts had secured some half-dozen recruits to +commence loo as soon as old Hanmer returned.</p> +<p>Games of chance—even in the long-ago sixties—were +rarely indulged in in the ante-room, which was reserved +exclusively for solemn whist for nominal stakes, where the +players bottled up trumps, misdealt, and revoked, regardless of +all the canons of the game.</p> +<p><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>“Damn it, sir!” once exclaimed an irate +General at an inspection dinner to his trembling +partner—the assistant surgeon—“Are you aware +that 3,000 shoeless men are tramping the streets of the Continent +for not leading trumps?” to which the medico—who was +a Kerry man—replied respectfully:</p> +<p>“Oi apalagoise, surr, most humbly; but oi disremembered +me abligation.”</p> +<p>“Obligation be d—, sir!” replied the genial +old warrior as he lighted a fresh cheroot.</p> +<p>“The Major’s late,” remarked George to a +confirmed loo player; “let us go up to my room and get the +table ready. Come on,” he continued to four or five +others, “we’ll make a start anyhow; he can’t be +long.”</p> +<p>The officers’ quarters in the Tower can hardly be +described as spacious, and so by the addition of chairs from +other rooms; with the table lugged into the centre, and brandy +and sodas piled on the bed it was not long before some half-dozen +punters were securely wedged together and indulging in unlimited +loo for stakes that were not always nominal.</p> +<p>The Major, meanwhile, had joined the party and without +divesting himself of either cloak, shako, or sword, dashed into +the fray with considerably greater zeal than he had displayed +when going the rounds. Not that he was any feather-bed +soldier; on the contrary, he had borne his full share of the +trenches, and then often found himself told off to march to +Balaclava with a fatigue party, and eventually to enjoy a few +hours’ sleep in wet clothes on wet ground, whilst blankets +and boots were rotting within six miles, and all because brave +men were at the front, and old women were at the back of that +rickety machine called the War Office.</p> +<p>Billy Hanmer, amid the ordinary walks of life, was of a chilly +temperament; the thermometer in his quarters was never permitted +to register less than <a name="page16"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 16</span>65 degrees; he wore flannels all the +year round, which in winter were duplicated, even to his socks; +when he became excited—which never occurred except at loo, +or when suddenly called upon to drill the battalion—the +three hairs that were usually pasted across his martial skull +rose like the crest of a cockatoo, and he was apt to give vent to +expressions seldom or never heard at a bishop’s. +Swearing in those long-ago days was considered a necessary +adjunct to military efficiency, as any one who was under +Pennefather when he commanded at Aldershot can testify, and so it +was that the Major was now swearing like a trooper. As a +fact, he had just been “loo-ed,” and was counting +some forty sovereigns into the pool, and every sovereign was +accompanied by an oath as unique as it was unavailing.</p> +<p>George Hay, sportsman though he was, was also a bad loser, but +this evening, in his capacity as host the Fates had happily +protected him. The grilled bones that appeared at 2 a.m., +and the inordinate amount of brandy and soda that had been +consumed, were all put down to him; but the hundred he had won +left ample margin for the hospitality, and towards five our hero +fell into a profound and refreshing sleep, periodically enlivened +by sweet visions of huge pools that he persistently raked in, +whilst Billy Hanmer, divested of cloak, sword, and shako, was +swearing till the old rafters rattled.</p> +<p>In those days the club most affected by subalterns was the +“Raleigh,” a charming night-house, approached by a +tunnel, whose portals opened at dusk and closed reputedly at four +a.m., or whenever its members vacated it. And the comfort +of that long, delightful single room! Ranged round its +entirety were fauteuils, suitable alike for forty winks, or +brandy and soda, or the only eatables procurable—bacon on +toast sandwiches with a dash of biting sauce. Here might be +seen the best men in London percolating <a +name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>through at +every moment, and exchanging badinage as brilliant as probably it +was naughty—poor old George Lawrence of “Sword and +Gown” fame, and Piggy Lawrence, killed not long after in a +regimental steeplechase; Fred Granville, who assisted at a once +celebrated elopement by waiting at one door of an Oxford Street +shop for the beautiful <i>fiancée</i> of a wealthy +landowner whose brougham had deposited her at another; Freddy +Cooper, the best four-in-hand whip of the day; the wicked Marquis +who ran through a fortune almost before he was of age; and young +Wyndham, another Croesus of the duck-and-drake type; Sir Henry de +Hoghton of the red tie and velvet suit who thought he could play +ecarté; and King-Harman, then a sinner, but eventually a +saint, who died in the sanctity of respectability. These, +and a hundred others, all, alas gone to the inevitable dustbin, +and yet the old building exists, <i>externally</i> apparently the +same—the haunt of aspiring youths seeking a club with a +past, respectable and cautious to the highest degree, where +cheques are not cashed over £5, and the doors close at one +a.m. to the tick.</p> +<p>But even in these long-ago days, the membership increased to +such an extent that elbow-room had to be sought, and so Sally +Sutherland’s, a high-class night-house that abutted on the +premises, was eventually taken in, and became the card room of +the old Raleigh. To see this room in its glory it was +necessary to enter it during the Derby week, where, as far as the +eye could reach (and farther), one dense mass of human faces +watched the proceedings at the card table, and fought and hustled +to pass fivers and tenners and fifties towards building up the +mountain of bank notes that flanked either side of the table.</p> +<p>Seated composedly were the two champions with their bankers +alongside them, then a fringe ten deep of pasty-faced cornets and +rubicund old sinners with sheaves of bank notes in their hands, +while beyond <a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>were the “fielders”—landsharks who +never played—eagerly watching every turn of the cards to +take advantage of any bet that appeared slightly in their +favour. “Chalky” White—the master of the +Essex as he was ironically called—because he affected horsy +overalls, and was once seen on a screw at the Boat Race; Captain +Mulroony, an Irish buckeen who joined the “North +Corks” to be eligible for “the cloob”; +“the Rapparee,” another warrior with a brogue of a +pronounced order, all ready to plunge on a reasonable certainty +and retail their experiences later on, on their return to +Dublin. Needless to add, we youngsters had put down our +names <i>en bloc</i> for membership as soon as we had settled +down at the Tower, and on the memorable night to which we refer +were in great force in the long room. George Hay, one of +our lieutenants who was being entertained by a venerable member, +was wrapped in contemplation as he watched a decrepit old +gentleman sipping a gin sling. “That +man”—his cicerone was telling him—“fought +the last duel in England; look at him now, about eighty if +he’s a day, and barely able to crawl down here, and yet +fifty years ago he had a drunken brawl with his best friend at +Crockford’s, and shot him dead before breakfast at the back +of Ham House. Wait till the play begins and you’ll +see him ‘fielding’; he never plays, but if he sees a +chance, no matter how slightly in his favour, he still pulls out +a crumpled fiver and invites you to cover it. He only bets +‘ready,’ and would probably ‘call you +out’ if you suggested ‘booking’ it. That +man in the blue shirt is the Duke of Hamilton; he only turns up +in the Derby week, and has probably just arrived by special +train. We call him ‘the butcher,’ because of +his shirt and his punching proclivities. He plunges, too; +wait a bit till the Leviathans turn up. You’ll see +some sport yet.”</p> +<p>“What are you going to do, George?” inquired <a +name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>a youngster; +“why not have a look in at Kate Hamilton’s? +This is all d— rot, and I’ve put my name down for 2 +a.m.”</p> +<p>Putting one’s name down, it may be explained, was a +necessary formality indicating at what hour an officer intended +to return when the wicket at the Tower was opened and closed, and +punctuality was a necessity of the greatest moment.</p> +<p>On one occasion, indeed when “Payther” Madden was +on sentry, the wife of an officer who gave herself considerable +airs having arrived five minutes late was challenged from inside +by “Who goes there?” “I’m the +Major’s lady,” was the haughty response. +“Divil a bit do I care if ye were the Major’s +wife!” yelled Payther from inside; “you’ll not +get in till the wicket is opened agin.”</p> +<p>And the approaches to the Tower in those days were not the +broad and well-lighted avenues such as the Eastcheap of to-day; +tortuous alleys and dingy, narrow streets had to be traversed, +and the garrotter was very much in evidence. Officers +returning late carried knuckle-dusters and short blades in their +right-hand overcoat pockets, ready to job any footpad who +attempted to seize them from behind. Men seldom returned +but in parties of twos or threes, and so it was that the +Major’s “lady” found herself constrained to hug +the walls of the grim old fortress during the early hours of that +memorable night in the long-ago sixties.</p> +<p>It was the night after the big race, when Caractacus was +responsible for much that followed, that the crowd at the Raleigh +was phenomenal, and champagne was being consumed in tumblers from +the entrance hall to the card room. Thousands had changed +hands within the past dozen hours, and old Jimmy Jopp with his +chocolate wig over his left eye was scrambling sovereigns from +the doorstep amongst the fair guests of our country who thronged +the boulevard. The card room <a name="page20"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 20</span>had not as yet entered on its usual +function, the window was indeed open in an endeavour to dilute +the stifling atmosphere, and a corpulent old lady with a Flemish +accent was half-way in the sacred precincts through the combined +efforts of a bevy of fair compatriots on the pavement.</p> +<p>“Curse these races,” ejaculated Biscoe, +“where have the plungers got to? Nearly one +o’clock by G—, and a pile to be got home before +daylight.”</p> +<p>This Biscoe was not a favourite in the club; of a hectoring +disposition he added to his unpopularity by the pursuit of sharp +practices. If he won he invariably found an excuse to +retire with his gains, and if he lost he became cantankerous and +offensive in his remarks. Some there were, indeed, who went +so far as hinting that he was not above unfair dealings. He +was partial to shuffling the cards with their faces towards him +and placing a king at the bottom of the pack. This he +explained was mere force of habit, and when remonstrated +with—as he often had been—added that he was +superstitious and that one of his superstitions took this +form. No actual act of foul play had ever been brought home +to him; he was nevertheless under suspicion, and being otherwise +unpopular, his eccentricities assumed a graver form when balanced +by hostile critics.</p> +<p>Cheating in those long-ago days was happily a rare occurrence; +a man about town might beggar his parents, or drive his wife into +the workhouse, and still hold up his head as a man of honour if +he met his card debts on the nail; but “sharping” was +practically unknown till some years later, when a scandal that +thrilled Europe and involved a deep erasure in the Army List was +enacted at Nice.</p> +<p>The Raleigh, meanwhile, was gradually simmering down; choice +spirits had started for Cremorne or Mott’s; the more +soberly amused had wended their steps towards Evans’s, and +the residue might have <a name="page21"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 21</span>been classed as either punters or +puntees—if such base coin will bear alloy.</p> +<p>Seated in the card room, Biscoe still smoked in his solitude; +before him was a gilt-bound volume such as betting men affect, +and its contemplation apparently did not afford unalloyed +pleasure. “Egad,” he muttered, +“£4,000, more or less, and not a hundred to meet it +with; to-night it’s neck or nothing, and if nobody bleeds I +shall be unable to face the music on Monday. Ah, De +Hoghton,” he exclaimed, barely looking up as an apparition +in velvet and red tie appeared, “been at Epsom? +No? Perhaps you were wise.”</p> +<p>Paddy was too clever to suggest a game, knowing as he did the +eccentric baronet’s peculiarities. “Never +mind,” he continued, “better luck to-morrow, +perhaps. I’m half asleep. Good-night,” +and he rose as if about to depart.</p> +<p>“What’s the hurry?” inquired the new +arrival. “If you want to keep awake I’ll play +you half a dozen games of ecarté, but only for small +stakes, mind.”</p> +<p>Want indeed! It was what Biscoe had wanted for hours, +and as to the stakes, did he not know from delightful experience +that if they began at £5 it would not be long before the +game was for hundreds, and that his adversary’s rent roll +might be counted in thousands?</p> +<p>“My dear Sir Henry,” replied Biscoe, “name +your own stakes. No fear of making them too low. I +feel in bad form to-night, and your science will be altogether +too much for me.”</p> +<p>“Say a pony then,” continued the baronet, and they +cut for deal.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the room began gradually to fill, and as the +unmistakable flutter of crisp notes—for which no +resemblance has ever been discovered—made itself heard in +the long room, George Hay and a troop of others sauntered +negligently into the room.</p> +<p><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>“Sit beside me, Colonel,” De Hoghton +requested a grizzly, rubicund warrior, “you’ll be +able to advise me when they make a pool.”</p> +<p>“And, Rapparee, I want you,” exclaimed +Biscoe. “We must show these English boys how we play +at Stephen’s Green,” and a fire-eating pronounced +Hibernian took post alongside his compatriot.</p> +<p>For a considerable time the luck appeared to fluctuate, and if +hundreds were passed across the table on one game, they returned +more or less intact at the subsequent encounter. Play was +now in real earnest, and stakes were hazarded that were simply +appalling. Biscoe, too, appeared to be in for a run of +luck, and the excited whisperings between him and the Rapparee +left little room for doubt that he contemplated a retreat on the +first defeat.</p> +<p>His winnings, indeed, were considerable, and a smile pervaded +his hitherto scowling face as he contemplated the Monday’s +settling with equanimity. Again the bank was declared, and +a pile of notes larger than any of its predecessors lumbered each +side of the table; eyes, apparently, had no other vocation than +to watch their respective champion’s hands; the ticking of +the clock on the mantelpiece became a nuisance, and the +grasshopper literally became a burden; the silence of the +Catacombs pervaded the entire assembly, when a voice, shrill and +excited, was heard: “Do that again, Mr. Biscoe, and +I’ll expose you.”</p> +<p>It was the Colonel, who leaning across the table bore down +Biscoe’s hands with a strong right arm as he was in the act +of shuffling.</p> +<p>“What am I to understand by this?” inquired Biscoe +looking towards the Rapparee. “If it’s by way +of an insult you’ve met the right boy to resent it. +Hands off, sir!” he shouted, as shaking off the +Colonel’s hand, he hurled the pack of cards in his +face.</p> +<p>“Hold, hold, gentlemen, for God’s sake,” +implored <a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>De Hoghton, as a dozen men interposed between the +belligerents. “Some explanation is surely forthcoming +that may avoid a scandal. Colonel, tell those gentlemen +what you saw, and let them decide on the merits before it gets +into the papers.”</p> +<p>“What I saw I am prepared to prove,” replied the +Colonel, excitedly; “but even that sinks into +insignificance, as far as I am personally concerned, in face of +the man’s assault. Meanwhile, pick up these cards, +count them carefully, and if you don’t find five kings in +the pack I’ll apologise to Mr. Biscoe, and take his assault +like a coward.”</p> +<p>And then a scramble on the floor began, which was followed by +breathless silence.</p> +<p>“Count them, please,” requested the Colonel, and +sure enough 33 was the result.</p> +<p>“Now turn the faces towards you, sir,” continued +the Colonel; “and extract the kings.” And lo! +before a dumbfounded crowd, two kings of hearts were +displayed.</p> +<p>“This, gentlemen, is my accusation. I charge Mr. +Biscoe with being a card-sharper and a cheat. To-morrow +I’ll lay my charge before the Committee; meanwhile, I +retire and will ask you, Hay, to act as my +representative.”</p> +<p>The Rapparee meanwhile had been in whispered conversation with +his friend, and on the Colonel’s departure, addressed +himself to Hay.</p> +<p>“Oi presume, surr, your principal will meet my man +unless he’s a coward, and we shall be pleased to let him +fix his own day, either before or afther his complaint to the +Committee.”</p> +<p>“This is hardly the time, sir, to enter into such +arrangements,” replied Hay, courteously; “but I vouch +for Colonel George doing what is right and honourable.”</p> +<p>But one of the younger members seemed inclined to treat the +matter as a joke, and turning towards <a name="page24"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 24</span>the Rapparee, remarked, “But, +surely, sir, you must see that if it’s a duel you are +hinting at, it would hardly be fair considering that Colonel +George is considerably stouter than Mr. Biscoe. May we +assume, sir, that you won’t object to a chalk mark down +each side of the Colonel’s waistcoat, and a hit outside not +to count?”</p> +<p>“Surr!” scowled the Rapparee.</p> +<p>“Please,” pleaded Hay; “this is not a joking +matter, the honour of the Club and of every member who was +present is at stake till the affair is cleared up. I appeal +to you, gentlemen, one and all, to retire.”</p> +<p>Turning to the Rapparee, and raising his hat, he continued: +“My name, sir, is Lieutenant Hay, and I’m stationed +at the Tower.”</p> +<h2><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>CHAPTER III.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">MOTT’S AND CREMORNE.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">London</span> in the sixties possessed no +music-halls as at present except the London Pavilion and a +transpontine establishment unknown to the West End. This +former had not long previously been transformed from a swimming +bath into an undertaker’s shed, which in its turn gave +place to the dingy hall which eventually made the fortune of a +waiter from Scott’s. But such excitement (!) hardly +met the requirements of progressive civilisation, which found an +outlet in the Argyll, Cremorne, the Café Riche, Sally +Sutherland’s, Kate Hamilton’s, Rose Young’s, +and Mott’s. It seems but yesterday that one was +sipping champagne at Boxall’s stall in the Café +Riche (now a flower shop adjoining the Criterion) waiting for +young Broome the pugilist, who was to pilot one in safety to +“the big fight between King and Heenan.” In +those halcyon days cafés remained open all night, and +three a.m. was the hour appointed for our start for London +Bridge. What splendid aid was then given legitimate sport +by the authorities, as driving through rows of police across +London Bridge one reached the terminus in comfort by simply +displaying one’s ticket. With a pork pie in one +pocket, and a handkerchief in another, one’s peace of mind +was delightful, and hands in every pocket—aye, and knives +to cut one out if necessary—were accepted only as a portion +of a novel and delightful excitement.</p> +<p><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>Pitching the ring again in one field and being warned +off by the Kent constabulary, how invigorating the tramp through +ploughed fields, till again we found a spot—this time +undisturbed—in the muddy plains of Sussex. Wisps of +straw provided for the more favoured by the attention of their +punching cicerones, the biting of King’s ear to bring him +to “time,” the two giants half blind, swinging their +arms mechanically, the accidental blow that felled the brave +Heenan, and the shameful verdict that denied him the victory ten +minutes previously, the return to the “Bricklayers’ +Arms”—how vivid it all seems! And yet +principals, seconds, lookers-on, where are they?</p> +<p>The Café Riche of the long-ago sixties was perhaps the +most successful and best regulated of the haunts of vanished +London. Slack to an extreme till about 11 p.m., the huge +mass of humanity as it poured out of the Argyll made straight for +it. As one traversed the almost impassable Windmill Street +along the narrow path kept by a bevy of police, all thoughts +turned towards the Café Riche, where the best of suppers, +oysters, and champagne prepared one for the more arduous +exertions of Cremorne or Mott’s. Cremorne in those +days was a delightful resort, with an excellent band, and +frequented by the most exalted of men and the most beautiful of +women. Here might be seen nightly during his stay in London +a late ruling monarch (then Crown Prince) whose moustache the +ladies insisted on twisting; here, too, occasionally big rows +took place, affairs that originated in some trifle, such as the +irritation of an excitable blood on seeing a harmless shop-boy +dancing in the ring. King-Harman probably was the principal +originator of these encounters. Naturally of an amiable but +plethoric disposition, a sight such as the above was like a red +rag to a bull, and in no time the fight became universal and +furious. Gas was <a name="page27"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 27</span>turned off, the ringleaders bolted, +pursued by police. A run as far as Chelsea Hospital with a +“bobby” in full cry was by no means an uncommon +occurrence.</p> +<p>On the occasions when exalted foreigners like Prince Humbert +were going, the ground in a way had to be salted. +Intimation was privately conveyed to certain well-known +roysterers at Long’s, the Raleigh, and elsewhere, that an +exalted personage asked them to abstain from rows; a puncher and +two or three bloods were told off to accompany, and a special +envoy was instructed to warn Johnny Baum (the lessee) not to be +aware of the angel he was harbouring and to resist the temptation +of any gush and “dutiful” toadyism; and so on the +eventful night Humbert lolled unrecognised through the revelling +crowds, whilst ghastly veterans in harlotry twitted him on his +huge moustache and thrust cards into his fist as tokens of +British hospitality.</p> +<p>Mott’s, too, was a unique institution, select it might +almost be termed, considering the precautions that were taken +regarding admittance. Every man who entered was known by +name or sight. A man of good birth or position, no matter +how great a roué, was admitted as it were by right, whilst +parvenus, however wealthy, were turned empty away. It was +told indeed that on one occasion, being importuned for admission +by a wealthy hatter, old Freer, having been requested by the +indignant shop-boy to take his card, had replied, “Not +necessary, sir. Not necessary. I have your name in my +hat.” And so the line that divided the classes in the +sixties was religiously respected. In those benighted days +tradesmen sent in their bills apologetically, and if a tailor +began to importune, a fresh order met the case. Flats were +unbuilt, and people did not hear what was going on all day and +all night at their next door neighbour’s; inferiors said +“Sir,” and “Right you are” was a <a +name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>phrase +uncoined; if you dined at Simpson’s or Limmer’s you +were served on silver, and no waiter ventured to ask you who won +the 3.45 race; club waiters literally stalked one as they +approached with a dish, and the caravanserais that now dominate +the entire length of Piccadilly had not pulled down club averages +nor reduced the prestige that attached to club membership. +The great gulf was fixed as immovably as between Dives and +Lazarus when Abraham was the umpire, and things probably found +their level as well as in these advanced days, when money is +everything, and £20,000 judiciously applied will ensure a +baronetcy.</p> +<p>The ladies who frequented Mott’s, moreover, were not the +tawdry make-believes that haunt the modern “Palaces,” +but actresses of note, who, if not Magdalens, sympathised with +them; girls of education and refinement who had succumbed to the +blandishments of youthful lordlings; fair women here and there +who had not yet developed into peeresses and progenitors of +future legislators. Among them were “Skittles,” +celebrated for her ponies, and Sweet Nelly Fowler, the undisputed +Queen of Beauty in those long-ago days. This beautiful girl +had a natural perfume, so delicate, so universally admitted, that +love-sick swains paid large sums for the privilege of having +their handkerchiefs placed under the Goddess’s pillow, and +sweet Nelly pervaded—in the spirit, if not in the +flesh—half the clubs and drawing-rooms of London.</p> +<p>This remnant of old-fashioned homage was by no means unusual, +and at fancy bazaars it was an almost invariable custom to secure +the services of the belle of the hour to sell strawberries at 2s. +6d. apiece, which the fair vendor placed to her lip and then +pushed between the swain’s. Years later a matronly +creature, forgetting that her charms had long since vanished, +essayed to fill the coffers of a charity bazaar by similar <a +name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>blandishments, and as one looked at the hollow cheeks +and discoloured tusks one was fain to wonder what the effect of +the “treatment” would be on the most robust +constitution.</p> +<p>Situated in an unpretentious house in Foley Street, the +ballroom at Mott’s (as it appeared in the sixties) was a +spacious octagon with a glass dome. At the side, approached +by a few steps, was the supper room, where between 2 and 3 a.m. +cold fowl and ham and champagne were discussed, the fiddlers +descending from their loft, and revelry fast and furious took the +place of the valse.</p> +<p>Not many years ago, impelled by an irresistible impulse, I +visited the hall of dazzling light; a greasy drab opened the +street door, and conducted me into a dingy apartment, which she +assured me was the old haunt. Sure enough, there stood the +dilapidated orchestra perch, and, yet a little way off, the steps +that led to the supper room; and whilst I was contemplating them +with something very like a lump in my throat, a squeaky voice +addressed me, and I beheld a decrepit old man—all that was +left of poor old Freer—whom memory associated with an +expanse of white waistcoat, essaying hints such as, “Now, +then, lady’s chain,” or hob-nobbing with some beauty, +or remonstrating, “Really, my lord, these practical jokes +cannot be permitted.” This temple of the past may +still be seen with all the windows smashed and on the eve of +demolition.</p> +<p>Lord Hastings in those far-off days was the chief culprit in +every devilry. Beloved by police and publican, he occupied +a privileged position; nothing vicious characterised his jokes, +and he had but one enemy—himself. His advent at a +ratting match or a badger drawing was a signal to every loafer +that the hour of his thirst was ended, and that henceforth +“the Markis was in the chair.” Six cases of +champagne invariably formed the first order, and as old <a +name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>Jimmy Shaw +shouted, “’Ere, more glasses there, and dust a chair +for ’is Lordship,” the four ale bar closed in, as it +were, and duke and dustman hobnobbed and clinked glasses with a +deferential familiarity unknown in these levelling days.</p> +<p>Lord Hastings selected his companions on facial and other +merits, and no meeker, more guileless-looking youths existed than +Bobby Shafto and Freddy Granville. “Bobby,” +said the Marquis, on one occasion, when he had arranged a +surprise at Mott’s, “we must go round to Jimmy +Shaw’s. I’ve to pick up a parcel there, and, +look here, old man, you must smuggle it in somehow; old Freer +always looks carefully at me, but he’ll never suspect you; +you must carry it under your cape, and when we get inside mind, +don’t go down to the supper room. I’ll run down +for a second, and then join you; you know the spot I showed you +near the meter?”</p> +<p>Arriving in Windmill Street, no time was lost in +preliminaries.</p> +<p>“Is it all right, Jimmy?” inquired the Marquis, +and in reply a cadaverous individual dressed like a gamekeeper +respectfully approached his lordship. This was the +professional rat-catcher, who traversed the main drains half the +day, and supplied the various sporting haunts with thousands of +rats nightly.</p> +<p>If a dog was backed to kill one thousand rats in a specified +time the supply never failed to be equal to the demand, despite +the hundreds that were pitted nightly against ferrets, or +produced at so much a dozen for young bloods to try their dogs +on.</p> +<p>To see this rat-catcher plunge his hand into a sack full of +huge and ferocious sewer rats and extracting them one by one by +the tail count the requisite amount into the pit was a sight +beyond description, as legislators, cabinet ministers, peers, and +army men threw sovereigns at him in payment of the sport +supplied.</p> +<p><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>Carrying a sack in his hand this individual respectfully +replied: “All right, my lud, two hundred as varmint a lot +as iver I clapped eyes on. Thanks, your lordship, good luck +to yer,” and he pocketed his fee.</p> +<p>“But are they tied all right?” inquired Bobby, as +the parcel was presented to him.</p> +<p>“Right, sir? Why, you’ve only to slip this +string like, and there you are.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know where I should be,” suggested Bobby; +“but I mean now. I’ll be d—d if +I’ll put them under my cloak for a thousand till you make a +regular knot.”</p> +<p>“Well, there you are, sir,” replied the expert +with a pitying smile, as he performed the requisite function.</p> +<p>“Now we’re all right, Bobby,” added the +Marquis. “Come on, we must catch them at +supper. I’ve got a knife, come on,” and +directing the hansom to Foley Street, the conspirators proceeded +on their mission.</p> +<p>“Very quiet!” remarked the Marquis, as Freer +received them at the door.</p> +<p>“Supper, my lord, supper; and, beg pardon, my lord, no +larks to-night, please; we’ve a rare lot here to-night, my +lord; Lord Londesboro’ is here with Miss Fowler and no end +of toffs.”</p> +<p>“Why, Freer, what are you talking about? Look at +me,” and he displayed his white waistcoat, “and Mr. +Shafto here, he doesn’t know London or your infernal +place. I’m showing him the rounds, Freer; we +shan’t stay long,” and, preceded by the unsuspecting +old sinner, the pair proceeded as arranged.</p> +<p>Sitting in the deserted room, Bobby scanned the empty +orchestra loft, whilst shouts intermingled with the popping of +corks arose from the supper room beyond, so shifting his position +to nearer proximity to the meter, he awaited the return of his +companion.</p> +<p>“All right, old man, they’ll be up in ten minutes, +but don’t budge till the fiddles strike up; here’s +the <a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>knife, +blade open; don’t cut till I say ‘Now,’ and +bolt like h— once the gas is out.”</p> +<p>The requisite wait was not of long duration. First came +old Freer, as, casting a sheep’s eye at the Marquis, he +contemplated the orchestra; next, producing a watch, he shouted, +“time, gentlemen,” and half a dozen seedy +instrumentalists ascended the stairs. The pianist, it was +evident, was in his cups, but no notice was taken of +this—it being admitted that he played better when drunk +than when sober, and had even been known to supply impromptu +variations and improvements to the “Mabel Valse” and +“Blue Danube” when under the exhilarating influence +of Freer’s brut champagne. Then followed a bevy of +fair women—Nelly Fowler and her worshipful lord; +“Shoes,” who eventually became Lady W—; Baby +Jordan, Nelly Clifford, the innocent cause of dynastic ructions +twelve months later at the Curragh—closely followed by Fred +Granville, Lyttleton, Chuckles, John Delapont, of the 11th, and a +mob of flushed men, and as the fiddles began to twang, and the +dancers took up positions, the Marquis thought fit to add a word +in season. “Talk away, old man, as if it was +something private, or some one will be coming up and spoiling the +game; go on, man; now then, look out, is the knife all +ready? Shake ’em well out, old man, they can’t +hurt you; look out, are you ready? Now.”</p> +<p>To describe what followed is impossible. Two hundred men +and women, and two hundred sewer rats, compressed within the +compass of forty feet by thirty, and in a darkness as profound as +was ever experienced in Egypt.</p> +<p>Bobby and Hastings meanwhile were driving towards Cremorne +with the complacency of men who had done their duty.</p> +<p>Cremorne on a Derby night baffles description; progress round +the dancing platform was almost <a name="page33"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 33</span>impossible. The +“Hermit’s Cave” and the “Fairy +Bower” were filled to repletion, and to pass the private +boxes was to run the gauntlet of a quartern loaf or a dish of +cutlets at one’s head. Fun fast and furious reigned +supreme, during which the smaller fry of shop-boys and hired +dancers pirouetted within the ring with their various +partners. But as time advanced, and the wine circulated, +the advent of detachments of roysterers bespoke a not-distant +row. A Derby night without a row was, in those days, an +impossibility, and the night that our contingent started from the +Raleigh was no exception to the rule.</p> +<p>No man in his senses brought a watch, and if his coat was torn +and his hat smashed, what matter? And if he lost the few +shillings provided to meet cab fare and incidental expenses the +loss was not a serious one, always supposing a cab was to be +found, and one was not in the clutches of the law.</p> +<p>“There’s King-Harman,” remarked Hastings, +“let us stick near him; there’s bound to be a row +before morning, and we may as well be together. Can you +run, Bobby? Not with that cape, though; you’ll have +to chuck that; but what does it matter, it’s done its duty, +and it’s unworthy of a less honourable +distinction?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Bobby. “I don’t +fancy wearing it after those infernal rats. But why should +there be a row?”</p> +<p>“A row, man,” replied his mentor, “of course +there’ll be a row; what did we come here for but a +row? What did King-Harman come here for, do you suppose, +but a row? And look here, when they turn the gas +out—as they always do—run like blazes; you’re +not safe till you get to Chelsea Hospital, and don’t run +into the arms of a policeman; they sometimes stop chaps running, +on spec.,” and with these words of wisdom they mingled with +the crowd.</p> +<p>The expected dénouement was not long in coming, <a +name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>and in a +second, and without apparent warning, sticks were crashing down +on top hats, tumblers flying in every direction, and fists coming +in contact with anything or anybody whose proximity seemed to +suggest it.</p> +<p>The fiddlers had meanwhile made a hasty retreat, the gas was +put out, and with the exception here and there of an illumination +(a dip steeped in oil), the free fight continued till a bevy of +police appeared upon the scene.</p> +<p><i>Sauve qui peut</i> was then the word, and helter skelter, +old and young, Jew and Gentile, soiled doves and hereditary +legislators dashed like the proverbial herd of swine towards the +gates. Often did this stampede continue for a mile, till +straggling cabs, on their way to their stables, picked up the +stragglers, and landed them in less disturbed districts. +But the night was by no means over, not certainly the Derby night +for roysterers like Lord Hastings.</p> +<p>“We’ll have a rasher of bacon, Bobby,” he +explained, as they descended in Piccadilly Circus. +“Why, it’s barely five o’clock,” and they +entered an unpretentious coffee-house in rear of the colonnade, +much frequented by roysterers and market gardeners.</p> +<p>“<i>Qui hi</i>;” shouted a voice as they took +their seats in an uncomfortable pew, and old Jim Stewart, of the +93rd, and a companion hailed them from behind a mountain of eggs +and bacon.</p> +<p>But their adventures were not to end with this wholesome +repast, as, coming out, they espied an empty cart, into which +they all proceeded to climb.</p> +<p>“Hi, master,” shouted the owner, disturbed at his +meal, “that be moine.”</p> +<p>“Not it, man,” yelled Hastings; “it’s +mine; jump in,” and, without a murmur, the worthy man +obeyed.</p> +<p>“Where to, master?” was the next inquiry. +“I be going for a load of gravel to Scotland +Yard.” And <a name="page35"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 35</span>within half an hour four bucks with +white ties were shovelling in gravel as if their lives depended +on it.</p> +<p>Scotland Yard in those days was a public gravel-pit, and its +name did not convey the painful suggestions of after years.</p> +<p>“Where now, master?” inquired the yokel again, and +St. John’s Wood was the order.</p> +<p>Here, before a palatial mansion, the cart pulled up, and the +load was shot on to the steps. Johnny MacNair, the +handsomest man in the Highland Brigade, who was too +“exhausted” to be moved, was then pushed into the +hall, and the cortège again departed.</p> +<p>To describe further would be a physical impossibility. +Exhausted nature, bad wine, possibly the bacon and eggs, all +combined to make memory a blank. Suffice that the house was +the private residence of a corpulent ratepayer and respected +member of St. Stephen’s Church, who appeared in the +“Court Directory” as Mrs. Hamilton.</p> +<p>The final episode was the appearance of Johnny MacNair at +Rawling’s Hotel at three in the afternoon very irate, and +only appeased on being assured that the episode was a blank to +others beside himself.</p> +<p>People may say how scandalous all this reads, and how thankful +we ought to be to be living in these decorous twentieth century +days! But reflect, virtuous reader. The sixties, if +apparently bad, were not so bad as the days of the Georges, which +again compare favourably with the golden days when Charles (of +blessed memory) was King. Vigilance societies did not then +exist as now, and fifty institutions with their secretaries and +staff had not to be supported by seekers after morality. +London was not even blessed with a County Council, and John Burns +probably could have robbed a birds’ nest as deftly as the +veriest scapegrace in those long-ago roystering days.</p> +<p><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>Place a +file of the Divorce Court proceedings in the scales, add the +scandals that occasionally get into print, and, having adjusted +them carefully, decide honestly whether the balance is much +against the London of the long-ago sixties.</p> +<h2><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">KATE HAMILTON—AND LEICESTER +SQUARE.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> entrance to Kate +Hamilton’s may best be located as the spot on which +Appenrodt’s German sausage shop now stands, although the +premises extended right through to Leicester Square.</p> +<p>“Don’t go yet, dear,” appealed a sweet siren +as Bobby, looking at his watch, swore that when duty called one +must obey, but eventually succumbed to a voice like a foghorn +shouting, “John, a bottle of champagne,” and the +beautiful Kate bowed approvingly from her throne. Kate +Hamilton at this period must have weighed at least twenty stone, +and had as hideous a physiognomy as any weather-beaten Deal +pilot. Seated on a raised platform, with a bodice cut very +low, this freak of nature sipped champagne steadily from midnight +until daylight, and shook like a blanc mange every time she +laughed.</p> +<p>Approached by a long tunnel from the street—where two +janitors kept watch—a pressure of the bell gave instant +admittance to a likely visitor, whilst an alarm gave immediate +notice of the approach of the police.</p> +<p>Finding oneself within the “salon” during one of +these periodical raids was not without interest. Carpets +were turned up in the twinkling of an eye, boards were raised, +and glasses and bottles—empty or full—were thrust +promiscuously in; every one assumed a sweet and virtuous air and +talked in subdued tones, whilst a bevy of police, headed by an <a +name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>inspector, +marched solemnly in, and having completed the farce, marched +solemnly out.</p> +<p>What the subsidy attached to this duty, and when and how paid, +it is needless to inquire. Suffice to show that the +hypocrisy that was to attain such eminence in these latter +enlightened days was even then in its infancy, and worked as +adroitly as any twentieth-century policeman could desire.</p> +<p>“Now we’re all right,” explained the +foghorn, as the “salon” resumed its normal +vivacity. “Bobby, my dear, come and sit next +me,” and so, like a tomtit and a round of beef, the +pasty-faced youth took the post of honour alongside the vibrating +mass of humanity. The distinction conferred upon our hero +was a much-coveted one amongst youngsters, and gave a +“hall-marking” which henceforth proclaimed him a +“man about town.” To dispense champagne <i>ad +libitum</i> was one of its chief privileges—for the honour +was not unaccompanied with responsibilities—and Florrie or +Connie (or whoever the friend for the moment of the favoured one +might be) not only held a <i>carte blanche</i> to order +champagne, but to dispense it amongst all her acquaintances, by +way of propitiation amongst the higher grades, and as an implied +claim for reciprocity on those whose star might be in the +ascendant later on.</p> +<p>Bobby, it is needless to say, was a proud man. But six +months ago he had left school, and it seemed but yesterday that +loving hands of mother and sisters had vied with one another in +marking his linen and making brown holland bags with appropriate +red bindings that were to contain his brushes and other +requisites of his toilet. But these had long since been +discarded as “bad form,” and a dressing case—on +credit—with silver fittings had taken their place. It +had been a question, indeed, whether the pony chaise would have +to be put down to enable the worthy rector to provide the +requisite £100 a year <a name="page39"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 39</span>that was essential over and above the +pay of a youngster in the service, and here was a young scamp +swilling champagne like water, whilst the sisters’ +allowance had been cut down to enable their brother to meet +necessary expenses, and the boy that cleaned the knives had to +look after the pony vice Simmons, the groom, dismissed. Not +that Bobby was vicious by nature; on the contrary, his follies +were to be attributed to that short-sighted policy that drives a +youth on the curb up to a given moment, and then gives him his +head; a lad who had never tasted anything stronger than an +aperient suddenly engulfed in a deluge of champagne. In +appearance he was delicate almost to effeminacy, with a gentle, +courteous address, fair curly hair waved around his silly head, +and he was popular alike with men and women. His good looks +were his misfortune, and his amiability of temper led him into +numerous scrapes, such as entanglements with designing chorus +girls and the accompanying folly of too much champagne with too +little money to pay for it. Not long previous to his +arrival in London he had fallen desperately in love at Taunton +with a strolling actress old enough to be his mother, who played +very minor parts, and whose forte was pirouetting and pointing +her huge foot at any patron in front whom she desired to signal +out for honour. It had taken the combined talents of the +adjutant, the rector, and George Hay to buy the sweet siren off +with a promise that her son (nearly as old as poor Bobby) should +get a berth on a sea-going merchantman. As a fact, he had +promised to marry the charmer, and eventually to find money to +run a company, and it was only by the accident of the show being +in pawn in a Somersetshire village (where Julia Jemima was +playing Juliet to a drunken former admirer’s Romeo) that an +urgent appeal for funds brought the escapade to light.</p> +<p>“Of course,” Julia had once said by way of +exciting <a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>his enthusiasm, “we can’t expect you to +‘go on’ all at once, but in time you could play up to +me. You just study Romeo and get up Rover while +you’re about it, and Hamlet and some of Charlie +Matthews’s parts—you can easily knock them off, and +one part do so ’elp another, dear.” Not that +Master Bobby had been brought to realise at once the histrionic +fame in store for him; on the contrary, he had jibbed +considerably at the contemplation of having to don the spangled +velvets and tights that constituted the “property” of +the strollers, and it was only the herculean exertions of the +lovely Julia Jemima—on her benefit night—smiling more +bewitchingly, pirouetting if possible more gracefully, and +gliding on one toe across the stage till the muscles of her +calves stood out like a Sandow’s, that poor Bobby +succumbed, and vowed that come who, come what, nothing should +tear him from the divine creature. Happily our hero had not +anticipated the effects of a combined attack of adjutant and +father, and so, being rescued from one pitfall, we find him +sailing steadily towards another amidst the brilliant scenes at +Kate Hamilton’s.</p> +<p>“I’ve been in the profession, dear,” Connie +was explaining as Bobby leaned over the throne to gaze on her, +“and I often have half a mind to go back to +it.” (She had once carried a banner through the run +of the pantomime at the “Vic.”) The word +“profession” acted like an electric shock; the lad +blinked as the scales appeared to fall from his eyes; Julia +Jemima appeared visibly before him; the spangles, the tights, and +the muscular calf in mid-air floated through his brain in deadly +proximity, as pulling out his watch with a shudder he bade a +hurried good-bye, and dashed off in the fleetest four-wheeler to +join the Major’s “lady” under the inhospitable +walls of the Tower.</p> +<p>In the long, long ago the entertainments provided by Leicester +Square were not of an exciting nature. <a +name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>The +“Sans Souci,” Walhalla, and Burford’s Panorama +(where Daly’s Theatre now stands) divided the honours till +’51, when Wylde’s Globe occupied the entire +enclosure. This huge erection was sixty feet in diameter, +and remained in existence till 1861, when it was pulled down to +make way for entertainments combining instruction with +pleasure.</p> +<p>In 1863 the “Eldorado” Café Chantant, which +was leading a precarious existence, put up the shutters, when a +section of the (non-speculative) public made the brilliant, +loyal, and dutiful suggestion that somebody should erect a +“Denmark” Winter Garden as a memento of the Prince of +Wales’s recent marriage, but the loyal, dutiful, +sycophantic proposal did not commend itself as it no doubt ought +to have done, and probably would to-day. The requisite +capital was not forthcoming, and so not till 1873 did the new era +commence, when £50,000 was offered for the Square by that +monument of aspiring greatness, “Baron” Grant, who +burst upon the horizon and then fizzled into space as meteors are +wont to do.</p> +<p>It is impossible to deny the fascination that Leicester Square +has for a considerable majority of Londoners. Up to the +days of Charles II. the entire space was composed of rustic +hedge-rows and lanes. Then Castle Street, Newport Street, +Cranbourne Alley, and Bear Lane came into existence, the Square +was railed round, and all the chief duels of the day were fought +within its historic precincts.</p> +<p>Lord Warwick, Lord Mountford, the Duke of Hamilton, and Lord +Mohun (a professional bully and expert shot), and a host of +smaller fry have avenged their honour within its +boundaries—and then adjourned to Locket’s Coffee +House in its immediate vicinity. This ancient institution +must not be confused with the palatial establishments known as +Lockhart’s.</p> +<p>In the days of which we are writing, Leicester Square was a +barren waste surrounded by rusty railings, <a +name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>trodden down +in all directions; refuse of every description was shot into it, +whilst in the centre stood a dilapidated equestrian statue that +assumed various adornments as the freaks of drunken roysterers +suggested. On the north side (where now stands the Empire) +was The Shades, a low-class eating-house in the basement, +approached by steps, where every knife, fork and spoon was +indelibly stamped “Stolen from The Shades” as a +delicate hint to its patrons. On the opposite side stood a +huge wooden pump, of which more anon. At the adjoining +eastern corner were the “tableaux vivants,” presided +over by a judge in “wig and gown” where more +blasphemy and filth was to be heard for a shilling than would +appear possible, all within one hundred yards of such harmless +(if disreputable) haunts as Kate Hamilton’s, which were +overhauled nightly. It was many years afterwards (July, +1874) that the barren wilderness was made beautiful for ever by +the generosity of “Baron” Grant. One can see +him now, arrayed in white waistcoat and huge buttonhole, +accompanied by an unpretentious bevy of councillors and Board of +Works men, over whom a few bits of bunting fluttered, presenting +his gift of many thousands in a speech that was quite +inaudible. But, like medals and decorations, gifts in those +days were not rewarded in the lavish manner of to-day. Had +such a public benefit been conferred now, the donor would have +been dubbed a baronet, or a privy councillor at least, with every +prospect of a peerage should he again spring £20,000. +Apropos of this gift, there was a peculiar sequel. When +asked at the time whether he gave or retained the underground +rights in addition to the recreation ground, the great man, in +the zenith of his success, replied, “Yes, yes; I give it +all.” Years after, however, when poor and friendless, +hearing that underground works had made the subsoil more valuable +than the surface, he enquired whether some remnant could not <a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>be claimed by +him, but was forcibly reminded of the follies of his youth by a +prompt negative, and left to die in penury without a helping +hand.</p> +<p>Perhaps never was the irony of Fate more clearly exemplified +than when, years after, two yokels who were gazing on +Shakespeare’s monument were heard to say +“That’s ’im as give the place.”</p> +<p>Situated exactly on the site of the Criterion Buffet was the +“Pic,” a dancing saloon of a decidedly inferior +class, where anybody entering (except perhaps the Angel Gabriel) +was bound to have a row. Hat smashing in this delectable +spot was the preliminary to a scrimmage, and when it is +recollected what “hats” were in the long-ago sixties, +it will be easily understood that any interference with them was +an offence to be wiped out only with blood. Hats, it may be +asserted without fear of contradiction, were the Alpha and Omega +of dress amongst every section of the community; the postmen wore +hats with their long scarlet coats; policemen wore hats with +their swallow-tails; boys the height of fourpence in copper wore +hats; the entire field at a cricket match wore flannels and hats; +and the yokels and agricultural classes topped their smocks with +hats. Not hats, be it understood, of the modern silky +limited style, but huge extinguishers, with piles varying from +solid beaver to the substance of a terrier’s coat; and to +enter the “Pic” was tantamount to the annihilation of +one of these creations. The “Kangaroo,” of whom +mention is made elsewhere, was a standing dish at this +establishment, and to such an extent was his position recognised +that many men tipped him on entering to obviate molestation.</p> +<p>The “Pic,” despite its central position, never +attained popularity, and was the resort of pickpockets, bullies, +and “soiled doves” of a very mediocre class. On +Boat Race nights, however, an organised gang of University +“men” invariably raided it, and by <a +name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>smashing +everything balanced the account to a certain extent.</p> +<p>No place of amusement has passed through so many convulsions +as the edifice now known as the Alhambra. Erected in the +sixties, it began life as a species of polytechnic, where it was +hoped that the instruction afforded by the contemplation of two +electric batteries and a diving bell, in conjunction with the +exhilarating air of the neighbourhood, would attract sufficient +audiences to meet rent and expenses; but the venture not having +fulfilled the expectations of its youth, its portals were closed, +and it next came into prominence during the Franco-German +war. Here “patriotic songs” were the +<i>pièce de résistance</i>, and towards 11 +o’clock a dense throng waved flags and cheered and hooted +indiscriminately the “Marseillaise,” the “Wacht +am Rhein,” and everything and everybody. Jones, +calmly smoking, would, without the slightest provocation, assault +Brown, who was similarly innocently occupied, and who in turn +resented the polite distinction. Stand-up fights took place +nightly, and, as was anticipated, drew all London to the Alhambra +towards 11 o’clock.</p> +<p>These indiscriminate nightly riots attracted, as may be +assumed, all the bullies and sharpers in London, amongst whom +stands prominently the “Kangaroo,” a gigantic black, +who was known to everybody in the sixties. This ruffian, +who was admittedly an expert pugilist, was the biggest coward +that hovered round Piccadilly. No place was free from his +unwelcome visits, and his ubiquity showed itself by his nightly +appearance at the Pavilion, the Alhambra, the Café Riche, +Barnes’s, the “Pic,” the Blue Posts, the +Argyll, and Cremorne. From such places as Evans’s and +Mott’s he was absolutely barred, and the moral effect of +the reception he would have received deterred him—in his +wisdom—from making the attempt.</p> +<p>His <i>modus operandi</i> was simplicity itself; seating <a +name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>himself at +some inoffensive man’s table, he helped himself to anything +he might find within reach; if remonstrated with, he knocked the +remonstrator down, and coolly walked out of the room.</p> +<p>On other occasions he would demand money, and if refused, +applied the same remedy; if a party were seated at the Alhambra +watching the performance, a black arm would suddenly appear over +one’s shoulder, and glass by glass was lifted and coolly +drained. Occasionally he met his match, when, having +pocketed his thrashing, he commenced afresh in an adjoining +night-house.</p> +<p>A plethora of coloured ex-prizefighters roamed about these +latitudes in the long-ago sixties. Plantagenet Green, an +admittedly scientific boxer unaccompanied by any heart, was +everywhere much in evidence, and Bob Travers, one of the best and +pluckiest that ever contested the middle-weight championship, +might have been seen years after selling chutnee in the +streets. In those unenlightened days prizefighters, +although made much of, never forgot their place, and the +illiterate abortions in rabbit-skin collars that intrude into +every public resort at the present day and dub themselves +“professors” were creations happily unknown.</p> +<p>Needless to add that the Alhambra, with its miscellaneous +attractions, stood very high in the estimation of our subalterns, +or a considerable portion who deferred to Bobby on all matters +relating to “form.”</p> +<p>Armed with diminutive flags of every nationality in Europe, a +select team were one evening enjoying the delights that led up to +the “patriotic era,” as sitting around a table on the +balcony they agreed upon the rendezvous should +circumstances—and the fights—separate them. +Ladies, moreover, graced the board, and sipped from time to time +the exhilarating fluid that sparkled in various tumblers. +George <a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>Hay +meanwhile was explaining to an interested houri how by an +extraordinary coincidence red, white, and blue predominated in +most of the National colours of Europe, while Bobby was urging +some argument on a fair creature in inaudible tones, when an +apparition a yard long, and as black as ebony, passed over his +head and deliberately seized a tumbler. Dazed for a moment, +and ignorant of the notoriety of the “Kangaroo,” one +and all sat spellbound as the ruffian deliberately emptied the +glass and replaced it on the table.