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diff --git a/44163-0.txt b/44163-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..08091f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/44163-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8726 @@ +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: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LONDON IN THE SIXTIES*** + + +This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler + + [Picture: Logo of Everett & Co.] + +First Edition, June, 1908. +Second ,, September, 1908. +Third ,, March, 1909. +Cheap ,, March, 1914. + + London in + The Sixties + + + (WITH A FEW DIGRESSIONS) + + * * * * * + + By + ONE OF THE OLD BRIGADE + +London: +EVERETT & CO. LTD. +42 ESSEX STREET, +STRAND, W.C. + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + I. 1860 1 + II. THE TOWER 13 + III. MOTT’S AND CREMORNE 25 + IV. KATE HAMILTON’S AND LEICESTER SQUARE 37 + V. THE NIGHT HOUSES OF THE HAYMARKET 48 + VI. EVANS’S AND THE DIALS 61 + VII. THE RATCLIFF HIGHWAY 73 + VIII. THE BOOTHS ON EPSOM DOWNS 83 + IX. RACING _par Excellence_ 94 + X. THE EPIDEMIC OF CARDS 111 + XI. THE COUP DE JARNAC 127 + XII. THE PUBLIC HANGING OF THE PIRATES 130 + XIII. THE HOSTELRIES OF THE SIXTIES 140 + XIV. THE DRAMA (LEGITIMATE AND OTHERWISE) 151 + XV. MOSTLY “OTHERWISE” (CONTINUED) 163 + XVI. USURERS AND MILLIONAIRES 175 + XVII. SOME CURIOUS FISH OF THE SIXTIES 182 + XVIII. SPIRITUALISM AND REALISM 192 + XIX. THE ROCK AND THE CAPE 205 + XX. EASTWARD-HO! 222 + XXI. THE GUILLOTINE AND MADAME RACHEL 232 + XXII. REMINISCENCES OF THE PURPLE 243 + XXIII. DHULEEP SINGH AND FIFTY YEARS AFTER 257 + XXIV. THE LAST OF THE OLD BRIGADE 264 + + + + +CHAPTER I. +1860. + + +LONDON 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. + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +It was one morning early in 1860 that I proudly saw my name in the +_Gazette_—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. + +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. + +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), 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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 by Jews and Gentiles anxious to sell or buy +something. + +“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. + +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. + +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 _esprit de corps_ +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. + +It was the Volunteer review in Hyde Park in 1860 that was responsible for +my first appearance in uniform. 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, _nolens +volens_, dressed at Ridpath and Manning’s in my brand new cast-iron +uniform. + +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. + +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. + +The excitement was too much for me—I almost fainted. + +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 +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 _esprit de corps_, 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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Yes,” replied the Colonel. “I believe I was horn under a lucky star; +perhaps you will be surprised to hear that _I_ was the man.” + +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?” + +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. + +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.” + +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 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. + +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. + +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: + +“The late examination is cancelled; candidates will attend again next +Monday.” + +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 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.” + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +Not having been at the storming in the Peninsula, I had retired to bed +early. + +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. + +“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. + + + + +CHAPTER II. +THE TOWER. + + +ABOUT 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. + +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. + +The Colonel, as may be supposed, was in great form, each of his yarns +exceeding in improbability 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!’” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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: + +“Oi apalagoise, surr, most humbly; but oi disremembered me abligation.” + +“Obligation be d—, sir!” replied the genial old warrior as he lighted a +fresh cheroot. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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 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 +_fiancée_ 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, _externally_ +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. + +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. + +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 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 +_en bloc_ 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.” + +“What are you going to do, George?” inquired 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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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 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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 been classed as either +punters or puntees—if such base coin will bear alloy. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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? + +“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.” + +“Say a pony then,” continued the baronet, and they cut for deal. + +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. + +“Sit beside me, Colonel,” De Hoghton requested a grizzly, rubicund +warrior, “you’ll be able to advise me when they make a pool.” + +“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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Hold, hold, gentlemen, for God’s sake,” implored 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.” + +“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.” + +And then a scramble on the floor began, which was followed by breathless +silence. + +“Count them, please,” requested the Colonel, and sure enough 33 was the +result. + +“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. + +“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.” + +The Rapparee meanwhile had been in whispered conversation with his +friend, and on the Colonel’s departure, addressed himself to Hay. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +But one of the younger members seemed inclined to treat the matter as a +joke, and turning towards 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?” + +“Surr!” scowled the Rapparee. + +“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.” + +Turning to the Rapparee, and raising his hat, he continued: “My name, +sir, is Lieutenant Hay, and I’m stationed at the Tower.” + + + + +CHAPTER III. +MOTT’S AND CREMORNE. + + +LONDON 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. + +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? + +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 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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?” + +Arriving in Windmill Street, no time was lost in preliminaries. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“But are they tied all right?” inquired Bobby, as the parcel was +presented to him. + +“Right, sir? Why, you’ve only to slip this string like, and there you +are.” + +“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.” + +“Well, there you are, sir,” replied the expert with a pitying smile, as +he performed the requisite function. + +“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. + +“Very quiet!” remarked the Marquis, as Freer received them at the door. + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“All right, old man, they’ll be up in ten minutes, but don’t budge till +the fiddles strike up; here’s the knife, blade open; don’t cut till I say +‘Now,’ and bolt like h— once the gas is out.” + +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.” + +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. + +Bobby and Hastings meanwhile were driving towards Cremorne with the +complacency of men who had done their duty. + +Cremorne on a Derby night baffles description; progress round the dancing +platform was almost 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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Yes,” replied Bobby. “I don’t fancy wearing it after those infernal +rats. But why should there be a row?” + +“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. + +The expected dénouement was not long in coming, 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. + +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. + +_Sauve qui peut_ 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. + +“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. + +“_Qui hi_;” 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. + +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. + +“Hi, master,” shouted the owner, disturbed at his meal, “that be moine.” + +“Not it, man,” yelled Hastings; “it’s mine; jump in,” and, without a +murmur, the worthy man obeyed. + +“Where to, master?” was the next inquiry. “I be going for a load of +gravel to Scotland Yard.” And within half an hour four bucks with white +ties were shovelling in gravel as if their lives depended on it. + +Scotland Yard in those days was a public gravel-pit, and its name did not +convey the painful suggestions of after years. + +“Where now, master?” inquired the yokel again, and St. John’s Wood was +the order. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +KATE HAMILTON—AND LEICESTER SQUARE. + + +THE 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. + +“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. + +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. + +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 inspector, +marched solemnly in, and having completed the farce, marched solemnly +out. + +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. + +“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 _ad libitum_ 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 _carte blanche_ 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. + +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 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. + +“Of course,” Julia had once said by way of exciting 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. + +“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. + +In the long, long ago the entertainments provided by Leicester Square +were not of an exciting nature. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In the days of which we are writing, Leicester Square was a barren waste +surrounded by rusty railings, 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 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. + +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.” + +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. + +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 smashing everything +balanced the account to a certain extent. + +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 _pièce de résistance_, 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. + +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. + +His _modus operandi_ was simplicity itself; seating 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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +The “Kangaroo” had learnt a lesson, and was profoundly ignorant of the +fact that his meek-looking opponent had a heart as big as a lion’s and +was a pupil of Ben Caunt. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +THE NIGHT HOUSES OF THE HAYMARKET. + + +IF 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. + +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, was the nightly rendezvous of +oyster-eaters, where, sandwiched in between “loose boxes” upstairs and +down, champagne and other drinks were consumed to excess. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 _chemin de +fer_ at the Arlington held him like a vice whilst the fever was upon him. + +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 +threshold of Leicester Square by a courteous individual who asked for a +light. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +So summed up the situation Solon George, as their cicerone made his +reappearance. + +“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. + +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 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. + +“But why here?” inquired George, as they found themselves the sole +occupants of the oilclothed room. + +“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. + +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 give on the stage, and proceeded to rattle three +cards. + +“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. + +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. + +George meanwhile had caught the infection and bet and won as the stakes +were made higher. + +“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. + +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. + +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.” + +But fortune was still against our friends, and divested of his trinkets, +in his turn he appealed to his opponent. + +“Come, sir, I gave you your revenge, now give me mine, and anything I +lose I’ll give you my cheque for.” + +But Jerry was of a practical nature; cheques 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?” + +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. + +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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The “Kitchen” was situated in St. Martin’s Court, abutting on Castle +Street, now known as Charing Cross Road; adjoining it was a famous _à la +mode_ 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. + +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 _à la mode_ gravy in pewter pots +stimulated many a jaded reveller during the small hours of the morning. + +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. + +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. + +As we entered the “Kitchen” Jack Coney—a promoted scene-shifter lately +come into prominence 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. + +“Of course, I’ll go,” replied George Hay to someone’s inquiry. + +“I’m too seedy,” continued Bobby, who had not spared the punch. + +“I, too,” added Oliver. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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 _sang-froid_ left me, and reeling +towards the bed, I endeavoured to solve the mystery. + +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. + +To make matters worse, I knew not where Amherst or Harry Turner resided, +and so resolved to have breakfast and await developments. + +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. + +“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.” + +Whilst we were discussing ways and means, a second 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?” + +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.” + +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. + +Three weary hours later, George Hay, Oliver Montagu, the irrepressible +Jack Coney, and Harry Ashley (afterwards of _Pink Dominoes_ 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. + +“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. + +And then a cloud rose from off the countenances of Polly, Harry Turner, +and myself; the magnum 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. + +We never told our terrible experience. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +EVANS’S AND THE DIALS. + + +BEFORE 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And no accounts were discharged at 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. + +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! + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +The old Olympic, hard by, was another nasty place 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 plain and whitebait devilled found the wayfarer +well-nigh exhausted. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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.’ + +“‘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.’ + +“‘I have nothing to say against the line, sir,’ he would reply, ‘except +that your officers can rarely ride to hounds.’ + +“‘But surely, sir,’ I answered, ‘there are other 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.”’” + +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. + +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 _Hamlet_, 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 +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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Amid these conflicting sentiments the regiment quitted the Tower. + +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. + +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 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Lord Louth, who weighed eighteen stone, and stood 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A fall whilst hunting had resulted in the disease of the elbow-bone of +the left arm. + +“Nothing but taking your arm off will save your life,” was the universal +fiat. + +“D— nonsense!” was Butcher’s retort, and he cut a square clean out of the +elbow. + +Within six months Billy’s bridle arm was stronger than the other. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +THE RATCLIFF HIGHWAY. + + +SOME 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. + +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. + +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 _hors-d’œuvre_, 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: “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. + +“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.” + +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 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 _menus_ superfluous, and once shocked a very correct +hostess by exclaiming “_Je prends tout_,” 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. + +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. + +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. + +Suffice to say Hastings won the wager, and the party hurried eastward, +leaving the brave old bird like a warrior taking his rest. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 that when either side passed its word +every one was on his parole to “play the game.” + +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: + + “She turned up her nose at Bob Simmons and me.” + +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.” + +“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 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?” + +“Blast me if I wudn’t knife ’em; what say you, lads?” replied a +stump-ended figure, stiffening himself. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 at the +extremity of Grace’s Alley, it led directly into Wellclose Square, a _cul +de sac_ 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 _sang-froid_, 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: + + “What’s old England coming to? + Board of Trade ahoy!” + +What any of us knew of the Board of Trade or the Mercantile Marine +history does not say. + +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. + +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 _qui vive_ 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; 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +THE BOOTHS ON EPSOM DOWNS. + + +WHILE 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. + +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 _were_ booths, not devoted as now to penny shots with pea +rifles and the excitements permitted by our prudish legislature, but +receptacles of every conceivable impropriety, to recount many of which +would shock you, virtuous reader. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Now, my Lord,” was next shouted from a roulette booth. “We’re just +ready for the swells. Step in, gentlemen,” continued a flash-looking +rascal. “Ah! Mr. Broome,” he added, as he recognised the ex-puncher, “no +need for you, I hope.” + +“Perhaps not, Levi,” replied the Marquis. “But we’ve got some +quarrelsome chaps about; best be prepared.” And again we proceeded on +our pilgrimage. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Hang it,” replied Peter, with _sang-froid_. “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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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— + +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 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A similar experiment in these enlightened days would require admission by +parole and countersign and a squad of constables within measurable +distance. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 circumstance we have probably to thank for their still +being amongst us. + +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 _did not win_, +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. + +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 to Mr. Henry Chaplin, Joe +Aylesford, and finally to Harry McCalmont, where all his paths were +peace. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 stands, and the +best of everything was provided gratis. + +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. + +“Not in the least,” was the caustic answer; “but we all wonder where you +get the money to play with.” + +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. + +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.” + +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 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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +RACING PAR EXCELLENCE. + + +A VISIT 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. + +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. + +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. + +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, _nolens volens_, 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 _pourparlers_ that +ensued. + +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!” _ad infinitum_ for depriving a better man of +the seat. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Beginning his racing career in a pure love of the 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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Your horse is not going well in the betting, old man. I’ve just taken 3 +monkeys to 1,” was the reply. + +“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. + +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. + +“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 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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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 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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I hope you’re both on my ’orse for to-morrow,” inquired the genial +Swindells. And I explained I had determined to back Aventuriere. + +“What’s she got on?” asked Swindells. “What, 6st. 12lb.? D— me if any — +three-year-old has a chance against my ’orse.” + +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. + +“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.” + +It was thus that I lost the biggest chance of my life. + +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.” + +“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. + +“‘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!” + +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. + +The name of Sir Robert Peel recalls many episodes in the career of that +most blustering baronet. + +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. + +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 orators and one of the best Foreign Secretaries England +has ever had. + +“What kind of fellow is young Rosebery?” inquired Lord Rosslyn; to which +the most opinionated of men replied: + +“He looks a fool, but I’m told he’s a bigger one than he looks.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It would be absurd to recount the numerous victories of the “cherry and +black” colours, although 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _sans peur et sans reproche_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Another shining light about this period was Prince Soltykoff, whose wife +was one of the handsomest women in England. + +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. + +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. + +The sporting critic of the _Morning Post_, 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 _Post_, 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.” + +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 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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I should like you to win a large stake,” whispered to me a jolly old +squire who had been my neighbour at dinner. + +“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.” + +“Eh, lad, and why so?” persisted my well-wisher. “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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER X. +THE EPIDEMIC OF CARDS. + + +THE 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. + +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, and his prowess in Corfu and other +distant sporting haunts is remembered to this day. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _en bloc_ to the largest +bedroom above. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But the wave of punting that appeared to have engulfed the land was by no +means confined to the 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. + +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. + +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. + +Brighton, too, suffered from the epidemic, and during the Sussex +fortnight the fever spread to an alarming extent. The London detachments +came down _en bloc_, and all the best houses and leading hotels were +filled with roysterers, and high play was the rule from night till +morning. + +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 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. + +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. + +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.” + +The costume _de rigueur_