</p> +<p>George was the first to grasp the situation, as, springing +from his chair, he confronted the bully, and inquired: +“What are we to understand by this?” But, +“What you d— please!” was barely out of his +mouth when a swinging blow on the jaw sent him staggering towards +the counter.</p> +<p>Dropping his cane and hat, the “Kangaroo” now +advanced in an attitude that meant business, and dashing in his +long left arm, essayed to fell George with one blow. But +his adversary was prepared for this, and springing back lightly, +got beyond danger. The “Kangaroo’s” arms, +when reposing by his side, reached almost to his knees, and gave +him an incalculable advantage with any but the most nimble. +Realising this fact, George decided to change his tactics, and to +direct all his blows for the neck or body of his opponent; he had +been taught, indeed, that a negro’s head is practically +invulnerable, but that a swinging slog in the loins would double +up the most seasoned. A shower of blows now rattled on the +black’s sides, as springing out of danger after every +onslaught, the “Kangaroo” began to show signs of +distress; standing well out of range, he appeared but to wait the +opportunity, and picking up his hat and cane, he bolted down the +stairs.</p> +<p>The “Kangaroo” had learnt a lesson, and was +profoundly ignorant of the fact that his <a +name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>meek-looking +opponent had a heart as big as a lion’s and was a pupil of +Ben Caunt.</p> +<p>But patriotism and loyalism of the blatant type are apt to +cloy even on the most gushing, and the fever pitch having been +attained, the cooling process set in, and then a series of +experiments ensued to try and keep up the demand for the disrated +Alhambra.</p> +<h2><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span>CHAPTER V.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE NIGHT HOUSES OF THE +HAYMARKET.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">If</span> any of the Bucks of the sixties +were suddenly brought to life and placed in the centre of +Piccadilly Circus, no labyrinth could more completely puzzle them +than the structural alterations of to-day. Abutting on to +where Shaftesbury Avenue commences was a dismal row of houses, +with here and there an outlet into the purlieus of more dismal +Soho; where the obstruction for the accommodation of +flower-sellers now raises its useless head, another block of +houses ran eastwards, dividing the present broad expanse into two +narrow thoroughfares; the huge monument to the profitable +industry in intoxicating drinks takes the place of the ancient +“Pic,” and the Haymarket, from the exalted position +of centre of the surging mass of nocturnal corruption, has +descended to the status of a dimly-lighted thoroughfare, with +here and there an unlicensed Italian restaurant and a sprinkling +of second-class pot-houses.</p> +<p>Instead of the promenade from which strollers are now hustled +off the pavement by a zealous police, the strip between Windmill +Street and the Raleigh Club was the favoured lounge, and the +Haymarket literally blazed with light (till daylight) from such +temples as the “Blue Posts,” Barnes’s, The +Burmese, and Barron’s Oyster Rooms. This latter +place, although palpably suffering from old age and the ravages +of time, and propped up by beams innumerable, <a +name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>was the +nightly rendezvous of oyster-eaters, where, sandwiched in between +“loose boxes” upstairs and down, champagne and other +drinks were consumed to excess.</p> +<p>Often amid these sounds of revelry, ominous cracks and groans +warned the revellers that all was not right, till on one +never-to-be-forgotten night a sound that vibrated like the crack +of doom caused a stampede, and leaving wine, oysters, hats, +unpaid bills, every one rushed helter-skelter into the +street. Old Barron, staring disconsolately from the +pavement at his fast-collapsing house, suddenly appeared to +remember that his cash-box was in the doomed building, and +rushing frantically in, was seen hurrying out with the prized +treasure. And then a crash that might have quailed the +stoutest heart rang through the night, and Barron, cash-box, and +lights, all disappeared in a cloud of dust that ascended up to +heaven. Days after the old man was found firmly clutching +his treasure. Let us hope its possession compensated him in +his passage across the Styx.</p> +<p>The decorous Panton Street of to-day was another very sink of +iniquity. Night houses abounded, and Rose Burton’s +and Jack Percival’s were sandwiched between hot baths of +questionable respectability and abominations of every kind. +Stone’s Coffee House was the only redeeming feature, and, +as it existed in those days, was a very spring of water in a dry +land.</p> +<p>But it must not be assumed that, although Percival’s was +a “night house,” it was to be classed with its next +door neighbours. Here the sporting fraternity radiated +after all important events; here Heenan lodged after his fight +with Tom King; and one can see him—as if it were +yesterday—receiving his friends and backers on the +following Sunday with his handsome features incrusted in plaster +of Paris and smiling as if he had been awarded the victory he was +undoubtedly choused out of.</p> +<p><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>But +perhaps no spot has undergone more structural and social change +than Arundel Place, an unpretentious court that leads out of +Coventry Street. At one corner now stands a +tobacconist’s shop, and at the other an eating bar, where +hunks of provender are devoured at the counter, and cocoa +retailed at a penny a bucket; whilst the court itself is +practically absorbed by the Civil Service Stores, through whose +windows “gentlemen” may be seen weighing out coffee, +and “bald-headed noblemen” tying up parcels.</p> +<p>In the sixties, however, the place had considerably more +vitality—after nightfall. On the eastern side stood a +public-house of unenviable repute, owned by an ex-prizefighter, +to which the fraternity congregated in considerable numbers; +whilst at the end furthest from Coventry Street was a +coffee-house, whose open portals discovered nothing more +dangerous than an oil-clothed floor, chairs and tables over its +surface, and an unassuming counter for the supply of moderate +refreshments. During the day a spirit of repose pervaded +the entire area; the public-house appeared to be doing little or +no trade, whilst the coffee-house was chiefly remarkable for the +persistent scrubbing and emptying of buckets that went on, as a +mechanical charwoman, in the inevitable bonnet, oscillated to and +fro between the door and the pavement. But for the old +woman, and an occasional apparition in a startling check costume +that flashed in and out between the coffee-house and the +pot-house, one might have imagined the entire place was +uninhabited, so subdued and reposeful was everything.</p> +<p>Tall and angular by nature, with skin-tight overalls and a +coat the colour of a Camden Town ’bus, Jerry Fry was the +undisputed landlord of the unpretentious coffee-house, and +recognised director of a gang of sharpers who made human nature +their study, and scoured the highways and byways nightly in +search of profitable quarry. Not that the above costume was +<a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>the sole +one in Jerry’s extensive wardrobe, which boasted amongst +others the huge cape and whip associated with rustic drivers, a +clerical outfit, evening clothes, and a white tie the size of a +poultice. Jerry as a strategist was without a rival, and it +requires but little effort of imagination to assume that he has +turned in his grave times innumerable in the contemplation of the +sorry sharpers of the present era who have usurped his functions +in the despoiling of their species. Any promising subject +that appeared on the horizon immediately became the object of +Jerry’s personal solicitude, and once the victim’s +besetting sin was accurately diagnosed, no time was lost in +placing a specialist on his unsuspecting track. It was not +long after the arrival of the “Line” garrison in +London that George Hay was focussed as an inveterate gambler, and +as the “Landed Gentry” vouched for his being the +eldest son of a county magnate, no time was lost in laying lines +in every direction in the hope of catching him. Not that +play—in which he was by no means an expert—was his +only delight; on the contrary, he excelled in every kind of manly +sport, and could hold his own with the gloves with many a man who +had the advantage of him in height and weight.</p> +<p>When in the country cards never entered his mind; in London, +however, with the fascination ever before him, the temptation was +irresistible, and the three fly-blown cards of a racecourse +manipulator or <i>chemin de fer</i> at the Arlington held him +like a vice whilst the fever was upon him.</p> +<p>It was a sultry evening in September when everybody (except +four millions) was out of town that George and Bobby elected to +stroll to the West End after an uneventful dinner at mess. +Threading their way through the slums that abutted on the Tower, +nothing worthy of record occurred till, casually stopping to +light a cigar, they were accosted on the <a +name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>threshold of +Leicester Square by a courteous individual who asked for a +light.</p> +<p>George was nothing if he was not a gentleman, and without +waiting to consider why the person should seek a light from him +when gas jets were blazing outside every shop, he considerately +acceded.</p> +<p>But the stranger apparently was of a sociable disposition, and +persisted in hanging on to their skirts and essaying remarks on +objects on their way.</p> +<p>“What have we here?” he inquired as, passing +Arundel Place, a dense crowd outside the pot-house riveted his +attention. “The fight, of course,” he +continued, “the seconds and backers are squaring up, I +expect. Will you step in, gentlemen, it’s all right, +but I’d better perhaps go in and inquire, they all know me; +one minute, gents, by your leave,” and he disappeared into +the crowded court.</p> +<p>“Shall we go in, George,” inquired Bobby, +“or have a peep at the ‘Pic’? D— +it! we must have some sport after twenty-four hours of the +Tower.”</p> +<p>“Go in? Of course we will if there’s +anything to be seen,” answered George; “I’m +half-inclined to shake up my liver by arranging with Ben Caunt to +resume my ‘studies’ at the Tower, and there’s +one consolation, Bobby, it’s not as expensive as the +Arlington, and we haven’t much to lose if they do pick our +pockets.”</p> +<p>So summed up the situation Solon George, as their cicerone +made his reappearance.</p> +<p>“Right, gents; step this way,” intimated the +stranger; “but we had best wait awhile in the coffee-house +yonder; leave it to me to give you the tip,” and without +further ado they all entered the hostelry.</p> +<p>George, with all his common sense, was a very tyro in the +rudiments of the unwritten law of knavery, and certainly no match +for a shrewd London rascal; to enter into conversation with an +absolute stranger <a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>appeared nothing extraordinary to him, and when a +punching match was the basis of the acquaintance, and the chance +of meeting certain leading—if illiterate—lights of +the fraternity the prospect, conventionalism with him was an +infinitesimal quantity, and he entered into the sport with the +enthusiasm of a schoolboy.</p> +<p>“But why here?” inquired George, as they found +themselves the sole occupants of the oilclothed room.</p> +<p>“Wait a bit, gents, they’ll come presently,” +replied their cicerone; “I’ve given them the office, +but they’re a bit busy just now settling up the scores for +this morning, maybe.” And then he proceeded with what +purported to be a personal description of the fight, looking +frequently at a huge clock that ticked in the corner, and +fervently hoping that Jerry would not be long.</p> +<p>Bobby meanwhile was champing his bit, and bewailing the time +that might so much more profitably have been passed at the +“Pic,” when a man in the immaculate disguise of a +coachman walked hurriedly through the room. Peering into +every corner, and examining crevices that a cat would have been +incommoded in, he hurriedly approached our heroes, and asked +excitedly whether they had seen a gentleman such as he +described. Without waiting for a reply, he next dropped his +whip and rug on to a vacant chair, and whipping out a pack of +cards, continued: “It drives me mad to think I should have +lost such a stupid game; but I was drunk, gentlemen—forgive +the admission—yes, drunk; but he has promised me my revenge +here to-night,” and pulling out a watch the size of a +frying-pan, he contemplated it as if wrapt in thought. +Replacing it with a spasmodic jerk, he continued: “Just +fancy, gentlemen, this was the simple thing; but I was drunk, +alas!—happy thought, ’ware drink,” and he gave +a halloa such as foxhunters <a name="page54"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 54</span>give on the stage, and proceeded to +rattle three cards.</p> +<p>“Now, gentlemen, just for fun, which is the +knave?” And Bobby, without a check, selected the +correct cardboard. “Again, gentlemen, if you please, +it will bring my hand into practice; shall we say half a +crown? Thanks!” and again, with the accuracy of a +truffle dog, Bobby discovered the card.</p> +<p>Again and again was this farce perpetrated, till Bobby’s +winnings amounted to £4, and in his generosity he seemed +loth to take advantage of such a greenhorn.</p> +<p>George meanwhile had caught the infection and bet and won as +the stakes were made higher.</p> +<p>“Five pounds for once, gentlemen? I think +I’ve earned my revenge,” pleaded Jerry, and fickle +Fortune as if of the same opinion, decided in his favour.</p> +<p>Any one but the veriest tyro would have deemed this a +favourable opportunity to stop, but George, as we have seen, had +his own ideas of honour; the fever, moreover, was upon him, and, +producing the contents of his own pocket, he again backed his +opinion.</p> +<p>Gone in a twinkling, he next turned to Bobby, and the lad at +once proceeded to supply him with his cash. Meanwhile their +original acquaintance whispered imploringly to George to have +done with it, but he might as well have spoken to the +winds. “D— it, man, if I’m cleaned out of +ready money I’ve still my ring and sleeve links; go on, +sir,” he continued to Jerry. “I’ll bet my +jewellery against a tenner.”</p> +<p>But fortune was still against our friends, and divested of his +trinkets, in his turn he appealed to his opponent.</p> +<p>“Come, sir, I gave you your revenge, now give me mine, +and anything I lose I’ll give you my cheque for.”</p> +<p>But Jerry was of a practical nature; cheques <a +name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>were +occasionally stopped, and officious detectives might come to hear +of it, so he decided to decline the tempting offer, but promised +revenge on the morrow. The first stranger meanwhile came to +the rescue. “I know you’re a gentleman,” +he whispered, “and mayn’t like to lose those things, +why not offer the gent to redeem them to-morrow?”</p> +<p>The idea seemed a happy one, and the party dispersed, on the +understanding that at twelve the following day they should all +meet at the Pump in Leicester Square.</p> +<p>But our heroes were not yet done with casual acquaintances, as +passing along the Haymarket they were again accosted by a +man. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” was the abrupt +introduction, “I saw you parting company just now with two +well-known sharpers; I’m Detective Bulger of the police, +may I ask if you’ve been robbed?”</p> +<p>And then the painful truth began to dawn upon the victims that +two officers in Her Majesty’s Service had been overreached +at a game that a Blue-coat boy would have jibbed at.</p> +<p>The sequel is briefly told. The next day the appointment +was punctually kept by all except Jerry, who, oddly enough, +deputed another man to explain that he was sending off an urgent +telegram, and had requested him (if the coast was clear) to +conduct our friends to him.</p> +<p>Followed at a respectful distance by the detective, the +jewellery was duly redeemed; but just as Jerry was pocketing the +money, a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he found himself in +the clutches of Sergeant Bulger.</p> +<p>George refused to prosecute; his money was however, restored +to him, and binding Bobby to secrecy, he thus escaped the chaff +that would have cleaved to him for life.</p> +<p>The “Kitchen” was situated in St. Martin’s +Court, <a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>abutting on Castle Street, now known as Charing Cross +Road; adjoining it was a famous <i>à la mode</i> house +kept by two brothers, each of whom could turn the scale at thirty +stone. It was explained by way of accounting for this +extraordinary freak of nature that, by never leaving the +establishment and inhaling the greasy fumes from night to +morning, their pores were constantly imbibing from a thousand +sources the oleaginous vapours that conduce to obesity; be that +as it may, the entire front of an upper chamber had to be removed +to allow of the usual formalities of Christian burial when one of +the firm died, and it is doubtful if the place was not afterwards +demolished.</p> +<p>Here nightly were to be found actors since known to fame; +journalists such as Horace (Pony) Mayhew and his brother Gus, +George Augustus Sala—then writing to measure—and a +sprinkling of golden calves with theatrical proclivities. +The refreshments, of course, left nothing to be desired on the +score of satisfying, and <i>à la mode</i> gravy in pewter +pots stimulated many a jaded reveller during the small hours of +the morning.</p> +<p>It was on our way to this refined hostelry that we on one +occasion met Polly Amherst, and the sequel was so absurd that I +give the story special prominence.</p> +<p>Polly was a delightful companion. Just down from Oxford, +he was destined to take up a fat family living in the +neighbourhood of Sevenoaks, but being seen one night in a +bird’s eye tie amid the revels of Cremorne, and the birds +of the air having carried it to his bishop, it was pointed out to +the worthy fellow that free scope for his undoubted talent was +impossible in the Church, and so posterity was the loser of much +pulpit oratory that would doubtless have thrilled the present +generation.</p> +<p>As we entered the “Kitchen” Jack Coney—a +promoted scene-shifter lately come into prominence <a +name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>by his +marriage with Rose Burton—was retailing to the assembled +revellers the spot which had been kept secret to the last moment +where a big fight was to take place in the morning.</p> +<p>“Of course, I’ll go,” replied George Hay to +someone’s inquiry.</p> +<p>“I’m too seedy,” continued Bobby, who had +not spared the punch.</p> +<p>“I, too,” added Oliver.</p> +<p>“I should like to, but I daren’t,” chimed in +Polly. And so a detachment was added to the contingent that +were piloted by the irrepressible Coney.</p> +<p>Bobby during the past night had, alas! not followed the paths +of sobriety, and so it came to pass that the blind agreed to lead +the blind, and Polly Amherst and Harry Turner (a genial comedian) +agreed to escort him to the Hummums.</p> +<p>Passing Hart’s Coffee House we, of course, “looked +in,” and, sure enough, there was Hastings and a dozen boon +companions; but the night air had been too much for many of us; +we saw a dozen Marquises and only one boon companion, so taking +the wisest resolve we had taken that night, we bade each other +farewell on the steps of the Hummums, and proceeded to our +virtuous couches.</p> +<p>Arising late on the following afternoon, a circumstance +occurred that drove everything else out of my head, and to the +elucidation of this inexplicable coincidence are to be attributed +the monotonous details I have just described.</p> +<p>It was towards three on the following afternoon, when, having +completed a refreshing toilette, my left arm was entering my +sleeve that I became aware of a foreign substance that bulged to +an abnormal extent the inner pocket of my coat; proceeding to +examine the cause with that self-possession for which I was so +justly conspicuous, my equanimity was considerably tried by +coming into contact with <a name="page58"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 58</span>a watch; extracting it carefully, I +discovered that it was attached to a massive chain adorned with +numerous seals and lockets. Surprised, I continued my +investigations, my surprise turning to anxiety as a second watch +(a repeater) made its appearance. By this time thoroughly +alarmed, I dived again, and out came three or four rings and a +purse stuffed full of sovereigns. Fairly staggered, my +<i>sang-froid</i> left me, and reeling towards the bed, I +endeavoured to solve the mystery.</p> +<p>Had I in my cups robbed a jeweller’s? Had I picked +somebody’s pocket? Had I had a row, and after the +fray put on my opponent’s coat? But every argument +failed to elucidate the mystery, and my thoughts wandered to such +an extent that in it all I saw a distinct judgment on my +back-sliding.</p> +<p>To make matters worse, I knew not where Amherst or Harry +Turner resided, and so resolved to have breakfast and await +developments.</p> +<p>But breakfast under such circumstances was a sorry farce; +every gulp of tea appeared to choke me, and in every waiter who +approached I recognised a constable on the track of the +burglar. Flesh and blood could not long stand this strain, +and my pent-up feelings received a still greater shock by the +waiter thrusting a card into my hand. “Ask him +in,” I replied, and Harry Turner, with a face a yard long, +hurriedly shuffled towards me.</p> +<p>“An awful thing has occurred,” began the unhappy +mummer, “and I’ve come to you in the hope that +you’ll be able to explain it. Look at this,” he +continued, as he proceeded to untie a bundle. “When I +was putting on my coat just now I found two watches, a +cheque-book, a ring, and a packet of papers. Can you +recollect what we did? By Gad, I’m half disposed to +go and give myself up. One would get off lighter then, +perhaps.”</p> +<p>Whilst we were discussing ways and means, a second <a +name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>card was +brought to me, and again the waiter was requested to “show +him in,” and then Polly Amherst came upon the scene, the +ghost of his former self, pale and haggard, but otherwise +externally irreproachable as regards white tie and High Church +clerical attire. “Billy,” he began, “a +terrible thing has occurred, and I’ve come here in the +hopes that you will be able to set my mind at rest. +Conceive my horror, when opening my eyes this afternoon, to see +at my bedside a watch, a pile of sovereigns, and a valuable +ring. What silly jokes did we indulge in last night, old +man? ’Pon my word as I came here I shuddered as I +passed a policeman. The matter can’t rest here. +I’ve locked the accursed things in my portmanteau, and now +what’s to be done?”</p> +<p>But the consolation he received from his dismal companions in +no way tended to allay his anxiety. “We have neither +of us the smallest conception of how we became possessed of these +things,” replied Turner, “and it seems to me our only +course is to walk round to Bow Street and voluntarily give +ourselves up.”</p> +<p>Our teeth had now begun to chatter, and, hoping against hope, +we agreed it would be best to await George Hay’s return, +and act as he should advise.</p> +<p>Three weary hours later, George Hay, Oliver Montagu, the +irrepressible Jack Coney, and Harry Ashley (afterwards of <i>Pink +Dominoes</i> fame), returned from the fight, and it having been +arranged that the three latter should be permitted to depart +before the culprits broke the news to George, a magnum was called +for by way of a stirrup cup.</p> +<p>“By the way, Polly,” remarked Montagu, “I +may as well relieve you of my gimcracks, and, by Gad, it’s +as well we didn’t take them. Did you ever see a +rougher lot?” he added, turning to George.</p> +<p>And then a cloud rose from off the countenances of Polly, +Harry Turner, and myself; the magnum <a name="page60"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 60</span>that had hitherto tasted like jalap +appeared as nectar to our lips, and we began to recollect that +prior to leaving the “Kitchen” our comrades had +entrusted their valuables to us.</p> +<p>We never told our terrible experience.</p> +<h2><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>CHAPTER VI.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">EVANS’S AND THE DIALS.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> the Embankment came into +existence, Salisbury Street and Cecil Street—where the +hotel now stands—consisted for the most part of lodging +houses. Overlooking the river, stairs led to shanties to +which wherries were moored, whilst a verandah, running the entire +length of the house in which I once had rooms, enabled shade and +muddy breezes to be indulged in during the hot summer +evenings. At the side could be seen the arches known as Fox +Hill, which, still visible from the (now) Tivoli Music Hall, were +in those days capable of being traversed for a considerable +distance.</p> +<p>In ancient days the haunt of smugglers and desperadoes, it had +not lost its popularity with the lawless classes even in the more +modern long-ago sixties, and weird stories of murders that had +never been discovered, and crimes of every description, were +currently reported as of almost daily occurrence in the +impenetrable “dark arches of the Adelphi.” No +sane person would have ventured to explore them unless +accompanied by an armed escort, and even Wych Street, Newcastle +Street, and Holywell Street were “out of bounds” +after nightfall.</p> +<p>The dead body of a female having one morning been discovered, +it was currently reported that the assassin was in concealment in +the “dark arches;” the police—from information +received—were <a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>convinced of it, and the authorities, having a mind to +probe the mystery, organised search parties, which scattered +amongst the labyrinths, and eventually emerged no nearer an +elucidation than before.</p> +<p>Passages, it was asserted, led to various exits on the river +bank, and extended in an easterly direction to Whitefriars, all +of which in later years have been gradually filled up till now +nothing more pernicious than a peaceful beer-store a few yards +from the entrance and an occasional board-man who ought to be +traversing the street, give signs of vitality to what was once a +sink of iniquity.</p> +<p>It is refreshing after this weird retrospect to turn to the +modern Adelphi Terrace, where years ago I participated in many +enjoyable reunions. Here each Sunday night such lively +company as the late Kate Vaughan and her husband, Freddy +Wellesley, Billy Hill, Marius, Florence St. John, Sweet Nell +Hazel, and other vestals congregated; whilst the +“Savages” have made it their headquarters, and can +lean over the balcony without risking typhoid, and eventually +cross the Strand at no greater risk than an invitation to air +their French.</p> +<p>And the changes in the Adelphi suggest the changes that have +taken place in other historical resorts, than which nothing has +been more marked than in the Burlington Arcade. Here every +afternoon, between six and seven, throngs composed of all that +made up the pomp and vanity of this wicked world disported +themselves. Here Baby Jordan and +“Shoes”—since become the mother of a +present-day baronet—Nelly Fowler, and Nelly Clifton held +court with their attendant squires and lords of every +degree. Here at seven the entire mass surged towards the +Blue Posts in Cork street and indulged in champagne and caviare +toast. Here about the same time Hastings, Fred Granville, +and roysterers of a more pronounced type looked in for a +breakfast of “fixed bayonets” by way of appetite <a +name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>for the +dinner at Limmer’s that most of them would barely +touch. Here (in Cork Street) a little head might be seen +cautiously peeping over the blinds at No. 17 in the hope that +some eligible client might seek pecuniary relief before entering +on the night’s enjoyment. Here in later years the +same head, but transformed into the appearance of a Fitzroy storm +signal, might be seen more shiny, more haughtily posed, dictating +terms to Lairds of Aboyne and owners of Derby favourites. +After which the rich man died, and the shekels made by usury have +gone (as was only right) to bolster up impecunious subalterns and +Christian hospitals.</p> +<p>In the palmy days of Paddy Green, Evans’s provided +perhaps the only tavern where a weary sojourner might sit in +peace and realise that he was surrounded by comfort and +tone. Hovering near the door was the genial old proprietor, +with white hair and rubicund face, a smile for every one, and +capable of passing anywhere for a chairman of directors at +least. Around the walls were the priceless oil paintings +belonging to the Garrick, deposited temporarily after the fire +that made havoc with that historical building; whilst covering +the entire floor were tables where the best (and the best only) +of chops, steaks, mealy potatoes, and welsh rabbits, with wines +of heaven knows what age, beer, and spirits were procurable.</p> +<p>Nor must the old establishment be confounded with the modern +fungus that continued its name under the pilotage of an +enterprising Jew, and eventually got closed by the police for +developing into an ordinary night house.</p> +<p>To see a genuine old English waiter crumble a huge potato with +a spotless napkin creates a pang when one thinks of his German +and Italian prototype asking “’Ow many breads you +have?” and on being told “one,” looking as if +he could swear you had had two.</p> +<p>And no accounts were discharged at <a name="page64"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 64</span>the time—sit, as one might, +from 10 to 2 a.m., and eat and drink variously, and as often as +one pleased—all the reckoning was one’s own as one +imparted it on leaving to the most courteous of butlers at the +door.</p> +<p>And then the stage, what comparison is possible between the +healthy singing of glees and solos one then heard and the +elephantine wit of the modern serio-comic? And poor old Van +Joel, who, as the programme explained, was retained on account of +past services, retailing cigars in the hall and obtaining fancy +prices for “Auld Lang Syne”—how a lump comes +even now into one’s knotty, hoary old throat at the +recollections of these long-agos!</p> +<p>Monotonous as all this may sound to the modern up-to-date +sightseer, there was a homeliness and an indescribable delight +associated with Evans’s that surely the recording angel +will not fail to remember when he sums up the sins of the +sixties.</p> +<p>Across the market, again, was a hostelry, long since +disappeared except in name, “The Hummums,” and who +shall find to-day such rare old English fare, served on silver by +the most typical of English waiters?</p> +<p>The rooms may have been dingy, the smoking-room a little +stuffy, but the spirit of Bob Garnham must surely hover over the +modern imitation that has arisen on its ashes and assumed +everything but its indescribable comfort.</p> +<p>The approaches to Evans’s after dark were by no means +free of danger in the long-ago sixties. The market porters, +who for the most part were cut-purses and pugilists, were apt to +waylay solitary foot passengers whilst awaiting the arrival of +the vegetable vans, and I recollect an Uxbridge farmer named +Hillyard entering the hotel one night with a broken wrist after +being waylaid and robbed in Russell Street.</p> +<p>The old Olympic, hard by, was another nasty place <a +name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>to leave +after the performance, except in a cab. Within fifty yards +the alleys bristled with footpads, and any foolhardy pedestrian +traversing the dimly-lighted Drury Lane or Newcastle Street was +pretty sure not to reach civilisation without a very rough +experience from the denizens of Vinegar Yard and Betterton +Street.</p> +<p>The Forty Thieves were an organised bevy of sirens, whose +headquarters were the Seven Dials, and whose mission it was to +entice, decoy, and cajole any fool who had the temerity to listen +to their cooing.</p> +<p>The Clock House on the Dials, now an apparently well-conducted +pot-house, was in those days a hotbed of villainy. The king +of pickpockets there held his nightly levée, and the +half-dozen constables within view would no more have thought of +entering it than they would the cage of a cobra.</p> +<p>If a man lost a dog the reward was offered there; if +one’s watch disappeared it was there that immediate +application was desirable; and if the emissary was not +“saucy” he might with luck save it from the +melting-pot that simmered all day and all night within fifty feet +of Aldridge’s horse repository.</p> +<p>The walk through the Dials after dark was an act none but a +lunatic would have attempted, and the betting that he ever +emerged with his shirt was 1,000 to 60. A swaggering ass +named Corrigan, whose personal bravery was not assessed as highly +by the public, once undertook for a wager to walk the entire +length of Great Andrew Street at midnight, and if molested to +annihilate his assailants.</p> +<p>The half-dozen doubters who awaited his advent in the Broadway +were surprised about 1 a.m. to see him running as fast as he +could put legs to the ground, with only the remnant of a shirt on +him; after recovering his breath and his courage he proceeded to +describe the terrific slaughter he had inflicted on an +innumerable number of assailants. A scurrilous <a +name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>print that +flourished about this time in its next issue narrated the +incident in verse by: “Oh, pray for the souls that Corrigan +kilt,” etc. Corrigan, it may be added, was an +Irishman, and not a particularly veracious one.</p> +<p>Any list of queer fish would be incomplete without introducing +the name of Bill Holland, who, although he struggled on till the +eighties, was in his zenith in the sixties. Rosherville +being too far, and Vauxhall having disappeared, the North +Woolwich Gardens came into favour with those who sought +recreation of a less boisterous kind than that at Cremorne.</p> +<p>Bill Holland had all his life been a showman; amusing and full +of exaggerated anecdote, he had catered for the public from time +immemorial; every monstrosity had at some period passed through +his hands; every woman over seven feet, and every man under four, +had appeared under his auspices: the tattooed nobleman, the +dog-faced man, the whiskered lady—all recognised him as +master at one period or another. He had +“directed” the Alhambra, the Surrey, the Blackpool +Gardens, and, in later years, the Battersea Palace, and signally +failed with each; but, sphinx-like, he invariably reappeared +irreproachably groomed and waxed, with some confiding creature +ready to finance him. His constant companion was Joe Pope, +an abnormally fat little man, and a brother of the Q.C. who not +long ago died. It was the brains of this obese little man, +in conjunction with Bill Holland’s assurance, that kept the +wheels going for over thirty years.</p> +<p>Across the river at Greenwich were the historical Trafalgar +and Ship Taverns, where the famous fish dinners, served in the +very best style, were procurable. Only fish, but prepared +and served in irreproachable form; beginning with boiled +flounder, one progressed by seven stages of salmon in various +forms, filleted sole, fried eel, each with its special sauce, +till whitebait <a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>plain and whitebait devilled found the wayfarer +well-nigh exhausted.</p> +<p>It was only then that the folly of ordering dinner on a hungry +stomach became manifest, and when the duckling that the smiling +waiter had suggested made its appearance it was almost with tears +that one turned away from its pleading savour and reluctantly +confessed one’s inability to do it justice. And then +the coffee on the lawn, and the scrambling for coppers amongst +the water arabs in the surging mud below, were adjuncts that +never failed in the completing of enjoyable evenings now for ever +gone.</p> +<p>Why the resort went out of fashion seems an enigma. +Forty, thirty, aye, twenty years ago both taverns were the almost +daily resorts, during the summer and autumn, of the highest in +the land. In one private room would be heard Her +Majesty’s judges, cracking jokes as if they were incapable +of judicial sternness; in another legislators by the score, who +had travelled down by special steamer to eat and drink as if no +such things as fiscal questions existed; whilst in the public +room cosy couples dined, and roysterers smoked and joked, and yet +all has passed like a pleasant dream. The Trafalgar has +long since been pulled down, the Ship, if not closed, is very +much changed for the worse, and Londoners swelter annually with +the patience of Job, and are apparently indifferent to the +delightful resorts they have lost.</p> +<p>It was during a May meeting, when rural deans and other +provincial Church luminaries were staying at Haxell’s and +the Golden Cross Hotels, that Satan prompted certain roysterers +to raid these establishments when the reverend lodgers might be +supposed to have retired to their respective closets. It +was Nassau Clarke—a subaltern in the Life Guards—who +conceived the brilliant idea, and collecting Jacob Burt, Charlie +Buller, Lennon, and a few other well-known roysterers, we +proceeded towards the Strand. The <a +name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>joke, if such +it may be called, was to change every pair of boots reposing +peacefully outside the various doors, and the +development—which none of us was likely to +witness—was the scare that would ensue at 8 a.m., when +sober ecclesiastics might be expected to swear at the prospect of +being late for their platform prayer at 9. Charlie Buller +in those days was reputedly the handsomest man in the Household +Brigade; an excellent bruiser, and not slow of wrath, he was, +moreover, a desirable companion when altercations were likely to +occur.</p> +<p>Lennon, on the other hand, was not a cockney, and only up on +leave, but willing to assist in anything original or +exciting. Not many months previously he had been awarded a +brevet-majority and the Victoria Cross for a conspicuous act of +bravery at the Taku Forts. I lost sight of him for years, +and when I again met him he had left the Army and fallen +apparently on bad times. In consideration of his past +services, he was nominated years later for a Knight of Windsor; +but the poor old fellow was “not himself” when he +went down to be installed, and the appointment was +cancelled. He was an excellent actor in comic parts, and +has a son, I believe, on the London stage.</p> +<p>The winter of ’61 was an unusually severe one, and the +river that washed the walls of the grim old Tower was covered +with a thick coating of ice, which in its turn afforded a +convenient asylum for the dead cats and other refuse that drifted +upon it from the neighbourhood of the adjoining wharves. +Locomotion in those pre-Embankment and underground railway days +was not so convenient as now, and as cabs had practically ceased +running by reason of the mountains of snow intervening between +the Tower and the Monument, I had, together with a few boon +companions, decided that the time had come for a migration, and +went in for “first leave.”</p> +<p><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>And the +choice we had made was by no means an unhappy one, for the +weather that had made existence in London well nigh intolerable +had driven the woodcocks into the coverts, and we all declared +that a week of such surroundings would compensate for all the +vicissitudes we had undergone from Kangaroos, Tower, and five +o’clock bacon and eggs in London. The +“route,” too, had come, and we reasoned, not +unwisely, that the journey to Ireland was at best an unpleasant +one, and that if we delayed, 1000 to 60 were by no means +extravagant odds that we might get no leave at all.</p> +<p>It was about a fortnight after this that, having returned to +grimy old Lane’s, I received a characteristic letter from +my old chum, George Hay. “Most of my time” (he +wrote) “is spent in accompanying the old squire on his +various peregrinations over the estate, and by pointing out +various agricultural developments that were absolutely necessary, +or structural alterations that would improve the holdings. +He leads me to understand that my place was on the spot I would +one day inherit, and the fitting moment would arrive after I got +my company. ‘D— it, sir,’ he would +continue, ‘in my time no eldest son remained longer than a +year in the army unless he was prepared to pay £10,000 over +regulation for the regiment as Cardigan did.’</p> +<p>“‘But in the infantry, sir,’ I suggested, +‘things are different. Promotion is slower, and I +can’t help thinking that the bonds that unite officers to +the regiment are stronger than is usually the case in the +cavalry. But I see no prospect of my company till we are +under orders for foreign service, and we shan’t be at the +top of the roster for another two years at least.’</p> +<p>“‘I have nothing to say against the line, +sir,’ he would reply, ‘except that your officers can +rarely ride to hounds.’</p> +<p>“‘But surely, sir,’ I answered, ‘there +are other <a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>virtues you will not deny to the linesman; in garrison +towns they at all events appreciate hospitality, and don’t +insult worthy folks by accepting their invitations only to turn +them into ridicule. You may remember the story of a young +puppy who replied to a kindly hostess by “The King’s +never dance, and the King’s never sing,” and this in +a regiment, forsooth, where every man-jack of them was a +shopkeeper’s son, and which was known as the “Trades +Union.”’”</p> +<p>Great excitement meanwhile prevailed at the Tower; the route +had come, the mess was closed, and everybody was packing in +preparation for an early departure for Ireland. Transports +in those long-ago days were not the floating palaces inaugurated +years later by the Indian troopers. Cranky +steamers—whose principal industry was the transporting of +pigs and cattle—were hurriedly chartered by the War Office, +and with the men packed like herrings, and the junior officers +billeted amongst the band instruments, regiments proceeded at +five knots an hour from London to the Irish ports.</p> +<p>The Colonel, during these preparations, lost no opportunity of +describing his experiences when last stationed in Dublin; how he +and certain boon companions were within an ace of being tried for +their lives for throwing into the Liffey an old watchman +deposited in a sentry-box; how they started the “Pig and +Whistle” in Sackville Street, run on lines that would shock +you, virtuous reader; their nightly visits to the +“Quane’s” Theatre, where Mikey Duff performed +<i>Hamlet</i>, and declined to accede to the demands of the +gallery for “Pat Molloy and the roising step” with +the indignant retort: “D— yer oise, what do you +expect for toppence;” the orgies of “Red bank” +oysters at Burten Binden’s, and the dinners at the Bank of +Ireland, when the regiment furnished the guard; how old Bill, +after a drinking bout, would stamp through every corner of the <a +name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>guard-rooms, +cursing at everything, and winding up by the consumption of +half-a-dozen brandies and sodas, and “very different to +what it was in the Peninsula!”</p> +<p>“Payther” Madden, too, was holding forth on what +he would show them in Cark, if “plase the Lard the rigimint +was quarthered in the ould station,” and went on to +describe how Barny Magee “wad come on and sing at the Hole +in the Wall with a gaythaar in his fist, looking for all the +world like a hamstrung moke,” and how the gallery would +shout, “For the love of dacency, Barny, dhrop yer +concertina and pull up yer stockin’,” and how Mrs. +Rooney, bless her soul, would pass yer the toime of day with that +grace—so genteel loike, so obsarvent—as ye paid toll +to go in, with: “God bless you, Carporal, it’s you +that has the lip,” or ilse: “Go an wid ye, Carporal, +for a flirrt that ye are.”</p> +<p>“A sort of bloomin’ sing-song,” suggested a +cockney comrade, “but give me London, with ’er +bloomin’ orange peel and hashfelt, with ’er boats +down to North Woolwich, with yer gal on yer knee and a new clay +in yer face; a pint of shrimps maybe, and a pint of ale down yer +neck, and no bloomin’ guards.”</p> +<p>Amid these conflicting sentiments the regiment quitted the +Tower.</p> +<p>And what a delightful station the Dublin of the sixties was; +here Lord Carlisle as Lord-Lieutenant reigned supreme, and though +compelled by usage to keep up the mock court, with its mock +“Master of the Horse” and “Gentlemen at +Large,” diffused hospitality like the fine old English +gentleman he was.</p> +<p>Nightly the captain and subaltern of the Castle Guard were +invited to the Viceregal table, during which the kind old man +clinked glasses and invited his every guest to take wine with +him. How His Excellency could retain his head after all +these <a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>courtesies was once a marvel till it transpired that the +huge decanter before him was the weakest brandy and water diluted +to the exact colour of Amontillado. And then the whist that +followed at sixpenny points, when His Excellency rigorously +prevented his partner—and his partner only—from +seeing every card in his hand. How refreshing it all +was!</p> +<p>No contortions short of dislocating their necks could prevent +his adversaries from taking advantage of the dishonest +opportunity, for the old gentleman cracked jokes throughout the +entire rubber, and claimed and paid his sixpences with the +scrupulousness of a confirmed gambler.</p> +<p>Among the Viceregal staff were some inflated specimens of +vice-flunkeydom. Foster, Master of Horse, whose death +occurred lately, was reputed as not knowing one end of a horse +from another, and never ventured on a purchase for the Viceregal +stables, at Farrell’s or Sewell’s, unless fortified +by the close proximity of Andy Ryan or some other +horse-coper. Burke, a Gentleman at Large and an ex-colonel +of militia, was another warrior of the offensive type, and I +shall never forget the scene when a youngster of the 16th Lancers +at one of the levées gave him a peremptory order when he +was officially glued to the staircase, under pretence that he +mistook him for a flunkey. But the matter was not to end +there, and before the réveille had ceased blowing at +Island Bridge he was waited upon by a fiery buckeen to demand +satisfaction on behalf of Kornel Burke.</p> +<p>Captain Stackpool (everybody had a military title) was another +Dublin curiosity. Member of Parliament for Ennis, he +affected Dublin and the delights of the Unoited Service from one +year’s end to the other. Dublin, he assured me, was +the most “car-driving, tea-drinking, money-spending city in +the world,” and he was not far wrong.</p> +<p>Lord Louth, who weighed eighteen stone, and stood <a +name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>five foot +seven in his stockings, had served some years in a kilted +regiment; but he, too, has long since been gathered to his +fathers.</p> +<p>About this time an amusing incident occurred to Lord +Louth. The very best of fellows, his vanity was insatiable, +and only London-built clothes were good enough to set off his +graceful figure.</p> +<p>In the 14th Hussars was a diminutive cornet who also +patronised the same tailor as Louth, and both these +dandies—as appeared later—had telegraphed on the same +day for a pair of the most bewitching trousers in preparation for +some social event to which they had both been invited. +Conceive the consternation of the two recipients when at the last +moment a pair of diminutive pants revealed themselves to the +enraged peer, and a garment sufficiently voluminous to engulf +three Deal boatmen reached the expectant cornet. This +latter was known as the “Shunter” from the +extraordinary talents he developed later as a gentleman rider, +and still later as a hanger-on of Abingdon Baird.</p> +<p>One of the most brilliant surgeons that Ireland or any other +country has ever produced was just coming into prominence in +those long-ago days. Dr. Butcher, who in appearance +resembled the portraits of Disraeli in his younger days, was +known professionally to nearly every man in the garrison; of the +most enthusiastic type, he thought nothing of producing two or +three stones from his waistcoat pocket and exultantly explaining +that he had that morning taken them from certain patients’ +interiors, and nothing gave him greater offence than refusing to +attend one of his private séances. But the most +marvellous operation he ever performed was on Billy Deane, of the +4th Dragoon Guards, who, having consulted every specialist in +Europe, appealed to Butcher to save his arm and enable him to +remain in the service.</p> +<p><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>A fall +whilst hunting had resulted in the disease of the elbow-bone of +the left arm.</p> +<p>“Nothing but taking your arm off will save your +life,” was the universal fiat.</p> +<p>“D— nonsense!” was Butcher’s retort, +and he cut a square clean out of the elbow.</p> +<p>Within six months Billy’s bridle arm was stronger than +the other.</p> +<h2><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE RATCLIFF HIGHWAY.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> months had elapsed since the +regiment landed in Ireland, when one of those inscrutable ways of +Providence gave another opportunity of renewing one’s +London experiences, and obtaining a month’s leave in the +height of the drill season for the purpose of visiting the +Exhibition of ’62. The temptation so gratuitously +offered was altogether too much for me, and, in conjunction with +the rest of the Army in Ireland, I gratefully seized the +opportunity of “studying” the various exhibits of +foreign countries, and applied for leave for that specific +purpose.</p> +<p>Limmer’s, where a select band took up its quarters, was +at this time one of the chief resorts of young bloods and +subalterns, for the most part of the cavalry, who revelled in +sanded floors and eating off the most massive of silver.</p> +<p>Entering the coffee room on the afternoon of our arrival, I +was greeted by a cheery voice, and descried Hastings lingering +over his breakfast. Truth to say, his lordship had not a +robust appetite. The mackerel bone fried in gin, and the +caviare on devilled toast remained apparently untouched, whilst a +<i>hors-d’œuvre</i>, known as “Fixed +Bayonets”—of which the recipe is happily +lost—failed to assist his jaded appetite; alongside him +stood a huge tankard of “cup,” and pouring out a +gobletful for his newly-found chum, and gulping down a pint by +way of introduction, he gasped: <a name="page76"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 76</span>“By Gad, old man, I’m +d— glad to see you! To begin with, you must dine with +me at 8—here. I’ve asked Prince Hohenlohe and +Baron Spaum, and young Beust and Count Adelberg, and if +you’ll swear on a sack of bibles not to repeat it, I expect +two live Ambassadors—it’s always as well” (he +continued in a confidential tone) “to have a sacred person +or two handy in case of a row with the police. First we go +to Endell Street—to Faultless’s pit. I’ve +got a match for a monkey with Hamilton to beat his champion bird, +The Sweep, and after that I’ve arranged with a detective to +take us the rounds in the Ratcliff Highway. No dressing, +old man; the kit you came over in is the ticket, and a sovereign +or two in silver distributed amongst your pockets; you’re +bound to have a fist in every wrinkle of your person—why, +if you’re dancing with a beauty she’ll be going over +you all the time. I often used to laugh and shout out, +‘Go it, I’m not a bit ticklish!’—still, +what the h— does it matter?” And his lordship +sucked down another libation to the gods.</p> +<p>“I suppose you can speak French or German; if not you +can try Irish—not that it matters, for I expect Fred +Granville and Chuckle Saunders, and Hamilton is sure to bring a +mob, so I think we may count on having the best of it if it comes +to a row. How long are you up for? A month, eh? +Oh, well, then we’re right for the Derby, and I’ll +tell you what we’ll do. We’ll go down the +evening before—the night before the big race amongst the +booths is the nearest approach to hell vouchsafed to unhappy +mortals.”</p> +<p>Punctually to time our party assembled, and it would have been +difficult for the unenlightened to have realised that the +gaitered, flannel-shirted, monkey-jacketed assembly embraced +diplomats, peers, and obscure Army men who have since made their +mark in history. Here might have been seen Charlie <a +name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>Norton, the +youngest and handsomest major in the service, who years after +developed into a Pasha amid the Turkish gendarmerie; Ned +Cunyinghame, in the zenith of his fortune, dilating (with the +dessert) on the superior attributes of Nova Scotia baronets, and +how an ancestor had once told the Regent “it was a title he +could neither give nor take away;” Count Kilmanseg, the +best whist player that ever came out of Hanover; Prince +Hohenlohe, a charming attaché just beginning his career; +Baron Spaum, the best of the best, now Commander-in-Chief of the +Austrian Navy, and president of the recent Anglo-Russian +Arbitration in Paris; Count Adelberg, a genial Muscovite, who +considered <i>menus</i> superfluous, and once shocked a very +correct hostess by exclaiming “<i>Je prends +tout</i>,” and a host of others unnecessary to +enumerate. Presiding at the head of the table was the +genial young Hastings—not yet a married man—faced, as +vice-president, by Freddy Granville, whose wavy hair, gentle +manners, and frank and English appearance were boring their way +into the hearts of the best women and men in Society, except, +perhaps, the strict Exeter Hall school.</p> +<p>To approach a cockpit, even in the long-ago sixties, required +a certain amount of discretion, and so it came to pass that the +sporting team broke up into twos and threes, and by a series of +strategical advances by various routes, arrived within a few +minutes of each other at the unpretentious portals in Endell +Street. Descending into the very bowels of the earth, the +party was considerably augmented by his Grace of Hamilton’s +contingent, and within half an hour, the spurs having been +adjusted and all preliminaries arranged, the two champions faced +one another in the arena.</p> +<p>Ten minutes later it was a piteous sight to see the brave old +champion Sweep attempting to crow, although he seemed aware he +had received his quietus.</p> +<p><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>Suffice +to say Hastings won the wager, and the party hurried eastward, +leaving the brave old bird like a warrior taking his rest.</p> +<p>One of the most popular pastimes of the long-ago sixties was +going the rounds of the dens of infamy in the East End and the +rookeries that then abutted upon the Gray’s Inn Road. +In this latter quarter, indeed, there was one narrow, tortuous +passage that in broad daylight was literally impassable, and to +escape with one’s life or one’s shirt was as much as +the most sanguine could expect.</p> +<p>The Ratcliff Highway, now St. George’s Street East, +alongside the Docks, was a place where crime stalked unmolested, +and to thread its deadly length was a foolhardy act that might +quail the stoutest heart.</p> +<p>Every square yard was occupied by motley groups; drunken +sailors of every nationality in long sea-boots, and deadly knives +at every girdle; drunken women with bloated faces, caressing +their unsavoury admirers, and here and there constables in pairs +by way of moral effect, but powerless—as they well +knew—if outrage and free fights commenced in real +earnest. Behind these outworks of lawlessness were dens of +infamy beyond the power of description—sing-song caves and +dancing-booths, wine bars and opium dens, where all day and all +night Chinamen might be seen in every degree of insensibility +from the noxious fumes.</p> +<p>The detective who was to be our cicerone was known to every +evil-doer in the metropolis. Entering these dens when not +in pursuit of quarry was to him a pilgrimage of absolute safety, +and a friendly nod accompanied by “All right, lads, only +some gents to stand you a drink” extended the protection to +all who accompanied him. A freemasonry, indeed, appeared to +exist between these conflicting members of society whereby, by +some unwritten code, it was understood <a name="page79"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 79</span>that when either side passed its word +every one was on his parole to “play the game.”</p> +<p>The first place the explorers entered was a singsong in the +vicinity of Nile Street, but it was evidently an “off +night,” for, with the exception of a dozen half-drunken men +and women, the place was practically empty. As we entered, +however, a sign of vitality was apparent, and the chairman +announced that a gent would oblige with a stave; but the cicerone +with commendable promptitude called out, “Not necessary, +thank you all the same,” and prompted his followers to lay +five shillings on the desk. But the compliment was not to +be denied, and a drunken refrain soon filled the air, which was +absolutely inaudible, except:</p> +<blockquote><p>“She turned up her nose at Bob Simmons and +me.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The next place was infinitely more interesting—the +“Jolly Sailors,” in Ship Alley. “A +dozen,” explained our cicerone as he tendered a coin, and +our party awaited admission. “Keep your money, +sergeant,” was the ominous reply. “Of course, I +know you; but we’ve got a mangy lot here to-night; they +won’t cotton to the gents. If they ask any of their +women to dance it will be taken as an affront, and if they +don’t ask them it will be taken as an affront; leave well +alone, say I. Most nights it might do, but not to-night, +sergeant; the drink’s got hold of most of them, and +there’s a lot of scurvy Greeks about who will whip out +their knives afore you can say what’s what.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense, man,” cut in Bobby, “we +don’t want to have a row, we’ve come for a spree; +there’s the money, we’ll take our +chance.” The Baron also, who prided himself on his +mastery of our vernacular, interposed with: “Posh, I snaps +my finger at eem! Am I afraid of a tirty Greek? +Posh! All our intent is larks; we want no rows. +Posh!” And regardless <a name="page80"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 80</span>of the friendly monition, our party +trooped into the room. The scene that presented itself was +not an encouraging one; perched on a rickety stool was a fiddler +scraping with an energy only to be attained by incessant +application to a mug of Hollands that stood at his elbow, and to +which he appeared to resort frequently. Polkaing in every +grotesque attitude were some twenty couples, the males attired +for the most part in sea-boots and jerseys, their partners with +dishevelled hair and bloated countenances, all more or less under +the influence of gin or beer; here and there couples, apparently +too overcome to continue the giddy joy, were propped against the +wall gurgling out blasphemy and snatches of ribald song, whilst +in alcoves or leaning over a trestle table were knots of men, +smoking, cursing, swilling strong drinks, and casting wicked eyes +at the intruders. “’Aven’t they a leg of +mutton and currant dumplin’s at ’ome wi’out +comin’ ’ere?” inquired a ferocious +ruffian. “What for brings ’em a-messing about +’ere, I’d like to know?”</p> +<p>“Blast me if I wudn’t knife ’em; what say +you, lads?” replied a stump-ended figure, stiffening +himself.</p> +<p>“Bide a while, lads; let’s make ’em show +their colours. What cheer, there?” shouted a huge +Scandinavian, as a contingent detaching itself from the main body +lurched towards the explorers.</p> +<p>“What cheer, my hearties?” sang back Hastings, +and, with a diplomacy that might have done credit to a Richelieu, +the entire party were fraternising within a minute.</p> +<p>“The Jolly Sailors” was admittedly the most +dangerous of all the dens, even amid such hotbeds of iniquity as +“The King of Prussia,” “The Prince +Regent,” “The Old Mahogany Bar,” “The Old +Gun,” “The Blue Anchor,” and “The Rose +and Crown,” and had decoys in all directions to lure +drunken sailors or foolish sightseers within its fatal +portals. Situated <a name="page81"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 81</span>at the extremity of Grace’s +Alley, it led directly into Wellclose Square, a <i>cul de sac</i> +it was easier to enter than to leave; but sailors of all +nationalities are admittedly the most impressionable of mortals, +and happily in the present case the <i>sang-froid</i>, the +unexpected rejoinder, the devil-may-care bearing, disarmed +apparently their rugged hostile intentions, and within half an +hour visitors and regular customers—Germans, English, +Scandinavians, and nondescripts—were shouting:</p> +<blockquote><p>“What’s old England coming to?<br /> + Board of Trade ahoy!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>What any of us knew of the Board of Trade or the Mercantile +Marine history does not say.</p> +<p>The opium dens in this delectable quarter were situated higher +up at Shadwell, but the charms of the “Jolly Sailors” +proving too much for our heroes, they elected to explore no +further.</p> +<p>How different is the entire neighbourhood to-day! The +very name Ratcliff Highway has disappeared, and been replaced by +that of Saint George’s Street East; where constables once +patrolled on the <i>qui vive</i> in twos and threes a solitary +embodiment of the law may now be seen, strolling along in a +manner that once would not have been worth an hour’s +purchase; where drunken sailors in sea-boots and knives at every +girdle lurched against inoffensive pedestrians, unwashed women +may now be seen at corners knitting stockings, whilst unsavoury +tadpoles are constructing mud-pies in the gutter; here and there +may still be seen an inebriated foreigner and rows of +loafers—with a striking resemblance to the +“unemployed” hanging about the public-houses, but the +solitary specimen in blue seems to exercise a salutary +hypnotising effect, all which (justice demands) shall be placed +to the credit of these enlightened days. Not that this +welcome change has been long arrived at; <a +name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>not four +years ago a respectable tradesman, Abrahams, a naturalist, of +191, St. George’s Street East, was attacked at 2 p.m., +within fifty yards of his own door, and succumbed to his injuries +within twenty-four hours, and even to-day to ostentatiously show +a watch chain passing certain corners, say Artichoke Lane, would +not be without danger; but when all is said and done, there is +much to interest the seeker after novelty by a visit to the +Ratcliff Highway of to-day. Here at the “Brown +Bear” may now be seen the rooms, once devoted to orgies, +filled to their utmost capacity with canaries sending up songs to +heaven purer far than those of the long-ago sixties. +Continuing along St. George’s Street will be found +Jamrach’s menagerie, whence filter most of the rarities +that find their way to the Zoological Gardens; and the place is +no ordinary bird shop, but a museum of information in more ways +than one. Here one large room will be found stuffed with +bronzes and curios from all parts of the world, which every +American visiting London, who fancies he is a critic, does not +fail to inspect; for Mr. Jamrach—like his father—is +an authority, and a naturalist in the highest acceptation of the +term.</p> +<p>Lovers of animals will not regret a pilgrimage to “the +Highway,” a pilgrimage which, by the aid of the District +Railway and broad, electric-lighted streets, is no longer +attended with discomfort or danger.</p> +<h2><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE BOOTHS ON EPSOM DOWNS.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">While</span> racing men have gained by the +railway’s close proximity to the course, others are now +deprived of many of the sights there used to be seen along the +road. From Westminster Bridge to the historical heath was +almost one continuous panorama of life, joviality, cheer, and +fun; every hedgerow was lined with open-mouthed yokels, gaping at +the “coves from Lunnon” of whom they had heard so +much, but had never before seen; every ditch supported a natural +artificial cripple; every beerhouse was fronted by holiday crowds +quaffing ale and inviting one to join; and to cap all this, the +miles of vehicles with their accompanying dust gave every one the +complexion of chimney sweeps, despite veil, artificial nose, and +other guises incidental to a real journey by the road.</p> +<p>The party Lord Hastings had organised was a thoroughly +representative one: Fred Granville, Peter Wilkinson, Ginger +Durant, Fred Ellis—not yet blossomed into Howard de +Walden—Bobby Shafto, The Baron, Young Broome (on duty), and +a host of smaller fry; all united in one purpose, one +aim—to enjoy life to its uttermost limit, and to lose not +one fleeting moment of the night preceding the first summer +meeting at Epsom. Booths in those wicked days <i>were</i> +booths, not devoted as now to penny shots with pea rifles and the +excitements permitted by our <a name="page84"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 84</span>prudish legislature, but receptacles +of every conceivable impropriety, to recount many of which would +shock you, virtuous reader.</p> +<p>Here were gipsies of the old original form, who, if permitted +to tell a modest girl her fortune, invariably wound up by +informing her “she’d be the mother of six,” +dancing booths, and tableaux vivants booths; booths where +sparring and booths where drinking might be indulged in freely, +booths where terrible melodramas were given, gambling booths, and +thimble rig booths; roulette and three-card establishments, where +every vice come down from the days of Noah might be indulged in +without let or hindrance.</p> +<p>Leaving Limmer’s in the afternoon, and proceeding by +easy stages, we reached the Downs shortly before eight. No +time was lost in commencing business, and within an hour we were +assisting at the erection of a theatre booth, whilst a +“fragment” here and there was being rehearsed.</p> +<p>“And what does your Lordship think of that?” +inquired a perky little man who had known the Marquis as a patron +at a dozen other meetings.</p> +<p>“Splendid, Simmons,” replied his patron; +“but why such serious scenes, why not a jolly jig with +sailors; poor Nelson, surely he’s out of place?”</p> +<p>“By no means, my Lord; on the contrary, my audiences +will ’ave it, and if only Mr. Fuljome would act up to +’Ardy’s part it would bring down the +’ouse. It’s this way, my Lord: Nelson says: +‘’Ardy, I’m wounded mortually,’ and then, +of course, ‘’Ardy must say melancholy like: +‘Not mortually, my Lord?’ But blow me if I can +get it right.”</p> +<p>“D— the drama,” replied the kindly +Marquis. “Have you any one to send for a +drink?” And pulling out two or three sovereigns the +party proceeded on their quest.</p> +<p>“Now, my Lord,” was next shouted from a roulette +booth. “We’re just ready for the swells. +Step in, <a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>gentlemen,” continued a flash-looking +rascal. “Ah! Mr. Broome,” he added, as he +recognised the ex-puncher, “no need for you, I +hope.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps not, Levi,” replied the Marquis. +“But we’ve got some quarrelsome chaps about; best be +prepared.” And again we proceeded on our +pilgrimage.</p> +<p>“Where are the tableaux vivants, Hastings?” +inquired Fred Ellis. “Damn it, we must show the +Baron.” But at this moment an unrehearsed incident +occurred which stopped the future legislator’s +eloquence.</p> +<p>“A word with you, Mr. Wilkinson,” said one of a +couple of very shady individuals. “You’ll +’ave to come wi’ us,” he whispered, “a +capias at the suit of Beyfus—£200 with +costs.”</p> +<p>“Hang it,” replied Peter, with +<i>sang-froid</i>. “Can’t you let it stand +over? If you nab me now I can’t pay, but if +you’ll let me alone till after the meeting I’ll make +it right, not only with Beyfus, but with you. Now, look +here, here’s how it stands. On Saturday next +I’m going down with Lord Hastings to Castle +Donington. Send one of your chaps after me, and about eight +send a letter in to me. We shall be at dinner—leave +the rest to me.”</p> +<p>On the following Saturday, the programme was carried out in +its entirety. Peter Wilkinson was staggered by the +unexpected blow! and the much-abused, kindly Hastings paid the +claim on the spot.</p> +<p>And this is how boon companions requited the most generous man +in England. What wonder, the target of friends and foes, +the deepest well at length dried up! The party meanwhile +had moved on, and Peter on rejoining it found the champagne +flying with a vengeance. The site was a huge marquee, the +audience the entire company that had journeyed from London, +blended with the full strength of the tableaux vivants cast.</p> +<p><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>Fred +Ellis was holding forth in an incoherent speech till, offended by +being told to “shut up,” he walked out of the +tent. Within ten minutes, shouts of “Help! murder, +help!” were wafted into the marquee, and groping amid tent +ropes, the cause was not far to seek.</p> +<p>On his knees, in an attitude of supplication, was the +honourable Fred; standing within a yard of him was a huge white +goat. “Oh, go away; don’t take me. Oh, I +know he’s come for me at last. Oh, take the devil +away, I know it’s him, and I swear I’ll never touch +wine again. Help! murder!” Lanterns meanwhile +approaching from various directions, the position appeared simple +enough. The unhappy man on lurching amid the tent ropes had +unfortunately caught his leg in a harmless goat’s tether; +in endeavouring to extricate himself he had dragged the +inoffensive quadruped close to him, and being at the time in a +state (presumedly) unusual for him, the surroundings, grafted on +to a strong religious tendency, had distorted a very ordinary +billy-goat into the devil specially on his track, and standing +over him waiting to waft him to where—no matter how +thirsty—drink was absolutely unattainable. Fred Ellis +had once won the Grand Military, but that was before—</p> +<p>Luncheon on the Derby and Oaks days in the long-forgotten +sixties was an institution that dwarfs the most ambitious +displays of hampers and cold pies consumed on the tops of +drags. Conceive a huge marquee with tables the entire +length groaning under every delicacy, from plovers’ eggs at +a shilling a-piece to patés and blanc-manges of the Gunter +school of creation. Imagine vats six feet high around the +entire walls distilling the best champagne into goblets filled by +the most expert of footmen. Conceive all this, free, +gratis, and for nothing by simply presenting your card with the +name of your regiment inscribed; behold <a +name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>the genial +host smiling contentedly, as supporting on his arm a live Duchess +of Manchester—now her Grace of Devonshire—he +administered to the internal wants of one of the most beautiful +women of the day!</p> +<p>Cynics, not contented with accepting the gifts the gods +provided, were prone to remark that assuming the feast cost Tod +Heatly a thousand, he would gladly have doubled it, if only to +enable his fellow-creatures to feast their eyes on that supreme +moment of his life when he piloted his fair charge across the +crowded course.</p> +<p>Tod Heatly, it may be explained, possessed almost the entire +monopoly of supplying champagne to the various messes of the +Army. Amassing wealth hand over hand by this profitable +connection, he returned the compliment by giving a general +invitation to any officer of any regiment who dealt with his +firm.</p> +<p>Incredible as it may appear, no instance ever occurred of +enterprising chevaliers entering without a right, and the +delightful custom only ceased when the usages of society, the +abolition of purchase, and our advanced ideas made it absolutely +necessary.</p> +<p>A similar experiment in these enlightened days would require +admission by parole and countersign and a squad of constables +within measurable distance.</p> +<p>Perhaps the most unique individual that has ever risen to a +prominent position on the Turf was Captain Machell, whose death +occurred not long since.</p> +<p>Joining the 14th Foot some time in the fifties, he exchanged +as a captain to the 53rd, and, retiring a few years later, +invested his entire fortune—his commission money—in a +pitch at Newmarket. It was during his earlier soldiering +days that he had the good fortune to be stationed with the +depôt of his regiment at Templemore, a desolate bog in the +heart of Tipperary, where commanded as clever a judge of a +horse—Colonel Irwin, of the Connaught Rangers—as ever +came out of “ould Oireland.” The permanent +staff <a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>of +depôt battalions in those remote days retained their +appointments indefinitely, a regulation that enabled them to +settle down very cosily, undisturbed by anything more formidable +than an annual inspection conducted on the most comfortable +lines. Needless to add that Templemore was no exception to +the rule.</p> +<p>The drill field adjoining the barracks was converted into a +paddock for brood mares and yearlings; the entire stabling and +any superfluous out-houses became roomy loose boxes; hens +cackled, cocks crowed, and pigs grunted from every point of the +compass, and any youngster prepared to purchase a promising +hunter—“a bit rough, but likely to shape +well”—from the Colonel need perform no more arduous +duties than eating his dinner in uniform and chewing a straw all +day.</p> +<p>This equine elysium continued till young men began to grizzle +and two-year-olds became “aged”; it might, indeed, +have continued much longer had it not been for the unfortunate +Fenian scare and the military precautions that attended it. +Suffice it to say, that in one single day, and without the +slightest warning, the Commander-in-Chief—Lord +Strathnairn—suddenly appeared in the Square, and within +twenty-four hours the happy community was for ever broken up, the +farm produce sent off to various auction rooms, and the battalion +half-way across the Channel.</p> +<p>Machell, when he arrived at the depôt, was not long in +ingratiating himself with the Colonel, and within a year the pair +were joint owners of Leonidas, a chestnut gelding that beat +everything at all the surrounding meetings at Thurles, Cashel, +and Tipperary.</p> +<p>Machell, after his retirement, disappeared below the horizon +till summoned to assist at the pulverisation of the unhappy +Hastings in the spring of ’67, and it was after that, with +£80,000 to his credit, that he loomed into sporting +publicity.</p> +<p><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>A +splendid judge of a horse, possessed of a wiry frame, an +expressionless face, and a shrewd and calculating temperament, +little wonder that he was more or less associated from ’67 +to his death with every wealthy horse-owner aspiring to a career +and every ass desirous of pilotage by the astutest man of his +day.</p> +<p>Machell as a young man had few equals in all feats requiring +agility; he could hop, apparently without effort, on to the +mantelpiece in the smoking-room at Mackin’s Hotel, Dublin; +he could out-run most men for any distance between 100 and 1,000 +yards, and as a middle-weight could hold his own amongst the best +of amateur boxers. It was not until years after, when he +came to blows with Bob Hope-Johnstone, at the “Old +Ship,” Brighton, that the scientific bruiser, hopping round +his colossal opponent, caught a chance blow that felled him like +an ox, breaking three ribs. “Here, take this carrion +away,” shouted the Major, and the senseless Machell was +removed to his rooms in a cab.</p> +<p>But the redoubtable Bob was, not long after, himself the +victim of a cowardly mauling at the hands of two Bond Street +Hebrews, who since have developed into the highest authorities on +knick-knacks and articles of vertu generally. For even the +rugged major, it would appear, had a weak point near his heart, +and seeking on one occasion a fair seducer at the Argyll, he +traced her to Rose Barton’s, and, attacking the two mashers +who were entertaining her, was belaboured with champagne bottles +by the cowardly Israelites, till, bleeding from a score of +gashes, he was removed to the “John o’ Groat” +in Rupert Street, a hostelry now known as Challis’s, after +a waiter at Webb’s Coffee House who aspired to perpetuate +his name.</p> +<p>It is satisfactory to be able to add that in terror of +possible consequences, the brothers paid £200 to their +victim before he attained convalescence—a <a +name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>circumstance +we have probably to thank for their still being amongst us.</p> +<p>Machell, from the exigencies of his profession, was +unquestionably the ruin of numerous aspiring punters whose +interests clashed with his own. Beaumont Dixie, whose +inclinations tended towards always backing “Archer’s +mounts,” was a notable example, and any one who witnessed +the scene in the paddock after a race where Machell’s horse +<i>did not win</i>, will not be likely to forget the ruined +Baronet wringing his hands in despair, and the irate owner +standing over him with “Now, Mr. b— Beaumont Dixie, +I’ll teach you to back Archer’s mounts.” +It will be said by many that Machell was a popular man, that he +was generous, and deserving of every credit for repurchasing an +ancestral estate that was supposed to have once belonged to the +family; others, however, will contend that he was of a selfish +and over-bearing disposition, that his charity was dispensed when +and where it was likely to become known, and that no better or +wiser investment than an estate could have been made by a man +whose capital must have been enormous, and who hoped, by becoming +a landed proprietor, to gain the position seldom attained by a +landless man. Probably Machell was never so good a fellow +as when he was hopping on and off mantelpieces, and when an +accident would have broken his neck and his fortune—the +value of his commission—at one blow.</p> +<p>That Machell was born under a lucky star goes without saying, +and is proven by his career from the day he sold out with nothing +but his commission money to his death, when he died worth a +quarter of a million. Popular as a poor man, he every day +became more morose as his pile increased, and his first success +through the introduction of his brother-in-law, Prime (or his +wife), to Lord Calthorpe (for whom he eventually trained), led +him by easy stages <a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</span>to Mr. Henry Chaplin, Joe Aylesford, and finally to +Harry McCalmont, where all his paths were peace.</p> +<p>His marvellous capacity for “out-touting” the +touts with which Newmarket was infested was once exemplified +during the trials for the Stewards’ Cup at Goodwood. +Suddenly dismounting and diving into his pocket he dropped +(apparently) by accident a paper which purported to contain the +weights at which the favourite and others were being tried. +Needless to add, the list had been carefully prepared, and what +if true would have been fatal to the favourite’s +performance was, in fact, a highly satisfactory trial.</p> +<p>Within an hour it was reported at the Victoria Club that the +favourite had gone wrong, and 30 and 40 to 1 against him +literally went begging. Two hours later a pre-arranged +telegram reached his agent, and the money that was piled on by +the stable brought a golden harvest at Goodwood.</p> +<p>Doncaster stands out through the long vista of years so +prominently with charms that appealed to every taste that a +reference to the old Assembly Rooms may be pardonable.</p> +<p>Every one who has rambled through the quaint old streets of +Doncaster must have noticed these unpretentious-looking rooms, +which, for aught I know, may still echo during the Leger week +with the blatant babble of the cheap excursion sportsman, but +which in ’67 were the nightly rendezvous of the various +house-parties, and where Major Mahan, who did most of James +Merry’s commissions, was the recognised master of +ceremonies.</p> +<p>In the smaller room on the left as one entered, hazard, fast +and furious, raged pretty well through the night under the +auspices of Atkins, a lank, white-bearded man, who had an +unofficial monopoly at Goodwood and other meetings which no rival +dared to dispute. During the Sussex week he rented a large +house near where the Brighton Aquarium now <a +name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>stands, and +the best of everything was provided gratis.</p> +<p>Old Mahan, who in his youth had been a well-known duellist, +had at this period simmered down to a fiery punter with a shiny +forehead that extended to the nape of his neck, and a grizzly +fringe in the vicinity of his ears. Superstitious to a +degree, if the dice went against him he would seize any youngster +entering the room whose physiognomy looked “lucky,” +and forcing him into a chair would insist on his calling the +main, and then backing him blindly. “Aren’t yer +surproised at me losing so incessantly?” he once inquired +of Sir Robert Peel, who happened to be standing at his elbow.</p> +<p>“Not in the least,” was the caustic answer; +“but we all wonder where you get the money to play +with.”</p> +<p>Not that sharpers did not occasionally wriggle in, who, after +the soberer players had left, resorted to reckless measures to +rook the more adventurous spirits, who in the small hours were +more or less tipsy.</p> +<p>An Irish peer (still living) suspecting on one occasion that +the dice were loaded—as no doubt they were, having been +changed—and just sober enough to pocket them and leave the +room, was surprised next morning after having them broken, to +find that they were perfectly genuine, and thereupon paid his +losses, which were considerable. It transpired later that +the sharpers, who were staying at the same lodgings (hotels were +not patronised in those days), had entered his room whilst he was +sleeping off the night’s debauch and changed the guilty +“bones.”</p> +<p>On another occasion a man with large estates in the Riding who +had sense enough to know he was too drunk to play, and had been +heard to refuse, was considerably astonished next day on the +course at being accosted by a gentlemanly stranger, who, +producing twenty pounds in bank notes, thanked him for his <a +name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>courtesy in +allowing his debt of overnight to stand over, and despite his +protests of having “no recollection of the +transaction,” was literally forced to accept the money.</p> +<p>Two hours later, however, another stranger approached him and +reminded him of ninety pounds he had won from him overnight, and +again R. R. protested he had no “recollection of the +transaction,” when a friend passing by chance, the matter +was referred to him. He promptly asserted he was in the +rooms all the evening, and distinctly remembered R. R. refusing +to play; whereupon the sharper, threatening to have satisfaction, +walked away, and neither he nor his twenty-pound colleague was +seen again.</p> +<p>It was surprising the number of Scotsmen that came in those +long-ago days to see the Leger run, and who, night after night +foregathered in the Assembly Rooms for no object apparently but +to drink “whusky.”</p> +<p>“Come awa, mon, come awa!” I once heard an old +Scot insist as he escorted an inebriated countryman out, and from +a discussion that ensued after the delinquent had disappeared I +gleaned that he was an “elder,” and that +“Brother Dalziel was very powerful in prayer.”</p> +<h2><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>CHAPTER IX.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">RACING PAR EXCELLENCE.</span></h2> +<p>A <span class="smcap">visit</span> I once paid to Castle +Donington had initiated me into many of the mysteries of racing +of which I had hitherto been in profound ignorance. I had +learnt that heavy plungers often deputed minor satellites to bet +according to instructions, and had witnessed +“private” trials—which it was well known were +being watched—where ruses were resorted to that would have +impressed the most sceptical by their realism. I had seen a +“favourite” pulled up, and within half a minute a +blood-stained pocket-handkerchief hurriedly smuggled into the +rider’s pocket; I had witnessed a horse backed for +thousands go lame without apparent cause a week before a race, +and hobble through the village as if on its way to the +knacker’s, and I marvelled—till I gradually became +more enlightened—at the profound acumen of those in +authority who could bring such invalids to the post in the best +of health and spirits.</p> +<p>I also made the acquaintance of numerous shining lights of the +Turf, some that blazed with universally admitted lustre, and some +that emitted a shady, indescribable glimmer apt to mislead the +wayfarer.</p> +<p>Amongst the former none held a more honourable position, or +was a greater favourite, than Mr. George Payne. A man of +likes and dislikes, he had apparently taken a fancy to me and +often gave me hints that sturdier recipients would have converted +into thousands.</p> +<p><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>Mr. +George Payne, although at this period close upon sixty, was the +centre of every fashionable gathering that met for racing or card +playing; a favourite of the highest in the land, he had come +direct from Norfolk to Nice in company with the chief actor in a +notorious drama enacted many years later, and no man had raised +his voice with greater indignation when, <i>nolens volens</i>, he +found himself in the very centre of the unsavoury vortex, +“By —, sir! By —, sir!”—an +invariable adjunct—“D— scoundrel!” +dominating considerably amid the numerous <i>pourparlers</i> that +ensued.</p> +<p>As a card player his stakes were simply appalling, and it is a +well-known fact that on one occasion he won £30,000 from +the late Lord Londesborough, who immediately afterwards hurried +off to be married. £100 a game was to him a normal +stake, and any aspirant attempting to “cut in” at the +table who was not prepared to have an extra hundred on the game +was “By —, sir’d!” <i>ad infinitum</i> +for depriving a better man of the seat.</p> +<p>Opinions on that remarkable meteor—Henry Plantagenet +Hastings—who first came into public notice at the Newmarket +Spring Meeting of ’62, will always differ. By those +who knew him intimately he will be remembered as a weak, amiable, +and generous youngster, terribly handicapped by a colossal rent +roll, a splendid pedigree, a generous, impulsive disposition, and +an entire ignorance of the value of money. To the present +generation, who have only heard of his escapades, he will appear +as a reckless, unprincipled reprobate, preferring low company to +that of his equals, incapable of restraining his passions in +pursuit of the object of the moment, and sacrificing anything and +anybody for their attainment. Barely had he left Oxford +than he became the target of that sporting world that pursued him +to his grave, and was swindled out of £13,500 for a +“screw” that ended <a name="page96"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 96</span>his days in a cab; after which he +settled down to racing as a serious occupation, and had fifty +horses in training; thence (1862) to 1867 he won the +Cambridgeshire, the Grand Prix, the Goodwood Cup, and a host of +minor races, besides such a colossal sum as close upon +£80,000 on Lecturer in the Cesarewitch of ’66.</p> +<p>But although the fates had apparently condoned his +infringement of the Tenth Commandment in ’64, Nemesis was +even then on his track, and it would seem that the colt foaled +about the very time he was exploiting the structural merits of +Vere Street was to be the humble instrument in the hands of +Providence for the ruin of the wicked Marquis.</p> +<p>It is needless here to repeat the threadbare story that once +interested people of how the most beautiful woman of her day +stepped out of a brougham one fine morning at the Oxford Street +entrance to a linen-draper’s, and emerged from another door +in the vicinity of Vere Street with the Marquis’s boon +companion, Fred Granville. Suffice for our reminiscences, +that if all this had not occurred in ’64, there would +probably have been no “Hermit’s year” in +’67; that Captain Machell would not have commenced his +career by netting £80,000 over the event, and that poor +Hastings would never have lost and paid the 103,000 sovereigns he +did. One cannot follow the ups and downs of this unhappy +sport of Fortune without comparing the cheers that everywhere +greeted him up to ’67 with the execrations with which he +was assailed by the same rabble at Epsom the following year, and +all because one of the most generous of golden calves had been +tricked and swindled out of a colossal fortune in less than six +years, and had met every obligation till plucked of his last +feather.</p> +<p>Nor can one forget that the yelpings of his indignant judges +(!) were mingled with the hacking cough that carried him to his +grave five months later; yet <a name="page97"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 97</span>nobody who saw him drive off the +course would have imagined that the incident had affected him in +the least. “I did not show it, did I?” he +remarked to an intimate friend almost from his death-bed; +“but it fairly broke my heart,” and so Henry +Plantagenet Hastings was gathered to his fathers at the early age +of twenty-six, and almost before the howls of the mob had ceased +to ring in one’s ears.</p> +<p>Whilst on the fascinating but occult science of racing, the +licence invariably accorded by an indulgent public will not it is +hoped be here withheld if one jumps for a moment into the early +seventies, an era, alas! as far removed from the present +generation as the long-ago sixties. With railway facilities +very different from those of to-day, it was the custom of +“bloods” to make a week of it at Newmarket during the +great meetings, and so it came to pass that a distinctly +representative party took up their quarters at the residence of +Mr. Postans, the courteous postmaster at Mill Hill, for the Two +Thousand festival of ’72.</p> +<p>In those long-ago days class distinctions were religiously +observed even in such trifles, and whilst the “second +chop” resorted to the “White Hart” and other +comfortable hostelries, the upper crust engaged houses at +fabulous prices, to the advantage of owner and tenant.</p> +<p>The existence was as regular as it was exciting, the racing +being followed by an excellent dinner and a stroll about nine to +“The Rooms.” It was on the night before the big +race that Forbes-Bentley—a lucky dog who owned a number of +horses, and who had recently been left a fortune of +£140,000 conditional on his adding a second barrel to his +name—suggested to a sportsman at dinner that to avoid +notice he should put some money on for him on Prince Charlie for +the Two Thousand.</p> +<p>Beginning his racing career in a pure love of the <a +name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>sport, he +eventually developed into a colossal punter, and +discovered—it is feared too late—that the game is not +a paying one. “Tommy,” he whispered to his +next-door neighbour over their cigars, “I want a monkey on +Prince Charlie; will you, like a good fellow, put it on for me +with as little publicity as possible?”</p> +<p>Prince Charlie during the past twenty-four hours had been a +little shaky in the betting, and from being firm at 2 to 1, 5 to +2 was at the moment being laid, and was to be had to any +amount.</p> +<p>Entering the Rooms about midnight the air resounded with +“5 to 2 against,” as, cautiously approaching the then +leviathan of the Turf, Tommy inquired: “What price Prince +Charlie?” “I’ll lay you 1000 to 400, +Captain,” was the reply, and the bet being duly booked, he +continued: “And now you can have 3 monkeys to 1 if you +like.” “Put it down,” replied Tommy, who +although exceeding his commission decided that what was good +enough for Forbes-Bentley was good enough for him.</p> +<p>But barely had he left the bookie when up came T. V. Morgan, +who had a score of horses with Joe Dawson, and inquired what he +had been doing.</p> +<p>“Your horse is not going well in the betting, old +man. I’ve just taken 3 monkeys to 1,” was the +reply.</p> +<p>“My —, there must be something wrong!” he +gasped. “I’ll go at once to Joe,” and +without waiting a moment, he disappeared on his midnight +mission.</p> +<p>Knocking up Joe Dawson, who had long retired to rest, the two +proceeded to the stable, where it was found that the first +favourite’s near fore leg was inflamed, with every +indication of a swelling.</p> +<p>“By —, Morgan!” exclaimed the trainer, +“this is d— serious; the horse has been got at, and +may be again; we mustn’t stir from here for the remainder +of the night.” And so the two kept vigil alternately +till the saddling bell rang next afternoon. The head <a +name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>stable lad +meanwhile and certain helpers were not admitted into the stable, +and peremptorily discharged in the morning, and bonnie Prince +Charlie won the Two Thousand fairly easily. But during the +race there was a critical moment as the horses entered the Dip +and his jockey was seen to move in the saddle. “A +thousand to a carrot against Prince Charlie!” was now +shouted by a hundred stentorian voices, but the shouts were +happily short-lived, as the grand old roarer shot out of the +crowd and won with apparent ease.</p> +<p>Joe Dawson and his colleague Morgan meanwhile were inundated +with congratulations, and when Joe recounted the marvellous +escape the good old horse had had, the congratulations were not +unaccompanied by fervent hopes that the delinquents might yet be +discovered and lynched.</p> +<p>On the authority of the late Joe Dawson it may be accepted +that what occurred was of the simplest but most effective nature, +and comes briefly to this: “That the fittest horse if +gently tapped with a piece of wood on the back sinew will become +dead lame, and leave no trace of the nobbling.”</p> +<p>But what led to the discovery appears more marvellous. +If Forbes-Bentley had not commissioned Tommy to get his money on, +and if Morgan had not casually asked what he was doing, the fact +of Prince Charlie’s unpopularity might never have been +brought home to the former; Joe Dawson might have continued in +his undisturbed slumber, and Prince Charlie at daylight would +have been found to be hopelessly lame.</p> +<p>It was the year in which Aventuriere ran for the Oaks that +George Payne told me that he thought she had a chance of winning, +and a hint of the kind meaning a lot from such a man as Mr. +Payne, I decided to invest £15 in the hopes of landing +£500. Meeting my friend after the race, I expressed +my fear that the mare had not fulfilled his expectations. +“Wait <a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>till you’ve seen her over a long distance,” +was the encouraging reply. “Don’t repeat what +I’m saying, but when the weights are out for the +Cesarewitch get your money back if she carries anything less than +7st.”</p> +<p>Laying this monition to heart, I decided to trust her for a +big stake, but waiting, alas! to see how Alec Taylor’s lot +would be quoted before acting on the hint, I proceeded to +Newmarket with a sporting team.</p> +<p>“Come and dine with me to-night,” suggested Fred +Gretton, “if you don’t mind meeting Swindells; you +know what he is, but he’s d— amusing.”</p> +<p>Swindells was the owner of the first favourite, The Truth +gelding, a patched-up old crock that had been pulled at every +small meeting for months, and rewarded his enterprising owner by +being given a nice light weight for the Cesarewitch.</p> +<p>“I hope you’re both on my ’orse for +to-morrow,” inquired the genial Swindells. And I +explained I had determined to back Aventuriere.</p> +<p>“What’s she got on?” asked Swindells. +“What, 6st. 12lb.? D— me if any — +three-year-old has a chance against my ’orse.”</p> +<p>It was then that I faltered, and, impressed with the +speaker’s cuteness, decided to go against my original +intention, and backing The Truth gelding, had the mortification +next day of seeing Aventuriere win by a neck with little Glover +up.</p> +<p>“Well, got home, I hope?” inquired Mr. Payne after +the race, and when I told the truth, he added: “Never ask +me for a tip again.”</p> +<p>It was thus that I lost the biggest chance of my life.</p> +<p>But it was before the above blow had descended that Mr. +Swindells was at his best, and during the dinner that we have +referred to told story after story which, however creditable to +his resourceful genius, would by many be considered +“fishy.”</p> +<p><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +101</span>“Ah, the Chester Cup was the race for getting +money on in those days,” remarked the genial +Swindells. “I once ’ad a crock called +Lymington; ah, a rare useful one, too. At the October +Meeting I put ’im in for an over-night race, the stable lad +up, with orders to pull him up sharp soon after the start, jump +off and wait. The ’orse was dead lame, of course, and +for why? The lad ’ad slipped a bit of ’ard +stuff into his frog.</p> +<p>“‘Bad case; breakdown,’ everyone said, so we +took ’im back to the stables in a van. First the +local vet. saw him, and then a big pot from London, and we +humbugged ’em both. Not long after I entered +’im for the Chester Cup, but told everybody my d— +fool of a clerk had made a bloomer of it, as the ’orse +could never be trained, and so when the weights came out he was +chucked in at nix. My eyes! what a cop! and, my Gawd, +didn’t he win! Oh, no; only as far as from ’ere +to nowhere!”</p> +<p>At Doncaster, too, the hospitalities were even of a more +lavish style, and all the principal owners gave dinner parties +nightly to their various friends.</p> +<p>The name of Sir Robert Peel recalls many episodes in the +career of that most blustering baronet.</p> +<p>Beginning as an attaché at Berne, the first performance +that brought him into prominence was an outburst of temper at a +local Kursaal, when, seizing the rake, he belaboured an innocent +croupier as the cause of his run of bad luck.</p> +<p>The Foreign Office, deeming change of air desirable, we next +hear of him following the noble sport of racing, when I had the +distinction of coming within the sphere of his amiable +influence. It was in ’69 that I found myself on one +occasion travelling to Newmarket in the same compartment as Lord +Rosslyn and Sir Robert Peel; in the same train was Lord Rosebery, +making his début as an owner of horses, and still unknown +to fame as the most brilliant of <a name="page102"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 102</span>orators and one of the best Foreign +Secretaries England has ever had.</p> +<p>“What kind of fellow is young Rosebery?” inquired +Lord Rosslyn; to which the most opinionated of men replied:</p> +<p>“He looks a fool, but I’m told he’s a bigger +one than he looks.”</p> +<p>And this was the verdict of a man whose claims to celebrity +were based on being the son of a brilliant father, on one who, in +addition to a most successful racing career, is universally +admired as a sound politician, a genial friend, and the most +versatile of living public men.</p> +<p>It was about the same period that the fates again destined me +to be within measurable distance of the over-bearing baronet, +when young Webb, the jockey, had lost a race through no fault of +riding. As he was fuming and abusing the unhappy youth, Mr. +George Payne, who was present, protested against the unjust +charge, adding that although he had lost considerably by the +race, he in no way blamed Webb, who had carried out his +instructions implicitly.</p> +<p>It was at this point one of the most amiable of men +interfered, and laying his hand on George Payne’s arm, +said: “My dear George, it will take three or four more +crosses to get the cotton out of the Peel family.”</p> +<p>Of a commanding presence, and faultlessly attired in heavy +satin cravat and large-brimmed hat, Sir Robert gave the +impression of patrician down to the heels; it was only—as +Sir Joseph Hawley suggested—when the crustation was +tampered with that the plating gave indications of alloy. +Peel was an inveterate gambler, and an admittedly fine whist +player, and even so late as the early eighties might be seen +daily at the Turf Club at the 2 and 10 table, and a pony on the +rub. It was in this most select of establishments that a +fracas occurred between this <a name="page103"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 103</span>most irascible of baronets and a +noble marquis (still living), when the pot called the kettle +black. It ended in both members being suspended, then +mutually apologising, and eventually being restored to the +privileges of the fold.</p> +<p>A bad loser, he was deficient in one quality that makes a +successful gambler, and so remained a failure, despite all the +advantages that political interest gave him.</p> +<p>Of a different type was Sir Joseph Hawley; succeeding to a +huge fortune before he was out of his teens, he went through the +usual finishing school of those days, and served a few months in +the 9th Lancers, after which he devoted his attention to yachting +and visiting the various Mediterranean ports in the vain search +of the pursuit for which nature had intended him.</p> +<p>It was at Corfu, then occupied by a small British garrison, +that he had a unique experience. Entering upon one occasion +the chief bakery of the island, he sought enlightenment on the +process by which the bread was kneaded. Around a vast room, +surrounded by a shelf, sat some half-dozen swarthy naked natives, +whilst here and there lumps of dough were arranged in piles; on +the floor stood two or three youths, whilst suspended from the +ceiling dangled various ropes, which the respective squatters +clutched firmly in their hands. At a given signal, away +they flew, whilst the urchins deftly turned the dough, and then, +with a flop, down came the naked natives, with eyes starting out +of their heads, only again to fly into space, whilst their next +resting-place was being duly adjusted.</p> +<p>No fear of indigestion where such perfect kneading was in +force; indeed, the bread of Corfu bore an excellent reputation, +and the island was considered one of the most popular of Foreign +Stations.</p> +<p>It would be absurd to recount the numerous victories of the +“cherry and black” colours, although <a +name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>the unique +experience of Blue Gown being disqualified at Doncaster for +carrying “over weight” in the Champagne Stakes may +come as a surprise to many.</p> +<p>Scotland was represented on the Turf in the sixties by two +shining lights of diametrically different types, the patrician +Earl of Glasgow and the plebeian James Merry (of Glasgow), and +whilst the former, during his fifty years, only once won a +classic race—the Two Thousand—the latter swept the +boards of everything over and over again.</p> +<p>Lord Glasgow was not a lovable man; bluff to a degree, and +sensitive as lyddite, the brine that he imbibed in his youth +never appears to have left him, for his lordship was in the Navy +when keel hauling was in vogue, and the sixties found him as +foul-mouthed, irritable, and cross-grained as any British tar +ought to be.</p> +<p>Suffice that in those hard-drinking, hard-swearing days, no +head was harder, no répertoire more complete than that of +this belted Earl (why belted?), who, with all his faults, was a +grand landmark of what a patrician of the old days was, as +surrounded by his boon companions, General Peel, George Payne, +Lord Derby, and Henry Greville, the magnums of claret flowed in +the historical bay-window at White’s. But this was +before membership was “invited” by advertisement.</p> +<p>James Merry, on the other hand, was a typical semi-educated +Scot, game to the backbone, but not up to the standard then +required in a gentleman. He came, indeed, before his time; +had he lived to-day, a baronetcy, or certainly the Victorian +Order, would have been his reward.</p> +<p>It has been the lot of few men to own such horses as +Thormanby, Dundee, Scottish Chief, MacGregor, Sunshine, +Doncaster, and Marie Stuart, and despite the fact that no +suspicion ever rested on James Merry’s fair name, it is an +open secret that when MacGregor <a name="page105"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 105</span>was backed for more money than any +Derby favourite before or since, the Ring told him, “If he +wins we are broke”—and he did not win.</p> +<p>Devout Presbyterian though he was, he succumbed, alas, on one +occasion, to French blandishments, and ran a horse on the +Sawbath. Summoned by the “Elders” of Falkirk to +explain the terrible lapse, he freely admitted his sin, and only +obtained absolution by presenting the entire siller to the +Kirk.</p> +<p>But no reference—however superficial—to the Turf +in the sixties would be complete without one word of homage to +the great Englishman who did so much for the honour of old +England both in sport and politics. Not that his greatest +admirer can place Lord Palmerston in the front rank either as a +diplomatist or an owner of racehorses, though none can deny him +the marvellous combination of attributes that endeared him to his +countrymen, whether in office or opposition, as when crying +“hands off” when his prerogative as Prime Minister +was being tampered with; or when leaving a debate to come out and +shake hands with his trainer; or when at Tattersall’s +watching the fluctuations in the betting over his hot favourite, +Mainstone, for the Derby; or when twitting his political opponent +(Lord Derby), whom he had just replaced as Prime Minister; or, +again, whilst watching Tom Spring or John Gully punching in the +ring long before any of us were thought of. Ah, there was a +man; an Englishman without guile, and of a type well nigh +extinct!</p> +<p>Lord Palmerston never attained pre-eminence on the Turf, and +when Mainstone—as was suspected—was tampered with +before the big race, and when, on a later occasion, Baldwin broke +down in his training, he decided to abandon the sport; what more +noble than the letter he wrote to Lord Naas giving him his +favourite to place at the stud? No auctioneering, no +huckstering—but a free gift such as only a great Englishman +would have conceived.</p> +<p><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>And +who that frequented the Curragh meetings in the long-ago sixties +has not admired the noble form of this same Lord Naas +(assassinated in ’72 in the Andaman Islands), accompanied +by those stalwart Irishmen, the late Marquises of Conyngham and +Drogheda?</p> +<p>England must indeed “wake up”—to quote a +phrase as old as the hills—if such records are to be +maintained, and seek—perhaps in vain—for other giants +such as these mighty dead, if we are to be what we were in sport +and politics amongst the nations of the earth.</p> +<p>For like the ripples on a placid lake before some great +convulsion of nature, a Cromwell is succeeded by a Charles, and +the Palmerstons make way for less sturdy clay, and then the great +upheaval comes, which ends in chaos, or the prosperity that is +associated with “a great calm.”</p> +<p>Whether these momentous events will occur, simultaneously with +the establishment of a Duma, and a great penny daily in +Jerusalem, and the abandonment of historical English and Scottish +seats for castles on the Rhine, it would require a modern +Jeremiah to foretell, but the pendulum is oscillating ominously, +with a throb that is not to be mistaken.</p> +<p>Lord Falmouth, whom no earwig ever ventured to associate with +a fishy act, holds the proud distinction of never having backed +his opinion in his life, if we except the threadbare tale that +every biographer sets out as if it were not known to everybody, +of how he once bet sixpence, and paid it in a coin surrounded by +diamonds.</p> +<p>With this attribute universally known, it is perhaps not +difficult to explain the immunity he obtained from innuendo when +his horse Kingcraft won the Derby in the memorable year that the +Ring “approached” James Merry, despite the fact that +he only ran third to MacGregor in the Two Thousand.</p> +<p><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>That +Lord Falmouth was a successful horse-owner may be accepted by the +£300,000 he undoubtedly won in stakes during the twenty +years of his career; that no one begrudged it him is shown by the +unanimous regret of the racing public when he practically retired +from the Turf, and that even so “close” a man as Fred +Archer, the jockey, should have subscribed towards a presentation +silver shield speaks volumes for his popularity.</p> +<p>Lord Falmouth, like his grand old naval ancestor, is now a +matter of history, and nothing remains but the two guns outside +the family town house in St. James’s Square to remind the +passer-by of two great men, who in their respective spheres were +<i>sans peur et sans reproche</i>.</p> +<p>To Fred Archer, as a phenomenon of a later period, who was +latterly Lord Falmouth’s jockey, it is out of the sphere of +these annals of the sixties to refer, but seeing him as I often +have over his usual breakfast of hot castor-oil, black coffee, +and a slice of toast, it seems incredible that he should have +lived even to his thirtieth year.</p> +<p>Constantly “wasting” to try and attain 8st. 7lb. +his mind and body soon became a wreck, and then the sad end came +by his own hand with which we are all familiar.</p> +<p>Bob Hope-Johnstone and his brother David (“Wee +Davy”) were two as fine specimens of the genus man as can +well be conceived; but like Napoleon—who, according to +experts, ought to have died at Waterloo—Bob outlived the +glory of his youth, and became a morose, cantankerous wretch, who +spent half his time at the hostelry now known as Challis’s, +which in the sixties was the resort of every +jockey—straight or crooked—that held a licence from +the Jockey Club.</p> +<p>Another shining light about this period was Prince Soltykoff, +whose wife was one of the handsomest women in England.</p> +<p><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>It +was after her death that he came into prominence as an admirer of +beautiful women in general, and of little Graham of the Opera +Comique in particular, and—later on—of goodness knows +how many more. Many a time have I seen him at +Mutton’s at Brighton, loaded with paper bags full of every +indigestible delight, which the imperious little woman beside him +continued unmercifully to add to.</p> +<p>Lord Glasgow, who was distinguished in the sixties as +possessing the longest string of useless yearlings, was, in +addition to other peculiarities, the most hot-tempered explosive +that epoch produced. Kind of heart in the bluffest of ways, +and throwing money about with a lavish hand, I remember on one +occasion finding myself on the railway station at Edinburgh as +his plethoric lordship was purchasing his ticket. Tendering +a £5 note, the clerk requested him to endorse it, which, +having been done with a churlish air, his temper rose to fever +pitch when the clerk, returning it, said, “I didn’t +ask you where you were going; I want your name, man!” +A volley of abuse, in which he was a past-master, then followed, +and the abashed official realised that what he had mistaken for a +grazier was the redoubtable Earl of Glasgow.</p> +<p>The sporting critic of the <i>Morning Post</i>, who wrote +under the name of “Parvo,” once felt the weight of +his indignation for what, after all, was a fair criticism of the +great man’s stud, and when, in ’69, an obituary +article appeared in the <i>Post</i>, the incident and the exact +wish his lordship had given expression to were conveyed in +flowery symbolism as a hope “that he might live to water +his grave, but not with tears.”</p> +<p>The Earl of Aylesford in the sixties was the owner of +Packington Hall, and a princely income, and it was whilst I was +staying with George Graham (owner of the famous Yardley stud +where the great Stirling “stood”) that a jovial party +drove over from <a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>Packington. Luncheon as served in those days was +an important item in the programme, and long before the +Packington party began to think of returning more than one had +succumbed to the rivers of champagne that flowed. Bob +Villiers (a brother of the then Earl of Jersey) was one of the +first to collapse, and as he disappeared under the table the +kindly host’s anxiety was curbed by a shout from Joe +Aylesford, “Never mind, George, he’s only tried +himself a bit too high.”</p> +<p>A few years later Joe was one of the party, selected in +company with Beetroot (as Lord Alfred Paget was affectionately +called) and others, to accompany the Prince of Wales to India, +and it was during his absence that the troubles that culminated +in disaster overtook the popular Earl. “Don’t +go to India, Joe, if you value your domestic happiness,” +was the advice of an old friend, but go he did, and then began +the intrigues of a titled libertine, which ended in strong drinks +and the mortgaging of the ancestral acres.</p> +<p>Amid this genial phalanx no better host was to be found than +old Fred Gretton, and it was apropos of the Cambridgeshire that +the following incident occurred.</p> +<p>Seated round the festive board were some dozen sportsmen, +young men from town and old men from the shires; dear old George +Graham (the breeder of Stirling) and his brother; Duffer Bruce +(father of the late Marquis of Aylesbury), deafer than usual, but +shouting the house down; myself, Peter Wilkinson, and three or +four worthies of the farmer class who had come in the wake of +Fred Gretton.</p> +<p>“I should like you to win a large stake,” +whispered to me a jolly old squire who had been my neighbour at +dinner.</p> +<p>“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” I +replied; “the more so as this is positively the last +meeting I am ever likely to be at before going to +Gibraltar.”</p> +<p>“Eh, lad, and why so?” persisted my +well-wisher. <a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>“I should like you to win a large stake,” +and realising that it was now or never, I boldly replied: +“Look here, Mr. Bowden, if you can put me on to a good +thing I shall be eternally grateful.”</p> +<p>“I suppose you’ve never heard of Playfair?” +inquired Mr. Bowden. “He’s Fred’s horse, +and he’s certain to win the Cambridgeshire; he’s only +got 6st. 3lb., the acceptances are just out, but, for God’s +sake, don’t let Fred know. Now, lad, do as I tell +you; I’ve taken a liking to you.”</p> +<p>It must be admitted I had never heard of Playfair—very +few had—but acting up to the tenets I had learnt during my +two years’ intimacy with the late Hastings, I boldly took +1,000 to 15 within the hour with the leviathan Steele.</p> +<p>“What are you backing?” inquired Mr. Gretton, who +that moment came hurriedly up, and on being informed by the +bookie, he turned to me and whispered into my ear, +“There’s only one man could have told you, and +that’s that d— drunken old blackguard Bowden; but not +a word, mind you, you keep to that 1,000.” And so the +kind old man toddled off. Shortly before the race, at the +Bath Hotel, Piccadilly, where he always stayed in Town, he +inquired of the two barmaids if they would like a sovereign each +on his horse; and whilst the foolish virgin expressed a +preference for the coin, the wise virgin elected to be +“on,” and after the race received from the genial +punter £35—a sum considerably in excess of the +price.</p> +<p>Suffice to say, Playfair won the Cambridgeshire for Mr. +Gretton in ’72, and it is no exaggeration to add that his +taking to racing to the extent he then did suggested the +idea—afterwards elaborated—of turning Bass and Co. +into a limited liability company.</p> +<h2><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>CHAPTER X.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE EPIDEMIC OF CARDS.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Commander-in-Chief in Ireland, +at the time of which I am writing, was as crotchety a specimen of +the old school as the Peninsular had ever turned out. Clean +shaved, with a Waterloo expression of countenance, Sir George +Browne was about the last of Wellington’s veterans who held +a high command. Despotic and vindictive if thwarted, he had +a squabble with the railway companies, and retaliated by vetoing +henceforth the transit of troops by rail, and a regiment ordered +from Londonderry to Cork did the entire distance by route +march. Not that the ordeal was without its advantages, for +it enabled British regiments to form their own opinions of Irish +hospitality and the numerous good qualities of that +much-misunderstood race. Proceeding in detachments of two +and three companies, every night found them billeted in the towns +or villages through which they passed, and it was no rare +occurrence for the landed proprietors to ride out and insist that +every officer should stay at the Manor House, and to send +supplies of comforts wherewith to regale the men.</p> +<p>Mr. Kavanagh, M.P. for Kilkenny, was a brilliant specimen of a +real old Irish gentleman, and though deformed from his birth, +could hold his own amongst the best. Without arms, this +grand sportsman could ride, drive four horses, and shoot to +perfection, <a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>and his prowess in Corfu and other distant sporting +haunts is remembered to this day.</p> +<p>Riding out to welcome the regiment, no refusal was listened +to, and within an hour every officer was comfortably settled at +Borris Castle, and the men fared proportionately as well.</p> +<p>But the monotony of these tedious pilgrimages will not bear +narration. Suffice it that having landed at Cork we +received orders, much to our delight, to proceed direct to Dublin +instead of to dismal Templemore.</p> +<p>The craze for punting that we had experienced in London +seemed, indeed, to have crossed the Channel, and when the +officers had severally been elected honorary members, it was +found that the Hibernian United Service Club was the hotbed of +about the highest play they had yet encountered. Nightly, +with the precision of a chronometer, ten o’clock found the +spacious card room crammed to its uttermost limits, and Irish +banknotes, varying from one to ten sovereigns in value, were +literally stacked a foot high on either side of the table. +All through the night these terrible duels continued, and it was +no uncommon thing to leave the room and drive like blazes for +morning parade at ten. The garrison in this memorable year +was an exceptionally “high-play” one, consisting, +amongst others, of the 4th and 11th Hussars, 9th Lancers, the +Royal Dragoons, Highlanders, and Rifle Brigade, and during that +winter fabulous sums were lost by men incapable of meeting their +obligations.</p> +<p>The Committee, meanwhile, were roused to action, and +peremptory orders were given that the gas was to be turned off +punctually at 2 a.m.; but the extinction of the gas was the +signal for the appearance of substitutes, and out of some two +hundred pockets wax candles were brought forth, and the game +proceeded as vigorously as ever.</p> +<p><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>Further pressure was now applied, and under pain of +expulsion members were ordered to quit the card room at the +prescribed hour; but even this did not meet the case, and the +punters ascended <i>en bloc</i> to the largest bedroom above.</p> +<p>It may be explained that this really delightful club possessed +a dozen bedrooms, and on the particular occasion of which we are +writing, one was in the occupation of Sir James Jackson, G.C.B., +as irritable an old Peninsular veteran as a merciful Providence +had spared to the sixties. A cavalry man of the old school, +he invariably wore spurs, and no human eye had ever seen him +without these useful appendages—a small blue moustache +carefully waxed, and a bald head with blue tufts on either side +completed the picture of this irritable old warrior who ate his +dinner every day in the club, and never spoke to a soul.</p> +<p>Play, meanwhile, was proceeding apace, with calls of +“King,” “Fifty more wanted this side,” +“D— it, blaze away,” “The pool’s +made,” gracefully interspersed, when the door suddenly +opened, and an apparition in flowing dressing-gown, nightcap, +slippers, and spurs demanded peremptorily that the game should +cease. To refuse the colonel-in-chief of the Carabineers +would, of course, have been impossible, and as the old warrior +retired to his couch the punters left the club.</p> +<p>Ruin, meanwhile, had overtaken many an irreproachable man, and +L—, of the Royals, K— of the Rifle Brigade, and a +score of others, had no alternative but to send in their papers, +and then the Commander-in-Chief came upon the scene, and swore, +as only a Waterloo veteran could, that if any officer again +transgressed he would send the regiment to the worst station +between Hell and Halifax.</p> +<p>But the wave of punting that appeared to have engulfed the +land was by no means confined to the <a name="page114"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 114</span>Arlington, Raleigh, and Hibernian +Clubs, and the “Rag,” and later on the Whist +Club—known as the “Shirt Shop”—caught the +infection, and fabulous sums were wagered on the turn of a card +night after night without intermission.</p> +<p>Two-pound points to £10 on the rubber were the staple +stakes of even the sober old Whist, and then one was looked upon +as depriving a better man of the seat unless prepared to bet an +extra hundred. Old fogies, who had never previously risked +a shilling, would cautiously creep to the table, and nervously +tender half-crowns, till frightened out of their lives by Tony +Fawcett, of the 9th Lancers, shouting, “D— it, sir, +this isn’t a silver hell!” and then, not to be +beaten, they would club together and make up the requisite +sovereign.</p> +<p>Gus Anson, V.C., M.P., the most popular man of the day, was so +impregnated with the epidemic that although at the time piloting +an important Bill through Parliament, he had given me a standing +order that as soon as a sufficient number were assembled for loo +or baccarat, a telegram was to be despatched to him forthwith, +and numerous were the messages that found their way to the sacred +precincts of the House between ten and twelve at night, addressed +to Colonel the Honourable Augustus Anson, V.C., M.P., presumedly +from constituents.</p> +<p>Brighton, too, suffered from the epidemic, and during the +Sussex fortnight the fever spread to an alarming extent. +The London detachments came down <i>en bloc</i>, and all the best +houses and leading hotels were filled with roysterers, and high +play was the rule from night till morning.</p> +<p>Progress along the King’s Road after dusk was a matter +of difficulty, and at every lamp-post one was importuned by eager +touters, and invitation cards thrust into one’s hand to +visit this house or that. Every roof sheltered punters of a +lower strata anxious <a name="page115"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 115</span>to emulate their betters, and the +family knick-knacks and the family Bible, left exposed by their +worthy owner in his desire to participate in the golden harvest, +might have been seen huddled together in a corner, or +intermingled with cards, whisky bottles, and tumblers.</p> +<p>In preparation for the nightly orgies that commenced about +ten, the bloods inaugurated a delightful system whereby the +maximum of fresh air with the minimum of exertion might be +obtained prior to the inhaling of the foul currents amid which +they proposed to revel for the rest of the night.</p> +<p>To meet the requirements of the case, every wheelchair was +bespoken or engaged for the entire week at a considerable advance +in price, and a procession, usually headed by George Chetwynd, +Billy Milner and Billy Call—to whom the honour of the +inception is credited—might nightly be seen wending its way +to the end of the pier, selecting the most suitable parts, and +generally inconveniencing everybody not of the “inner +circle.”</p> +<p>The costume <i>de rigueur</i> on these progresses was white +tie, evening trousers and vest, and silk hat, with the oldest +shooting coat in one’s wardrobe.</p> +<p>Later in the season some Hebrews of imitative dispositions +aspired to emulate the bloods, but although their get-ups were +irreproachable, the fraud was detected, and the jackdaws +ruthlessly suppressed.</p> +<p>It is painful to remember the numerous edifices that toppled, +and the many good men that “went under” in the +inevitable crash that ensued, and picturing in one’s mind +the huge table and the fifteen or twenty players that congregated +nightly around the board in the various clubs—winners and +losers and lookers-on—a lump rises in one’s throat as +one remembers how few are left! Carlyon and Augustus +Webster, Jauncey, Cootie Hutchinson, Sam Bachelor, Lord Milltown, +Crock Vansittart, La Touche, Hastings, <a +name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>De Hoghton, +Tom Naghten, Sir George O’Donnel, Dick Clayton, Gus Anson, +Freddy Granville, George Lawrence, Jimmy Jop, Jim Coleman, and a +host of others, all good men and true, and all long since swept +away into the inevitable dust-bin.</p> +<p>Not to have known Jinks was not in itself a reproach, but not +to have known Jonas Hunt in the long-ago sixties was to have +admitted that one was without the pale of Society, or certainly +that section of it which gambled, raced, and drank all day and +all night, if circumstances permitted. A fine horseman of +iron nerve and unbounded assurance, he had ridden in the +Balaclava charge before he was out of his teens, and on retiring +from the service a few years later, developed into one of the +best gentleman riders ever seen in England or France.</p> +<p>In a chronic state of impecuniosity—as he insisted on +asserting—he never omitted to add that a good knife and +fork was always ready at home. Jonas had certainly run +through pretty well all he had had, but still he always possessed +an income.</p> +<p>Always ready to gamble, and always cheery, Jonas, as may be +supposed, was popular with a certain set, and if he had a fault +it was a forgetfulness in regard to the settlement of small +scores, which by some was attributed to the excitement when he +rode in the “six hundred,” and by others to various +causes not sufficiently interesting to enumerate. Brave as +a lion, he had actually been recommended for the Victoria +Cross—in those days less lavishly awarded than +now—and as he was quite ready to “go out” on +the slightest provocation, timid natures preferred to put up with +eccentricities arising out of his forgetfulness rather than risk +a daylight meeting at twelve yards rise.</p> +<p>Whilst riding in France his performances were a revelation to +his foreign critics, and when on one occasion his bridle broke +and he steered his mount <a name="page117"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 117</span>to victory with his whip, he +received such an ovation at Chantilly as seldom falls to the lot +of a perfidious Briton.</p> +<p>On one occasion, Jonas, who had allowed a comparative stranger +to leave the table without settling, was met by the indignant +creditor a few days later and reminded of his obligation; but +Jonas, in no way disconcerted, let the amazed punter understand +that such a demand was highly ungentlemanly and insulting, +offering as an alternative to retire with him forthwith and fight +it out with either pistols or fists.</p> +<p>In the duel between Dillon, a gentleman rider, and the Duc de +Grammont-Caderousse, which created such an unjust scandal in the +sixties, Jonas, as might have been expected, was the +former’s second. Neither man had ever had a rapier in +his hand before, and when on the following morning both began +slashing and thrusting, and Dillon was run through the heart, a +clamour arose as to the butchery of an Englishman by an expert +swordsman; all which was bosh. Had de Grammont been +anything but the veriest tyro, the regrettable incident could not +have occurred.</p> +<p>It was subsequent to the various thrilling incidents we have +narrated that Jonas selected Brighton as his headquarters.</p> +<p>Jinks’ Club was not located in a palatial mansion, nor +did it even present the modest exterior of the local Union Club; +as a fact, it was limited in its dimensions, and consisted of two +rooms in an unpretentious house in Ship Street.</p> +<p>In the front room was a long table and some two dozen chairs, +an iron safe, and a side table, convenient for the support of +such light refreshments as sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, and +beverages of a popular kind.</p> +<p>The back room was more or less a sealed subject, and supposed +to contain club memoranda, Jinks’ <a +name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>books, and +to be the spot where the “proprietor” carried on the +business.</p> +<p>Membership of the club was within the reach of all, and a +“quorum” of Jinks and Jonas could on emergency elect +a member without general meeting or ballot; but those specially +introduced by Jonas were received with marked favour. Nor +were there apparently any fixed rules as to meetings, which were +left to circumstances, and an urgent three-lined whip on +emergency.</p> +<p>The procedure in the latter case may briefly be described as +follows:—</p> +<p>If Jonas met a “likely” man—from +town—he would tell him that his appearance was the luckiest +thing in the world, as that very night a rare round game was +“coming off,” that baccarat would begin at nine, and +that the rendezvous was Jinks’ Club. This point being +settled, an urgent whip was sent round by the indefatigable +Jonas, and by 8.45 a representative company awaited the desirable +plunger from town.</p> +<p>Prior to the commencement of the game, Jonas, it must be +conceded, was a mass of energy. Attired in evening clothes +he would first unlock the mysterious safe, and after the local +members had come one by one, presumably to deposit money, and +returned with counters conspicuously displayed, he would turn +with his most winning smile to the visitor with: “Now, old +man, how much do you want to buy; it saves a lot of bother by +having counters? You’ve only to plank your counters +after it’s over, and get their value; good rule, +don’t you think? It’s what they do at ‘le +Cercle’ at Nice; saves a lot of bother.”</p> +<p>Occasionally, during the excitement of the game, strangers had +been known to put into the pool brand new crisp notes to save the +bother of buying counters; but these were always exchanged for +counters by the ever-obliging Jonas. “It’s much +better to have one <a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>sort of settlement, don’t you think, old +man?” he would add, as stuffing the notes into his pockets +he eagerly rushed into the fray.</p> +<p>“By Jove! it’s later than I thought,” was +often a familiar exclamation as daylight appeared over the +pier. “How many counters have you got, Jack? +Count them, old man, or keep them till morning. You and I +are old pals; you know where to come in the morning. Name +your own hour; good-night.” And the genius was round +the corner like a hurricane.</p> +<p>An amusing incident once occurred where Jonas was a big +winner, and his debtor Master Fred Granville; Jonas on this +occasion was immeasurably chaffed. “You’ll +never get a bob,” he was told right and left.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes I will, he’s all right,” was the +half-hearted reply.</p> +<p>“But he’s going away in the morning,” added +another; “you must look sharp, Jonas.” And +Jonas intimated he had been promised that a cheque should be sent +him in the morning.</p> +<p>Next morning a cab drove rapidly to the Norfolk, and Jonas, +jumping out excitedly, said: “Look here, you chaps,” +and he waved a cheque excitedly.</p> +<p>“Let’s have a look at it,” asked Ernest +Neville. “Why, man, it isn’t +signed.” And Jonas’s face lengthened +inordinately as he realised the terrible omission.</p> +<p>Shouting for a cab after a hurried glance at a railway guide, +he in due time reached the station, and had the satisfaction of +seeing the last carriage slowly receding from view.</p> +<p>It was the winter that Garcia—a Spanish +miscreant—who had won colossal sums at every hell in +Europe, had just been detected in a trick that had long baffled +the ingenuity of the world.</p> +<p>The scheme was nothing less than procuring the contract for +the supply of cards at the principal <a name="page120"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 120</span>gambling resorts of Nice, Monaco, +St. Petersburg, Homburg, Paris, and Ostend.</p> +<p>Shiploads of his ware thus found their way into every quarter, +and wherever he played he was confronted by his own cards. +Knowing their backs as well as their faces, the result was +obvious, and it was only after innumerable golden harvests that a +clumsy accident brought the fraud to light in a salon in the +Champs-Elysées.</p> +<p>The scare thus created had not been lost upon the Riviera, and +every precaution that ingenuity could devise was taken to make +foul play impossible.</p> +<p>It was during this winter, too, that the culprit, detected +cheating at the Raleigh, put an end to his career.</p> +<p>Le Cercle de la Méditerranée is one of those +majestic buildings that meets the enormous revenue required for +its support by making the pastime of cards an absolute +luxury. On the first floor is a spacious saloon, with no +better light than that afforded by plate-glass panels +communicating with the card room and other chambers; liberally +provided with lounges, weary punters resorted to it for repose, +and waiters, when not otherwise occupied, hovered near it as +within easy call of everywhere. In the adjoining room cards +were usually set for possible whist and ecarté, or until +every available spot was required for the more exciting claims of +chemin de fer.</p> +<p>Biscoe had on more than one occasion rambled through the empty +room, and oblivious of the proximity of the servants, had been +seen pocketing a pack of cards. This having been duly +reported, he was made an especial object of interest to the +committee; though, until he essayed to play, it was looked upon +as the act of a kleptomaniac.</p> +<p>All this, however, was unknown to the culprit, who, with but +one object, one aim in life, laughed at every reverse, and raked +in his winnings when Fortune <a name="page121"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 121</span>smiled on him. His luck as a +whole had been fairly good, and thinking the moment a favourable +one, he decided to increase his stakes.</p> +<p>It was now his deal, the “chemin de fer” was with +him. “Come, gentlemen, let us plunge,” he +jokingly remarked, as, producing a pocket-book, he placed it upon +the pack. “I call twenty-five thousand +francs.” (£1,000).</p> +<p>A keen observer might have detected certain ominous glances +that passed between the polite Count and the bland Professor, but +nothing was said, and amid the silence of the Catacombs, the game +proceeded.</p> +<p>Five minutes later Biscoe was raking in £1,000 (in +counters).</p> +<p>“Again, gentlemen!” he shouted, as flushed and +excited, he had not observed that two or three players had risen, +and the remainder, bewildered at so unusual a proceeding, stared +at one another in blank astonishment.</p> +<p>“What’s up?” inquired Biscoe.</p> +<p>“D—d if I know,” was the laconic reply, as +an Englishman left the table.</p> +<p>“The Committee, sir,” replied the Count, +“have decided to count the cards, and on their authority I +take possession of those before you.”</p> +<p>Meanwhile groups discussed the position and ominous +expressions, such as “Il nous faut un agent de +police,” and “C’est clair que nous avons +été volés” were bandied about. A +<i>procès verbal</i> also took place, presided over by the +Duc de Richelieu, and within an hour it was known to every +<i>gamin</i> in Nice that an English “milor” had +descended to the level of a thimble-rigger, that his spurs had +been hacked off by the fiat of public opinion, and that +henceforth his place would know him no more.</p> +<p>The rest is briefly told. A dozen extra cards were found +in the packs that had been correct before play commenced; the +counters in Biscoe’s possession were <a +name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span><i>not</i> +redeemed by the club, and the “acceptance” was as far +from redemption as ever.</p> +<p>Next morning, as the gardeners were sweeping the grounds, a +dead body with a gun-shot wound in the head was found in a +shrubbery.</p> +<p>Within a few yards lay the tideless Mediterranean, calm and +sparkling as the morning sun played upon its waters; whilst here +lay an upturned face, cold and rigid and ghastly white save for a +clotted disfigurement on the brow, and the same sun, in all the +irony of its grandeur, was lighting up all that was left of +blighted hopes, fallen greatness, and a tragedy never to be +forgotten. Later on, the mangled remains were buried at the +expense of the Municipality.</p> +<p>A week or two later a paragraph appeared in a Dublin paper, +and there the matter ended.</p> +<p>This is the usual procedure in these fashionable +resorts. If you’ve lost your last penny you are +provided with railway fare and seen off the premises; if you blow +out your brains, you’re buried out of sight. Decency +must be maintained! <i>Faites vos jeux, messieurs</i>!</p> +<p>A convenient custom obtained at Le Cercle de la +Méditerranée whereby a player temporarily cleaned +out was permitted to deposit a pencil on the table to represent a +stake, it being understood that he immediately proceeded to the +bureau to purchase counters to redeem his symbolical +investment. This was known as “au crayon.”</p> +<p>It was on one occasion that Bob Villiers, who was usually +limited as regards capital, was seen to place his pencil on the +table and address the courteous dealer with, “Cent louis au +crayon.”</p> +<p>“By Gad,” whispered George Payne, who stood near +me, “Bob Villiers has put up a hundred louis ‘au +crayon,’” and it was in breathless anxiety, and with +an eventual sigh of relief, that we saw him rake up his +winnings.</p> +<p><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>It +was some years later, whilst once standing on the steps of the +Hôtel des Anglais at Nice, at a time when the one topic of +conversation was the terrible scandal that had lately taken place +in Le Cercle de la Méditerranée, that George Payne +expounded the irrefutable axiom that there were only two offences +that might not be indulged in with impunity, and yet how +extraordinary it was that men of wealth with every enjoyment +capable of gratification should yet founder on one or other of +these two unspeakable rocks, and instanced the recent H— +affair, where the brother of a peer and major of a crack regiment +had resorted to one of the unpardonable offences. And then +he quoted George Russell, who had married a duke’s +daughter, and Lord de Ros and Lord Arthur Pelham-Clinton, another +ducal branch, all of whom, in a species of insanity, had fallen +from their high estates.</p> +<p>Many will recall the weird rumours that floated around the +Clinton case; how the culprit had died and been duly buried; how +weeks later an old gun-room companion had recognised his former +ship-mate in a railway compartment, and how subsequent inquiry +revealed the fact of a coffin filled with lumber.</p> +<p>And in the H— affair the surroundings were, if possible, +more dramatic; how a youngster of the 7th, at Nice at the time, +at once wrote the story to a brother officer in order that +“the first intimation to ‘the Regiment’ might +not come from the papers;” how the recipient intercepted +the commanding officer (Colonel Hale) in the barrack square, and +handed him the letter with: “This, sir, I have just +received, and I feel it’s my duty to show it to you”; +how within a week the pen was ruthlessly run through the +culprit’s name, and the nine days’ wonder was +forgotten.</p> +<p>That the publicity had been far-reaching, the following from +the Paris <i>Figaro</i> will show:—</p> +<p>“One had hoped that chevaliers of industry were <a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>things of +the past, but it is not so; the game goes on as ever, to judge of +what occurred last Monday at le Cercle de la +Méditerranée—a place where one always +imagined one only met persons with whom one’s purse would +be safe.</p> +<p>“It was last Monday that an amiable +personage—whose assumed manners suggested +imbecility—carried on a system with cards which has no +connection with honesty.</p> +<p>“Ever since yesterday Major H— has been the object +of a stringent surveillance, called into existence by the +extraordinary fortune of having ‘passed’ only +seventeen times on Sunday last during a game of chemin de +fer.</p> +<p>“Suspicion was all the stronger from the cards when +counted being found to exceed the proper number by +twenty-seven.</p> +<p>“It was under these circumstances that the Major bought +the bank at auction last Monday, and lost the first two +coups.</p> +<p>“It was evidently sowing to reap, for after the second +coup, not having sufficient on the table to pay the winners, and +while still holding the cards in his left hand, he drew with his +right hand a note case from his pocket under which were a certain +number of packed cards.</p> +<p>“He then placed the case and the packed cards on the +pack he had already in his left hand, and putting the entire +packet before him, deliberately opened his note case, whence +protruded several notes that had evidently been exposed with +intention.</p> +<p>“At this moment a member who had not lost a single +detail of this scene of ‘prestidigitation,’ stood up +and said: ‘Gentlemen, I play no longer, and if you take my +advice you will do the same!’</p> +<p>“The warning was not in vain.</p> +<p>“It was accepted by all but one player, who placed on +the table about sixty Louis.</p> +<p><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +125</span>“The Major H—, in no way disconcerted, +again dealt, and turned up nine—a nine of diamonds.</p> +<p>“There was no further room for doubt, and all the +players left their seats.</p> +<p>“The game was suspended, the cards were counted; there +were twenty-seven too many; and contained five nines of diamonds +instead of four.</p> +<p>“Immediately the committee was called together, and the +expulsion of Major H— was unanimously decided upon. +It was also decided that the Major should be turned out of the +room he had occupied in the club for two days.” I +approve entirely the decision of the committee, but regret that +these Major H—s get off with expulsion, when the proper +place would be the <i>correctionnelle</i>.</p> +<p>No more liberal player ever existed than George Hay.</p> +<p>On one occasion at a humdrum station in India, where he had +started an unpretentious club, a sporting tailor who had lost +considerably begged him to continue. “Give me my +revenge,” he implored, and for three days and three nights, +with periodical adjournments for a tub, this amiable punter +continued giving the revenge. But Fate, alas! was against +the little Snipper, and on the third day the score showed a +colossal sum against him.</p> +<p>“This can’t go on,” pleaded George. +“Why, man, I shall be placed under arrest for absence +without leave; besides which, I can’t keep my eyes +open.”</p> +<p>“Only one more chance,” whined the tailor.</p> +<p>“Very well,” replied George, “you owe +me” (and he named a considerable sum). +“I’ll play you one game double or quits.”</p> +<p>The tailor pondered for some moments, and then replied:</p> +<p>“Look here, Captain Hay, I have a wife and four +children, and I can’t afford to go ‘sudden +death,’ but I’ll play you the best out of three, +double or quits.”</p> +<p><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>Failing to catch the subtlety of this logic, George +consented, and the result was again against the tailor.</p> +<p>“Now,” said this noble punter, “I’ve +complied with all your requests. Nature won’t permit +me to continue, but I’ll tell you what I <i>will</i> +do,” and ringing the bell, he ordered the waiter to bring +in the list of members.</p> +<p>Scanning the names and counting the number, he again addressed +the tailor:</p> +<p>“Look here. We have, I see, fifty-four members; +but old Crutchley and the Chaplain needn’t count. You +shall make every member of the club a black velvet knickerbocker +suit with scarlet hose, and a cap, and henceforth we are +quits.”</p> +<p>Prudes and strict sticklers for propriety may argue that the +man was a gambler, and consequently heartless and good for +nothing; but after events proved that although dire calamity +overtook him, he was of a noble, generous nature.</p> +<p>Despite the above incident, the Pindee Club played a very +strict game, and every member before sitting down carefully +adjusted a pair of green spectacles.</p> +<h2><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +127</span>CHAPTER XI.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE COUP DE JARNAC.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> importance of the following +subject—as many a fool has found to his cost—entitles +it to a chapter to itself. It’s short, but +instructive.</p> +<p>Card-sharping—pure and simple—is such a low and +contemptible subject that we would not presume to present it to +our readers were it not occasionally reduced to a “fine +art,” and, as such, worthy of notice, like the infallible +formula that was in vogue in Europe some years ago, and, for +aught we know, may still be practised by the +“past-masters” of the fraternity.</p> +<p>One may dismiss with contempt such fumblers as the scion of a +ducal house who staked and lost his social position some years +ago in a high-class Pall Mall club by what has been described as +one of the two unpardonable offences against society; and were it +not for the unique way his clumsy attempt was accidentally +discovered the story would not bear repetition.</p> +<p>There had been a Court function, and Lord Sydney, the Lord +Chamberlain, innocently watching a rubber, was considerably +surprised by a card cannoning against his silk stockings and +striking him on the calf. Whether the fumbler had selected +this course of throwing away a card because he had a bad hand, +and so claiming a mis-deal, or was supplied with a relay like an +amateur conjurer, suffice that he was detected and henceforth +disappeared below the horizon.</p> +<p><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>Nor +will we detail how Prince Sapieha, of the 5th Dragoon Guards, +playing écarté with a subaltern of Lancers, at the +Raleigh, caught his adversary in the act of passing the king, and +so cut short a promising military career, for although Sapieha, +in his generosity, promised not to disclose it, conditionally on +the culprit never again presuming to play at the club, the story +leaked out, and the inevitable result followed.</p> +<p>Nor will we discuss the questionable taste—considering +the company—that permitted publicity to the silly tactics +of an impecunious Baronet who, by moving a bone counter, +endeavoured to realise a few ill-gotten sovereigns.</p> +<p>But what we propose to do is to place before our readers a +formula so capable of expansion, so incapable of detection, that +one is staggered at the misplaced ingenuity that discovered the +combination.</p> +<p>Nor do we here refer to the public casinos of France and Monte +Carlo, where at worst one is playing against about 2½ per +cent. above the odds at roulette, and about 1¾ per cent. +at <i>trente et quarante</i>, but to those accursed private +parties in Paris, and possibly nearer home, where the following +was in full blast many years ago.</p> +<p>Assuming, then, that we have not all experienced a plucking, +the procedure at (say) baccarat may be given.</p> +<p>Conceive a long oblong table; in the centre sits the banker, +whilst before him are two or three packs of new cards from which +he tears the wrappers, shuffles them, and, placing them on the +table, invites a player to cut. What fairer than +this? What possibility of sharp practice when every eye is +riveted on him, who, dealing one card to the right and one to the +left, finally deals to himself?</p> +<p>Now study the following table, and realise that the wrappers +have been previously steamed and then re-gummed, and that the +cards have been packed <a name="page129"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 129</span>in rotation (face upwards) reading +from left to right:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center">7 0 5 9 0 2 6 0 4 1 3 6 0</p> +<p style="text-align: center">8 0 1 2 6 9 0 8 7 0 9 7 0</p> +<p style="text-align: center">4 9 0 2 5 0 4 8 0 3 2 0 8</p> +<p style="text-align: center">1 1 3 5 5 3 4 0 0 0 6 0 7</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(0 represents tens and court +cards.)</p> +<p>Cut the cards as often as you please, and the sequence and +<i>consequence</i> remain unimpaired; before testing this, +however, it must be understood that we refer to experienced +players who know when to draw and when to stand, and it will be +found that the dealer never loses, but for decency occasionally +ties.</p> +<p>“Lightning shuffling,” whereby the <i>artiste</i> +(!) appears to dislocate every card whilst really disturbing none +is added to complete the illusion.</p> +<p>Here, then, is a problem worthy of such Solons and +“system-mongers” as Messrs. Wells, Rosslyn, and +others, who, having found disciples, are invariably in pawn +within a week.</p> +<p>There is, however, one system one should invariably follow: +avoid play, as a <i>private</i> enterprise, however alluring the +surroundings, unless you are perfectly confident—and how +can one be?—that the gentleman who takes the bank and his +familiars have not been educated up to the “Coup de +Jarnac.”</p> +<h2><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>CHAPTER XII.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE PUBLIC HANGING OF THE +PIRATES.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the sixties +“hangings” were done in public, and anything of an +unusual kind attracted large parties from the West End; this was +as recognised a custom as the more modern fashion of making up a +party to go to the Boat Race or to share a <i>coupé</i> on +a long railway journey.</p> +<p>And so it came about that the phenomenal sight of the +execution of the seven <i>Flowery Land</i> pirates in ’64 +created, in morbid circles, a stir rarely equalled before or +since. Members of the Raleigh, as may be supposed, mustered +in considerable numbers, and days before the fatal morning trusty +agents had visited the houses that face Newgate Gaol and secured +every window that gave an unobstructed view of the ghastly +ceremony.</p> +<p>The prices paid were enormous, varying from twenty to fifty +guineas a window, in accordance with the superiority of the +perspective from “find to finish.”</p> +<p>The rendezvous was fixed for 10 p.m. on Sunday at the Raleigh, +but as it was raining in torrents it was a question with many +whether to face the elements, or content themselves with a +graphic description in the next day’s papers. But the +sight of three or four cabs, a couple of servants, and a +plentiful supply of provender decided the question, and the +procession started on its dismal journey.</p> +<p>Cursing the elements, the sightseers little knew in what good +stead the downpour served them, and <a name="page131"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 131</span>with nothing worse than being +drenched to the skin the party arrived safely.</p> +<p>A cab-load of young Guardsmen, however, preferring to wait +till the storm abated, never got beyond Newgate Lane—where +they were politely invited to descend, and, after being stripped +to their shirts, were asked where the cabman should drive them +to.</p> +<p>The scene on the night preceding a public execution afforded a +study of the dark side of nature not to be obtained under any +other circumstances.</p> +<p>Here was to be seen the lowest scum of London densely packed +together as far as the eye could reach, and estimated by <i>The +Times</i> at not less than 200,000. Across the entire front +of Newgate heavy barricades of stout timber traversed the streets +in every direction, erected as a precaution against the pressure +of the crowd, but which answered a purpose not wholly anticipated +by the authorities.</p> +<p>As the crowd increased, so wholesale highway robberies were of +more frequent occurrence; and victims in the hands of some two or +three desperate ruffians were as far from help as though divided +by a continent from the battalions of police surrounding the +scaffold.</p> +<p>The scene that met one’s view on pulling up the windows +and looking out on the black night and its still blacker +accompaniments baffles description. A surging mass, with +here and there a flickering torch, rolled and roared before one; +above this weird scene arose the voices of men and women +shouting, singing, blaspheming, and, as the night advanced and +the liquid gained firmer mastery, it seemed as if hell had +delivered up its victims. To approach the window was a +matter of danger; volleys of mud immediately saluted one, +accompanied by more blaspheming and shouts of defiance. It +was difficult to believe one was in the centre of a civilised +capital that vaunted its religion, and yet meted out justice in +such a form.</p> +<p><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>The +first step towards the morning’s work was the appearance of +workmen about 4 a.m.; this was immediately followed by a rumbling +sound, and one realised that the scaffold was being dragged +round. A grim, square, box-like apparatus was now +distinctly visible, as it slowly backed against the +“debtors’ door.” Lights now flickered +about the scaffold—the workmen fixing the cross-beams and +uprights. Every stroke of the hammer must have vibrated +through the condemned cells, and warned the wakeful occupants +that their time was nearly come. These cells were situated +at the corner nearest Holborn, and passed by thousands daily, who +little knew how much misery that bleak white wall divided them +from. Gradually as the day dawned the scene became more +animated, and battalions of police surrounded the scaffold.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, a little unpretending door was gently opened; this +was the “debtors’ door,” and led direct through +the kitchen on to the scaffold. The kitchen on these +occasions was turned into a temporary mausoleum and draped with +tawdry black hangings, which concealed the pots and pans, and +produced an effect supposed to be more in keeping with the solemn +occasion. From the window opposite everything was visible +inside the kitchen and on the scaffold, but to the surging mass +in the streets below this bird’s-eye view was denied.</p> +<p>Presently an old and decrepit man made his appearance, and +cautiously “tested” the drop; but a foolish impulse +of curiosity leading him to peep over the drapery, a yell of +execration saluted him. This was Calcraft, the hangman, +hoary-headed, tottering, and utterly past his usefulness for the +work.</p> +<p>The tolling of St. Sepulchre’s bell about 7.30 a.m. +announced the approach of the hour of execution; meanwhile a +steady rain was falling, though without diminishing the +ever-increasing crowd. As far as the <a +name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>eye could +reach was a sea of human faces. Roofs, windows, +church-rails, and empty vans—all were pressed into service, +and tightly packed with human beings eager to catch a glimpse of +seven fellow-creatures on the last stage of life’s +journey. The rain by this time had made the drop slippery, +and necessitated precautions on behalf of the living if not of +those appointed to die, so sand was thrown over a portion, not of +the drop (that would have been superfluous), but on the side, the +only portion that was not to give way. It was suggestive of +the pitfalls used for trapping wild beasts—a few twigs and +a handful of earth, with a gaping chasm below. Here, +however, all was reversed; there was no need to resort to such a +subterfuge to deceive the chief actors who were to expiate their +crime with all the publicity that a humane Government could +devise. The sand was for the benefit of the +“ordinary,” the minister of religion, who was to +offer dying consolation at 8 a.m., and breakfast at 9.</p> +<p>The procession now appeared, winding its way through the +kitchen, and in the centre of the group walked a sickly, +cadaverous mob securely pinioned, and literally as white as +marble. As they reached the platform a halt was necessary +as each was placed one by one immediately under the hanging +chains. At the end of these chains were hooks which were +eventually attached to the hemp round the neck of each +wretch. The concluding ceremonies did not take long, +considering how feeble the aged hangman was. A white cap +was first placed over every face, then the ankles were strapped +together, and finally the fatal noose was put round every neck, +and the end attached to the hooks. One fancies one can see +Calcraft now laying the “slack” of the rope that was +to give the fall lightly on the doomed men’s shoulders so +as to preclude the possibility of a hitch, and then stepping on +tiptoe down the steps and disappearing below. At this +moment a hideous <i>contretemps</i> occurred, <a +name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>and one +poor wretch fell fainting, almost into the arms of the +officiating priest.</p> +<p>The reprieve was, however, momentary, and, placed on a chair, +the inanimate mass of humanity awaited the supreme moment in +merciful ignorance. The silence was now awful. One +felt one’s heart literally in one’s mouth, and found +oneself involuntarily saying, “They could be saved +yet—yet—yet,” and then a thud that vibrated +through the street announced that the pirates were launched into +eternity. One’s eyes were glued to the spot, and, +fascinated by the awful sight, not a detail escaped one. +Calcraft, meanwhile, apparently not satisfied with his handiwork, +seized hold of one poor wretch’s feet, and pressing on them +for some seconds with all his weight, passed from one to another +with hideous composure. Meanwhile, the white caps were +getting tighter and tighter, until they looked ready to burst, +and a faint blue speck that had almost immediately appeared on +the carotid artery gradually became more livid, till it assumed +the appearance of a huge black bruise. Death, I should say, +must have been instantaneous, for hardly a vibration occurred, +and the only movement that was visible was that from the +gradually-stretching ropes as the bodies kept slowly swinging +round and round. The hanging of the body for an hour +constituted part of the sentence, an interval that was not lost +upon the multitude below. The drunken again took up their +ribald songs, conspicuous amongst which was one that had done +duty pretty well through the night, and ended with</p> +<blockquote><p>“Calcraft, Calcraft, he’s the +man,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>but the pickpockets and highwaymen reaped the greatest +benefit. It can hardly be credited that respectable old +City men on their way to business—with watch-chains and +scarf-pins in clean white shirt-fronts, and with unmistakable +signs of having spent the <a name="page135"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 135</span>night in bed—should have had +the foolhardiness to venture into such a crowd; but they were +there in dozens. They had not long to wait for the reward +of their temerity. Gangs of ruffians at once surrounded +them, and whilst one held them by each arm, another was rifling +their pockets. Watches, chains and scarf-pins passed from +hand to hand with the rapidity of an eel; meanwhile their piteous +shouts of “Murder!” “Help!” +“Police!” were utterly unavailing. The barriers +were doing their duty too well, and the hundreds of constables +within a few yards were perfectly powerless to get through the +living rampart.</p> +<p>Whilst these incidents were going on 9 o’clock was +gradually approaching, the hour when the bodies were to be cut +down. As the dismal clock of St. Sepulchre’s chimed +out the hour Calcraft, rubbing his lips, again appeared, and, +producing a clasp knife, proceeded to hug the various bodies in +rotation with one arm whilst with the other he severed the +several ropes. It required two slashes of the feeble old +arm to complete this final ceremony, and then the heads fell with +a flop on the old man’s breast, who staggering under the +weight, proceeded to jam them into shells.</p> +<p>And then the “debtors’ door” closed till +again required for a similar tragedy, the crowd dispersed, and +the sightseers sought their beds to dream of the horrors of the +past twelve hours.</p> +<p>After the trapeze performance we have just read of, given by +the venerable Calcraft to a delighted audience in front of +Newgate Gaol, it appears to have dawned upon the “Hanging +Committee” of the Home Office that, although much of the +solemnity of the “painful” performance would be lost +by the removal of the patriarchal beard, counter advantages might +be attained by the substitution of a younger man to fill the +Crown appointment so popular amongst the masses. <a +name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>A new era +was thenceforth inaugurated. Instead of the length of the +drop being left to the discretion of the <i>artiste</i>, the +exact measurement was not only fixed, but the rope itself +supplied by the Hanging Committee, after a careful calculation by +dynamics of the height and weight of the principal +performer. But the immediate successor of the venerable +Calcraft was found wanting in certain material qualifications, +and although admittedly an expert operator, had a habit of +talking when under the genial influence of stimulants.</p> +<p>An unrehearsed incident, when the head rolled off at a private +execution, thus got into the papers, and it became apparent that +a combination of expertness and reticence was the desideratum to +be sought and found.</p> +<p>It was thus that the hero we are discussing came upon the +scene some few years later.</p> +<p>Marwood allowed nothing to interfere with business, and he +would as soon have hanged his grandmother—if duly +instructed—as the most brutal ruffian that ever passed +through his hands. To arrive over-night with a modest +carpet-bag and be up betimes the following morning were to him +matters of routine; to truss his subject with a kicking strap 6 +in. wide and then drop into the procession with a face like a +chief mourner’s were to him sheer formalities; to give +evidence later in the day before an enlightened but inquisitive +coroner’s jury was to him a matter of courteous obligation; +and to step into the street half an hour afterwards with the same +bag—but with evidently less hemp in it—all came to +him as part of a routine to be henceforth cast from memory till +the service of his country again demanded his undivided and best +attention.</p> +<p>Any one looking at the retiring little man, dressed in the +most funereal of clothes, clutching a pint pot with his long and +nervous fingers, would have found <a name="page137"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 137</span>it difficult to associate him with +anything more formidable than a bagman hawking samples for +“the firm,” and it was only when a sort of intimacy +had been struck up and a certain quantity of swipes had been +consumed that, yielding to pressure, the great man launched out +upon his unique experiences.</p> +<p>Marwood’s invariable resort was the Green Dragon in +Fleet Street, and so certain as a malefactor met his doom at +eight so certain was the hangman to be found at twelve in the +“select” section of the pub. This peculiarity, +of course, by degrees got to be known, and so it came to pass +that young bloods with a thirst for knowledge resorted thither, +and “hanging days” raised the “takings” +of the fortunate house in Fleet Street.</p> +<p>Incredible as it may appear, this morbid craving is by no +means confined to a few, and large sums used to be paid by +reckless young scamps thirty years ago to assist at these ghastly +functions. It is an undeniable fact, moreover, that a +baronet still alive posed as the hangman’s assistant at +numerous executions.</p> +<p>But with the reaction that came as regards public hangings, +the stringency connected with the private performances made these +hobbies impossible, and the present era may take credit for +having advanced considerably in this respect on the usages of the +long-ago sixties.</p> +<p>Before quitting this dislocating subject, it may interest the +student of ancient days to know that where now stands an imposing +public-house, next St. Giles’s Church, Bloomsbury, was once +the Beer House where every cart freighted with living victims +from Newgate to Tyburn pulled up for their “last +drink.” After which, wending their way along Oxford +Road (Street), they alighted at Tyburn Tree, now the garden of 1, +Connaught Place, opposite the Marble Arch.</p> +<p>Surely no passer-by can walk under the porch of <a +name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>Gilbey’s offices in Oxford Street without +shuddering at the many sad scenes that ancient portico and that +ancient street have witnessed.</p> +<p>It was beneath it that De Quincey nightly waited for poor Anne +when both were on the verge of starvation; and it was there that +he poured out his lamentations of the stony-hearted +stepmother—Oxford Street.</p> +<p>The same miseries exist in the present day, and every night +bundles of human rags lie huddled together under its inhospitable +shelter; whilst within, the old Pantheon—delight of our +childhood when it was a huge bazaar—blazes with electric +light as the headquarters of a certain whisky which, +advertisements tell us, may be procured of 3,000 agents.</p> +<p>The trial and execution of Müller in ’64 for the +murder of Mr. Briggs in one of the tunnels on the Brighton +Railway, created more universal excitement than anything before +or since, except, perhaps, the case of Mrs. Maybrick. On +the night before his execution, the German Ambassador was +closeted with the Home Secretary at the urgent request of his +Government, and petitions innumerable were presented; but the +Home Secretary was a firm man, and the culprit was duly hanged +next morning in front of Newgate. Personally, I was +sceptical of his guilt, and so interested was I that I obtained +an order to visit Newgate, and by the judicious expenditure of a +shilling, peeped through the observation hole of the condemned +cell; later on I saw him hanged, and it was only on his +confession to the Lutheran minister, just before the bolt was +drawn, that I admitted the justice of the sentence. But the +fair-haired Saxon youth of refined and prepossessing appearance +had got on my nerves, and when, a week later, his effigy was +advertised as having been added to Tussaud’s Wax-works, I +determined to again see the youth, whom I had last seen being +jerked into eternity.</p> +<p><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>In +those days the exhibition was in the Baker Street Bazaar, and if +the premises were not as roomy as the present palatial building, +they certainly appeared to me “snugger.” The +Chamber of Horrors was snugness itself.</p> +<p>It was whilst exploring this dismal chamber that an attendant +told me that wax figures were the most improvident creatures in +the world; that they ran their toes through their stockings with +reckless unconcern, and that two or three people were constantly +employed darning and mending the belongings of these weird +beings.</p> +<p>As I left the building I pondered over what I had seen and +heard, and soon discovered I had not heard the last of +Müller yet. This is what I saw, or fancied I saw, in +my dreams:</p> +<p>As I entered the Chamber of Horrors a few nights after, +Müller—whose pose is of the meekest and most +becoming—suddenly shot out his arm, and, pointing at me, +exclaimed in a loud and guttural voice: “Seize him, seize +him; the man!” Then Rush and Greenacre and a host of +others yelled and execrated me, and Mrs. Manning (whose crime was +probably the cruellest on record) shrieked like a curlew: +“Seize him, seize him!” On this I dropped my +umbrella—a weakness that I trust will be deemed +pardonable—under the circumstances—and immediately +followed it with a terrific flop on the floor; so terrific, +indeed, was it that it brought me to my senses, and I awoke in a +cold perspiration in Jermyn Street.</p> +<h2><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE HOSTELRIES OF THE SIXTIES.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Long’s</span> Hotel, in Bond Street, +as it appeared in the sixties, was a species of adjunct to half +the clubs in London. Men playing till three or four in the +morning in clubs that aspired to being considered +“correct” usually adjourned to Long’s, and one +man having engaged a bedroom, the rest trooped in after +him. To such an extent, indeed, was this recognised, that a +commodious bedroom on the ground floor was especially set apart +for these nocturnal emergencies, and within five minutes of +entering the most methodical of night porters produced cards, +candles, and the inevitable brandy and sodas. Here play of +a very high order frequently took place, and here also drunken +rows and card disputes often ensued, unrestrained by the +unwritten sanctity of a high-class club. It was here that a +well-known baronet—long since dead—had a barging +match with a peer still above the horizon, but rarely visible to +the naked eye, where, after strong language, blows were +exchanged, and a meeting arranged across the Channel, which +happily never came off, the belligerents agreeing, after calm +reflection, that dirty linen was best washed at home, as their +respective laundry baskets were considerably overfreighted as it +was and needed no further handicapping in the way of publicity; +it was here that a young ass—still living—paid +£4,000 <a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>for a broken-down ex-Derby horse that would have been +dear at £100.</p> +<p>It was here that poor old Jim Stewart—seldom sober, and +long since dead—gave a baccarat party to some twenty +plungers, where it was agreed that no deal should commence after +6 a.m., at which hour he was the winner of £1,500, and +where, yielding to the earnest request of a heavy loser, he +consented to extend the time to 6.30, and rose a loser of +£5,000; it was here that the fastest and best men in London +lounged in and out of the coffee room from breakfast time till +well on in the afternoon, and smoked, drank champagne, talked +horsy, and swore loudly.</p> +<p>Not that Long’s was not a highly-respectable hotel; on +the contrary, the entire upper part was conducted on strictly +correct lines, and patronised by the best county people of the +day, and the latitude granted to the ground floor must be set +down rather as a desire of the management to please all parties, +and bow before the inevitable there was no resisting.</p> +<p>An amusing story may here be introduced of Colonel Oakes, of +the 12th Lancers, the most irascible of cavalry officers, with a +command of language that few, if any, could excel, and who +invariably put up at Long’s.</p> +<p>Stationed at Aldershot, the Colonel about this time got +married, and, anxious to avoid publicity, he decided to bring his +bride up to London and, to make matters still less noticeable, to +bring his soldier-servant with him.</p> +<p>Things went happily till the faithful attendant, who was an +Irishman, knowing the Colonel’s impatient nature, and +considering the luggage was a long time coming up, put his head +over the banisters and shouted: “Will you be plased to +bring up the Colonel’s and Miss Black’s +boxes?”</p> +<p>The tableau half an hour later in the Colonel’s +apartments may reasonably be left to the reader’s <a +name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>imagination: the politest of landlords expressing his +astonishment, the most irritable of Dragoons cursing his +impudence, and the innocent cause of this comedy of errors +trembling for the consequences.</p> +<p>Colonel Oakes was admittedly a good soldier, and second only +to Valentine Baker as a cavalry leader; popular with both +officers and men, he was one of the last of the old swaggering +school, a man of likes and dislikes, who, although free and easy +and very plain-spoken, was a martinet in other ways.</p> +<p>“R—,” he once said to one of his officers +(who certainly was not the accepted ideal of a sabreur), after an +inspection, “the General asked me if you had come from the +infantry,” and when the remark failed to elicit the reply +he desired, he continued: “D— it, sir, you spoil the +look of my regiment. I wish to — you’d +exchange!” and when the culprit lost his temper and said he +considered he was insulted, and that he was the son of a baronet, +the irresponsible Colonel shouted: “D— it, sir, +I’m the son of a shoemaker, and I wish to — +you’d leave my regiment!”</p> +<p>On another occasion, strolling into the stables, he overheard +two recruits discussing him: “I say, Bill,” remarked +one of the warriors, “the Colonel’s a d— rum +old buffer.” To which the other acquiescing, the +Colonel advanced, and standing before the trembling culprits, +began: “Yes, I heard what you said—that I was a +d— rum old buffer—and I tell you what it is; if you +had drunk as much as I have in the last thirty years you’d +be a d— rum old buffer.”</p> +<p>Despite all these circumstances, no smarter regiment existed +than the 12th in the long-ago sixties, although it was commanded +by a “d— rum old buffer.”</p> +<p>Jack Peyton, who commanded the 7th Dragoon Guards, was another +patron of Long’s. Shortly after his second marriage +with a wealthy widow, <a name="page143"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 143</span>his boon companion, Tom Phillips, of +the 18th, asked him, “Is she good-looking, +Jack?” “No, by —, Tom,” was the +reply, “d— near as ugly as yourself.”</p> +<p>The fashion of dining at restaurants had not taken root in +those days, and the feeding resorts were few and good and very +far between.</p> +<p>Their numbers, indeed, were to be counted on one’s +fingers, and were resorted to either for lunch or supper, and +seldom, as now, for the more serious ceremony of dinner.</p> +<p>People dined at their hotels, for the plate-glass abominations +that now cumber the ground at every point of vantage had not +suggested themselves to undesirable aliens and our own home-grown +Israelites.</p> +<p>When the (present) Berkeley Hotel first started the new idea +under the auspices of the renowned Soyer, the separate-table +system was a nine days’ wonder, and people were impressed +when it was currently reported that Lady Blantyre and her most +unimaginative of husbands might be seen nightly at the next table +to Skittle’s enjoying the creations of that most marvellous +of chefs.</p> +<p>It was here that that distinguished siren once rebuked a +waiter who had clumsily splashed her with some viand, by: +“You infernal lout, if I wasn’t a lady I’d +smack your ugly face!” and it was at St. James’s (as +it was then called) she was nightly entertained by her numerous +worshippers.</p> +<p>A noble marquis—eventually a duke, and lately +deceased—was for years supposed to be her lawful husband, +but the devotion of a life-time and subsequent events have since +given the lie to this evident <i>canard</i>.</p> +<p>“The Guildhall Tavern,” “The Albion,” +and Simpson’s long reigned supreme as places where saddles +and sirloins, marrow-bones and welsh rabbits were to be obtained +in perfection; but all have now disappeared, except in name, nor +will the expenditure of <a name="page144"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 144</span>fortunes in their resurrection ever +bring back the indescribable air of solid comfort that +characterised these hostelries of the Sixties.</p> +<p>It was in the last-named house, even then on the wane, that my +solitary (active) interest in the drama afforded me numerous +occasions of delight.</p> +<p>Off the entrance hall was an unpretentious room, and here +every day for weeks a divine being from the Gaiety partook of a +hurried lunch in the company of my enraptured self.</p> +<p>Nothing could have been more decorous than the tone that +pervaded our frugal meal; nothing so incapable of giving offence +to Exeter Hall opposite; the door of our retreat was +intentionally kept ajar, yet despite these precautions I was one +day informed that the manager declined to let the room for two, +but that three would always be welcome.</p> +<p>“The School Board is on the warpath,” was my +inward comment, and I never entered the place again. The +“correct” old hypocrite is long since dead; the scene +of these innocent repasts has long since been demolished, and the +sweet lady who honoured me with her company has long since had a +prefix to her name and become the proud mother of a subaltern in +the Guards.</p> +<p>The inauguration of the Civil Service Stores, and the +subsequent appearance of the Army and Navy Stores, gave the first +fillip to that union between the Army and trade which the +abolition of purchase and the changes in public opinion have +since developed to such an extent.</p> +<p>Captain MacRae, late director-general in Victoria Street, who +in the sixties was a plodding captain of foot, set the fashion by +turning his sword into a tape-measure, and having taken the +plunge lost no time in converting a general officer (some say his +parent) into a laundry-man. Then followed the rush that saw +bonnet shops and costumiers springing up in every <a +name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>fashionable +street, and as Kitties and Reillys and Madges looked favourably +on the military, the crop of Mantalinis increased and multiplied, +and penniless officers became well-to-do men-milliners and +accepted authorities on things military amid their new +clientèle. And so the last nail was driven into that +class distinction that was one of the chief characteristics of +the long-ago Sixties.</p> +<p>Whilst on the subject of hostelries, a reference to +Lane’s will not be amiss. This unique establishment +was in St. Alban’s Place, and was affected by the rowdier +class of youngsters, with a sprinkling of permanent residents in +various stages of delirium tremens. Dirty and apparently +never swept, the rooms might best be described as cosy. The +beds, however, were scrupulously clean, and as the majority of +the lodgers spent a considerable portion of their existence +between the sheets, apple-pie order reigned in this department, +ready for any emergency by night or day.</p> +<p>The ruling spirit was old John, an octogenarian in shiny +snuff-coloured tail suit and slippers, who apparently never +slumbered nor slept, and whom no human eye had ever seen +otherwise attired. Assisted by two youngsters of +fifty—Charles and Robert—this extraordinary trio knew +the habits and tastes of every one; not that eating was +extensively indulged in; and beyond the best of joints for +dinner, and bacon and eggs for breakfast, the staple consumption +for all day and all night might briefly be described as brandy +and soda, rum and milk, whilst the more sedate confined +themselves to sherry and bitters before breakfast, and a glass of +brandy in their tea. How human nature stood such persistent +floodings of the system seems beyond comprehension, yet nothing +seemed to occur beyond revellers being periodically chaperoned to +bed, and now and then an ominous long box being smuggled +upstairs, and one hearing a day or so after that “the +Captain” <a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>had had his last drink, and had been duly gathered to +his fathers.</p> +<p>Even in those long-ago days the brevet rank was frequently +assumed by ex-militia ensigns, but not to the same extent nor by +such sorry specimens as twirl their moustaches in these more +enlightened times and stand on the doorstep of the Criterion.</p> +<p>Whisky at this period was literally an unknown beverage in +London—possibly because the supply could never have +equalled the demand, or more probably because science had not yet +evolved the diabolical concoctions that now do duty for the wine +of bonnie Scotland. And so it came to pass that the staple +drink at Lane’s was brandy and soda. Come in when one +chose, there stood battalions of soda with brandy in reserve, and +rarely did a wayfarer return at the small hours without calling +for a libation from old Peter. Occasionally, after an +unusual run, the supply might become exhausted, but no temptation +could induce the old janitor to retail what had been reserved on +“special order.” “What, give you that +one? Why, it’s the Captain’s; every morning at +five I takes it to his bedside, and if he’s asleep in the +smoking-room I gives him a sniff of it, and he follows me to his +room like a dog.”</p> +<p>Visiting the “Cheshire Cheese” not long since, I +was struck by the marvellous change that the advance of +civilisation (!!) had effected in that most cosy and +unconventional of rooms. The steaks and puddings are still +as good as ever, but the rollicking Bohemians, bristling with +wit, with churchwardens and brown ale that one met at every +table, have long since been replaced by their modern prototypes +who sip their beer out of a glass, call for a <i>serviette</i> in +evidence of a trip to Boulogne, and bolt after depositing a penny +on the table. And where are the jolly old waiters in rusty +tail-coats, shambling along in their carpet slippers, who never +inquired how many <a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +147</span>“breads” you had had nor what had won the +3.40 race? And the Americans who now invade the place are +not an unalloyed blessing, as males and females appear to +consider it a <i>sine quâ non</i> to flop on to the seat +where Doctor Johnson is once supposed to have sat, in order to be +able to tell poppa and momma in the old Kentucky home how, if +they could not rub shoulders with the mighty living, they had at +least rubbed something with the mighty dead. This +aspiration is indeed almost a disease with these Transatlantic +trotters, and one rich and pronounced snob, despite his wealth, +who lives amongst us, is known to pay for reliable information of +the movements of European heirs-apparent in order to meet them by +accident (!) and perhaps secure some fragment of +recognition. The sequel is usually to be found in an +inspired paragraph (4d. a word) hinting at possible alliance +between the two families, which in its turn is flatly +contradicted!</p> +<p>“Blood,” some genius discovered, “is thicker +than water”—and the most unobservant must admit that +some of it is very thick indeed.</p> +<p>And apropos of Doctor Johnson, what evidence is there that the +great lexicographer’s rhinoceros laugh ever vibrated +through the “Cheshire Cheese”? Boswell makes no +reference to it, and surely such an omission would be impossible +in the chronicles of that irrepressible toady—but when +all’s said and done, what importance attaches to it so long +as the fare maintains its pristine excellence and the American +bumpings are restrained within reasonable limits?</p> +<p>When Piccadilly did not consist almost entirely of clubs, +public billiard-rooms were patronised by many who would not enter +a modern one. Many of these were run on the very best +lines, and a regular clientele met every afternoon for sixpenny +and half-crown pools.</p> +<p>The best was Phillips’s, at 99, Regent Street, where <a +name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>Edmund +Tattersall, Lord St. Vincent, Colonel Dawes, Attenborough, the +king of pawnbrokers, and a few members of 14, St. James’s +Square Club never missed resorting—wind and weather +permitting—from three to seven of an afternoon.</p> +<p>No goat from an alien flock dared hope to browse on that +jealously-guarded pasture, and if, as occasionally, one wandered +in, he speedily wandered out under the withering glances of old +Phillips and his son.</p> +<p>Almost opposite were Smith’s rooms, where pool of a high +class (in execution) was indulged in, and any amateur with a +local reputation who took a ball soon disabused his mind of any +exalted idea of his play.</p> +<p>Dolby’s, near the Marble Arch, had also its regular +patrons, and even in the select region of Portman Square such +correct old gentlemen as Sir James Hamilton, Mr. Burgoyne, and +other residents in the neighbourhood met daily at an +unpretentious tobacconist’s in King Street and played pool +in a dingy room behind the shop.</p> +<p>But in the clubs of those long-ago days the most cold-blooded +inhospitality obtained. If you called upon a friend you had +to wait on the door-mat, and the offering of a glass of sherry +was attended by the risk of expulsion. +Smoking-rooms—if tolerated—were placed in the attics, +and a “strangers’ room” was an innovation that +only came into existence years after.</p> +<p>For long many clubs held out against the recognition of +“strangers,” and only within the last few years have +the “Senior” and the more exclusive establishments +over-ruled the snarling objections of the few old fossils who use +a club from morning to night without adding one cent to its +revenue.</p> +<p>It was the privilege of the Army and Navy Club to make the +first drastic move in the right direction, and to Louis +Napoleon’s frequent visits for luncheon <a +name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>and its +attendant cigarette and coffee may be traced the present accepted +theory that “clubs were made for man, and not man for +clubs.”</p> +<p>The best tobacconists also supplied the need now provided by +the ubiquitous club, and Harris’s, Hoare’s, +Benson’s, Hudson’s, Carlin’s in Oxford Street +and Regent Street, each had their following, where every +afternoon such men as Lord William Lennox, Lord Huntingtower, Mr. +George Payne, the Marquis of Drogheda, Lord Henry Loftus, and +Colonel Fitzgerald might be seen seated on tobacco tubs and cigar +chests, smoking big cigars and drinking sherry which flowed from +casks around the shop.</p> +<p>This last-named individual was a morose, fire-eating Irishman, +whose life had been soured by the seduction of his wife by his +own colonel, and later by the ravages of small-pox that had +seared his once-handsome face.</p> +<p>The son of a famous duellist of the days of the Regency, it +was told how on one occasion on entering the Cocoa Tree a +comparative stranger exclaimed: “I smell an +Irishman!” To which “Fighting Fitz” +replied: “You shall never smell another!” and sliced +off his nose on the spot.</p> +<h2><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE DRAMA—LEGITIMATE AND +OTHERWISE.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> tercentenary of Shakespeare in +’64 suggested an experience that many of us were anxious to +participate in. That we were likely to be successful was by +no means certain, for numerous meetings, held at the Café +de l’Europe, Haymarket—where motions innumerable and +brandy <i>ad libitum</i> were proposed and carried—had +decided that an event so strictly dramatic should not be diluted +by outside association, but rather that scene shifters, stage +carpenters, actors, everything and everybody strictly +“legit.” should have the preference of guzzling and +swilling to the memory of the immortal poet. But if our +claims were weak, our advocates were strong, and so it came to +pass that on the eventful evening we found ourselves awaiting the +feast in the banqueting room of the Freemason’s Tavern.</p> +<p>That the thing was to be unique we were not long in +discovering, as Ben Webster began grace by “For what we are +about to receive may the spirit of Shakespeare hover over +us.”</p> +<p>Whether it was Shakespeare’s spirit or the more powerful +libations included in the dinner ticket must be left to greater +dramatic authorities; suffice that long before the speeches +began, practical jokes were in full blast, and eventually +developed into a free fight.</p> +<p>It appears that some scene shifters with voracious appetites +were sending again and again for a slice <a +name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 151</span>more +’am, till wags of a higher grade, who acted as croupiers, +worn out and disgusted, piled plates with meats, custards, +oranges, and mustard till the blood of every carpenter rose as +one man, and dishes began to fly right, centre, and left. +Even the waiters joined in the tournament, and one, in the act of +placing a plate before me, yelled out, “Wait till I give +this — his grub, and then I’ll let you +know.” “Damn it,” whispered one of our +party, “this isn’t Shakespearian, surely! For +God’s sake let us clear out.” But +“clearing out” was by no means so easy, for at that +moment two or three repulsive ruffians in leather coats and +rabbit-skin caps came upon the scene, whilst one, scowling in +strictly melodramatic style, confronted us with “Well, +what’s the matter with <i>you</i>?” But we +managed to slip out without giving the desired explanation, and +so ended the tercentenary and the spirit Ben Webster had +invoked.</p> +<p>People nowadays would hardly realise that theatregoers in +those long-ago days could wade through alleys and side streets by +no means safe after dark to visit the (then) Prince of +Wales’s in a slum off the Tottenham Court Road. With +an excellent company, however, and with houris since translated +to the peerage and knightage, the little house was nightly +crammed, and white ties by the score blocked the thoroughfare in +the vicinity of the modest stage door as resolutely as in later +years they besieged the Philharmonic and the Gaiety.</p> +<p>Valentine Baker at the time was running the show, or a +material portion of it, and much of the profits of his +wife’s soap-boiling industry, it was said, found their way +into the coffers of the unpretentious little temple in the +slum. A wealthy cabinet maker, also in the vicinity, whose +profits permitted the luxury of a four-in-hand, might usually be +seen worshipping at the shrine, and a tag-rag and bobtail of less +wealthy but aspiring young bloods fought and hustled for <a +name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>one glance, +one sign of recognition, from the bevy beyond the footlights.</p> +<p>When Valentine Baker began casting sheep’s eyes at the +demure maiden reading the <i>Family Herald</i> in a South-Western +compartment, he little realised that the price he was paying +might have been commuted elsewhere by the judicious expenditure +of a five-pound note. Twenty thousand in hard cash, the +command of a great regiment, and social annihilation—for +what? And when Mr. Justice Brett began his charge to the +jury by “a man we looked to to protect our women and +children,” there was not an Army man present (and the +Croydon Court House was crammed with them) that did not +internally vow that henceforth, be it in a first-class or a +third-class compartment, be it Piccadilly Circus or the British +Museum, woman should be his constant care, and, if necessary, any +tadpole that lawfully pertained to her.</p> +<p>The rumour came like a thunderbolt, and in every Army club the +whispered communication ran: “Valentine Baker is arrested, +by Gad!”</p> +<p>No man at this time had such a universal personality—the +colonel of the crackest of all crack regiments; the admittedly +best cavalry leader of the day; the patron of the drama, and in +intimate touch with the Prince of Wales’s Theatre, then +under the management of Marie Wilton, since developed into a +pillar of Holy Church—the thing seemed incredible, and +curiosity ran high to gaze upon the houri that had been so +fatally misread by this experienced veteran.</p> +<p>The crowds that surrounded the Court House made access +impossible; to hope for admission was the aspiration of a +lunatic, when “Come this way, my lord”—as my +companion was recognised—reached our ears, and we found +ourselves under an open window, ten feet from the ground, at the +back of the court.</p> +<p>“I’ll stand next the wall,” continued our +guide, <a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>“and you get on my shoulders,” and then an +acrobatic performance took place that would have insured an +engagement at any music-hall.</p> +<p>The sequel is matter of history.</p> +<p>Years after—in ’94—I met him in Cairo, an +altered, broken man, in daily expectation of being appointed +Commander-in-Chief of the Egyptian Army. But Nemesis had +not done with him yet—prudery, hypocrisy, blue-stockingism +were still rampant, and a telegram from London vetoed the +intended appointment.</p> +<p>The official explanation was that a “cashiered +man” could not command full-pay British officers with which +the Egyptian Army swarmed, whilst the universal opinion was that +a brave man was being hounded to his death under the cloak of +that charity that flourished in its prime during the days of the +Inquisition.</p> +<p>Next year he died in Egypt—broken in health and broken +in heart—and those that knew his brilliant attainments, and +the heights they would assuredly have led to, agreed +that—like Napoleon—he should have died years before +at the head of his men.</p> +<p>The Strand Theatre also was a highly popular resort, run +exclusively by the Swanborough family and their numerous sisters, +cousins, and aunts.</p> +<p>To “The Old Lady,” rightly or wrongly, was +attributed every <i>malaprop</i> that ingenious wits invented, +and in later years, when the Doré Gallery and the +Criterion Restaurant simultaneously came into existence, she was +reputed to have expressed intense admiration of the Doré +masterpiece, “Christ leaving the Criterium.”</p> +<p>A pothouse—pure and simple—across the Strand was a +favourite after-theatre resort of this (then) brightest of +companies, and in a specially reserved room might nightly be seen +sweet Nelly Bromley, young as ever, despite her youthful brood of +dukes <a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +154</span>and duchesses and his Grace of Beaufort; Eleanor +Bufton, Fanny Josephs, Fanny Hughes, and a host of others, all +charming, clever, and young, and, alas! all passed away.</p> +<p>The proprietor of this unpretentious hostelry was a pimply, +fly-blown individual, who before you had been five minutes in his +company told you that <i>he</i> was the rightful Duke of Norfolk, +who by some legal jugglery had been choused out of his +birthright; he, too, has long been swept away, and so the present +peer remains unmolested in his title.</p> +<p>Passing through the Strand not long since, I was attracted by +the new Tube station, and entering its portals for “auld +lang syne” I was distressed, but not surprised, to find +nothing of the happy hum that once characterised the transformed +spot. For here stood the little Strand Theatre of the +sixties in all the glory of its original popularity before it was +improved (?) and modernised, only to find it had become out of +the perspective, and so to be handed over to eternal +obliteration.</p> +<p>The old Strand may surely claim to be the root of the +theatrical genealogical tree, for from its original stock +(company) sprang every sprig that struck root elsewhere to became +famous either through theatrical enterprise, matrimonial +enterprise, or any of the lucrative channels that commend +themselves to commercial talent.</p> +<p>For the phalanx that once worked as a whole, would according +to present custom, be split into a dozen “one-part” +companies, with the necessary embroidery of Bodega men, +motor-cum-masher women, and a sprinkling of earnest artistes by +way of cohesion.</p> +<p>A few years later the family grouping that originally +characterised the Strand was intruded upon by one H. B. Farnie, +whose forte was the adaptation of opera-bouffe. +Unquestionably an adept in this particular <a +name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>line, the +man was a libertine of a pronounced character, with the result +that the chorus at the Strand and the Opera Comique was the very +daintiest conceivable. If a houri yielded to this Blue +Beard’s blandishments, her advancement was assured, and she +was fitted to minor parts; if his overtures fell on deaf ears, +nothing was too bad for her, and her lot was not a successful +one. Occasionally, as a consequence, the hum-drum routine +of a rehearsal was enlivened by such unrehearsed incidents as the +appearance of an irate brother, and, on one occasion, an +exasperated fishmonger from the Theobald’s Road (the +combination sounds boisterous), burst in at a critical period of +a comic duet and belaboured the unhappy impresario to within an +inch of his life.</p> +<p>These cases are, happily, rare at the present day, although, +if rumour is correct, a Hebrew of dramatic tastes, who, a few +years ago, developed into theatre owner, and staged his own +pieces, could tell of a similar experience which practically led +to his abandonment of the active pursuit of the drama.</p> +<p>When the fair Lardy Wilson, whom we last heard of at the +Surrey, had risen into prominence by reason of her exalted +connection, she joined the old Philharmonic, at Islington, in the +zenith of its glory; so privileged indeed had this darling of +Alfred become that, appearing in the “green room” on +one occasion with an infant swaddled in purple and fine linen, +the manager, band conductor, principals—male and +female—and the chorus <i>en bloc</i>, are said to have +bowed down and worshipped, as was only meet and proper and to be +expected of a “loyal and dutiful” people.</p> +<p>“Wiry Sal” was also a delightful member of the +company, and soon obtained European fame by being able to kick +higher, in a graceful, abandoned way, than any exponent of the +art before or since.</p> +<p>Pretty little Camille Dubois, who eventually developed into a +Stanhope, was also at this delightful <a name="page156"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 156</span>house. Her father at the time +was conductor at the Opera Comique, and on one occasion having +congratulated him on the execution of an excruciating +<i>morceau</i> that I was aware had emanated from his inspired +brain, I expressed a desire to procure a copy.</p> +<p>“Ach, mein Gott!” he replied, “it is a +gavotte in F.”</p> +<p>Gavottes in F are, happily, rare inspirations!</p> +<p>For although burlesque lent itself to the display of a bevy of +beautiful choristers, mashing had not then attained its present +barefaced dimensions, and the cab outside and the calf (just) +inside were the exception, not the rule, in those jovial +days.</p> +<p>But when Ada and Lizzie—as sometimes occurred—were +sisters, it often happened that some system was necessary to +insure a properly balanced larder, for from a conversation once +overheard, two hams had come from the guardsman and the lordling, +whereas the smallest forethought would have insured +otherwise.</p> +<p>But the belle of the show was one Laura, who, discovered in +the purlieus of Islington, developed into the rage of London, and +her beautiful face was to be seen on Easter eggs, Egyptian +cigarettes, and at the picture shops, as Connie Gilchrist, the +Countess of Lonsdale, and other beauties figured at a later +day.</p> +<p>Her personality attracted—as may be assumed—all +the front rank mashers, and Harry Tyrwhitt, Douglas Gordon, and +Jimmy Douglas were nightly imploring D’Albertson and +Hitchins to present them to the goddess.</p> +<p>But this fatal beauty led to a row, and the jealous swain who +was responsible for the fair Laura’s well-being was not +long in bringing matters to an issue.</p> +<p>It was on Ash Wednesday, when our national +hypocrisy—since taken other shapes—closed the +theatres, with the exception of the Alhambra, that the fair +chorister decided to “visit her parents.” +Nothing <a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>loth to encourage such filial piety, her inamorato put +her into a cab, and then—with an eye to +business—judiciously followed.</p> +<p>The sequel was a sad disillusionment, for getting out at the +stage door, she proceeded towards the Embankment, and there by +easy stages—accompanied by an admirer—the pair +proceeded to a private box at the Alhambra.</p> +<p>The rest is briefly told; a thundering knock at the box door, +shouts of “Hush!” from all parts of the house, the +orchestra stopped, old Jacobi standing in his stirrups, and an +ignominious exit for all concerned.</p> +<p>Later the sweet girl went on tour with one of Alec +Henderson’s companies, and met a bagman she eventually +married.</p> +<p>The bagman has since developed into one of the largest +shopkeepers in Knightsbridge, and so good came out of evil, and +the course “true love” usually runs in marrying an +Italian waiter and living on macaroni was diverted, and +everything a real “loidy” should have became hers for +life.</p> +<p>And the development of the fair creature’s life was +frequently under my observation. Beginning with a +preference for a “steak and a glass of stout,” she +soon developed into an authority on champagne; instead of worsted +gloves—or no gloves—nothing but Dumont’s mauve +mousquetaires would satisfy her, and so blasée did she +become during her nightly visits to Romano’s that she could +not sum up sufficient energy to remove her sixteen-franc gloves +when picking an artichoke. One marvels at the true origin +of these phenomena when under observation during the transition +state from gutter to Debrett, for although all of us have seen +the mothers, no human eye has ever seen the male progenitor of +any of these extraordinary beings, who toil not neither do they +spin, yet rise to the highest positions, have their babies <a +name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>kissed by +the Kaiser, and all by sheer superficial excellence.</p> +<p>Yet another face arises before me, and sweet Grace O—, +resisting every blandishment of Jew and Gentile, stands +prominently out in the simple attire of a modest maiden, amid the +sables and baubles by which she was surrounded. No adorers +waited for her, although the bombardment by letter and overture +was incessant; smirky acting-managers enlisted against her, +reminded her that no stalls were booked by her +<i>clientèle</i>, parcels at the stage door remained as +they were left, and nightly the sweet girl trudged across +Waterloo Bridge to her humble abode at Kennington, whilst half a +dozen broughams only awaited the chance of flicking her to a +<i>cabinet particulier</i> at the Café Riche or +Kettner’s. Often, as she told me at a later period, +she entered her hovel tired and hungry with nothing better than a +herring and a crust with which to fortify herself for the +monotonous routine of next day and every day, the lot then, and +now, of many a tender plant in uncongenial soil.</p> +<p>But every created thing has its breaking point—the +balloon overflated will eventually burst, and the egg pressed too +hard will assuredly break; and sweet Grace, no exception to the +unalterable law of Nature, like a lily before the hurricane, bent +before the assault that assailed her on every side.</p> +<p>It was like an ironclad charging an outrigger, when men of the +Farnie type entered the lists against an honest and attractive +chorister, and the sequel of short duration in Ashley Place was +told me by the unhappy girl. Gold at this stage was +lavished upon her, and a miniature brougham and +tiger—intended as a surprise—was scornfully ignored +as it waited for her at the Royalty, and was eventually on +sale—as unused as on the day it left its builders—in +Long Acre. “I can endure this gilded cage so long as +no one knows it, but the shame of the brougham! I <a +name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>would +rather have dropped than enter it.” So spoke the +woman, and within a month she walked out of the palatial +establishment to revert to her humble life.</p> +<p>It was a perky Jew, enormously rich, with great back-door +theatrical influence, that sought to shape this phenomenal +disposition into a regard for his uncongenial charms. But +manly beauty of such matured and pronounced types, with its +Malacca canes and vulgar jewellery—like olives and a love +for babies—are acquired tastes, and not the baits to allure +the “Graces” of this sordid world, and years after, +when chance again threw me across her path, our heroine was the +happy wife of a worthy City clerk, and Ashley Place and the Jew +and the brougham had long since been forgotten like the incidents +of a hideous nightmare.</p> +<p>This is no overdrawn fairy tale, and what existed then exists +now, at least in one popular resort, and two sisters with youth, +good looks, and stage experience now “resting,” could +tell how the only accomplishment of which they were deficient was +their inability to fill a few stalls—on terms.</p> +<p>In later years the infant phenomenon became the craze, and +Topsey, of the Royalty, and Connie, of the music-halls, and a +cloud of imitators all bid for recognition. Some—like +Esther—had the golden sceptre held out, and “came and +sat beside the king,” whilst others less fortunate +fulfilled their natural destiny and became the wives of the local +tobacconist or greengrocer, and many of them would now be shocked +if asked the number of yards between the pond and the Hampstead +Fever Hospital, or the sensations of dancing to a hurdy-gurdy on +the boulevards of Camden Town.</p> +<p>And so history is made, and pedigrees traced to +“de” something—who came over with the +Conqueror—with here and there a stiffening from a Chicago +pork butchery, and it only remains for you and me, my brother +snobs, to pray that whatever trials the Fates <a +name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>may have in +store for us, we may not be bereft of our old nobility.</p> +<p>The recent death of the once-popular Chief of the Fire +Brigade, Eyre Shaw, recalls many stirring scenes that lit up the +West End in the long-ago sixties, when theatres bore a +considerable share of the conflagrations that partially or +entirely destroyed some of our most notable playhouses.</p> +<p>It was in ’65 that the old Surrey was in flames, to be +replaced later on by the present structure, more familiar to the +present generation as associated with the début of such +popular artistes as Lardy Wilson, Nelly Moon, Val Reece (Lady +Meux of the 20th century), Rose Mandeville, and others under the +management of Bill Holland, and the distinguished patronage of +names too sacred to mention save with bated breath and in +reverential tones.</p> +<p>Three years later the Oxford Music Hall was burned down, but +those caves of harmony were less pretentious in those days, and +so the conflagration, except as a sight, did not provoke much +interest. But a blaze that occurred in December, ’67, +roused all London, and as a “spectacle” surpassed +anything that had ever been depicted on its stage, and put in the +shade the Guy Fawkes celebrations of the previous month.</p> +<p>In that memorable year Her Majesty’s Theatre, without +any apparent rhyme or reason, burst into flame, and despite +herculean efforts was soon a heap of cinders. For the +construction, as may be supposed, was wood and old, and those +chiefly interested were probably gainers by the drastic accident, +except perhaps Mapleson, who was said to have lost £12,000, +and Madame Tietjens, £2,000. But Tod Heatly, the +ground landlord, could hardly have regretted it, for it opened up +possibilities of improving the site which, after many years, +culminated in the present establishment, with its profitable +addenda of an hotel with its “lardy-da” luncheon and +supper rooms.</p> +<p><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>In +those remote days the Metropolitan Board of Works was the +controlling authority, and bone counters which emanated from them +passed the holders within the cordon on any of these interesting +occasions.</p> +<p>Eyre Shaw, too, about this time was appointed chief officer, +and being an enthusiastic patron of the Gaiety (then only a +precocious infant with every promise of its present development) +little wonder that the bone counters were in considerable +evidence amongst the present-day old ladies who then represented +the Connies and Dollies and Lizzies of burlesque.</p> +<p>Contemplating the still-smouldering ruins, how complete +appeared the obliteration of many notable incidents. Here +Mario—approaching seventy—was acclaimed to the echo +by a gushing house, after having been hissed off the stage in +Paris for mumbling what he once used to sing; here Giulini +thrilled the world with the purest tenor ever heard, and died in +the madhouse in the zenith of his fame; here later, Moody and +Sankey bellowed in solo and in duet, and stopped the traffic by +the eager crowds that sought admission (free) to bellow in the +chorus; here, too, sweet little Chiomi essayed to make her +début in <i>Lucia</i> and failed; and here Lord Dudley, +Carpenter, Vandeleur-Lee, Goodenough, and a host long since swept +into the universal dust-bin, beamed nightly on Tietjens and +Fanchelli with expressions supposed to denote familiarity with +the text; here under its dismal porticoes sights of distress and +starvation—forgotten in slumber—were nightly to be +met with, as painful as anything that ever appealed to De Quincey +outside the Oxford Street Pantheon, and here old Leader, prince +of Bohemians and managing director of the Alhambra in the zenith +of its pranky days, had a box office till he dropped from old +age; here on one occasion on the son of one of the celebrated +Irish Army agents being presented to him, the Royal George +patronisingly greeted him with, “Oh, indeed, a son of +‘Borough and <a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>Armit,’” and received the explanatory +reply: “No, sir, only of Armit;” and on the ghosts of +all these departed memories not one stone now stands upon another +to bridge, as it were, the present with the glorious past.</p> +<p>In these latter days, a conflagration such as this would, of +course, be impossible, as witness the blaze not long since in +Holborn. But then that was a <i>fire proof</i> +construction.</p> +<h2><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +163</span>CHAPTER XV.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">MOSTLY “OTHERWISE”</span> +(continued).</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the long-ago sixties the +Artillery Ball at Woolwich was the most select and the most +sought after function that the dancing community yearned for, and +about the same time Major Goodenough, a popular officer of this +distinguished regiment—although close upon eighteen +stone—fell desperately in love with Tietjens, herself of +large pattern. Rumour, indeed, asserted that the ponderous +couple were engaged, and so it came to pass that poor old Goody +was nonplussed almost to distraction when his application for a +ticket for his fiancée was politely but firmly +refused.</p> +<p>“But she’s engaged to me,” the poor old chap +pleaded.</p> +<p>“And when she’s Mrs. Goodenough we shall always he +delighted to see her,” was the stern, uncompromising +reply.</p> +<p>Such exclusiveness—which shows that snobbery was even +then approaching with gigantic strides—contrasts amusingly +with what was then the composition of many of our +“crack” regiments.</p> +<p>Otway Toler—a brother of the Earl of Norbury—was +one of the best amateur musicians, and it was through his kindly +offices that I became acquainted with Giulini and other leading +opera singers in London.</p> +<p>No such voice as that gifted being’s has ever been <a +name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>heard +before or since, and it is sad to recollect that whilst yet in +the zenith of his fame he was ruthlessly struck down by insanity, +and eventually died in a madhouse.</p> +<p>It was during this painful period that his voice is said to +have reached a pitch of pathos that far exceeded anything it +attained when he thrilled London nightly.</p> +<p>To compare it with any tenor that may suggest itself to the +reader would be as absurd as comparing an English concertina to +the most glorious notes of the most fluty instrument, and yet +this divine voice was silenced without apparent cause, and the +world—the operatic world—will never hear its like +again.</p> +<p>As an old lady in tears was once overheard to say to her +unmusical spouse at the opera: “It is the voice of a god, +and not of a man,” to which her phlegmatic better-half +replied: “Bosh, you should hear Sims Reeves; he can go an +octave higher.”</p> +<p>Sims Reeves, indeed! But no matter—may they both +rest in peace.</p> +<p>To go to an unpretentious Italian eating-house in Old Compton +Street, Soho, that has long disappeared, was as good as attending +the opera—if one was in the magic circle. Here all +day, and every day, congregated the leading exponents, male and +female, of Italian opera. At a piano on the first floor +finishing touches were given to morceaux, duets were tried over, +and, in addition to the vocalists, soloists of the highest order +“ran through” special passages of their scores, while +below, viands of the strictest Italian type were being consumed +from morning to night.</p> +<p>Here osso-buco, and minestrone, and spaghetti were to be found +as undiluted as at Savini’s in Milan, and washed down with +such productions of the vine as Chianti, Lacrima Christi, and +Capri.</p> +<p>No abominations in imitation of French cookery were to be +found here. No half-crown dinners of <a +name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>half-a-dozen courses, with their deadly accompaniments +of artichokes fried in tallow (<i>au Cardinal</i>) would have +been permitted here; no New Zealand mutton garnished with +turnip-tops (<i>ris dé veau garni aux truffes</i>) could +have showed its unhallowed head in those sacred precincts and +lived, for no mashers of the present-day type existed, and shop +boys and shop girls knew their places too well to venture into +such reserved pastures, even with the prospect of eating a +veritable dinner as served on the Continong.</p> +<p>One cannot leave the subject of music without a reference to +the promenade concerts that came into being about this period at +the Queen’s in Long Acre.</p> +<p>It was here that the first public exhibition of the telephone +was given, and when a series of grunts had vibrated through the +hall and a bald-headed old patriarch had told us that the sound +actually came from Westminster, the surprise and delight of the +enraptured audience was intense, and we marvelled where such +discoveries would end.</p> +<p>And the fun and the frolic at these gatherings was beyond +description, often more delectable than correct, but nevertheless +delightful and invigorating. The orchestra, moreover, was +superb, and the vocalists the best that money could provide, and +all these delights were presided over by one Rivière, a +pushing musical instrument-maker in Leicester Square, who by +sheer impudence had forced himself into prominence before an +ignorant public whilst all the time incapable of reading the most +ordinary score at sight.</p> +<p>So far as execution and diabolical contortions were concerned +he was immense, and as big an impostor as Jullien himself.</p> +<p>When Offenbach was all the rage, and Schneider (under Lord +C.’s wing) was his principal exponent, I had the honour of +being one of a privileged half-dozen who did homage to the Diva +at a dinner party <a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>in a private room at Limmer’s. Although in +the zenith of her fame, her personal charms at the time were +unquestionably on the wane, and I can recollect her comments on +popularity and what it was worth as she told us how ten years +previously, when young and beautiful, she had appeared in London +only to be ignored, and that now everybody was at her feet. +And then she shrugged her shoulders with an indescribable +fascination peculiarly her own, and complacently puffed away at +her cigarette.</p> +<p>It may have been a few years later that Major Carpenter, a +wealthy amateur musician, introduced to the operatic world a +charming English girl, who, under cover of the Italian name of +Chiomi, was to electrify London with her singing.</p> +<p>The opera the fair débutante selected was probably the +most formidable a nervous subject could have chosen; and so one +night every one attended at Her Majesty’s to hear +<i>Lucia</i> expounded. Everything went well up to the mad +scene, when, unaccompanied by orchestra, the unhappy heroine has +to sing and toss straws about amid a series of impossible runs +and shakes. With the straw tossing no fault could be found, +but the voice that should have been moving us all to tears was a +series of gurgles that eventually subsided into silence.</p> +<p>Sir Michael Costa meanwhile sat grim and immovable, when a few +bars would probably have nerved up the fluttering victim, but +<i>that</i> to that orthodox Italian would have been +“trifling with the text,” and so no aid was +forthcoming, and the trumpet blasts that had emanated from Ashley +Place ended in a fiasco, and sweet little Chiomi was heard of no +more.</p> +<p>That the drama is occasionally unjustly disparaged is nothing +new; that it occasionally produces indirect beneficial effects +and even prolongs life may be gleaned from the example of a +deceased colonel of <a name="page167"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 167</span>the Bays, who, returning from India +in the sixties with a life not worth six months’ purchase, +married a lady connected with the Canterbury Music Hall, and, +after increasing the music-hall population, literally died of +senile decay within the last year or two.</p> +<p>It was my privilege, on one occasion, in the company of Otway +Toler, who knew all the stars, to visit the great tenor Mario and +his wife, the equally celebrated Grisi, who had a house during +the opera season in the vicinity of Cavendish Square. +Grisi, it may be explained, at the time of her marriage, was the +proud mother of two children who, by one of those extraordinary +freaks of nature one occasionally meets with, resembled in a +remarkable degree the family that followed.</p> +<p>“These,” pointing to one group, was Grisi’s +usual introduction, “are the <i>Marionettes</i>, and +these”—indicating the others—“are the +<i>Grisettes</i>.”</p> +<p>Incredible as it may appear, one of the purest tenors the +world has ever produced did not know one note of music, and +everything had to be drummed into him by a fiddle. It was +at the house at Eaton Place of one of the leading ladies of +society that one often met the great tenor, where music +alternated with the cotillon and other delights of one’s +youth.</p> +<p>About this time the Alhambra, which for some years had been +waning in public estimation, obtained a new lease of popularity +under the broad-minded direction of one Leader.</p> +<p>This worthy man, to use the familiar expression, +“grasped the situation,” and with the able +co-operation of his co-directors—Nagle, head of a +celebrated firm of bill-stickers; Willing, an enlightened +philanthropist and patron of the drama; Captain Fryer (who was +accorded that title because he had a second cousin in the +Dragoons)—inaugurated an enlightened policy that seemed to +provide “a want long felt,” and met <a +name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>the +requirements of their numerous patrons (<i>vide</i> daily papers, +etc.).</p> +<p>The directors’ box was a huge omnibus capable of holding +goodness knows how many, and consisted of partitions innumerable +that had been dealt with by the carpenters; a convenient door led +to the stage, and to the managing-director’s room—the +objective of all visitors—as was only to be expected in a +well-conducted theatre. Here were to be met nightly Alfred +Paget, a septuagenarian lord, who, when not in attendance at +Court, as was supposed, seemed to spend his declining years in +wandering from one green room to another. Harmless to a +degree, it was pitiable to see the dyed old sinner, chewing a +cigar, and indulging in such antics as an occasional +double-shuffle with any chorus girl he had selected for his +attention.</p> +<p>The Maharajah Dhuleep Singh, too, was in nightly attendance, +and never failed to bring some gimcrack which he displayed in the +green room with the inquiry: “What nice little girl going +to have this?” This, however, was before he had +concentrated his affections on pretty Polly Ash, who appearing +nightly in white kids up to her elbows gave mortal offence to her +fellow-choristers by showing up the cotton “sevens” +supplied by the management. Polly, however, was not devoid +of common sense, and retired shortly after into a sumptuous flat +in Covent Garden and an annuity that survived the donor.</p> +<p>The green room of the old Alhambra was of extensive +dimensions, and contained more deal tables than probably any +green room before or since. By a magnanimous minute of the +directors, ladies of the chorus and ballet had the entrée, +and, although none of the plainer members of the company appeared +to take advantage of the privilege, every table was fully +furnished with champagne (brand doubtful), and giggling artistes +and their adorers. Every one smoked like a donkey-engine, +and the genial managing <a name="page169"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 169</span>director percolated amongst his +guests with a kindly inquiry as to how you were getting on. +History does not make it quite clear whether any of the fair +members were eventually translated to the Upper House; but +whether as fortunate in this respect as Mott’s and in later +years the Gaiety, it was undeniable that no more beautiful bevy +of women were to be found than the representatives of the drama +at the Alhambra in those long-ago days.</p> +<p>Captain (!!) Fryer as a director was in considerable demand +during the orgies, and a youthful ensign on one occasion (when +under the fraternising influence of the stock champagne) having +invited the “Captain” to mess, was considerably put +about on being informed by the colonel that he was at once to +cancel the invitation. With the ingenuity of youth, +however, he wriggled out of the difficulty by changing the venu +to Limmer’s, and taking him and a select party to +Mott’s.</p> +<p>In appearance the Captain gave the idea of having just missed +being a gentleman; with a waist abnormally small, and a waistcoat +abnormally tight, his shoulders stood out by the aid of whalebone +in a manner intended to convey herculean proportions. When +he walked it was with the swinging motion attributed by +“Ouida” to heroes who crumple pint pots without +knowing it, and kick garden rollers about as one would a pebble; +he stamped also occasionally with one foot as heavy dragoons once +did when they desired to clink their spurs, but which, after all, +may only have been a habit contracted by the contemplation of his +second cousin who had been in the cavalry.</p> +<p>“Do come here, you provoking Captain,” and +“Did you hear what that absurd Captain just said?” +and Captain this, and Captain that vibrated through the room to +the no small annoyance of the “civilians” +present. From all which it will be seen that he was <a +name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>a very fine +fellow indeed, and the idol of the ladies of the ballet. +But Bobby and some of the youngsters also swore by him to a man; +to have the run of the entire back premises, and to be introduced +to any siren their fickle fancies desired, was not a privilege to +be lightly appraised, and they vowed, till forbidden by the +adjutant, that he would be the life and soul of the mess on the +next guest night, and that the very rafters would tingle as he +recounted his multifarious experiences.</p> +<p>Another theatre that afforded amusement of a different type +was the Grecian, and night after night parties of from ten to +twenty were made up during the pantomime season to witness the +best of pantomimists in his incomparable part. Not that +such a privilege was lightly undertaken, for, to begin with, +Conquest had to be warned to knock two or three boxes into one, +then dinner in the (private) Octagon Room of the “Ship and +Turtle” in Leadenhall Street had to be ordered, and +then—and then only—the organised party proceeded +eastwards in a private omnibus about 5 p.m.</p> +<p>It may seem silly and suggestive of senile decay to descant on +such frivolities, but who of the present generation can realise +the homely, sumptuous repast that awaited one at the famous old +hostelry of the sixties? The milk-punch specially served by +Painter himself, the incomparable turtle soup and turtle steaks, +the saddle of mutton one felt it a sin to mutilate, and the +honest English pancakes washed down with port—fifty years +old—and champagne in magnums were one and all incomparable; +and then the start as the omnibus pulled up at the door, and the +smoking of cigars of brands now unknown, till one alighted at the +portals of the Grecian in the City Road, adjoining the celebrated +“Eagle,” made famous by the antics of the eccentric +weasel that we are assured went “pop” every time it +entered its hospitable <a name="page171"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 171</span>doors. Can anything of to-day +compare with it? But the days of regret for these honest +old enjoyments are sadly out of place in these enlightened times, +where comic opera has superseded the transformation scene with +its adjuncts of clown, pantaloons, and harlequin. The +performance and the historian are alike out of perspective.</p> +<p>“Come, Mabel, shall we go to the Covent Garden +ball?”</p> +<p>Let us extend our ramble to merry Islington and peep in at the +Philharmonic, where now stands the Grand; and although we take a +leap into the seventies for the nonce, the “long ago” +is sufficiently distant to be beyond the ken of many of our +readers.</p> +<p>The rage for Offenbach was at this time at its height, and +Soldene and Dolaro drew all the golden calves from the West to +gaze on the things of beauty that were provided for their +delectation.</p> +<p>A sporting bookmaker—Charley Head—who ran the +show, realising that the majority of his patrons were incapable +of distinguishing “Hunkey Dorum” from the National +Anthem (“The Honeysuckle and the Bee” was, happily, +unknown in those days), decided that if the principals were of +the highest class, the chorus might fairly be selected for +perfection of form rather than perfection of voice, and some +seventy of the most beautiful girls in London were engaged to add +<i>éclat</i> to the performance.</p> +<p>It was currently reported that half their weekly salary of +three shillings was paid in counters, to be expended in the salon +after the performance; and the roaring trade in champagne that +ensued amply repaid the astute manager’s calculations.</p> +<p>The drama, run on these lines, naturally produced impresarios +of a questionable class, and Leo Egremont, in an expanse of white +waistcoat and a stripe down his trousers, was nightly ubiquitous +and effusively gushing in his attendance on the golden <a +name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>calves. A ballad singer (at the Cave of Harmony) +before he lost his voice—a basso of the deepest +dye—he had lately opened a “bureau” and +advertised for novelties which he “placed”—as +he termed it—as the demand and circumstances suggested.</p> +<p>The streaky nobleman and the toothless lady who could sing +three octaves had been presented through his enterprise to an +East-end audience, and when the “Phil” opened under +such unique auspices, Egremont lost no time in securing a +footing.</p> +<p>He also belonged to the “Howlers,” a half club, +half pot-house, in the vicinity of the Strand.</p> +<p>But the poor old “Phil” has long since been burnt +to the ground, Egremont has disappeared below the horizon, and +the memories of the seventies are gone to join the mountain of +reminiscences of the long-ago Sixties.</p> +<p>Across the river, the Surrey—run on broader +lines—was also responsible for the hatching of numerous +future hereditary legislators, and during the pantomime season +might be found such goddesses as Val Reece, Lardy Wilson, and a +score of others, many of whom have since swelled the pages of +Debrett and similar works of our religion.</p> +<p>It is no more than the truth to assert that this latter +lady—for she had a way with her not strictly +histrionic—very nearly upset by her personality a certain +Anglo-Russian marriage at a critical period of the +negotiations.</p> +<p>The Lamp of Burlesque had not yet been lighted, nor even +trimmed, in the future Gaiety—which at the time was a +“rub-a-dub” of the lowest class—and so the +rumours of duels that filled the air years later between a +military attaché and an <i>off-shoot</i> of the noble +House of Clanricarde still slumbered in the womb of futurity, +only to be roused to vitality by the nimble graces of Kate +Vaughan and sweet little Nell Farren.</p> +<p><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>Passing the Charing Cross Hotel one day, an old +semi-theatrical warrior returned visibly to my mind, and I could +again see Alfred Paget descending the stairs after one of those +informal meetings of directors that occasionally took place in +Edward Watkins’s rooms. For the would-be juvenile on +the high road to senile decay that the present generation may +remember was a very different man to the Lord Alfred of the +Sixties, or, looking further back, to the handsome young equerry +who pranced beside the late Queen’s carriage in all the +glory of manhood. And then incidents long forgotten were +re-enacted in my muddled brain; how as a director of the +South-Eastern he claimed, or obtained, or arranged, that all +repairs on his steam yacht should be done by the artificers and +engineers of the company. And then, by no great effort, the +<i>Santa Maria</i> appeared lying off Margate Pier, and Old +Alfred—as he was gradually becoming—faultlessly +attired on “post captain” lines, waiting for his boon +companion, Alec Henderson, or possibly a “Poppit,” as +all his “frivolities” were christened. And then +the launch lying at the steps, and the revels on board, and the +grateful “poppits” going over the side after being +presented with a straw hat or some article of female attire found +in the state cabin, belonging to heaven knows who, during the +more respectable cruises. And then the trips to Boulogne +and the stocking the store-room with cheap wines, which the +genial old sinner chuckled would thus evade duty and come in +handy at second-chop gatherings. For with all his display +his lordship was undoubtedly thrifty, and could have stated +blindfolded the exact number of cigars or cigarettes that were +lying about, no matter how apparently negligently.</p> +<p>Lord Alfred had been a yachtsman all his life, and he would +tell how our late Queen—with that characteristic +woman’s tact that never left her—wrote <a +name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>to him on +the occasion of a former yacht being run down by a Channel mail +packet, “You must not be ashamed to accept the enclosed +£500 as a gift from the Sovereign to a subject.”</p> +<p>“Mighty different woman now,” he would add, +pouting his lips, and then toddling off with a six-foot telescope +to take the harmless bearings of any “poppits” within +hail.</p> +<p>His chum “Alec” was a charming man, and when he +and Lionel Brough—as on one occasion—began capping +one reminiscence by another on the deck of the <i>Santa Maria</i> +the show was as good as anything to be seen at the Opera Comique +or Strand, or any of the various theatres of which he was +lessee. Years before he had married Lydia Thompson, a name +that conveys nothing to the present generation, but who in the +sixties was the cleverest and prettiest of burlesque actresses, +and there was not a youngster worth his salt that was not +desperately in love with her. Lydia Thompson was aunt to +Violet Cameron, who attained a certain position in the later +seventies at the Strand, but was overshadowed by Florence St. +John, one of the very few who, in addition to being the most chic +of actresses, possessed a pure and cultivated voice.</p> +<h2><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>CHAPTER XVI.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">USURERS AND MILLIONAIRES.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> “Purchase” was in +full blast the chosen race had some data to go upon as regards +the “possibilities” of their clients, who for the +most part were Army men, and when the mystic P appeared after a +name in the Army List, they felt fairly safe that their +investments were recoverable; many, however, found to their cost +that “charging” one’s commission was not +recognised by the Horse Guards, and that despite the production +of a sackful of mortgages, Cox dared not part with a cent of the +commission money to any one but the actual reprobate. +Barely had a name appeared in the <i>Gazette</i> when a squad of +these harpies hustled each other before the modest portals in +Craig’s Court, and “the widows of Asher were loud in +their wail” when they heard that their co-religionists had +been turned empty away. In the citadel itself they, of +course, had numerous paid spies, who “posted” them as +to any imminent appearance in the <i>Gazette</i>, and no one +earned more shekels by this illicit traffic than a clerk, who +eventually had to leave, but who may still be seen shambling +about Leicester Square in the futile endeavour to raise small +loans for his shoddy clientèle. In pot-houses that +he “uses” he is known as “the Captain,” +and affects the old dragoon limp. For the human species, as +everybody is aware, is composed but of two distinct races: the +men who borrow, and the men who lend; <a name="page176"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 176</span>under which two original diversities +may be reduced all those impertinent classifications we are +familiar with, such as Celtic and Gothic origin, white men, black +men, red men, and such like. It is of the latter class +during the sixties we propose to speak.</p> +<p>At the head of the list was Callisher—known in the +family as Julius—then followed Bob Morris +(“Jellybelly”) and a bad third was Sam Lewis, only +then emerging from the status of a traveller in cheap jewellery, +who addressed one as “Sir,” and ready at a +moment’s notice to produce a ten-pound note and draw out a +bill for £15, with which his pockets were invariably +lined.</p> +<p>An undoubtedly leading usurer of the sixties was Bob Morris, +who—it was no secret—was originally financed by Sir +Henry De Hoghton, an eccentric baronet referred to +elsewhere. “Jellybelly,” as he was familiarly +known, transacted business in the vicinity of the Raleigh. +A noiseless bell in a blaze of brass, and a door that opened +without any visible agency, were the first objects that struck +one on the threshold of the outer world. Introduced first +into an ante-room, a client—subject to satisfactory +scrutiny—was filtered into the presence of the great +man.</p> +<p>No indecent hurry was permitted during these important +preliminaries, and one might as reasonably have hoped to enter +the library of a bishop as to approach Bob Morris without a +scrupulous regard to decorum.</p> +<p>Numerous applicants were to be found at all hours in meek and +becoming attitudes waiting for the moving of the waters, some to +be rebuffed by deputy, and others only to be admitted and +immediately bowed out.</p> +<p>A second waiting-room above relieved the congestion of the one +below when unusual circumstances taxed its resources; it was +heavily curtained, dark, on Turkish bath lines, and it was +considered a bad <a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>sign—as the precursor to a snub—when one +was promoted to this retreat.</p> +<p>“Jellybelly” was strictly honourable according to +his lights; if he could get 100 per cent. he preferred it to 80, +and if 80 was not forthcoming he would accept 60 on the security +of the Consols. The variety of his transactions would have +embarrassed a less brilliant mind, and at one time or another he +had found himself owner (by mortgage) of the three first +favourites for the Derby, the foundations and a partially +completed wing of a skating-rink, and two miles of a submarine +tunnel on which work had been stopped. That such +multifarious responsibilities might reasonably be supposed to tax +the patience of an ordinary mortal would have been matter of no +surprise, but nothing appeared to give him the least concern.</p> +<p>It was Sam Lewis’s pluck that obtained him the colossal +fortune he eventually died possessed of, and, ever ready to run +the most infernal risks, it was seldom he did not come out +top. During Goodwood week he did business in his bedroom at +the “Grand,” and a telegram from the other end of the +kingdom, followed by an acceptance, invariably produced banknotes +by return post.</p> +<p>It was only after he began to feel his legs and to dabble in +title deeds, that he abandoned the genial habits of his youth, +became <i>Mr.</i> Lewis, could be seen only by appointment, and +assumed an expression between that of a bank director and an +Egyptian sphinx.</p> +<p>When I “met” him first he was not above a swap, +and a bill for, say, £50, paid in £20 cash and the +balance in tawdry gimcracks, was the usual style of +transaction. At the time I refer to he lived in an +unpretentious house in Gower Street; later on, as a younger +generation are aware, he possessed a mansion in Grosvenor Square; +rode in the Park at daylight during the <a +name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>Season, and +gave dinner parties where any one from a member of the Victorian +Order upwards was always assured of a hearty welcome. So +keen, indeed, was the little man (or his wife) to be considered +members of the fringe of Society that an enterprising young +man—related to the noble House of Somerset—was +unquestionably on a fixed scale of remuneration, and given +<i>carte blanche</i> to bring any sprig of nobility at prices +ranging from a guinea upwards. In addition, a few minor +under-strappers, such as the late lamented Patty Coleman and +others, had a free hand to produce “desirables.”</p> +<p>The little man—as we all know—is now a matter of +history, his widow not long after again married and then followed +him, though her memory is still cherished in the Synagogue as +“Lewis of the Guards.”</p> +<p>Of the smaller fry, Fitch of Southwark; Sol Beyfus; Finney +Davis of Mount Street; Lazarus of Dublin; Cook of Warwick Street, +all assisted in spoiling the Egyptians; whilst their sons, almost +without exception, have risen in the minor social scale as +attorneys or chartered accountants, and their sons will assuredly +figure in “Debrett’s” or the “Landed +Gentry,” as instanced in a glaring case, where a railway +navvy—who left his three sons a million sterling each in +the Sixties—we are now informed in the peerage was +undoubtedly descended from de—, who came over with the +Conqueror, and that his genealogy is lost in antiquity—not +always an unmixed evil.</p> +<p>In the old days the usurer used his own name, now they cull +the peerage for the most historical they can find. But</p> +<blockquote><p>“Brown, Jones, or Moses<br /> +Can change their names but not their noses.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Perhaps no more marvellous example of Nature’s constant +care for the wants of her needy creations is to be found than in +the periodical appearance above the horizon of some nobody who, +having amassed <a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span>a colossal fortune, is henceforth ordained by a +merciful Providence to rescue impecunious lords from the slough +of despair, level-up princes who have exceeded their income, and +to put upon their legs livery stablemen; authorities on +horseflesh and their superiors generally by birth and +education.</p> +<p>In the long-ago Sixties these providential phenomena were not +appreciated as much as in these more enlightened days, and, even +in such sinks of iniquity as Mott’s, an impecunious +gentleman was assessed as a considerably more desirable quantity +than knighted shop-boys, “H”-less capitalists, or +promoted horse copers.</p> +<p>That even then they existed goes without saying; that they did +not assist in making history is equally undeniable.</p> +<p>Amongst these one of the most remarkable was one +Hirsch—Baron of somewhere—but whose untimely death +before he attained to Debrett makes his genealogy difficult to +trace with any degree of accuracy. Suddenly springing into +prominence, he at once broke out into horseflesh; and although +probably not knowing one end of a horse from another, soon +collected a magnificent stud, and being surrounded by +disinterested! councillors of the highest attainments, soon swept +the board in most of the classic races. But the subject +that brought him chiefly into prominence was his solicitude for +his co-religionists: first, he proposed to buy Jerusalem, but +meeting with obstacles that even money could not overcome, he +contemplated a “personally-conducted tour,” whereby +the Holy City should again become the habitation of the chosen +race. But his premature death, alas! nipped all these +aspirations in the bud, and the gimcrack shops in Bond Street +still flourish, and the successors of Callisher, Bob Morris, and +Sam Lewis continue to batten on Christian flesh. The sums +that he expended and bequeathed on this desirable <a +name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>object were +not without significance, and the leaves of the Talmud were +ransacked to show that he was the undoubted 666, or some equally +unintelligible hieroglyphic that had been predicted by the +Prophets; and then death entered Bath House and snapped the +various theories—<i>Quod erat demonstrandum</i>.</p> +<p>Baron de Forest, whom we occasionally hear of as one of the +shining lights of modern Society, inherited a considerable +portion of the deceased “nobleman’s” fortune, +and is said to be related to him.</p> +<p>A phenomenon of another type was Colonel North. Soldier, +philanthropist, and nitrate expert, it matters not what regiment +had the privilege of being commanded by him; it was in the latter +industry that he endeared himself to his species. Liberal, +bluff, and accessible to all, his daily free lunches at the +“Woolpack” were partaken of by all the halt and the +maim—and occasionally the blind—within the four-mile +radius.</p> +<p>Impecunious Irish lords, with ancestral bogs sadly in need of +re-digging, now saw their opportunity, and a huge industry sprang +into existence, where, for a consideration—in +shares—the meteor was introduced to certain higher lords +who, holding broad theories on “meum and tuum,” in +their turn arranged dinner parties where the most exalted were to +be met with. Often did the rafters of Connaught Place +rattle during these festive gatherings, and sheaves of shares +changed hands till no one was sent empty away, and so by the aid +of nitrate, “the Colonel” was wafted amid the highest +pinnacles of Society. Occasionally a false note was struck +when some over-eager recipient put his shares on the +market—but even these <i>faux pas</i> were soon forgotten, +for “the Colonel,” if not “Plantagenet +blood,” had the instincts of a gentleman. That the +owner of such vast wealth must needs own racehorses goes without +saying, upon which ’bus drivers and unsuccessful +authorities on horseflesh <a name="page181"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 181</span>came upon the scene, and thus the +sphere of Nature’s bountiful providence became more +extended. North, however, never attained prominence in a +pursuit he was probably utterly indifferent to, though his +colours were frequently to be seen (last) at the various race +meetings.</p> +<p>It was a sad day in Bohemia Minor when “the +Colonel” was gathered to his fathers; and the diminution in +white waistcoats and immaculate attire in Gracechurch Street and +Northumberland Avenue was lamentably apparent; the rockets that +had temporarily fizzled gradually expended themselves, their very +sticks were soon untraceable; straw hats and macintoshes (during +the dog days) gradually resumed their ascendency, and Society +recovered from the topsy-turveydom with which it was once +temporarily threatened.</p> +<h2><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>CHAPTER XVII.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">SOME CURIOUS FISH OF THE +SIXTIES.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span> Henry De Hoghton, a wealthy +baronet who was above the horizon in the Sixties, though +possessed of a fine estate and a palatial residence, preferred +the hand-to-mouth existence of an hotel, and lived at +Meurigy’s, now the supper-house yclept the Chatham. +Never visible to the naked eye by day, he wandered into the +Raleigh about midnight, and casting furtive glances in various +directions, would settle down without a word. To punters he +was a very oasis in a dry land, for, although the very worst +écarté player in Christendom, no stakes were too +high for him, and after losing a game or two his proposals were +literally appalling.</p> +<p>To ask him to play was the signal for his abrupt departure; to +ignore his presence was tantamount to £100 a game within +twenty minutes.</p> +<p>Fred Granville, who about this period was considerably out of +his depth, had a peculiar experience with him. On one +occasion, having lost to the eccentric baronet some £3,000, +De Hoghton, who evidently knew that a settlement was precarious, +said, “Why don’t you go to +‘Jellybelly’?”</p> +<p>What occurred at the suggested interview it is difficult to +arrive at, but within the week it was generally known that De +Hoghton financed the Hebrew money-lender, and by such +disinterested advice as <a name="page183"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 183</span>above was invariably paid, leaving +the onus of recovery to the astute Bob Morris.</p> +<p>Another drunken baronet who lived in Eaton Square, and had +married an houri of a very inferior type, had for his chief hobby +the surrounding himself with pugilists and comic singers.</p> +<p>Living entirely on the ground floor, the drawing-room, which +was carpetless, was got up like a cockpit. Here nightly +orgies were held, to the annoyance of every one within hearing, +and when too much port—with which the cellars were +filled—had done its duty, rows were not infrequent between +this disreputable couple. On one occasion I can recollect +her drunken ladyship—very lightly clad—ordering a +powdered six-foot flunkey to put out the lights instantly, and +her drunken spouse’s rejoinder, “If you dare to touch +a candle, you leave my house this moment.” After +which a domestic scrimmage and a stampede ensued, and, seizing +hats and coats, the guests hurriedly departed.</p> +<p>An eccentric old lady who died about this time left her large +fortune to a distant relative on the condition that she was never +to be put below earth.</p> +<p>To obviate the slightest risk of losing the legacy, the astute +recipient immediately purchased a house in London, and with all +the pomp worthy of the occasion, placed the mass of corruption, +securely boxed, on the roof, after which it was soldered on to +the leads and encased in a glass shade.</p> +<p>The eyesore has long disappeared, but twenty years ago it was +an object of interest to strollers in Kensington Gardens.</p> +<p>Ned Deering was a well-known figure in Pall Mall in the +long-ago Sixties. The heir to one of the oldest baronetcies +in the kingdom, he distorted his handsome features by wearing his +hair down to his shoulders in imitation of Charles I. (of blessed +memory), whom he imagined he resembled.</p> +<p><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +184</span>Eccentric to a degree, he married a few years later the +lady known to posterity as Mrs. Bernard Beere, and great was the +consternation in Kent lest a “small Beer” might +eventually be enrolled in their local patrician ranks; but the +scare was short-lived, and Ned, who meanwhile had turned +Papist—as he would have turned Mohammedan had he lived in +Morocco—died in a picturesque cottage with garden in front +in Jermyn Street, imbibing buckets of champagne to the last, and +with the encouraging assurance of a sure and joyful +resurrection. The spot is now represented by the back +entrance of the Criterion Theatre. No more amusing +companion existed than Ned Deering, when the spirit moved +him.</p> +<p>Amongst military characters, Lord Mark Kerr must assuredly be +given the palm. Of overwhelming family interest, he ruled +the 13th Somersetshire Light Infantry as a veritable +despot. Mad as any March hare, he frequently appeared on +parade with his shako reverse-ways on his head, and if his +eagle-eye spotted some awkward-looking recruit, he would paralyse +him by, “Ha! you come from Bath, eh? I suppose you +consider yourself a Bath brick? But I consider you a +Bath—” In the mess, too, he was equally +harmlessly autocratic, and no officer was expected to take his +seat till Lord Mark had said, “Be seated, +gentlemen.” But there was no vice in this eccentric +branch of the house of Lothian. Whether he would have been +tolerated in these later days is another affair.</p> +<p>Major Francis, who was on the Smoking Room Committee of the +Turf Club, was an admitted authority on cigars. Small in +stature, the little man carried a cigar-case in every pocket of +his numerous coats; not a cigar entered the docks but was sampled +as a labour of love for the large importers by this +unquestionable expert. And often have I accompanied him to +St. Mary Axe, where box after box has been <a +name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>opened, and +cigar after cigar lighted for our delectation, only to be laid +aside after one whiff as we passed on to other brands. +“But what becomes of all these wasted samples?” I +inquired of Mr. Dodswell. “They’re not +wasted,” he replied; “they become ‘Regalia +Britannicas,’ such as these,” and he handed me a +gilt-edged box of the most approved pattern that might well +deceive any but an expert.</p> +<p>Major Francis created a revolution in the cigars that were +supplied at the Turf, and instead of the “Golden +Eagles” such as Dicky Boulton considered cheap at three +shillings apiece, and others assessed as dear at any price, the +finest exports of the Havanas were to be had for less than half +the money.</p> +<p>Every youngster aspiring to importance in those days affected +the possession of countless thousands of two-shilling cigars, and +the walls of a large establishment in Bond Street were covered +with boxes bearing in conspicuous type the various names and +designations.</p> +<p>It may be stated, however, that the venture was a +“credit” one, which, whilst pandering to the vanity +of the owner, in no way injured the tradesman, who delicately +withdrew any surplus stock where settlement appeared +doubtful.</p> +<p>Lord Alexander Russell—a brother of the Duke of +Bedford—when in command of the Rifle Brigade invariably +smoked a short clay when at the head of his regiment, and Colonel +Warden, another eccentric, who commanded the 19th Foot, seldom +rose till one or two in the afternoon, and would keep the whole +regiment dangling about the orderly room for hours, to the +amusement of the rest of the camp.</p> +<p>But this was in the days when every regiment was a +principality ruled by a despot, who, twice a year at most, +underwent formal inspection by some amiable old gentleman, who +received £600 a year for wearing a cocked hat as commander +of such and such a regiment.</p> +<p><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span>That +the state of preparedness that often then existed would hardly +meet the requirements of the present-day alertness may best be +exemplified by what I once assisted at.</p> +<p>The Inspecting General was Sir Percy Douglas, who had +expressed the desire of seeing and hearing that instructive +manœuvre, a <i>feu de joie</i>. Proudly did the +commanding officer give the requisite command, and with one +accord 800 muzzle-loading barrels pointed defiantly heavenwards; +then pop here, pop there a hundred yards down the line, a charge +here and there exploded.</p> +<p>Every barrel was choked with mutton fat—a favourite +recipe against rust amongst the old warriors of England.</p> +<p>Some startling stories of the mad Marquis of Waterford might +be introduced, if their production were possible. One or +two incidents, however, of the Sixties may not be amiss. +Constantly was this privileged lunatic to be seen walking the +Haymarket at breakneck speed, and being known to every cabman, +waterman, and policeman, his antics attracted little +attention. On one occasion he appeared in an exceptionally +dishevelled condition, and a constable remonstrating with him in +a friendly tone, he produced a large knife, and, hacking off what +purported to be a finger, threw it into the street.</p> +<p>His lordship had apparently been exploiting the shambles, and +brought away a blade-bone for possible emergency.</p> +<p>On another occasion he had been annoyed by being overcrowded +in a railway carriage, and retaliated a few days after by +appearing at the station with a chimney-sweep in full canonicals, +for whom he purchased a first-class ticket, and whom he took with +him into the carriage. His lordship and his companion were +on this occasion in no way incommoded.</p> +<p>Sir Charles Ross, a wealthy Highland baronet, <a +name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>visited +London every season for exactly fourteen days, accompanied by a +gillie. At the old “Tavistock,” where he +invariably stayed, his daily meals consisted of mutton chops and +steaks; his gillie, by express order, was to be given +“anything”—salmon and grouse were good enough +for him.</p> +<p>On one occasion he imagined he had dropped a sixpence in the +entrance-hall, and half the staff of the hotel were employed for +two hours at half-a-crown an hour, with express orders to +<i>find</i> it.</p> +<p>A substitute was eventually found, and the routine of the +establishment resumed its normal condition.</p> +<p>Some years later his eccentricities assumed a more serious +form, and having nearly frightened an old woman out of her life +by suddenly rising in his birthday suit with his ribs painted +black from among furze bushes, he was placed under restraint, +and, I believe, died in a madhouse.</p> +<p>Lord Ernest Bruce, who eventually blossomed into Marquis of +Ailesbury, had a chronic deafness that apparently descended to +his sons—“The Duffer,” long since dead, and the +present holder of the title (Henry)—and it was better than +any play to see the father and two sons narrating anecdotes to +one another, with their hands to their respective ears, and +bellowing like fog-horns, and then roaring like rhinoceroses as +their jokes permeated their skulls over the family gatherings +that periodically took place at Boodle’s.</p> +<p>At this time an excellent foreign restaurant had made its +appearance in a side street of Soho, and many of the foreign +attachés gave it their (private) patronage.</p> +<p>A joke that obtained was the scrambling for coppers from the +window of a private room, and it was on one occasion when Baron +Spaum was revelling in the excitement that the crowds became so +dense that an appeal from the landlord necessitated a resort to a +ruse.</p> +<p><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>A +suitable (!) person who was dining in the public room kindly +consented to don the Baron’s light overcoat and to scramble +coppers that had been provided as he leisurely left the +premises. The deception succeeded admirably, as the crowd +followed the supposed benefactor. The assumption of the +Baron’s coat was also a profound success, at least so all +but the Baron agreed. He never saw his paletot again.</p> +<p>An old member of the Conservative, who was well known during +the Sixties and Seventies, made it an invariable practice to sip +brown sherry for two or three hours every afternoon. So +monotonous were the constant applications to his pocket that he +directed the total should be paid in one instalment before he +left.</p> +<p>Fifteen and twenty glasses were the old toper’s average, +but on one occasion when his consumption amounted to twenty-five, +he fixed a glazed eye on the footman, and gurgled out: “Ten +probable, eighteen possible, but twenty-five, +<i>never</i>!” After which he paid up, and toddled +into the attendant four-wheeler.</p> +<p>It was during the sixties that Mr. Justice Maule was in the +zenith of his fame. Devoted to his profession, and to the +old port of his Inn, no dinner of his brother benchers would have +appeared complete without the adjunct of his beaming countenance, +when, having stowed away three bottles under his belt, he would +“tack” the few yards to his chambers in Paper +Buildings, and hang a man in the morning with the decorum only to +be attained by experience.</p> +<p>It was after one of these festive gatherings that Paper +Buildings was burnt to the ground. The Judge, it appears, +was a great reader; whether he always understood what he read (or +did) under given circumstances is not quite clear, suffice that, +having popped into bed and adjusted a vase conveniently on a +chair, he proceeded to place a moderator lamp under his couch, +after which the only reliable evidence <a +name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>obtainable +was that the old gentleman woke with a start to find himself +enveloped in flames.</p> +<p>As he himself described it, he thought he was dead and that he +had <i>not</i> been carried to Abraham’s bosom. He +never, indeed, got over the shock, and, moderating his partiality +for old port, he exhibited more serious tendencies, and so good +came out of evil, and the occupiers of the present palatial +chambers are indebted to Mr. Justice Maule for having gone to bed +tipsy and burnt down the crazy old buildings.</p> +<p>Mr. Justice Maule had a grim humour of his own, and Serjeant +Ballantine used to tell of how on one occasion during the +Guildford Assizes a murder case hinged on the evidence of a child +to which the Crown attached importance, but to which the prisoner +vehemently objected.</p> +<p>“Come here, my little girl,” said his +lordship. “Now, if you were to tell a story do you +know where you would go to?”</p> +<p>“No, sir,” was the candid reply.</p> +<p>“Neither do I,” was the judicial endorsement; +“an excellent answer; swear the witness.”</p> +<p>But that was before the “shock” that brought him +to his senses.</p> +<p>Every Army man in the sixties will remember George +Goddard. A cheery Irishman, full of anecdotage, universally +popular, but, alas! with the proverbial lack of the one thing +needful. Appointed by Tod Heatly as one of his touts, he +combined business with pleasure by radiating between the various +regiments and billeting himself on any one he knew at the Raleigh +or Army Clubs.</p> +<p>“Now, Major,” he once said to Gussy Brown after a +hilarious mess dinner, “you see that stain on the +floor? I bet you I’ll remove it without touching +it.”</p> +<p>“Impossible,” replied the little man. +“I’ll bet a fiver you don’t,” and before +the astonished audience <a name="page190"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 190</span>could say “Jack +Robinson” the gallant Gussy had been seized by his spurs +and smeared across the floor.</p> +<p>But all this was in the days of practical joking.</p> +<p>Gussy Brown, although the most diminutive of cavalry field +officers, was also the most pompous, and on one occasion when the +4th were invited to a humdrum dance at Brighton the little man, +to show his displeasure, walked slowly round the room with his +“Gibus” under his arm, and making three stately bows +to the astonished hostess slowly left the room.</p> +<p>On the occasion of the Goddard joke, his only remark was, +“D— stupid!”</p> +<p>At this period touting for brewers and wine merchants was the +curse of the Army. Every club contained retired colonels +and others who buttonholed one on every occasion. Before a +troopship entered the harbour a tout came on board with the +pilot; dining at an Army club, the man at the next table inquired +if your regimental canteen was well served; indeed, they +penetrated the most sacred precincts with the pertinacity of a +sandstorm.</p> +<p>As a cranky old general once exclaimed “D— it, I +thought we were safe when militia men were not eligible; but +these touts and store-keepers and bonnet-shop keepers will make +the Rag a den of thieves, by Gad!”</p> +<p>The association of these respective vocations in the old +warrior’s mind was evidently based on the legend that then +obtained that when the captain was inspecting the front rank of +the Tower Hamlets the rear rank was faced about by way of +precaution.</p> +<p>Every one who knew Jonas Hunt must have been astonished to +read that he left over £35,000 at his death a few months +ago. As brave as a lion, he would assuredly—had he +not been such a rip—have received the Victoria Cross for +his share in the Balaclava charge, and when he sold out two years +later, he was literally without a shilling, and continued in <a +name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>the same +happy condition for twenty years after—not that Jonas +stinted himself in anything, on the contrary, he would plunge to +any extent, dunning you if chance made him your creditor, and +forgetting any debt almost as soon as contracted. A bruiser +of no mean class, he invariably suggested a round if any one had +the temerity to remind him.</p> +<p>A highly objectionable individual, whose father was a buggy +master in Calcutta, and actually got a commission in the +“Blues” till ordered to sell out for writing +anonymous letters to a celebrated beauty of the Sixties not long +since dead, once had the impudence to remind Jonas of a debt, and +was replied to as follows: “I should have thought it more +in your line to have written anonymously to my wife, but if you +prefer to settle the matter with your fists I am entirely at your +disposal.” The man who procured the retirement of the +anonymous letter-writer was at the time an officer in the Guards, +and though still to be seen radiating between minor restaurants +and 100 per cent. bureaus, has nothing left of his former self +but a fly-blown prefix to his name, and even that has lost its +commercial value amongst Hebrew financiers of shady +enterprises.</p> +<h2><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +192</span>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">SPIRITUALISM AND REALISM.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> craze for +“table-turning,” “spirit-rapping,” and +every conceivable trash connected with the occult sciences, was +in full blast in the long-ago Sixties, and old ladies would form +tea parties and sit all day and half through the night at round +tables with their knotty old mittened thumbs pressed convulsively +against those of their neighbours waiting for the moving of the +waters. Lord Ashburton, who lived near Portman Square, was +the arch-priest and arch-culprit that disseminated this +fashionable twaddle, and there was not a spinster in that (then) +highly-fashionable district that did not devour the leaflets that +were periodically issued broadcast by the inspired old +humbug. Occasionally invitations were issued for +séances, when refreshments (more or less light) were +provided to fortify poor human nature against possible unearthly +attacks after the lights had been judiciously lowered.</p> +<p>It was at one of these functions that I on one occasion found +myself, and, possessing in those days an appetite like a +cormorant, was terribly disillusioned after two hours’ +waiting for the “spirits” to hear his lordship order +the butler to “bring in the urn.” (In those +long-ago days tea without an urn the dimensions of a safe was an +absolute impossibility.) Nor did spiritualism end here, for +numerous haunted houses were in the market where apparitions and +unearthly <a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +193</span>sounds could be seen and heard and which no one would +rent.</p> +<p>It is the experience of a man I knew intimately that I will +now—without expressing an opinion—relate, as far as I +can recollect, in his own words:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Looking for a house with plenty of elbow +room and of reasonable rent, my attention was attracted by a +dilapidated building—with garden in front and noseless +statues liberally besprinkling it—situated in the +Marylebone Road. Proceeding to the agent’s, I was +considerably surprised by his terms. ‘The +house,’ he began, ‘has a bad name; no caretaker will +live on the premises. In a word, sir, here’s the key, +and if you are willing to occupy it you shall have it rent free +for six months.’ I at once closed with his offer, and +seeking out a chum—lately ordained—we spent the next +night in the haunted house. It was in the dining-room we +proposed to make a first night of it, and barely had we settled +down for a chat when footsteps were distinctly heard in the +hall. ‘Our lantern!’ I whispered as we +excitedly opened the door. Nothing was to be seen, nothing +to be heard. ‘Hush!’ whispered my friend, +‘I hear something behind me.’ I heard the sound +also. ‘Who’s there?’ I called out. +‘Who’s there?’ I repeated; but still the +silence of the Catacombs. Then the sound of footsteps +ascending the uncarpeted stairs was unmistakable till they +gradually died away in the attics. A moment of +indescribable stillness followed; a cold blast chilled the very +marrow of our bones, and our lantern went out like the crack of a +pistol.</p> +<p>“We returned to our armchairs after carefully locking +the door, but we heard no more. And so we sat till welcome +daylight made its appearance, and as the kettle simmered on the +hob and the sound of awakening life made itself manifest in the +Marylebone Road, it seemed impossible to realise the weird +manifestations we had witnessed.</p> +<p><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +194</span>“‘—,’ said my friend, ‘we +have learnt a terrible experience; Satan has been unloosed +amongst us. Let us pray.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The house has long since been pulled down; majestic flats now +occupy the site, and instead of the sepulchral moans of +disembodied souls the untrained, throaty voice of lovely woman +may be heard shrieking to the accompaniment of a hired piano, and +producing a discord as damnable, if more up-to-date, than ever +was heard in a haunted house.</p> +<p>In Surrey Street there was a house that rumour asserted had +been hermetically sealed, and was not to be re-opened till a +hundred years had passed, where, in the eighteenth century, a +terrible tragedy had occurred during the progress of a bridal +feast, and the distracted bridegroom, rushing out, had commanded +that God’s sun should not again settle on the accursed +board till the generation yet unborn was in being. And I +have a vague recollection of having read, years later, a +description of what was seen as the portals were thrown back +after their century of peace, and light and air had percolated +through the room. One can picture the table decked with its +moth-eaten cloth, the piles of dust that represented the viands, +the chairs pushed back in weird array, and the odour of the tomb +that pervaded everything!</p> +<p>To all which, my enlightened twentieth-century reader, there +is probably another side. The whole thing may be an +absolute fable.</p> +<p>In the days before Trade had made those gigantic strides which +have since dumped its votaries amid the once sacred pages of +Debrett, when knights were not as common as blackberries, and the +Victorian Order had not become a terror in the land, when +buttermen sold butter, and furniture-men sold furniture, and +before huge emporiums for the sale of everything had come into +existence, it was “bazaars” that supplied the maximum +of selection with the <a name="page195"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 195</span>minimum of locomotion, such as +to-day is to be found in the huge caravanserai yclept +“Stores” and in Tottenham Court Road and Westbourne +Grove in particular.</p> +<p>In Soho Square, on the western side, where to-day—and +all day—men with pronounced features, forbidding +countenances, and of usurious tendencies may be seen in a first +floor window exchanging views on the iniquitous restrictions +associated with stamped paper, a bazaar existed in the long-ago +sixties where dogs that squeaked and elephants that wagged their +tails might have been bought by children of tender years who, for +aught we know, may have since been plucked of their last feather +by the vultures that now hover over those happy hunting +grounds.</p> +<p>Turning into Oxford Street there was the Queen’s Bazaar, +afterward converted into the Princess’s Theatre, still with +us, with its dismal, dingy frontage and limited shelter for +ladies with guttural voices; whilst almost opposite was the +Pantheon, with perhaps the most chequered career of all, having +been, in turn, the National Opera House, the accepted Masquerade +house, a theatre, and a bazaar till 1867, when it attained its +present proud position as the main tap for the supply of +Gilbey’s multifarious vintages.</p> +<p>Still further west was the St. James’s Bazaar, built by +Crockford, and soon converted into a hell, where more monies +changed hands and more properties were sold than in all the other +bazaars in the universe.</p> +<p>But perhaps the most tenacious of life was the Baker Street +Bazaar. In its spacious area was situated an unpretentious +shop (since spread half up the street) with two or three windows +in Baker Street, while on the hinterland was the bazaar, and over +it Tussaud’s Waxworks. Entering from King Street was +the area occupied annually by the Cattle Show, whilst still +further space was available—as we were lately informed by +the police reports—for empty coffins, <a +name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>false +beards, volatile dukes, lead and bricks in bulk, sleeping and +reception rooms, scores of flunkeys, and addenda too multifarious +to mention. Never having seen the subterranean Duke nor the +bewhiskered Druce, one may be permitted to marvel where all this +ghastly conglomeration found shelter, and whether the confusion +that must have occurred amongst the Dutch dukes, the English +shopmen, the cattle, and the Waxworks can in any way be held +responsible for the startling contradictions with which we have +lately been regaled.</p> +<p>But does any one who traverses the historic area between Soho +Square and Charing Cross give a thought to the interest that once +clustered round where Crosse and Blackwell’s factory now +stands? Does any one realise whilst “held up” +in a broken-down “Vanguard” in Shaftesbury Avenue +that the neighbourhood once echoed with the Royalist battle-cry +“So-ho” in the days of that greatest of +Englishmen—Cromwell? Does any one ever give it a +thought that Charing Cross was not so very long ago a resort of +footpads, and that even so late as the Sixties the sweet waters +of the somewhat putrid Thames oozed and bubbled where the +District railway station now stands? And how few are aware +that, when Drummond’s Bank was in course of construction, +fossils of mammoth, cave lions, rhinoceros, and Irish deer were +found; and that in future ages, excavations will probably unearth +skeletons of hybrids we all try to dodge and whom naturalists +will describe as voracious, living on suction, apt to beg, +borrow, or steal, migratory to a limited extent, and usually to +be met with between Charing Cross and St. Paul’s or on the +plateaus that abut on the Criterion?</p> +<p>As an observant judge once remarked to one of these pariahs +who filled up his cup of iniquities by snatching a fowl from a +confiding poulterer’s, “God has given you +intelligence; your parents have given <a name="page197"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 197</span>you a good education; your country +has provided you with excellent prospects both for the present +and future, instead of which you go about stealing +ducks.”</p> +<p>Passing still further west along the Strand, the changes of +time and idea become more apparent as one contemplates that +stronghold of Christianity—Exeter Hall—plastered with +bills and lately passed into alien hands; and the period, the +surging crowd, all lend themselves to the illusion, and one might +almost fancy one heard the echo of 1,000 years ago, “Not +this man, but Barabbas.”</p> +<p>Oh, the irony of Fate! methought; truly does Time turn the old +days to derision; and one knows not whither one’s +vapourings might have landed one as a zealous constable fixed his +official eye upon the stoic who, deeming it advisable to +“move on,” sought consolation, but found none, in an +adjoining tobacconist’s by indulging in one of Salmon and +Gluckstein’s real Havanas (five for a shilling).</p> +<p>Skimming (not wading through) the report of the Court of +Inquiry lately dragging its monotonous length in the vicinity of +the Chelsea embankment, one was struck by the change that has +come over these senseless preliminaries, which occasionally end +in smoke and sometimes in legalised military or civil +tribunals. For such courts are as old as the hills, and are +convened on every possible excuse. If a soldier loses a +shoebrush it is (or was) a Court of Inquiry that established the +interesting fact; if an officer was accused of a more heinous +offence, it was a Court of Inquiry that heard what was to be +said.</p> +<p>The only difference is that, whereas the old style cost no +more than a few sheets of foolscap and the unnecessary lumbering +of regimental records, the identical luxury cannot now be +indulged in without an array of Old Bailey lawyers, who harangue +the old warriors that constitute the court for hours, utterly +oblivious of the fact that they are better judges of <a +name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>things +military, and not likely to be carried away by those bursts of +eloquence that so impress the twelve jack-puddings of which our +bulwarks and liberties are said to be composed.</p> +<p>The earliest of these Courts of Inquiry was in ’41, when +Lord Cardigan killed Captain Tucket in a duel—and ended in +his trial and acquittal by his brother peers.</p> +<p>Later on, in ’44, Lord William Paget and the same +bellicose Earl had a domestic squabble in which the former said +“he had,” and the latter said “he +hadn’t,” and this began by a Court of Inquiry and +culminated in the High Court.</p> +<p>Again, in ’54 Lieutenants Perry and Greer were hailed +before a Court of Inquiry for practical jokes of a pronounced +character, but the inquiry ended in smoke, as it was +“revised” by the Minister of War.</p> +<p>In ’61 was the Court of Inquiry in the 4th Dragoon +Guards which, disclosing undoubted bullying on the part of +Colonel Bentinck (the present Duke of Portland’s father), +ended in a court martial, when nothing but interest saved the old +gentleman’s bacon.</p> +<p>Later on, there was the Mansfield affair, when a disagreement +arose between Sir William Mansfield (afterwards Lord Sandhurst), +or his wife, and an aide-de-camp that elicited much that was +amusing in regard to purloined jams and other preserves, for +which her ladyship was supposed to be celebrated; all which +instances ended in the usual way after an infinity of positive +assertion met by flat contradiction.</p> +<p>Whether the farce lately enacted, with its lawyers and their +speeches, affected the result, or benefited anybody except the +lawyers, is a point upon which most people will agree; all which, +however, sinks into insignificance in comparison with the +question as to when and how did this interference with <a +name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>military +tribunals first become tolerated, and how can our Military +Council or our Military anything, or the officers constituting +the Court, submit to be harangued by “only a +civilian,” as one of Robertson’s plays describes +outsiders?</p> +<p>In all the military tribunals of the past such an innovation +was unheard of. Colonel Crawley, on his trial, had words +put into his mouth by Sir William Harcourt (whose reputation as +an orator it made), but he was not permitted to address the +Court. In the Robertson Court Martial it was the same, and +in the Navy to-day a prisoner is defended by “a +friend,” but no civilian would be permitted to +“quarter deck it” in that conservative service.</p> +<p>Even Colonel Dawkins—who, by the way, was a Household +Brigade man—amongst all his eccentric experiences, never +got so far as suggesting that a civilian should bridge the chasm +that has hitherto existed between the Law Courts and the Horse +Guards by all this special pleading, and one wonders what old Sir +George Browne or General Pennefather would have said (or sworn) +if such a suggestion had been proposed to them! It may be +too much to say there would have been an earthquake, but the +foundations of the house would certainly have vibrated.</p> +<p>And it is the ignorance of what the present privileges of the +Guards are that makes it difficult to form any opinion on the +merits of the case. The friction that these +“privileges” used to cause when a Household regiment +was occasionally brigaded at Aldershot or Dublin or the Curragh +with regiments of the line was, however, undeniable.</p> +<p>It pained old captains with Crimean and Indian medals to be +“turned out” by a field officer with a fluffy upper +lip and a youthful voice that had not long before sounded at +Eton; it was irritating (at least) for colonels commanding +distinguished regiments to see a Guard’s sentry fumbling +with his rifle <a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +200</span>and deliberately coming to the “carry,” and +five minutes after “presenting” to a brevet major of +the Guards, who was trundling a hoop when the old warrior was in +the trenches before Sebastopol; it was annoying to read in +general orders special reminders as to the prohibition regarding +imperials and capricious shaving, and to see half-a-dozen Guards +officers with beards like pioneers; it was amusing to hear (as +one did) the son of old Sir Percy Douglas (who was for a little +season in the Guards) inform a distinguished field officer that +the “executive” command could only be given by a +Guardsman to a Guardsman; and still more amusing to hear the +retort which made mincemeat of the privilege, at least, on that +occasion—all which nonsense has, however, been considerably +modified. By all means let the Guards retain their +privileges and licences—but let them in mercy be +“consumed on the premises.” And if the physique +of these favoured regiments is not as fine as of yore, no one +will deny that their “marching past” and their +“dressing” are far superior to that of the line and +“pretty” enough to please even Admiral Scott +himself.</p> +<p>It may further be conceded without fear of contradiction that +the Queen’s Company of the Grenadiers in 1862 was a +magnificent specimen of physique and drilled to perfection under +Lord Henry Percy and Micky Bruce.</p> +<p>Beards, indeed, have always been a cause of offence. In +the tropics (except in India) a man is compelled to shave; with +the thermometer below zero, the same regulation is rigidly +enforced.</p> +<p>It was Colonel Crealock’s beard at Gibraltar that was +the indirect cause of an officer being tried by Court Martial; it +was Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar’s and Colonel +Phillip’s beards that led to invidious remarks in the +Dublin Division; and, until the razor is abolished beyond the +precincts of the four-mile <a name="page201"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 201</span>radius, so long will a link remain +between the grand old days of the muzzle loader and cold steel +and the modern requirements for potting an enemy at a thousand +yards rise.</p> +<p>When the Metropolitan Board of Works was at the zenith of its +power, and thoroughfares were being projected, and whole streets +were disappearing and ancient rookeries being demolished, it was +incredible the leakage that appeared to exist, and how the +friends of indiscreet or dishonest employés reaped a +harvest by acquiring dilapidated buildings for a song, and +standing out for huge compensation when the day for demolition +drew nigh.</p> +<p>An astute former hanger-on at Faultless’s cock-pit in +Endell Street surprised me considerably on one occasion as he +stood at the door of a dilapidated beer-house in Covent Garden by +informing me that he had bought it for a trifle, and six months +later I was literally staggered by again meeting the rascal +shovelling out potatoes at a little greengrocery shop where now +stands the London and Westminster Bank opposite the Law +Courts.</p> +<p>He explained that he had a brother in a humble but trusted +position at Spring Gardens, and that his old beer-house had +ceased to exist, and he expected his “present +property” would “come down” before long.</p> +<p>Green Street, leading from Leicester Square, was another +channel for the acquisition of large profits, and when every +house was a bug-walk, and demolition a matter of a few months, +the news was actually “offered” to a man I knew well +able to find the requisite purchase money, but rejected from +misplaced prudential motives.</p> +<p>The present London Pavilion was another glaring instance of +jobbery, and years before it was necessary to hustle the +ex-Scott’s waiter from the cosy nest-egg he so diligently +nursed, the Board of Works descended <a name="page202"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 202</span>on him like an avalanche with a +peremptory notice to quit.</p> +<p>At this stage one Villiers comes upon the scene, but whether +he was a scion of the noble house of Jersey or Clarendon is not +clear. Suffice that tradition credited him with having once +been a considerable actor who had made a great hit in a minor +part in the <i>Overland Route</i> at the Haymarket during the +fifties. Later, he appears to have become lessee of the +transpontine Canterbury Hall, where he was a dismal failure, and +spent the latter portion of his tenancy in bed—a victim of +gout and the importunities of irrepressible bill-stickers.</p> +<p>It was in these darkest hours that the Board of Works entered +into his life, and in an incredibly short space of time he had +enlisted the co-operation of a sporting furrier, had hustled the +unhappy Loibel out, and was in undisputed possession of the +London Pavilion. How the £103,000 was found to pay +the out-going man is of no particular importance, suffice that so +indecent was the haste that an auction was deemed superfluous; +the entire contents were turned over at a valuation, and as +Loibel toddled out Villiers toddled in, and—undisturbed by +parochial or other demands—he gradually rose to affluence, +periodically visited Continental watering-places, was a person to +be reckoned with in a mushroom political club, and died recently +worth a considerable personalty.</p> +<p>The juggle over the Pavilion never attracted much interest, +and the gladiators being respectively a German and a Jew the +transaction was forgotten almost at its inception.</p> +<p>Passing through the Opera Colonnade I tried not long ago to +locate the exact shop—once a cigar +merchant’s—in which the Raleigh, originally known as +the “Old Havana Cigar Club,” may be said to have had +its being, for it was whilst sitting on tubs one afternoon in the +fifties that three or four Mohawks <a name="page203"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 203</span>of the first order persuaded Tod +Heatly—the ground landlord—to provide some sort of +superior night-house which, by opening its doors at 10 p.m. and +not closing them till the last roysterer had reeled home, would +“meet a want long felt,” as modern advertisements +occasionally describe their worthless wares.</p> +<p>It was later—in the early seventies—that the +proprietorship changed hands, and was worked on more commercial +lines by the Brothers Ewen (triplets), who, believing in quantity +rather than quality, periodically sat as a committee under the +chairmanship of an amiable old gentleman (Lord Monson) and +elected everything and everybody capable of producing the +increased subscription.</p> +<p>It was in the solitary long room of the Tod Heatly era that +details were arranged for the duel (which never came off) in +regard to an accusation of foul play that was made in a Pall Mall +club, when an old gentleman, who was in Court dress, was +considerably astonished at receiving a flip on his calf from an +erratic trump. And in this room, too, enough +Justerini’s brandy was consumed of a night to float the +motors which now lumber that once-sacred chamber. For +whisky and other emanations of the potato were then practically +unknown and only heard of by the privileged few who had seen an +illicit Boucicault still on the stage.</p> +<p>Proceeding yet further west I passed the College of +Surgeons—presented by George IV. in a fit of after-dinner +generosity to that distinguished body to be held for all time on +a pepper-corn rent. One can almost picture the burst of +humble gratitude that gushed forth at the gracious act, and the +bland smile that illumined the anointed features at the +consciousness of having done a generous deed without being one +penny the worse for it. It was condescensions such as this +that endeared “the first gentleman” to a loyal and +dutiful people. And then across the <a +name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>square, +where Northumberland House once stood, I wondered if one human +being could locate the spot within fifty yards, and whether the +old lion that topped it pointed his tail to the east or west, a +subject on which more bets have been made than ever fell to the +lot of man or beast.</p> +<h2><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</span>CHAPTER XIX.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE ROCK AND THE CAPE.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> providential success of +Playfair in the Cambridgeshire of ’72 had released more +than one of our clique from the jaws of the usurer, and Bill +Stourton, by the judicious investment of a fiver, was in +expectation of being the proud owner of £300 on the +following Monday.</p> +<p>Dashing down to Somersetshire overflowing with filial duty and +in anticipation of our early embarkation for Gibraltar, a +considerable scare was created one morning by a groom running up +to the house and reporting that the sheriff’s carriage and +two grimy beaks from Taunton had pulled up at the +“George” and were making tender inquiries as to Mr. +William’s whereabouts.</p> +<p>All this occurred on Monday, when, as it happened, Billy was +speeding towards London to realise at Tattersall’s the +result of his sagacity at Newmarket. And so, when the +oleaginous visitors inquired at the ancestral porch, the reply +they received was discouraging in the extreme.</p> +<p>“That is Mr. William’s bedroom,” pointing to +a window, was the ingenuous servitor’s reply; “you +can go and examine it if you wish; but I give you my word he left +for London this morning.” And so it came to pass that +the astute “Fitch and Son,” of Southwark, failed to +serve the capias, and the rascally Israelite who had made +“affidavit” as to his intention of “leaving the +kingdom” (as embarking with <a name="page206"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 206</span>the regiment might certainly be +construed by a quibble) had to pay the cost of the imposing coach +that had been provided for his conveyance to Taunton.</p> +<p>The faithful butler had omitted to add that the young +reprobate was returning the same evening, and that the dog-cart +was to meet him at nine.</p> +<p>But the reprieve was not of long duration, and within a year +Bill had sold his commission and become a full private in the +Blues.</p> +<p>Passing into the Horse Guards one day a former brother officer +chanced to inquire of the sentry the way to the military +secretary’s, and was considerably startled by the reply, +“First door to the left, Polly.”</p> +<p>The sentry was ex-Lieutenant Stourton.</p> +<p>Gibraltar then—as now—was a favourite winter +resort, and the “Club House Hotel” opposite the main +guard did a roaring trade.</p> +<p>Here Lady Herbert of Lea and her youthful son, the present +Lord Pembroke, sojourned for some weeks in the Sixties, and it +was to the inquiring turn of mind of the young nobleman’s +tutor that Gibraltar was almost indebted for a very promising +row.</p> +<p>In one room, it appears, a cantankerous Irishman and his wife +were staying, in the next the tutor, and whilst the Irishman +positively swore he had one morning seen the prying tutor’s +face glued to the fanlight as vehemently did the pedagogue swear +on a sack of bibles that he had never glued his nose to a +fanlight in his life.</p> +<p>What there was to peep at was not quite clear, for the +supposed “object” in any costume was not fair to look +upon, and so after mutual recriminations and mutual apologies the +affair was hushed up, and expectant Gibraltar was robbed of a +lawful excitement.</p> +<p>A fly-leaf that appeared weekly—why, no one could +explain—although less original than one might have <a +name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 207</span>wished, yet +possessing a symbolism that was unquestionable, on one occasion +appeared with a verbatim extract from a Spanish paper of the +escapades of an adventurer who was exploiting the neighbourhood +of Madrid.</p> +<p>Weeks apparently had elapsed before it had caught the eye of +our lynx-eyed editor, and one day when Ansaldo invited certain of +us to compare a recent resident at his hotel with the description +in the very latest “local intelligence” it became +apparent to all that a lately departed wayfarer was the +redoubtable personage referred to. “By Jove! I lost +fifty to him last week at loo, and then gave him a +shakedown,” remarked one; and, “D—d if I +didn’t lend him my horse to go as far as Cadiz, and +it’s not to be back till to-morrow,” added another; +and then the local tailor came running down to the Club House, +and Ansaldo remembered he had paid his hotel bill by a cheque, +and within a week a dozen victims realised that they had assisted +in one way or another to make the gentleman’s Mediterranean +trip a pleasant one.</p> +<p>But money at the Rock was literally a drug, thanks to the +existence of Sacconi, a Genoese grocer. This extraordinary +man was everybody’s banker; if one lost at the races it was +Sacconi who settled the account; mess bills were paid by Sacconi; +fifty—one hundred Isabels—were only to be asked for +to be obtained by initialling the amount at the shop.</p> +<p>Apparently indifferent to risk, the astute Italian was, +however, working on a certainty. Immediately a regiment was +under orders for the Rock, a list of every officer’s +“length of tether” was transmitted by Perkins, his +London agent, a city knight; whilst, in addition to the value of +one’s commission, the impossibility of leaving the Rock +without his knowledge, and the “Moorish Castle” +frowning on the heights, enabled Sacconi to amass a huge fortune, +<a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>to marry +his daughters to officers of the garrison, and be an honoured +guest in after years at the “Convent,” the +Governor’s official residence.</p> +<p>But all this was in the days of purchase.</p> +<p>Meeting the ex-Governor, Sir William Codrington, one day in +Bond Street on the point of being run over, he jocosely remarked, +as I went to his assistance, “Different from Gibraltar, +eh?”</p> +<p>To any but enthusiasts of riding, Gibraltar was (and probably +is) a most overrated station, with nothing to recommend it but +its proximity to London. Every afternoon was devoted to +couples riding to the Cork woods, and returning from its shaded +glades just before gun-fire.</p> +<p>No one ever dreamt of riding with his own wife; indeed, so +accepted was this custom that on one occasion a couple having +been seen riding together, an excited newsmonger rushed about +inquiring, “What’s up? Holroyd has been seen +riding with his own wife!”</p> +<p>But the advent of Fitzroy Somerset gave an immense fillip to +sport, and when, later, six couples of cast hounds came direct +from Badminton every jack-pudding purchased a screw and became an +ardent fox-hunter.</p> +<p>A German apothecary, who had not straddled a quadruped since +he left the Vaterland, became an enthusiastic rider, and thrilled +the less daring horsemen by descriptions of runs, and how +“der ’orse svearved to him right, and I ’it +’im on the ’ead to his left, and den he svearved to +the left, and I ’it ’im on the ’ead to his +right,” till everybody became more or less horsy, and not +to keep a crock with four legs, or three, was tantamount to an +admission that one was literally past praying for.</p> +<p>Every youngster purchased a quadruped—some vicious and +young, others blind and in the last stage of senile +decay—and Staines, an assistant surgeon, <a +name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>was so +frequently sent whirling into space that his animal was +christened “Benzine-Collas,” because it was +“warranted to remove Staines.”</p> +<p>Here, too, was a fox-hunting chaplain known as “Tally-ho +Jonah,” who ended his days as shepherd of a peculiarly +desirable flock amidst the rich pastures of the Midlands.</p> +<p>On his death-bed some years ago, his valet consoled him with +the assurance that he was going to a better land, to which the +worthy divine replied: “John, there’s no place like +old England.” R.I.P.</p> +<p>But the mania by no means ended here, and Grant, the Principal +Medical Officer—a bony Scot with the largest feet ever +inflicted on man—literally paralysed a group who one day +saw him in the distance leisurely approaching on horseback.</p> +<p>“Great heavens!” was the universal exclamation as +he came nearer, “why, it’s +‘Benzine-Collas’ going as quiet as a lamb,” and +it was agreed that the fiery little Mogador stallion was being +imposed upon by old Grant, under the impression that he was +between the shafts.</p> +<p>Across the bay was Tangier, and many found an inexhaustible +store of delight in visiting that most Oriental of towns.</p> +<p>Within four days of Paris, it seemed incredible that here was +a spot that civilisation had apparently overlooked, and which +still retained all the barbaric pomp of a thousand years +ago. Fowls with their throats cut lay about the streets +awaiting preparation for pilau; malefactors for the most trifling +offences had their hands hacked off in the leading thoroughfares; +whilst under the windows of the Sherif of Wazan’s palace +half a dozen naked musicians blew their insides out from morning +to night, and discoursed a series of diabolical sounds that made +the contemplation of anything but their music impossible.</p> +<p>Here Martin—late messman of the <i>Racoon</i>—had +<a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>started +the “Royal Hotel,” and after providing his visitors +with an excellent dinner, favoured them with morceaux on a flute, +of which he prided himself on being a virtuoso.</p> +<p>Martin was as black as the blackest hat, and from the +suspicious slits in his ears justified the assumption that he was +a liberated West Indian slave. The music he emitted with +eyes closed, possibly the most soulful, was certainly the most +doleful, and had evidently been picked up when watching the +anchor being weighed on H.M.S. <i>Racoon</i>.</p> +<p>“Where do you come from, Martin?” on one occasion +inquired an inquisitive officer.</p> +<p>“Devonshire,” was the unexpected reply; “but +I left home in my infancy.”</p> +<p>He had made this assertion so often that there is no doubt he +believed it.</p> +<p>Returning from Tangier on one occasion, I brought with me a +quantity of Kuss-Kuss cloth, which catching the eye of a +voracious brother subaltern he inquired where I had got it.</p> +<p>“Oh,” I said, “the Sherif of Wazan sent it +over for distribution in return for the guard of honour we +supplied last month when he was here.”</p> +<p>“Then I’m entitled to some?” he +remarked.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid it’s all been claimed,” I +replied, and to keep up the illusion I got half a dozen +youngsters to cross and re-cross the square with a piece under +their arms and deposit it somewhere, for another to fetch it and +leave it elsewhere. It seemed, indeed, that the traffic was +never to end, and next morning an official complaint was made by +the aggrieved one, and he discovered he had been the victim of a +practical joke.</p> +<p>Apropos of this class of grumbler, an amusing story was once +told me by the captain of a P. and O. It was in the days +that the skipper “messed” the passengers, and it was +this officer’s habit to have a <a name="page211"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 211</span>saucerful of porridge every morning +about seven on the bridge.</p> +<p>The feeding on a P. and O. is proverbially liberal, yet not +content with the enormous breakfast provided, certain grumblers +complained that considering the price they paid they surely were +entitled to porridge. Inwardly chuckling, the skipper +reluctantly consented, with the result (as he told me) that +instead of devouring two mutton chops, eggs, and marmalade <i>ad +libitum</i> at eight, he was a considerable gainer by the +satisfying effect of two-pennyworth of porridge at seven.</p> +<p>During my two years at Gibraltar cholera appeared, and +anything more terrible than such a visitation in such a +circumscribed spot can hardly be conceived. With a strict +“cordon” established, there was no getting away from +it, and men who the night before were in rude health were often +buried at gun-fire.</p> +<p>To be afraid of it was tantamount (so doctors asserted) to +courting it, and so regimental bands were ordered to play daily +on the Alameda by way of diverting the public mind, and not a +drum was heard at the numerous military funerals that wended +their way towards the north front.</p> +<p>By night the “corpse-lights” over the burial +ground emitted a weird glow, and many a subaltern visiting the +sentries before daylight would shiver and his teeth rattle as he +skirted the unearthly illumination.</p> +<p>To such an extent did downright funk seize upon some that an +officer now living in London—a C.B. of overwhelming +interest—asked everybody the best preventive, and jokes +were indulged in at his expense, and he swallowed tablespoonfuls +of salt and raw porpoise liver, as this or the other +prescribed.</p> +<p>Distracted, one afternoon he sought consolation by proceeding +to the house of a fair scorpion (persons born on the Rock) he had +known in happier days, <a name="page212"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 212</span>and literally collapsed as he met +her coffin emerging from her door.</p> +<p>Apropos of this terrible scourge, an instance that many can +vouch for occurred some years previously in India.</p> +<p>My regiment was being decimated by cholera, and corpses were +hurriedly placed in an outhouse that was infested with rats.</p> +<p>The sentries had orders to periodically tap with their rifles +on the door, and on one occasion tapping too hard, the door +opened, and the Armourer Sergeant, who had been brought in a few +hours previously, was seen sitting up on the trestle.</p> +<p>Years after I saw the man daily, and he completed his +twenty-one years’ service instead of being buried alive, as +many a poor wretch has been.</p> +<p>Colonel Zebulon Pike was by way of being a consul representing +the United States in South Africa and the most amusing liar I +have ever had the good fortune to meet.</p> +<p>The embodiment of generosity, no yarn he ever spun could have +injured a fly; that there never was a word of truth in them was +an accepted axiom.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” as he invariably prefixed his remarks, +“it was when I was commanding my regiment during the +rebellion that Captain Crusoe reported to me he had captured a +spy. ‘Bring him before me,’ I said sternly, and +when the rascal appeared I pointed to the sun, saying: +‘Before yon luminary disappears behind yon hills you +die’; and turning to Crusoe, I added: ‘Remove him, +Colonel Crusoe.’ ‘Colonel, sir?’ inquired +he. ‘Yes, sir,’ said I, ‘you’re +colonel from this very moment.’”</p> +<p>The Colonel once expressed a desire to attend the +Governor’s levée; but bewailing the fact that he had +not brought his uniform, he proceeded to describe it.</p> +<p>“The pants, sir, are a rich blue, with a broad lace <a +name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 213</span>stripe down +their sides; my tunic is also blue, and my breast is covered with +medals—I have a drawerful of them. Around my waist, +sir, is a crimson sash, and in my hat a long ostrich feather +sweeps down to my shoulder.”</p> +<p>“But that’s all easily arranged, Colonel,” +we explained, and on the eventful day we proceeded to truss +him.</p> +<p>Never was a more imposing sight, and as the guard of honour +marched down to Government House the Colonel stood on the +pavement, immovable as a rock, with hand to his feathered +billycock. And the men (as had been arranged) came to the +“carry,” and passed him with all the “honours +of war.”</p> +<p>“My God, sir, it brought tears to my eyes,” he +afterwards told us in his pride, “to see yon fine fellows +swinging past; it reminded me of my own regiment. I thank +you, gentlemen, for the compliment you paid a comrade.”</p> +<p>These colonial levées of the past were often held of an +evening to enable the introduction of refreshments, without which +the attendance would certainly have been meagre.</p> +<p>The local grandees liberally prepared for the coming feast, +and having eaten to repletion proceeded to fill their +pockets.</p> +<p>“You may as well have the sauce,” once interposed +an irate A.D.C. as he saw a native pocketing a fowl, and he +deliberately poured the contents of a tureen into his lap.</p> +<p>At these “go-as-you-please” functions, speeches +more or less impromptu invariably took place, and it was then +that the “Colonel” was literally in his element.</p> +<p>Panting for his opportunity, it was only after some wag had +proposed his health, and described how we had “one amongst +us who had seen the mighty buffalo on its native prairie” +(which he assuredly never had), <a name="page214"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 214</span>etc., that the Colonel rose and +delighted his hearers with a string of most amusing lies.</p> +<p>Lady Shand, the wife of the Chief Justice, once sitting near +him, after one of his flowery orations, began to tell him of her +own native home in Scotland, and of the loch that stretched for +miles before the ancestral hall, and was considerably surprised +by the Colonel’s rejoinder: “Aye, and the swans; I +can see them now.”</p> +<p>“But there were no swans, Colonel,” she gently +corrected; but henceforth held her peace when the staggering +retort was given: “Oh, yes there were; at least, in my +time.”</p> +<p>No function was considered complete without “the +Colonel,” and he was a frequent guest at one place or +another. Apparently capable of dispensing with sleep, no +matter how late the night’s orgy daylight found him on the +verandah with a green cigar, after which he proceeded towards the +Grand river ostensibly to bathe.</p> +<p>“Can’t do without my morning swim,” he once +told a man who met him with a bath-towel over his arm; but the +towel showed no signs of having been used, and it was recognised +that the Colonel never stripped, and that his ablutions were +primitive to a degree.</p> +<p>But the Cape Town of to-day has undergone quite as much change +as our modern Babylon, and where a railway station as big as St. +Pancras now exists, a wooden shanty with a single line fifty +miles long was all that represented railway enterprise in the +long-ago sixties.</p> +<p>It was by the courtesy of Captain Mills, the Assistant +Colonial Secretary—afterwards Sir Charles Mills, agent +general in London—that a delightful party was organised for +the shooting of the “Sicker Vlei,” a vast expanse of +water in the vicinity of Wellington.</p> +<p>This magnificent lake is the resort of every kind of <a +name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>wild beast +and bird. Strings of flamingoes wade leisurely about it, +whilst wild geese and swans of enormous proportions float lazily +over one’s head; antelopes and buck of every description +come down to water, and the Cape leopard—the most +treacherous and cowardly of four-footed creatures—is to be +met with in considerable numbers as day begins to break. +The procedure that obtains is similar to that in all ordinary +mountain loch shooting, with the solitary exception that it +necessitates a start about 3 a.m., so that every one is posted +amongst the rushes at two hundred yards’ intervals an hour +before daybreak. The excitement, the delight, the profound +silence of that hour when Nature seems to rouse itself for its +daily routine of activity, requires an abler pen than mine to +describe.</p> +<p>With a rifle in hand and a shot gun at one’s side, there +is, however, nothing for it but to wait for daybreak, wondering +whether buck or antelope, cheetah or wild fowl will be the first +to come within range.</p> +<p>“Trekking” with our span of oxen to a farmhouse, +where only two cots were available, it was our nightly custom to +play “nap” as to who should occupy the beds and who +the kitchen table and dresser, and the excitement ran just as +high as it did in the days when fifties and hundreds were at +stake in the card room of the old Raleigh.</p> +<p>But the losers did not lose much, for almost before one was +asleep it was time to be up for our usual 3 a.m. start.</p> +<p>With me was placed dear old Arthur Barkly, the worst shot and +most passionate of good fellows, last Governor of Heligoland, and +long since gone over to the majority, and it evokes a smile when +even now I think of how, having missed with both barrels two huge +wild geese that leisurely floated twenty yards over his head, he +threw a cartridge box and then a ramrod in his passion at the +unoffending birds.</p> +<p><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 216</span>But +the shot had scared other denizens of the plain, and bang, bang +in every direction indicated that all our guns were in action as +cheetahs and antelopes might be seen scuttling on all +sides. Nothing further being left for us, we proceeded to +count our bag and return to the farmstead.</p> +<p>After a few days devoted to “braying” the skins +and “curing” the antelope meat for future +consumption, we resumed our dreary bumping “trek” +into the interior in the hope of meeting with big game.</p> +<p>Lions are occasionally, but rarely, met with in these parts, +and it is with reference to a dramatic incident that might have +ended fatally that I will confine my present remarks. +Returning one evening to our location, with literally only three +ball cartridges amongst us, one of the Kaffir boys descried in +the distance a lion and lioness and three cubs. With bated +breath and excitement running high, a council of war was hastily +convened, and the pros and cons., the direction of the wind, and +the dearth of ammunition having been variously discussed, it was +decided that to attack them would be unwise, if not absolutely +foolhardy. A wounded lion or lioness with its cubs is +probably as dangerous as a man-eating tiger; yet, despite all our +entreaties to the contrary, one daring spirit determined to +attempt to stalk them.</p> +<p>Loading both barrels of his rifle with ball, with the other +solitary cartridge placed handily in his pocket, and divested of +all other impediments, he hastily retired to make a circuit and +so get within shot against the wind.</p> +<p>Suddenly we heard the sharp report of his rifle, and then, +after a second, we saw the lion make for the spot whence the +smoke had come, whilst the lioness and the cubs scampered off in +the opposite direction.</p> +<p>Again there was a report, and next we saw Fellowes running +with all his might, followed by the lion.</p> +<p><a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>What +ensued may best be given in his own words, as narrated to us that +night.</p> +<p>“I had evidently missed my first shot, and whilst +putting in my other cartridge, I saw the brute making for me; +again I fired, and I saw it staggered him, but still he came on, +and seeing a small pond a few yards off I decided to make for +that. Barely had I risen to my feet when, with a roar, the +brute was close behind me, and at the very moment I dashed into +the pond he aimed a blow at me which grazed my forehead, and I +fell prostrate into it. On recovering I cautiously peeped, +and there the brute stood on the edge within three yards of +me. Again I submerged, but every time I moved for air he +roared, although afraid to enter the water. This went on +for an hour, when conceive my delight at seeing him roll over +from loss of blood.</p> +<p>“Cautiously approaching, I found he was stone +dead.”</p> +<p>Fellowes had literally escaped death by a hair’s +breadth; but the scar he carried with him to his grave affected +his brain, and he was never the same man again. Had the +lion been one inch nearer his skull would have been smashed like +an egg shell. Years after I saw the lion’s head and +shoulders at a well-known naturalist’s in Piccadilly, +depicted life-like dashing out of the rushes that encircled the +African pond.</p> +<p>Our excitement for big game being temporarily satiated after +our comrade’s narrow escape, we decided to direct our steps +towards more peaceful pastures in the neighbourhood of +Stellenbosch. Here large ostrich farms exist, and it was a +unique experience to watch drafts of these huge birds being +transferred from one farm to another. The procedure is +original. Two or three mounted Kaffirs with long driving +whips circle round and round the twenty or thirty birds, lashing +them unmercifully on their bare legs till they <a +name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>start into +a trot, which eventually ends in a pace that the riders at full +gallop have difficulty in keeping up with. In my search for +information I was assured that the feathers so much in demand for +“matinee hats” were moulted from the birds; but this +I found to be not strictly accurate, and much cruel +“plucking” passed under my own observation. +Ostrich egg omelette is delicious; six of us breakfasted off +<i>one</i> egg, and my sensations were as if I had swallowed an +omnibus.</p> +<p>But perhaps the most ridiculous experience to be obtained in +South Africa is associated with the (apparently) inoffensive +penguin. Any one looking at these sedate creatures at the +Zoological Gardens would hardly believe that they can bite and +take a piece out of one’s calf with the dexterity of a +bull-terrier. It was shortly after the experience above +related that we turned our steps towards Penguin Island, which +lies to the south of Table Bay. We had been offered a +“cast over” in one of the fishing boats that proceed +there periodically in the interests of the lessee who, renting +this valuable island for a few pounds a year, makes an enormous +income by the sale of the guano.</p> +<p>We had landed cheerily, and were roaring at the absurd +attitudes taken up under every ledge and stone by these pompous +old birds, when poor Bobby, going a little too close, was seized +by the leg with the grip of a rat-trap.</p> +<p>When the guano parties visit the island they combine another +industry, and collect some thousands of eggs, which are +considered a delicacy by the Africander gourmets.</p> +<p>Personally, I found them too strong, although I plead guilty +to having massacred some fifty penguins by knocking them on the +head for the sake of their breasts. The oil that exhales +from them for months, despite the alum and sifted ashes, is +incredible; but <a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +219</span>they will repay the trouble, and after scientific +manipulation by a London furrier are highly appreciated for muffs +and boas.</p> +<p>The albatross that swarm in the vicinity of Table Bay, and +which are caught in large numbers by the Malay fishermen, enabled +me to create a new industry. Finding that the flesh only +was used by the Malays, I offered the handsome price of one penny +for every pair of pinion bones duly delivered at the barracks; +these I forthwith filed off at each end, and tying them into +bundles, stuffed them into ants’ nests. Within a week +they were as clear as whistles, and within a month I possessed a +fagot of some hundreds. The recital of an absurd sequel may +not be amiss. Albatross quills of twelve and fifteen inches +are a popular species of pipe stem, which, when encircled with a +threepenny silver band attached to a shilling amber mouthpiece, +may be seen in leading tobacconists’ labelled twenty +shillings. Entering a palatial establishment in Regent +Street on my return home, I got the proprietor into conversation, +and was assured that they were very difficult things to procure, +and that he would gladly “pay anything” if only he +could get some more. Having thoroughly compromised him, I +returned next day with a cab full, and although exceptionally +long and perfect, I was surprised to hear they were by no means +up to the mark, and in my desperation accepted a box of cigars in +exchange for what he probably cleared £50 on.</p> +<p>Yet another experience—not strictly of a sporting +character—was connected with sticks. On my return +home I brought with me some hundreds of the rarest specimens from +Ceylon, Mauritius, and the Cape. Conceive my +disappointment, after an animated barter with Briggs, of St. +James’s Street, to be grateful to accept any three of my +own sticks mounted to order in exchange for what must have +supplied half the <a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +220</span>golden calves of the West End with sticks varying from +two to three guineas a-piece.</p> +<p>The above two incidents exemplify what is described as the +encouragement of British industries.</p> +<p>At the risk of wearying the reader I will give an absurd +incident that once occurred in India. We had organised a +party to hunt up a tiger that had been seen near the village of +Dharwar, not far from Belgaum. On our way to the +rendezvous—where the serious search was to +commence—one of our party who had wandered a little out of +his course rushed frantically up to us, exclaiming: “I came +suddenly within thirty yards of the brute fast asleep at the foot +of the nullah.”</p> +<p>“Well,” we all asked, “why didn’t you +shoot him?”</p> +<p>“’Pon my word, I had half a mind to,” was +the heartfelt reply—“but, so help me bob, I funked +it.”</p> +<p>Touching the fringe of these vast hunting grounds will, I +hope, be forgiven me, for although six thousand miles from +London, they nevertheless bring up very happy memories of the +long-ago sixties.</p> +<p>Sir John Bissett, afterwards commanding the Infantry Brigade +at Gibraltar, but at the time a resident at Grahamstown, was the +Great Nimrod of the Cape.</p> +<p>It was he that organised the elephant hunts for the Duke of +Edinburgh, at one of which the Prince shot the immense beast +whose head confronted one on entering Clarence House. +Although I did not actually see it shot, I was not far distant at +the time.</p> +<p>It was weeks after our party’s return to Cape Town that +Colonel Zebulon Pike brought me two splendid stuffed specimens of +the boatswain bird, the rarest of the gull tribe.</p> +<p>As I admired their mauve and white plumage and the two long +scarlet feathers that constitute their tail, I could not resist +remarking: “Why, Colonel, where did you get +these?” To which he replied: <a +name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 221</span>“I +shot them one morning after bathing, before you fellows were +up.”</p> +<p>There was not a boatswain bird within fifty miles of where we +had been, and the specimens had evidently been cured for +years.</p> +<p>It was only a righteous lie, such as the generous +“Colonel” could never resist.</p> +<h2><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +222</span>CHAPTER XX.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">EASTWARD HO!</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Perhaps</span> no ingredients are more +certain to produce an explosion in a limited space than a Post +Captain proceeding as a passenger on the ship of an officer some +months his junior. It was my privilege once to watch one of +these preliminary simmerings during the latter sixties and the +subsequent inevitable dénouement.</p> +<p>George Malcolm, who in his younger days had had a +distinguished career as flag-lieutenant at Portsmouth, but for a +decade had lived the indolent life of a German at Frankfort, +being compelled by the regulations to put in sea time as a Post +Captain, was proceeding with a new crew to recommission the +<i>Danae</i> on the West Indian station. It was not long +before he developed his Teutonic acquirements. Smoking half +the night in his cabin, he intimated to his crew that they might +smoke when they pleased. Keeping his lights burning after +hours, he next came into collision with the master-at-arms, who +reported the irregularity to the captain, a peremptory order +being issued that Malcolm was not to be made an exception, and +that the regulations were to be enforced. The little +man—Captain Grant, of the <i>Himalaya</i>—who thus +entered the lists at the first challenge was well-known +throughout the Navy as a veritable tartar. Standing little +over five feet high, <a name="page223"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 223</span>he had the body of a giant; his +lower proportions were short and far from comely. These +were the combatants for whom the arena was now cleared. +Malcolm opened the attack by repeating the light-burning after +hours. Grant retorted by ordering the master-at-arms to +enter if necessary and carry out his orders. Next morning +the two captains met in presence of their respective first +lieutenants, and abused and accused each other of insubordination +and mutiny.</p> +<p>The crews meanwhile took up the quarrel, and some of the +<i>Danae</i> men had the temerity to cheek the +master-at-arms. To this little Grant replied by tying up +six of them to the shrouds, and giving them four dozen apiece +with the cat. This checked the effervescence, and a few +days later the ship entered Port Royal.</p> +<p>Then followed reports. But the admiral was one of the +psalm-singing school, and not possessing sufficient character to +adjudicate upon it himself, referred the matter home. +Meanwhile the <i>Danae</i> was recommissioned and sailed away, +the <i>Himalaya</i> returned to Portsmouth, and so the matter +ended.</p> +<p>A flogging in the old days was a very “thorough” +affair, and lost nothing in the matter of detail. Four +stalwart boatswains stripped to their shirts stood like statues, +on the deck reposed four green baize bags, each containing a +cat.</p> +<p>When all was ready the captain’s warrant was +read—for it may or may not be generally known that every +skipper, from battleship to pigboat, is a justice of the peace, +and has the power of life and death on the high seas—and +then the operation began. Occasionally some genius, having +prearranged to outwit the authorities, would feign collapse by +suddenly tucking up his legs; but a feel of the pulse and a nod +soon adjusted matters, and the culprit was in “full +song.” And then the little man made a speech, not too +long, but very much to the point: “Now, my lads, <a +name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 224</span>when you +want any more, you know where to come for it.” After +which he cocked his cap, and descended to his cabin with his +sword clanking behind. It’s a way they had in the +Navy.</p> +<p>All this, of course, was before the central authority was +transferred from Whitehall to Whitechapel, and without expressing +an opinion on the merits or demerits of corporal punishment, one +may be permitted to ask: Are the bluejackets of to-day any better +than Peel’s Naval Brigade in the Crimea, or the tough old +tars that helped to quell the Mutiny? Are the specimens one +occasionally meets smoking cigarettes and Orange Blossom tobacco +superior to the old sea dogs that chewed what would have killed a +rhinoceros and rolled quids of ’baccy saturated in +rum? Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Be that as it may, +flogging has ever been found the only deterrent for a certain +class of scum which occasionally rises to the surface even in the +Navy.</p> +<p>On another occasion, when I was embarking at Portsmouth, +barely had the <i>Himalaya</i> left the side of the quay when the +Honourable Mrs. Montmorency (afterwards Lady Frankfort), +accompanied by her father, Sir John Michel, and a crowd of +sisters, cousins, and aunts, might have been seen rushing +frantically towards the slowly-moving trooper; but the cries fell +on deaf ears, and the good ship continued her course.</p> +<p>Next night in Queenstown Harbour a bumboat might have been +seen struggling against wind and tide to reach the trooper lying +a mile out at sea, which, on getting alongside, was found to +contain the lady, who, since we last saw her, had undertaken a +journey of four hundred miles, attended by every discomfort that +travelling flesh is heir to, and all because she did not know +little Grant, and expected to impress him by arriving five +minutes late. The same lady very nearly had a similar +experience a <a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +225</span>month later at St. Helena, and only just reached the +deck as the “blue Peter” was being hauled down.</p> +<p>It was on this same voyage that a subaltern, whose duties +compelled him to be on deck at daylight, remarked to the +navigating-lieutenant later in the day: “How splendid the +sun looked this morning rising over the hills.” +“Oh! yes,” was the snubbing reply, “we call +that Cape Flyaway. Why, man, we are five hundred miles from +the West coast.”</p> +<p>That night, when hammocks were being issued, a cry of +“Land on the port bow” brought all hands on deck, and +lo! we were steaming full speed for land with 1,400 souls on +board. Almost in front of us was an angry surf, a little +beyond it tropical foliage was distinctly visible, and then +followed the silence as when engines are stopped, and with extra +hands at both wheels, the shout of “Hard +a-starboard!” pierced the darkness, and we were going full +speed in the opposite direction.</p> +<p>Cape Flyaway cost poor little Piper a reprimand and half-pay +for life, and an innocent wife and family—God help +them—may still be suffering for that disregarded +sunrise.</p> +<p>When dear old Admiral Commerell succeeded Purvis as +Commander-in-Chief at the Cape, things at Government House hummed +as they had never done before, and the energy that the little man +put into his hospitality was as conspicuous as when fighting on +sea or on land. With more than the lives attributed to a +cat, it is incredible that he should have survived a blunderbuss +full of slugs on the Prah a few years later, which, fired point +blank, drove half a monkey-jacket into his lungs. Though +brought to Cape Town on the <i>Rattlesnake</i>, more as a +formality than with any hopes of recovery, and for months after +spitting up pieces of blue serge, he rallied as he had often done +before, and the last time I saw him was in a Maxim gun show-room +in Victoria Street, where, <a name="page226"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 226</span>as “Managing Director,” +he explained the intricacies of the weapon to every ’Arry +that chose to look in, and so trade laid hands in his declining +years on as brave a recipient of the Victoria Cross as ever trod +a quarter-deck.</p> +<p>When the flying squadron under Beauchamp Seymour was expected +at Ascension on its return from the Cape, great excitement +prevailed from the possibility of a visit, and a trooper that was +“laying off” was in such deadly fear of any want of +smartness being observable that the washing by the +soldiers’ wives that had been permitted was made short work +of, and petticoats, shirts, and socks that were fluttering in the +breeze were ruthlessly ordered down, for fear some signalman +should detect a strange signal and note it in the log-book. +For this lynx-eyed race is incapable of being hoodwinked; indeed, +so dexterous did they become in the Channel Squadron some years +ago (and doubtless are so still) that they read the signals for +fleet manœuvres before the flags were broken, necessitating +the entire bunch being rolled into one, and so giving every ship +an equal chance of displaying their smartness. Of the +turtle we discussed recently, the “last phase” is to +be seen in the smoking-room of a well-known hostelry in +Leadenhall Street, where, peeping through the tanks, numerous +specimens may be seen blinking and winking as if in reproach at +the unfair advantage taken of them by perfidious Albion in +leading them into captivity when guests of the nation and in an +interesting condition.</p> +<p>Ascension, as most of us are aware, is on the direct road to +the Cape and within easy distance of St. Helena—a by no +means unpleasant place, despite an unjust prejudice that attaches +to it.</p> +<p>It was on board a Union steamer that the absurd incident I +witnessed took place, when the diamond fields were coming into +notice and attracting <a name="page227"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 227</span>speculators in every kind of ware +likely to find favour amongst the natives, who had not then been +educated in Houndsditch ways to the extent they have since +arrived at. The genius who contemplated a rich harvest not +discounted by any such absurd formalities as paying +“duty,” declaring contraband, or propitiating +officials apt to be too inquisitive, was a Hebrew jeweller of a +pronounced type with the unusual adornment of carroty hair, who +afterwards developed into a Bond Street shopkeeper, and may still +be seen shorn of his sunny locks, which nevertheless still retain +a pleasing suspicion of the blaze they once emitted. The +chief officer was a shrewd individual, who long before we arrived +at Table Bay had taken his passenger’s measure, and what +added insult to injury was a presentation to him of a wretched +ring the wholesale price of which could not have exceeded ten +shillings. Had he pressed a five-pound note into his hand +it would have proved a less expensive procedure. The sequel +was disastrous, as, passing through the dock gates, ’Enery +was requested to turn out his pockets, and the percentage to the +informant amounted to a very handsome sum. Who the +informant was—actuated by duty!—it is needless to +discuss, but our friend got to the Fields at last and turned a +considerable profit on his “Brummagem” wares.</p> +<p>Years later his enterprise again brought him into notice by +providing a young ass (whom many will recollect), who had come +into £70,000 on attaining his majority, not only with a +flat, but completely furnishing it, and then smothering him with +bracelets and bangles for personal wear, and trinkets and +gimcracks that made him rattle to a greater extent than the +historical lady of Banbury Cross.</p> +<p>The sequel was more melodramatic. Within a year the +entire £70,000 was gone, within another year the prodigal +was in his grave, and, despite the strenuous <a +name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 228</span>efforts of +an elder brother to recover a trifle from the clutches of a +philanthropist, a feather merchant, and dramatic author—all +since gathered into Abraham’s bosom—the shekels never +changed hands—s’help me—and ’Enery is +still one of the most respected Elders in Israel.</p> +<p>It was in ’65 on the island of Ascension, where I +happened temporarily to be, that an awful tragedy was on the +verge of being investigated by a Court of Inquiry, but it was +realised that the terrible Atlantic rollers that perpetrated the +cruel deed and the innocent children that were the victims had +left no data for the groundwork of the conventional farce.</p> +<p>It was on that dismal rock whose only merits are its +strategical coaling position and its inexhaustible supply of +turtle that during the season when those insidious rollers of +unbroken water, without sound, without warning, suddenly spread +over the sandy beach, two or three children of an officer of +Marines were suddenly swept off their legs and carried by the +back-wash with the velocity of a millstream towards the coral +reefs a hundred yards out at sea, where death awaited them.</p> +<p>On the one side an expanse of sand that forthwith resumed its +placid, shining surface, on the other a ripple literally +bristling with fins of the most voracious species of shark known +to naturalists.</p> +<p>In a second it was all over, and the crimson pall that covered +the face of the blue Atlantic told all there was to tell of the +terrible catastrophe.</p> +<p>The few observation boxes containing niggers on the look-out +for turtle had seen nothing, heard nothing; the only eye-witness +was the helpless nursemaid, and only because there was nothing to +tell was the farce of a “Court of Inquiry” +abandoned.</p> +<p>The turtle industry is simplicity itself: so soon as one +advances sufficiently inland a couple of niggers rush out and +turn her over and lug her into the tank, <a +name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 229</span>when her +laying days are over, for it is the female only that is captured +as she comes to deposit her eggs, and no human eye has ever seen +nor any alderman ever guzzled amid the green fat of the male +animal.</p> +<p>Ascension is best described as the most God-forsaken spot in +creation, except perhaps Aden, to which must be given the +palm. Here the naval garrison seem to have grown into a +mechanical routine, and only change their monotonous wading +through sand by an occasional day’s leave to Green +Mountain, on whose summit the only three blades of grass on the +island struggle for existence. How these gallant men are +chosen for this dreary duty it is difficult to say; no alien +princeling attached to the British Navy ever appears to have his +turn; and one must assume that “merit tempered with +non-interest” is the qualification that controls the +roster. Of the turtle there can be no two opinions; in +unlimited supplies, two huge tanks, through which the tide ebbs +and flows, contain some hundreds of these delectable creatures, +delectable only with the aid of the highest embellishments, but +the most nauseous sickening of “<i>plats</i>” in the +shape of rations. Every man-of-war calling at Ascension is +compelled to ship a dozen, which lie for weeks on deck, their +heads resting on a swab, and the hose playing on them of a +morning, while a stench more insidious than the vapours of a +fried-fish shop attaches itself to everything; one’s +hair-brush reeks like a turtle fin, and whether one eats, drinks, +or smokes, it’s <i>toujours tortue</i>.</p> +<p>During the Ashanti war, Ascension appeared at its best; in its +comfortable hospital the wounded from spear and slug, and the +dying from West Coast fever, obtained the best of +attendance. In it I saw Thompson, of the Inniskilling +Dragoons, just brought down from the Prah—one of the most +popular men in the <a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +230</span>Army—die; whilst from it many a brave man has +been carried to his last home, and many a sufferer who has +entered its portals in apparently the last stage of fever and +ague has been pulled round, and put on board with renewed life to +return to England to bless the surgeons and curse Ascension.</p> +<p>It was on my return home in ’69 that I met old Toogood +(whom everybody knew) at Aden—who, rushing up to me, +whispered, “Come along, I’ve secured a +carriage,” and following with that glee that all who have +crossed the Desert will appreciate, I was horrified to find he +had all his bundles in the quarantine carriage.</p> +<p>“Great heavens,” I exclaimed, “do you know +what this means?” and he hardly gave me time to explain the +pains and penalties before he was in full cry after the rascally +Egyptian guard, who, realising he was dealing with a novice, had +accepted a sovereign for placing him in a carriage by +himself.</p> +<p>In those long-ago days—and possibly still—every +train had a quarantine carriage, entering which meant vigorous +isolation till fumigation had taken place, and “even +betting” that one’s cabin in the trooper at Cairo +would have remained vacant homeward bound.</p> +<p>When the Japanese were airing their aspirations at becoming +the great naval power they now are, I witnessed one of their +virgin attempts at navigating a warship under the control of +British officers. Confident of their ability, and fretting +to show what they could do, they one day insisted on landing +their instructors and assuming temporary control of the +ship. The development was not long in coming. Away +flew the ship, in graceful circles round and round the bay, when +suddenly a dashing manœuvre beyond the comprehension of the +most enlightened observer, and, lo! she was steaming full speed +for the shore. Within the hour she was well wedged on <a +name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 231</span>a sandy +bottom, and a tidal wave not long after having considerately +lifted her a few hundred yards higher up, the hull was converted +into an hotel, and for years gave ocular proof of Japan’s +first triumph in navigation. That was in the later sixties, +when Togo was still in the womb of futurity.</p> +<p>In those long-ago days, Yokohama had not attained its present +respectable civilisation; top hats were sought after as the +daintiest of fashionable attainments; every battered specimen on +board fetched its weight in gold; open baths for mixed bathing +were to be met with in the public thoroughfares; British +regimental guards disarmed fanatics before allowing them to enter +the town; inlaid bronzes, miniature trees, and genuine curios +were procurable; massive Birmingham products had not become an +industry wherewith to catch the unwary; public crucifixions by +transfixing with bamboo stakes (such as I witnessed in the case +of the murder of a British officer) were still in full blast, and +the sweetest little girls were to be bought for domestic service, +and sent to be dealt with by the nearest magistrate on the breath +of a suspicion of breach of fidelity. To go a mile beyond +the Treaty Port was to court certain death, whilst to remain +peacefully within the town and visit the various day and night +entertainments was as delightful an existence as the most +blasé reprobate could desire.</p> +<h2><a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +232</span>CHAPTER XXI.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE GUILLOTINE AND MADAME +RACHEL.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">On</span> one of my numerous visits to +Paris a notorious poisoner—Le-Pommerais—was awaiting +execution by the guillotine.</p> +<p>I am not of a cruel disposition, but I confess that certain +sights afford me a morbid gratification, the more so as I know +that one witness more or less can in no way affect the victim, +who, in nine cases out of ten, is dazed, despite the bravado that +is sometimes assumed.</p> +<p>I had seen Müller and the pirates hanged in London, and a +man “garrotted” at Barcelona; I had seen two soldiers +shot at Bregenz on the Lake Constance, and now for the first time +in my life I was within measurable distance of the Place de la +Grève, where the most hideous drama, accompanied by all +the pomp that a dramatic nation can introduce, was to be enacted +one morning. But what morning? There was the rub, for +the French are nothing if not original, and whilst permitting the +unhappy victim to drink and smoke and play cards till 2 a.m. +ruthlessly rouse him a couple of hours later, and roughly proceed +to prepare his toilette.</p> +<p>Inquire as I did, nobody could give me the day, and although +on more than one occasion I had driven to the accursed spot and +waylaid officials likely to know, their replies were invariably +the same; nobody knew, nobody cared, it would be time enough when +<a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 233</span>the +fateful morning arrived, and then <i>voilà</i>; a rush of +two powerful men on a defenceless, trussed fellow-creature; a +shove with unnecessary violence on to a plank, a strap or two +unnecessarily tight to secure the unresisting wretch; a jerk and +a flash of burnished steel; a quivering trunk, and a head +squirting blood yards high, and the handful of sawdust, and the +roar of a delighted multitude as “Monsieur de Paris” +leisurely proceeds to light a cigarette, and within five minutes +the whole ghastly paraphernalia has disappeared within the gloomy +parallelograms of La Roquette.</p> +<p>Terrible as all this sounds, is it not less terrible than the +secret executions indulged in by our own merciful laws? +There at least excitement must for the time hold the victim till +the supreme moment arrives, whilst here the granite walls, the +grim officials, the parson mumbling prayers, divest the function +of everything but strict officialism, which to the culprit must +indeed be the very bitterness of death.</p> +<p>When the name of Count La Grange was more familiar to English +ears than it is in these forty years later days, it was my +delightful privilege to know—if not the redoubtable Count +himself—a fair and important member of the distinguished +sportsman’s family circle. I had, indeed, seen +“Waterloo avenged” at Epsom in the June of 1864, when +Gladiateur left the field miles behind; but it was only in the +following autumn that I made the personal acquaintance of the +goddess who professed a kind of allegiance to the sporting +Frenchman, and re-avenged, as it were, the vengeance that had +been meted out to my country the previous summer.</p> +<p>I was in Paris under the wing of Bob Hope-Johnstone, the +terrible major, whose dislike was a thing to be avoided, and +whose blow, as a certain bric-à-brac pair of Israelite +brothers once discovered to their cost, was like the kick of a +horse. We had dipped <a name="page234"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 234</span>pretty freely into the delights of +that most delightful of cities, when, sipping our coffee one +evening on the terrace of the Café de la Paix, we were +transfixed—at least, I was—by what appeared a +heavenly being stepping out of a brougham. In those +benighted days a brisk trade was done in the “Cabinets +particulier” that extended over the upper floors of the +historical café, and night after night the best men and +the loveliest women of the Third Empire resorted thither by +battalions and indulged in every delight that the best of cookery +and the best of wines never failed to stimulate.</p> +<p>An obliging <i>maître d’hôtel</i> had +informed me who the lady was, and possessing a reserve of +assurance, since happily simmered down into a reserved and +retiring disposition, I sent up my name without further ado and +craved permission to pay my homage. It would be absurd and +nauseous to repeat the beautiful phrases one poured into the ear +of a being who, if alive now—which is doubtful—has +probably not a tooth in her head; suffice to say she was a superb +écarté player, and initiated me into the rudiments +of the game. It seemed marvellous to me that such a goddess +should strive so laboriously to overcome in me the violation of +every canon of the game, but in those long-ago days I was fair of +hair and of a ruddy countenance, and the coincidence may not have +been so extraordinary after all. Often of an afternoon I +visited her hotel in the Bois de Boulogne, and it was only when +La Grange was known to be in Paris that my going in and coming +out was in the least circumscribed.</p> +<p>Sitting at a table, with his blubber lips lingering over a +glass of absinthe, was our old acquaintance, +“Jellybelly,” who, noticing the late Duke of Hamilton +and Claud de Crespigny within hail, bellowed out, “Will +your Grace tell me the French for crab, I feel itching for one at +dinner?” and on being told a <a name="page235"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 235</span>species—not of the +sea—shouted in his purest Franco-Houndsditch, +“<i>Garsong</i>, <i>apporty moir un morphion +rôti</i>.”</p> +<p>As the police have lately been somewhat in evidence over the +commission as to whether they are as corrupt as some people +consider them, an instance of over-zeal that occurred long ago +will, I trust, be laid to heart in future criticisms.</p> +<p>Lord Chief Justice Cockburn and his boon companion, Serjeant +Ballantine, once witnessed an act of unnecessary brutality +towards a female in the Haymarket.</p> +<p>“Why this unnecessary violence, my man?” inquired +the amiable Sir Alexander.</p> +<p>“Mind your own business, or I’ll show you,” +was the reply of the zealous constable, and within a trice the +female was forgotten and her two champions found themselves in +Vine Street.</p> +<p>“Name,” inquired a priggish inspector of the Lord +Chief Justice, and on being informed, he added: “No +doubt—we’ve heard this kind of thing +before.”</p> +<p>“Yours,” he continued, addressing the great +serjeant. “Quite so,” he added, on being told, +and nothing but the entry of an official who recognised them +prevented the two great legal luminaries from spending a night in +the cells.</p> +<p>As every one is aware, neither of these distinguished men were +saints, but they respected the ordinary laws of humanity, and did +not admit that every poor wretch who had stooped to folly was the +legitimate target for kicks and cuffs and lying testimony.</p> +<p>Although a leap into the seventies is necessary, the sensation +that the so-called “Great Turf Fraud” caused must +excuse a brief reference to it. It was in 1877 that an old +lady with ample means conceived the brilliant idea of adding to +her income by speculating on the Turf. Her choice of +colleagues, however, was not a happy one, and before long she was +<a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>led +blindly by a genius known to posterity as Benson. Amongst +his staff was a brilliant phalanx, the two brothers Carr, Murray, +Bates, and the inevitable solicitor, one Froggatt.</p> +<p>A house in Northumberland Street, since pulled down, was where +these worthies matured their plans, and by the irony of fate, in +the very next house lived Superintendent Thompson, of Bow Street, +who, astute as he was reputed to be, was oblivious of the +cauldron that was simmering for months under his very nose.</p> +<p>It was in the suitable month of April—possibly the +first—that the old lady (Madame Goncourt) opened the ball +by paying out in driblets £13,000. When the sum rose +to £40,000 she became sceptical, and took her first +sensible step and consulted a lawyer.</p> +<p>At this point the police came on the scene, and again the +genius of Benson appears, for he, grasping the situation, bought +up certain Scotland Yard inspectors who, for a +consideration—and a large one—undertook to warn the +chief culprits how and when danger was to be avoided.</p> +<p>Consultations in Northumberland Street were now deemed risky, +so the venue was changed to the “Rainbow Tavern” (now +known as the “Argyll”), a pot-house abutting on +Oxford Street, and there the original conspirators and their +solicitor, augmented by Inspectors Druscovitch, Meiklejohn, and +Palmer, arranged for telegrams and other details to defeat the +ends of justice.</p> +<p>The commonplace sequel will suggest itself to most +people. Benson, the two Carrs, Bates, and Froggatt were +sent to penal servitude for fifteen and ten years +respectively. Later on Benson “peached” on his +police allies, who in November were tried, Druscovitch and +Meiklejohn receiving two years each, and Palmer being +acquitted.</p> +<p><a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +237</span>Madame Goncourt, it may be added, was still without her +profits.</p> +<p>After his fifteen years, Benson was currently supposed to have +burst out as the director of numerous shops in the metropolis, +where electric appliances for the instant cure of gout and +inhalers warranted to contain “compressed Italian +air” and to make everybody a Patti or a Mario were to be +had for a guinea; whilst a further guinea entitled the purchaser +to a consultation with the specialist.</p> +<p>This, however, did not last long, and Benson ended his career +shortly after by throwing himself over the balustrade of an +American gaol.</p> +<p>Surely never was a commonplace affair dignified with such a +high-sounding title! ’Twas the novelty that did +it.</p> +<p>Where one voracious old woman existed in the seventies, the +twentieth century could produce a dozen, and where two policemen +were caught accepting blackmail, a battalion exists to-day, only +their tactics have marched with the times, and instead of +receiving their levies in pot-houses, they secrete themselves in +cupboards and receive “hush money” from alien +brothel-keepers. At the same time, they affect the sorry +appearance associated with badly cut frock-coats and brimless +tall hats. The boots, however, beat them.</p> +<p>Very few of the <i>dramatis personæ</i> appear to be +left.</p> +<p>Druscovitch for some years was employed as a Strand hotel +detective. Meiklejohn may occasionally be seen, unkempt and +down-at-heel, in the vicinity of mediocre saloon bars (glasses +only), and Madame Goncourt has long since explained to the +Recording Angel that though she was the first, she certainly +won’t be the last, who has missed the certainties that go +begging on the Turf.</p> +<p>But the sixties were celebrated for a much more <a +name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 238</span>amusing and +widespread example of human credulity and vanity than the humdrum +so-called “Turf frauds,” with their unsavoury, +commonplace ingredients of a voracious old woman, a bevy of +sharpers, and a file of flat-footed police-inspectors.</p> +<p>It was in 1868 that London heard that a divine being was +amongst them, coming no one knew whence, and whose age no one +could guess, gifted with the power of arresting Time, restoring +youth and beauty, and ready—for a consideration—to +impart these blessings to all who sought her aid.</p> +<p>It was in the narrowest part of Bond Street that the goddess +pitched her tent, and to say that the traffic was impeded would +convey but a poor idea of the congestion that retarded locomotion +in that worst-built of thoroughfares. Old men desirous of +enamelling their bald old pates, ponderous females with scratch +wigs and asthma, and girls, pretty and ugly, with defects capable +of improvement, hustled and tussled to pay the fee of the +wonderful enchantress who guaranteed to restore youth to old age +and make one and all “beautiful for ever.”</p> +<p>Madame Rachel was a bony and forbidding looking female, with +the voice of a Deal boatman and the physique of a +grenadier. The robes she affected when receiving her +clients, and the crystals and gimcracks that clattered at her +girdle, might well inspire awe, as, emerging from behind massive +curtains, she approached her victim with some phrase suggestive +of “knowing all about it,” which, indeed, was part of +the system when time and opportunity permitted, or the status of +the client justified it.</p> +<p>Rachel rarely smiled; when she laughed—which was rarer +still—it was the laugh of a rhinoceros. Assisting her +was a beautiful girl, of the <i>beauté du diable</i> type, +with the suspicion of a cast in one of her heavy-lashed eyes, +which made her more bewitching than ever.</p> +<p><a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +239</span>“How old do you think my daughter?” once +inquired the arch-impostor of a man from whom I had it +direct. He having replied “Seventeen,” she +turned to the siren with, “Tell this gentleman, my child, +what you saw during the French Revolution, and how I took you to +see the execution of Marie Antoinette.”</p> +<p>And then “Alma,” coached to perfection, turned her +bewitching eyes as if peering into eternity, and began a string +of twaddle that ought not to have deceived a Bluecoat boy.</p> +<p>Everybody consulted Madame Rachel. If a youth got a +black eye at young Reed’s sparring rooms (at the +“Rising Sun” in Whitehall) it was in Bond Street he +was made presentable for any fashionable function in the evening, +and in every conceivable walk of life one met evidence of the +universal sway of enamel; whilst nightly at the Opera, Rachel and +her daughter occupied a box on the grand tier and surveyed the +battalions of old men and old women, youths and maidens, who had +passed through their hands.</p> +<p>But despite Alma’s charms, she had a narrow squeak of +being implicated with her mother in the prosecution that followed +later on—instead, however, she was taken in hand by Lady +Cardigan, and made a success in Grand Opera. But her +troubles were not yet over, and aspirants to her heart and hand +(enamelled and otherwise) were in considerable evidence nightly +at the Opera house in Paris.</p> +<p>It was at the hands of one of these she met her fate. +Carried away by jealousy or scorn, he shot her from the stalls, +though, happily, not fatally. After this she disappeared, +but not before displaying a magnanimity that was refreshing in +the reputed daughter of the flint-hearted Rachel, for she refused +to prosecute her assailant, who escaped with a nominal +imprisonment.</p> +<p><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 240</span>A +controversy afterwards ensued in the daily Press as to the +becoming height of female dress; some advocated up to the +shoulder, others below, some a tape, some nothing; but the +important question has not yet been set at rest, and never will +be, despite County Council edicts in the name of propriety, or +the hypocrisy and flunkeydom that stalk over the land.</p> +<p>Alma in all her glory had her own ideas, and appeared +invariably and literally in “semi-nude.”</p> +<p>Years after she was recognised by a former adorer at the +Concordia Music Hall in Constantinople, but all the +<i>beauté du diable</i> had vanished; the cast still +remained, but failed to ravish—Nature had worked through +the enamel with which her skin had been saturated, and Alma pure +and simple remained—a living example of how “Time +turns the old days to derision.”</p> +<p>Madame Rachel’s experiences were of a more prosy +description, and, prosecuted a few years later by a Mrs. +Pearce—said to have been a daughter of +Mario’s—whose jewels she had annexed in addition to a +considerable sum, she was relegated to five years’ penal +servitude.</p> +<p>But the most amusing incident has yet to be told, although it +seems incredible that even so foolish a woman should court +publicity by joining in the prosecution. The report of the +trial in any old paper of the period will convince the most +sceptical of the absence of exaggeration in this ungarnished +recital.</p> +<p>Mrs. Borrodale was a frivolous old lady of some forty years, +whose wealth, vanity, and frequent visits to Bond Street marked +her out as a desirable client to the astute Rachel.</p> +<p>“You’ve won the heart of a great lord,” was +her greeting one day, “who desires to see you in your +natural beauty.”</p> +<p><a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 241</span>Mrs. +Borrodale, having first blushed through her enamel, was not long +in consenting, and having stipulated for a subdued light, and +that the “view” should be through a curtain, +proceeded to be enamelled from head to foot. On a given day +she posed in all the beauty of her birthday suit, and Lord +Ranelagh, who was the reputed admirer, peeped through a slit in +the tapestry—and, let us hope, then fled.</p> +<p>His lordship, it may be added, eventually died a +bachelor. The very title is extinct, and the enamelled old +Venus never assumed a coronet. After this, the old sinner +was known as “Peeping Tom,” and the foal by a +thoroughbred stallion of repute, Peeping Tom (which, however, +never attained any position on the Turf), was christened +Ranelagh.</p> +<p>Incredible as it may appear, this silly old woman capped her +indiscretion by joining in the prosecution instituted by the +stockbroker’s wife, and so published to a gaping world what +might have better been left to the imagination.</p> +<p>Rachel has, it is currently reported, two sons at the present +moment practising as solicitors under high-sounding names, who +not long ago wriggled out of a nasty case by the skin of their +teeth, whilst their less acute Christian colleagues suffered the +penalty attendant on blackmailing.</p> +<p>But the Rachel establishment was by no means the only type +that flourished in the long-ago sixties by pandering to human +frailty, and the premises occupied by Madame Osch, situated at +the corner of Piccadilly and St. James’s Street—and +now, like Babylon, with not one stone standing upon +another—could have told some curious tales of wards in +Chancery and Hebrew jewellers, and of Tommy and John, and of how +Tommy was arrested as he started for Monte Carlo, and how John, +smelling a rat, evaded ill effects; but the recitation would only +bore a twentieth-century reader, for human <a +name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 242</span>nature then +is the same nature as now, and what flourished then in one shape +still flourishes in another, and the only reflection worthy of +consideration is that, if these things were done in the green +tree, what is being done in the dry?</p> +<h2><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +243</span>CHAPTER XXII.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">REMINISCENCES OF THE PURPLE.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> death of the Duke of Cambridge +recalled many instances of the kindly nature of the old +warrior. Abused and ridiculed by the ignorant and unwashed +for actions—more or less imaginary—that he was +supposed to have been guilty of in the Crimea, it is established +on the testimony of eye-witnesses that no man showed more +personal bravery at Inkerman than the late illustrious +Duke. Oblivious to danger, and literally wandering in and +out amongst the dense masses of Russians, he seemed to bear a +charmed life, and if on any occasion he selected an +umbrella—which is by no means admitted—what greater +proof of absolute indifference to danger? As well might one +accuse Fred Burnaby of cowardice for confronting the Dervishes in +the Soudan with a simple blackthorn. But royalty has its +penalties as well as its advantages, and if the grandson of +George III. was subject to intense excitement verging on delirium +under exceptionally trying circumstances, let us be fair, +gentlemen, and give the bluff old warrior his dues.</p> +<p>In the zenith of his career, so unable was his Highness to +refuse almost any personal request, that it was found necessary +to chain a bulldog of the most pronounced Peninsular type on the +very threshold of the Commander-in-Chief’s office.</p> +<p>For this service General MacDonald was selected <a +name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 244</span>as military +secretary, and any one who had the capacity of passing his meshes +was enabled to present himself at his Royal Highness’s next +levée.</p> +<p>These functions were divested of all formality; an extension +of leave, a request to go to the depôt, an application to +join the service companies, was invariably more successful if +preferred personally, and “Well, sir, what is it?” +with a kindly shake of the hand saved many a heart-burning and +protracted filtration through a dozen departments, usually ending +in a snub.</p> +<p>Seated in the room was his aide-de-camp—the solitary +specimen in uniform. Colonel Fraser, V.C., had commanded +for years the celebrated “Cherry-bobs” (11th +Hussars), and if a little unsociable whilst in actual command, +the mannerism had entirely disappeared in the courteous +mouthpiece of the Duke.</p> +<p>Gazing one afternoon on the placid features of the +“Royal George” before the new War Office, the +occasion on which he once visited a station not 100 miles from +London and told the colonel and officers generally that he +didn’t believe a word they said, and stamped and fumed and +swore and threatened, came vividly to my mind. There had +been a fracas in the canteen during the officers’ mess +hour, which eventually developed into a riot, and then was +quelled. No one in the mess-house appears to have heard it, +and it was only next morning that the matter, after +investigation, was reported to the Horse Guards. The +“Royal George,” who was distinctly apoplectic, ran +many such chances of combustion in his younger days, for the old +warrior was by no means mealy-mouthed and was not above playing +to the gallery, as represented by the Press, and although he +could never aspire to rank with General Pennefather, he could, +when circumstances demanded, swear like any trooper.</p> +<p>It was the 11th that Lord Cardigan brought to <a +name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 245</span>such a +wonderful state of perfection and for the command of which he had +paid upwards of £20,000 over regulation. It was in +the 11th that the fire-eating Colonel shot a captain of his +regiment dead in a duel, and only saved his commission by his +overwhelming interest. It was a regiment in which every +private was dressed and redressed at his Captain’s expense +as if his uniform had been made by Poole, and where the overalls +and sleeves were so tight that one marvelled how officers or men +ever got in or out of them.</p> +<p>What a beautiful regiment it was in the old sixties. And +one felt it was a national crime to send such troops to +India. But all that, alas! is long since changed; the +Pimlico Clothing Works, economy, and paternal letters to <i>The +Times</i> have done the rest; and the abolition of purchase, the +breech-loader, and the new type of British officer have completed +the inauguration of the “slops” period, and abolished +once and for ever well-dressed regiments and <i>esprit de +corps</i>.</p> +<p>Whilst on this delicate subject memory suggests many +presumptuous reminiscences.</p> +<p>When Prince Alfred was a supernumerary Lieutenant of the +<i>Racoon</i>, what an ideal brick he was! Scraping on a +fiddle, myself at the piano, and Arthur Hood (lately become +Viscount Bridport) with a brass instrument of deafening +intensity, what harmonious discord has not shaken the rafters of +the old Casemates at Gibraltar; and when the Prince seated +himself at the piano and sang “In ancient days there lived +a squire,” one forgets the retiring potentate that +eventually ruled over Gotha.</p> +<p>It was on one of these occasions that during a lull in the +festivities a steady tramp outside was wafted to our musical +ears, and going out to discover the cause, I was horrified to see +an elderly gentleman, ablaze with decorations, in evening attire, +who, with numerous apologies, was conducted into the room.</p> +<p><a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 246</span>He +was in fact the Duc d’Alençon’s equerry, who +had honoured the private concert with his presence, and for the +past hour had sat a transfixed witness of our marvellous +harmony. At this time the <i>Racoon</i> was commanded by +Count Gleichen—a nephew of the late Queen’s—who +once happened to be on the P. and O. at the same time as myself, +both returning from leave to Gibraltar.</p> +<p>In those days life on a P. and O. was a mass of enjoyment: +youngsters joining their regiments, old officers—naval and +military—returning from leave, the ship’s officers, +all joined nightly in harmless jokes, and as lights were put out +and the steward’s room closed, each roysterer ascended to +the upper deck and songs and what-not ensued. No one +entered into the revelry more than Count Gleichen, as, with a +tumbler of contraband grog, he quaffed and laughed as only a +British sailor can.</p> +<p>Years later, when the Duke of Edinburgh commanded the +<i>Galatea</i>, he still remembered his musical colleague, and a +pretty snake ring with a turquoise in the head that he presented +to me was lost in an accident that nearly cost me my life.</p> +<p>Boating has never been my forte, and in endeavouring on one +occasion to enter a boat, it drifted with the impact, and, with +one leg on the jetty and another in the boat, I soused into six +feet of the muddiest “old Mole” water. +Eventually I was hooked out, more “mud than alive,” +but the ring was gone, and still reposes in the turgid waters of +the Mediterranean.</p> +<p>Amongst the ship’s officers was Lord Charles Beresford, +at the time the most inveterate Fourth Lieutenant of practical +jokers. After a function at which the Duke and the +ship’s company were on one occasion present, the local +Inspector-General of Police, who had deemed his presence +necessary, was staggered next morning by shouts of laughter as he +peacefully slumbered in his bungalow.</p> +<p><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span>Rushing to the window, conceive his horror on seeing +Charlie Beresford, in his full uniform, strutting about and +giving words of command in imitation of the original. But +he was a bumptious buckeen, and no one sympathised with his +discomfiture.</p> +<p>When the King was doing his goose-step at the Curragh, it was +my high reflexed privilege to be doing mine in the next +lines.</p> +<p>It was during this season that a march for the whole division +was ordered to Maryborough, twenty-two miles distant.</p> +<p>The Prince, who was attached to the Grenadiers, accompanied us +to and fro, and even after the fatiguing march might later on +have been seen in the streets of Maryborough, accompanied by +“his governor,” General Bruce, as if nothing unusual +had occurred. It was lamentable the effect it had on those +splendid types of humanity, the 1st Grenadiers, and their superb +“Queen’s Company,” every man six feet and +upwards. But the misfortune can hardly be laid to their +charge; suddenly transferred from their sweet pastures in London, +what wonder that the good things they had revelled in should seek +an outlet on the dusty plains of Kildare! And so it came to +pass that every ditch contained a guardsman, and long before the +twenty-two miles had been covered every ambulance in the division +was filled by the warriors.</p> +<p>The Vansittart family in those long-ago days were represented +by some interesting scions.</p> +<p>“The Croc,” in many ways perhaps the most unique, +was a remnant of a past generation who adapted surroundings to +modern requirements, and was the terror of gouty old members who +dined before four when “table money” came into force, +consumed a loaf in a sixpenny bowl of soup, and drank their beer +for nothing.</p> +<p>“Pop,” on the other hand, was of the <a +name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +248</span>highly-refined class, had a flat in Paris, and only +occasionally flashed upon London immaculately clothed in +ultra-fashionable attire. But the gem of the family was the +dear old Admiral, who combined apparently the better points of +“The Croc” and “Pop” in his own +weather-beaten person. At the time I knew him he was in +command of the <i>Sultan</i>, and had the reputation—in +conjunction with Admiral Hornby—of being the highest +authority on ironclads. But what brought him into notice +was a combination of fearless seamanship and bluff loyalty whilst +in command of the <i>Hector</i> that convoyed the Prince of Wales +from Canada. For days the weather had been rough till, +coming up Channel, Vansittart hailed a fishing smack, and +possessing himself of the pick of the last haul, bore down upon +the <i>Serapis</i>. Attached to her yard-arm was a basket, +and as the spars of the two frigates literally rattled against +one another, down dropped the offering at the feet of the +heir-apparent.</p> +<p>No greater exhibition of nerve and seamanship can well be +conceived; had the manoeuvre resulted in accident no explanation +would have satisfied “my lords,” for a nasty sea was +running and sea room was advisable, however commendable the +motive. It was an action worthy of association with Sir +Harry Keppel sailing out of Portsmouth Harbour in sheer devilry +with every stitch of canvas set, and showed Admiral Vansittart as +in every way worthy of being bracketed with that grand old +bluejacket of the past.</p> +<p>The man who commanded the <i>Galatea</i> and afterwards the +<i>Sultan</i>, was a very different person to the lieutenant of +the <i>Racoon</i>, and genial and adventurous as he once was, the +captain soon developed into a morose and unpopular commander.</p> +<p>On board the <i>Galatea</i> was the pick of the Navy, whilst +the social addenda associated with the supposed requirements of +Royalty were represented by the <a name="page249"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 249</span>present Lord Kilmorey, Eliot Yorke, +Arthur Haig, and sprigs of nobility, “interest,” and +nonentity. Of the two equerries Eliot Yorke’s forte +may best be described as of the delicate type; so delicate, +indeed, that it may be left to the imagination. Arthur +Haig, on the other hand, was of the firm and reliable +sort—a reasonable proportion of “suaviter” with +a superabundance of the other thing. It was he whose daily +duties included an epitome of the events of the day, intended for +no eyes but those of the Queen, and carefully included in every +“bag” that left the ship. Haig, in short, had +been nominated by the Queen, and was the only man on board of +whom the Prince had a wholesome dread. Eliot Yorke, on the +other hand, was the selection of the Royal Alfred. Not that +the Prince was without his appreciation of a practical joke, and +when a fat old gentleman that had been specially invited to a +farewell lunch at one of the foreign stations suddenly discovered +that the ship was under way and a jump into the bumboat +imperative, no laugh was heartier nor louder than that of the +Royal joker.</p> +<p>The Duke, it was said, was one of the best commanders of an +ironclad; he had the technique at his fingers’ ends, and +knew every bolt and screw from the keel to the upper deck; some +toadies even asserted he was superior to Hornby or Vansittart, +and was a typical British tar in the truest acceptation of the +term. His sympathies, as I have heard him assert, however, +were German to the backbone, and his eyes would fill with tears +when singing some guttural sonnet of the Vaterland. His +marriage brought things to a head, and the curtain was rung down +on Lardy Wilson and all other workers of iniquity after the +garden party at Clarence House in honour of his wedding.</p> +<p>With an excellent piper like Farquharson, engaged to combine +grooming and boot cleaning with <a name="page250"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 250</span>occasional pibrochs and reels, it +may be accepted that H. R. H. was a thorough believer in the +precept that “it is more blessed to receive than to +give.”</p> +<p>His proficiency as a musician was another fable, and though he +“graciously condescended” to be first violin at the +Albert Hall Orchestral Society (founded by himself), uncharitable +people are known to have asserted that the royal bow was +soaped. But a point on which no two opinions can exist was +the questionable taste he displayed on one occasion when entering +Simon’s Bay. Every commander, as is well known, is +bound to salute the commodore’s flag after taking up +moorings; but the Prince had run up the Royal Standard—and +so the commodore had to salute first. Etiquette demanded +that this should be done—after, and not before—and +the “reports” that followed ended as might be +expected, and the good old sailor was shelved, and a scandal +hushed up that some attributed to von-Kümmel and others to +less potent causes.</p> +<p>It was the most beautiful woman of the day in the long-ago +fifties—the Empress of the French—that introduced the +diabolical “appanage” known as the crinoline to +conceal her “interesting condition,” and the peg-top +heels that followed as a consequence, to give height to the +unpleasant beam the crinoline involved on the wearer, were +answerable for more accidents, <i>faux pas</i>, and +unpleasantries than any combination of female adornments before +or since.</p> +<p>Once at St. Peter’s, Eaton Square, whose incumbent was +known as Saint Barnabas, a fair worshipper was noticed still in a +devotional attitude when the rest of the congregation had settled +down to the fashionable discourse their souls thirsted for, but +the posture continuing, the verger delicately approached, and +found that nothing more serious had occurred than that her heels +had caught in the hoops and that she was unable to move a +peg. The hopes of an <a name="page251"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 251</span>advertisement over a fashionable +proselyte were thus shattered, and his reverence resumed his +theme.</p> +<p>On another occasion, returning from Cremorne at 2 a.m., when +every cab had been taken, my attention was attracted by a +handsome young cavalier tenderly supporting a fair sinner, who +was leaning trustfully on his shoulder. It appears he had +found her motionless and in tears on an area grating, her heel +through her hoop, and the heel itself wedged as in a vice. +Nothing but prompt action could save the situation, and the last +I saw of the interesting couple was progressing by easy stages +and heading towards Oakley Square.</p> +<p>The same young cavalier might have been recognised not long +since as a grim old warrior, munching a sandwich in the vestibule +of Stafford House after the levée in honour of the Mutiny +heroes!</p> +<p>And the charming lad who was responsible for the introduction +of the diabolical appendage. We all remember the shock that +literally smote every heart when the news of the Prince +Imperial’s untimely death reached England.</p> +<p>A youth divested of every suspicion of affectation, possessing +to an inordinate degree that fascination of manner rarely to be +found except amongst the old nobility of France, discarding every +comfort to fight in the ranks of an alien army, to be assegaied +by a handful of Zulus! Was ever such irony of fate for the +great-nephew of Bonaparte, who, had he lived, would assuredly by +his charm have eventually won back his throne.</p> +<p>One voice only struck a discordant note, the overrated Quaker +Solon of Rochdale. “Perish India,” he once said +in his wisdom. “He went out to kill the Zulus, and +the Zulus killed him” was this time his funeral +oration.</p> +<p>It was in the early seventies—if I remember +rightly—that I had many acquaintances amongst the various +<a name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +252</span>embassies and legations, which frequently brought me to +the St. James’s, the club of the foreign attachés +generally. My most intimate friend was Baron Spaum—at +the time naval attaché at the Austrian Embassy—and +at the present moment Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Austrian +Navy. I was also familiar with Prince Hohenlohe and Count +Mongela, of the same embassy, and, in a lesser degree, with Count +Beust, son of the Austrian Ambassador. Amongst the Russians +I knew Count Adelberg well, and it was through his +representations that I eventually came into contact with that +wonderful man Count Schouvaloff. Count Paul Schouvaloff at +the time was Russian Ambassador in London. An intimate and +trusted friend of the Czar, his Excellency had filled every +office in his country that called for administrative and +diplomatic talents of the first order. As Chief of the +Secret Police his power was literally absolute and irresponsible; +as governor of a vast province he had ruled almost as an +independent sovereign; and in later years was the ruling +spirit—and certainly the most difficult nut to +crack—at the Congress of Berlin, when Lord Beaconsfield was +accredited with having returned with “Peace with +Honour.”</p> +<p>It was as the guest of this historical personage that I one +day found myself at Chesham House, eating the most delightful +lunch, drinking the rarest Crimean wines, and marvelling at the +courteous, retiring-mannered man who plied me with the most +delicate attentions.</p> +<p>His English, as may be supposed, was faultless, and so it was +that my admiration was turned to astonishment when a personage to +whom I assumed there could be nothing new under the sun asked me +if I would do for him the great favour of piloting him amongst +the sights of London.</p> +<p>Not many nights later a muster of some dozen <a +name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 253</span>souls +paraded at my rooms in Charles Street, and as all were +scrupulously attired in pot hats and shooting coats it would have +been difficult for the most observant to have sorted ambassadors +or attachés from the less diplomatic clay made in +England.</p> +<p>The muster roll contained the Russian Ambassador, Count +Adelberg, Count Beust, Count Mongela, Baron Spaum, Prince +Hohenlohe, Colonel (Charlie) Norton, Sir Edward Cunynghame (Ned), +the Duke of Hamilton, and my humble self.</p> +<p>The programme had been settled prior to all this with the +assistance of an ex-detective, who made a princely addition to +his slender pension by piloting exploration parties to latitudes +where much depended on diplomacy.</p> +<p>Our first visit was to Turnham’s, a pot-house in Newman +Street, where extensive arrangements had been made for some +badger drawing under the personal auspices of Bill George. +In later years this canine authority developed into a trusted +dog-provider to the nobility, and resided in the vicinity of +Kensal Green; at the time of which I write his transactions in +dog-flesh were of a more miscellaneous character, and, as he once +told me with pride, a letter addressed “Bill George, Dog +Stealer, London,” would reach him without delay.</p> +<p>Our next move was to Jimmy Shaw’s, but whether it was to +Windmill Street or to a new house he took when his old place was +demolished (next to the stage door of the Lyric Theatre) I cannot +recollect.</p> +<p>Here rats in sackfuls were awaiting us, amongst others a +rough-haired mongrel terrier, which not long previously had +performed the astounding feat of killing 1,000 rats in an +incredibly short space of time.</p> +<p>To see 1,000 sewer rats not long in captivity together in a +pit, after having seen each one counted out by an expert +rat-catcher diving into a sack, is something <a +name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>my +enlightened twentieth-century reader will never again see in +London.</p> +<p>For, although not absolutely prohibited, the shadow of Exeter +Hall was already spreading over the land, and the +police—already tainted—were not to be trusted, even +when a live ambassador was present.</p> +<p>Tom King—ex-champion—had also consented, for a +consideration, to again put on the gloves, and brought with him a +burly opponent; the slogging that ensued was really splendid, and +Count Schouvaloff was literally in ecstasies.</p> +<p>Our next move was to Endell Street, and here greater +precautions were necessary, for cock-fighting was the +unpardonable sin, and the pains and penalties terrible. So +we split into twos and threes, and going by different ways +eventually found ourselves in the cock-pit below ground.</p> +<p>Tom Faultless was the last of the old type of British bulldog +sportsman. Over seventy years old, he had in his youth +assisted at bull-baiting, dog-fights, cock-fighting, and every +sport that once gave unalloyed delight to high and low.</p> +<p>To his able hands the conduct of this particular department +was entrusted; nor were we long in realising that the supply was +more than enough to meet the most extravagant demands, as, +banging the door to, we were assailed by the defiant crows of a +dozen gladiators, and this not far from midnight, when the +denizens of that virtuous quarter were courting gentle sleep, and +sounds carried like steam whistles.</p> +<p>It was close upon 2 a.m. before we again resumed our +pilgrimage, and with the aid of half a dozen four-wheelers wended +our way towards the Mint.</p> +<p>It is unnecessary here to repeat what is fully set out in a +previous chapter, suffice to say our experiences on this occasion +were equally as interesting of those <a name="page255"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 255</span>of ’62, and that his +Excellency vowed that amid all his miscellaneous experiences +nothing so unique had ever equally delighted him.</p> +<p>Five o’clock was striking as we drove past Covent +Garden, and having suggested that excellent eggs and bacon were +to be obtained at Hart’s Coffee House, all alighted and all +ate as only diplomatists and night birds can.</p> +<p>As we drove still further West the strings of market carts +wafted the odours of country life and green things into our +debauched nostrils, and we slunk away to our respective homes +more or less delighted with our adventures.</p> +<p>Whilst on the subject of Russian diplomatists a deafening +experience I had a few years later may not be without +interest.</p> +<p>It was on the Grand Duke Alexis’s flagship that I had +the honour of finding myself one of some sixty guests. In +addition to the Russian battleship there were men-of-war of +England, France, and Sweden in the harbour, and the Grand Duke +was presiding at the table.</p> +<p>Needless to describe the excellent cookery—for Russian +cookery is very difficult to beat—nor the choice Crimean +wines, many of which are unobtainable except at the Imperial +table, but when the dinner was over the row <i>literally</i> +began.</p> +<p>First the Grand Duke proposed the Czar’s health, +smashing the glass so that no less worthy toast should again +defile it, and 101 guns began a salute on the deck immediately +over our heads.</p> +<p>Barely had it ceased when the battleships of England, France, +and Sweden followed—not simultaneously, but one after +another—and again the Grand Duke arose and proposed the +Queen of England to a repetition of the same diabolical +accompaniment. And then followed the toast to the rulers of +France and Sweden till the viands we had consumed seemed to <a +name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 256</span>rattle in +their astonishment, and our heads to whirl with after-dinner +loyalty.</p> +<p>And when the adjournment to the main deck for coffee and +cigarettes took place, it is no exaggeration to assert that we +waded ankle deep through broken glass.</p> +<p>The impetus given to that industry must have been +enormous!</p> +<h2><a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +257</span>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">DHULEEP SINGH—AND FIFTY YEARS +AFTER.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> must pass back to the fifties to +introduce a personage who figures conspicuously in the sixties +and seventies, both in comedy and tragedy, and then shuffled off +this mortal coil and has long since been forgotten.</p> +<p>It was in ’56 when England had annexed Oude, that the +ex-Queen and a considerable retinue arrived in London to +“protest”—a process that must have enlightened, +if it did not benefit, them in the ways of Imperial Policy.</p> +<p>Half-a-dozen houses in Marylebone Road were secured as a +temporary palace, and it was thither, as a lad, that I +accompanied my father, who had once held high office in the +Punjaub.</p> +<p>The exact spot was where the Baker Street station now stands, +and as one is nothing unless one is accurate, conceive entering +the present dismal premises and finding in the “reception +room” two or three beds, in one of which was the Queen; +about the floor various courtiers were littered, whilst the +atmosphere was so sour that one felt thankful the old +woman’s reign had been cut short, and that henceforth +sanitary arrangements, a tub, and other adjuncts of Christianity +would prevail in Oude after the family had realised that +“No mistakes were rectified after leaving the +counter,” and that “Don’t you wish you may get +it?” embodied our beneficent policy in the abstract.</p> +<p><a name="page258"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 258</span>Baker +Street at the time swarmed with Mohammedans, for, by a +coincidence, Lord Panmure, the Earl of Dalhousie, and Sir John +Lawrence—all more or less associated with India—had +houses in that then fashionable neighbourhood, and so enabled the +“protesters” to combine business with pleasure at +comparatively slight physical inconvenience.</p> +<p>Dhuleep Singh, another reputed Punjaubee, had also at this +time been brought to England, and, although then pursuing the +ordinary course of a schoolboy under General Oliphant, it was +only later, as a Norfolk landlord, a masher, a burlesque +conspirator, and the owner of the finest emeralds in the world, +that he came into prominence.</p> +<p>It is in these latter roles that we purpose to interest our +readers.</p> +<p>During the minority of this most fortunate Asiatic the savings +out of his annuity of £40,000 a year had amounted to a +colossal sum, and so Dhuleep Singh first comes into prominence, +on attaining his majority, as a Norfolk squire and the owner of +Elvedon Hall.</p> +<p>An excellent shot, it was some few years later that he made +the sportsmanlike wager with Lord Sefton to slaughter a thousand +head of game within a day. Rabbits were included in the +bet, and impossible as such a feat may appear, the tameness of +the pheasants in the over-stocked home preserves made it quite +feasible. For some reason, however, it never came off.</p> +<p>At this period the Maharajah was in high favour at Court; his +children, after his marriage with the unpretentious little lady +he wooed and won at Singapore, were permitted to play with +British Royal sprigs, and the Heir-apparent invariably had a +week’s shooting with his dusky neighbour and a suitably +selected party in the autumn.</p> +<p>But despite the glamour these reunions may be supposed to have +spread over him Dhuleep Singh had ever an eye to business, and a +contract was made <a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +259</span>with Baily, the poulterer in Mount Street, for a +shilling a head all round for all surplus hares, rabbits, +pheasants, and what-not slaughtered at Elvedon Hall.</p> +<p>The Maharajah’s behaviour meanwhile was all that was +desirable. At Court functions he was resplendent in +emeralds and diamonds, and the slab, six inches by four, on his +swordbelt was said to be the finest emerald in the world.</p> +<p>The jewellers to whom was deputed the task of cutting, +setting, and otherwise improving the barbaric gems of the +youthful prince are said to trace their present Bond Street +position to this fortunate selection.</p> +<p>It was only when his Highness assumed evening dress that +visions of Mooltan, Chilianwallah, and Goojerat faded from +one’s brain, and a podgy little Hindoo seemed to stand +before one, divested of that physique and martial bearing one +associates with either warriors or Sikhs, and only requiring, as +it were, a chutnee-pot peeping out of his pocket to complete the +illusion.</p> +<p>During the sixties and seventies Dhuleep Singh was in evidence +everywhere. An excellent whist player amongst such admitted +champions as Goldingham, Dupplin, “Cavendish” (on +whist), and others, he was to be found every afternoon at the +Marlborough, or East India, or Whist Club backing his opinion, +and damning his partner if he ignored his “call for +trumps;” whilst every evening found him at the Alhambra +graciously accepting the homage of the houris in the green-room, +and distributing 9-carat gimcracks with Oriental lavishness.</p> +<p>During this period apparently the Punjaub occupied only a +secondary position in his mind, and we next find him occupying a +spacious flat in King Street, Covent Garden, and it was there, +doubtless, that visions of charging at the head of the splendid +horsemen of the Punjaub and the wresting of India from British <a +name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 260</span>rule first +entered his romantic brain; for the Maharajah was a poet, though +happily none of his effusions appear to have been +preserved. He may also have recollected that the Koh-i-noor +was once a crown jewel of Runjeet Singh, and his Highness was +passionately found of baubles.</p> +<p>Often have I seen him of an evening pacing to and fro outside +the “Shirt Shop” (as the Whist Club was +affectionately called) maturing those foolish plans that deprived +him of his income for a while and led him into straits that it is +painful to realise. Occasionally, indeed, he would rave at +the injustice of the beggarly income the Government of India +accorded him, and then it was he conceived the brilliant idea of +coquetting with Russia for the simultaneous rising of the Punjaub +and a Russian invasion of India.</p> +<p>Not that one Sikh would have stirred at his call, and his +proclamation fizzed and went out like any squib at a Brock +benefit. Added to this, Russia rucked on him and his +Highness fell into disgrace.</p> +<p>But still his vanity led him on, and he essayed to start for +India, and shipped as Pat Casey, though why Pat, and what part of +Ireland Casey hailed from will ever remain an unfathomable +mystery.</p> +<p>The hero, however, never got beyond Aden, where he was +politely invited to retrace his steps. The “last +phase” was as brief as it was lamentable. Settling in +Paris he again married. Then poverty necessitated the sale +of his jewels, sickness overtook him, and, broken in body and +mind, he asked and received pardon for his many foolish acts.</p> +<p>After his escapades in Paris he is said to have written to the +British Government, “<i>Capivi</i>,” evidently +intending to reiterate the cypher telegram attributed to Sir +Charles Napier, the conqueror of Scinde, +“<i>Peccavi</i>” (a mot that will appeal to all +classical readers). Thereupon he was forgiven, and <a +name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 261</span>shortly +after he died, and so the race of the “Lion of the +Punjaub” went out like a lamb.</p> +<p>What became of the second wife I never heard, what became of +the Alhambra lass and the dusky tadpoles that drove about the +King’s Road at Brighton history does not tell, for +“Love is a queer thing, it comes and it goes,” and +all that remains to the present generation is the nebulous tale +of a misguided man who kicked down wealth, position, and a happy +old age in the reckless pursuit of a silly ambition.</p> +<h3>FIFTY YEARS AFTER.</h3> +<p>I cannot permit this opportunity to pass without reminding +every reader of the momentous issues that were for ever set at +rest by the incredible heroism of our army during the Mutiny in +September fifty years ago, and without encroaching on the +beautiful story by W. H. Fitchett, within the reach of everybody +for 4½d., one may legitimately ask why many incidents that +then occurred have never been explained.</p> +<p>What is the <i>true</i> version of the “<i>Stone</i> +Bridge” being left <i>open</i> at Lucknow?</p> +<p>Why is it invariably confused with the “<i>Iron</i> +Bridge?”</p> +<p>What was the <i>true</i> reason of the Cawnpore reverse?</p> +<p>No history yet written has ever explained these points, which, +however justifiable at the time, may surely, after fifty years, +have light thrown upon them, and if Lord Roberts would give his +version, many—including the old brigade—would have +their curiosity set at rest.</p> +<p>And touching those glorious days, what return has a grateful +(!) country made to the remnant that remains? An invitation +to a levée and a sandwich and a photographed group +afterwards! A 5th Class Victorian Order would have left +nothing to be desired. <a name="page262"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 262</span>For my part if I pass a drummer boy +of the brave 93rd I feel an irresistible inclination to raise my +hat in homage to a successor of those invincible +Highlanders. And then the irony of it! MacBean, the +adjutant who passed through those continuous hurricanes of shot +and shell without a scratch, died of lock-jaw, when in command of +the regiment some twenty years after, from cutting a corn.</p> +<p>Every patriot will forgive a digression on the day (December +6th) these lines are being written, for it is a landmark in the +annals of the Army as recording the <i>last</i> occasion (fifty +years ago) that British infantry advanced in line in old +Peninsular formation—in slow time—halting +periodically and dressing on their coverers as we see on a Hyde +Park parade, under a terrific fire of shot and shrapnel, and +then, breaking into the old-fashioned charge, the irresistible +cheer, and cold steel as a climax.</p> +<p>For on that decisive day the Gwalior contingent, 80,000 +strong, splendidly drilled, the flower of the Sepoy Army, was +shattered by Colin Campbell and his handful of 3,400 men, and the +neck of the great Mutiny was broken.</p> +<p>No man living to-day who heard that crumpling sound and that +avenging cheer can ever—will ever—forget it, and it +behoves you, my masters, to remember, when you see the red and +white-striped ribbon on the mendicant selling matches, or his +more fortunate comrade patrolling outside a shop door, that in +the words of Colin Campbell: “Every man of them that day +was worth his weight in gold to England.”</p> +<p>And here one is reminded of a German prejudice of the Dowager +Queen Adelaide (whom we all prayed for in our youth), who at +levées and Court functions insisted on kilted officers +appearing in “trews”—the absence of the +“breeks” being too shockingly shocking.</p> +<p><a name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 263</span>And +whilst on this subject I am reminded, by the recent death of +George FitzGeorge at Lucerne, of many incidents more or less +military.</p> +<p>At Gibraltar as late as ’65 was a sentry posted on a +promontory that originally commanded a view of the +Straits—but which a high wall had subsequently +obliterated—whose orders were “To keep a sharp look +out and immediately to report if the Spanish fleet was in +sight.”</p> +<p>The Governor at the time was Sir Richard Airey, the most +courteous of the old English school of gentlemen, but probably +the worst Quartermaster-General that ever permitted boots and +blankets to accumulate at Balaclava and brave men to freeze and +starve at the front. It was an inspiration of his to +utilise the stores with which Gibraltar is permanently +provisioned by a periodical issue of salt pork rations that had +accumulated since the Crimean War. Needless to add, much +was mouldy, and many the complaints, and on one occasion when a +vehement report reached him, he replied: “Leave it here, it +shall be seen to.” Not long after invitations were +issued for a dinner at the Convent, to which the +“Board” on the rotten pork were invited.</p> +<p>The banquet was the finest a French cook could produce, and +one dish with “<i>Sauce Robert</i>” especially +appreciated.</p> +<p>“That, gentlemen, is your rotten pork, and shows you how +some men are never satisfied,” was his Excellency’s +appropriate (!) comment. But there is not a <i>cordon +bleu</i> in every regimental cook-house.</p> +<h2><a name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +264</span>CHAPTER XXIV.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE LAST OF THE OLD BRIGADE.</span></h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">will</span> now relate as a fitting end +to these long reminiscences what I witnessed forty years ago in +the island of Mauritius, when death was having a fine harvest by +the ravages of a plague, and how a hurricane—terrific in +even that so-called focus of hurricanes, and compared with which +the storms we occasionally encounter in Merrie England are but +gentle zephyrs—obliterated all the germs of infection.</p> +<p>It was in ’67 that a terrible epidemic—new to +science—burst without warning on the beautiful island of +Mauritius. Its very symptoms were unfamiliar to the +faculty, and so, for a better name, it was called jungle +fever. Fever and ague were its chief characteristics, +followed by absolute prostration, and death with alarming +rapidity.</p> +<p>Like its dread ally cholera, its first appearance was +irresistible; then the attack became less formidable, and as the +atmosphere became saturated with its poisonous germs, every +living thing suffered from exhaustion, and man and beast +literally dragged one leg after another, and almost prayed for +release.</p> +<p>The scourge, it was supposed, had been introduced by the +100,000 Madras coolies who worked on the sugar plantations under +conditions as nearly approaching slavery as our beneficent +Government would admit.</p> +<p>It was under these depressing circumstances that a British +regiment, 800 strong, and in the best of health, was landed, and +within a month not 100 <a name="page265"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 265</span>would have been available for +duty. Not daring to keep them in Port Louis, where the +deaths were some 400 a day, the regiment was split into fragments +and billeted wherever an empty outhouse or a few obsolete tents +could afford temporary shelter. But the ingenuity of the +inefficient staff in no way averted the danger, and within a +month a dozen minor centres were created, where British soldiers +succumbed and died who ought never to have been disembarked.</p> +<p>Not an officer who was sufficiently well but had to read the +burial service almost daily over Protestant and Catholic +comrades, and not a drum was heard whilst the scant ceremony was +being repeated and repeated in its terrible monotony.</p> +<p>To make matters worse quinine, which ordinarily costs a few +pence, was selling at auction at £30 per ounce. Then +the supply ran out, and so valuable did the drug become that the +dose a dying man’s stomach could not retain was carefully +bottled up for the next urgent case.</p> +<p>Soon the very wood for coffins ran short, and the carpenters +who made the ghastly necessaries were themselves dead or dying, +so long trenches were improvised in which the dead were laid in +rows.</p> +<p>Every house bewailed a departed relative, for there was no +pitying angel to sprinkle the door-posts in that remote isle of +the sea, and the sound of wailing went up from Indian compound +and European cantonment alike as, smiting their breasts, the cry +ascended to Brahmah and the God of the Christians to stay the +hand of the destroying angel.</p> +<p>Truly the grasshopper had become a burden and desire failed, +when a change as sudden as the arrival of the terrible scourge +ensued, and a hurricane, unprecedented in its violence, swept +over the island for days.</p> +<p>Fields of sugar cane, ripe for the sickle, were laid low in a +twinkling; houses were unroofed, and tents <a +name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 266</span>blown into +space; huge bridges were twisted like corkscrews, and bolts +weighing a ton were hurled about like cricket balls. A +heavily-laden goods train, standing outside the station (as +instanced by the Governor in his official report), was turned on +its side, and, joy of joy, the terrible plague and its insidious +germs were wafted into eternity. And when the death roll +was called a few months later, what a cloud of victims did it +show! Bishop Hatchard, not long arrived, whose funeral I +attended; the General, who came home to die; the wives and +daughters of many it is needless to recapitulate, and brave +soldiers innumerable discharged as medically unfit or still +sleeping in that distant oasis of the Indian Ocean.</p> +<p>But even this awful drama has associations that lend +themselves to comedy. A representative of a Deep Sea Cable +Company, who was conspicuous for his flowing mane and +superabundant hair, emerged from his illness as smooth as a +billiard ball, and the local snuff-coloured wig he donned to hide +his nakedness was as bewildering as it was irresistible.</p> +<p>The coolies, too, desirous of apprising their friends in +Madras of their safety, and thinking it a favourable opportunity +to defraud the Revenue, would slip unstamped letters into the +post, oblivious of the columns of names that appeared weekly in +the local paper as not having been forwarded in consequence of +insufficient postage. And then the Creoles—a +snuff-and-butter combination of English, French, and +Indian—desirous of airing their European pretensions, would +hail one with: “Ah, the plague—we are now far from +IT,” or, anxious to be polite, would add: “I have +heard your name with great advantage.”</p> +<p>Sitting round a blazing fire some few years ago at Christmas, +in the comfortable chambers (since demolished) at the corner of +Hanover Square and George Street, three friends were discussing +the various changes they had witnessed together in the <a +name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 267</span>past forty +years. Not that the conversation was unattended with +drawbacks, for a gang of “waits” were disseminating +discord through the still hours of the night. An asthmatic +harmonium was the chief culprit, and bore on its back the +blasphemous inscription, “Let everything that hath breath +praise the Lord,” the remainder of the orchestra being a +clarionet and a fiddle; all the operators had red noses, and the +instruments suffered accordingly. A public-house within +measurable distance may explain the welcome silence that +occasionally intervened and justify the assumption that it was +responsible for the discord.</p> +<p>Be that as it may, “The voice that breathed o’er +Eden”—with whisky variations—does not lend +itself to concentration of thought or deed, save of an irreverent +kind, so I will conclude by describing my companions whom +we’ve frequently met in our various rambles.</p> +<p>Of these, one was a country-looking squire with grey hair and +cropped beard, who, on closer inspection, was recognisable as the +wiry bruiser who had thrashed the “Kangaroo” thirty +years previously at the Alhambra; the other was Bobby Shafto, +still erect and soldier-like, but divested of the curly locks +that had won their way into everybody’s favour a decade +previously.</p> +<p>For Bobby had only just left the Service, after holding a +series of personal staff appointments through the influence of +powerful friends of the days of his youth.</p> +<p>So great, indeed, had been his interest at the Horse Guards +that—admittedly, the worst of company officers—he was +discovered to possess military talents of the highest +order. He was “a born leader of men” it was +asserted; he had a “capacity for organisation” and +for “licking a hopeless rabble into a military +force.” Had he continued soldiering he would <a +name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 268</span>doubtless +have been covered with “orders,” appointed Governor +of one of our important fortresses, given the command of an Army +Corps, or created a peer—as many an amiable donkey with +interest has been before and since.</p> +<p>But both these good fellows have since passed away, and +I—only I—remain—like a modern Elijah—to +commune within myself of the various incidents with which we were +associated in the long-ago sixties.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">THE +END.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> + +<div class="gapline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Printed at The Chapel River +Press</i>, <i>Kingston</i>, <i>Surrey</i></p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LONDON IN THE SIXTIES***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 44163-h.htm or 44163-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/4/1/6/44163 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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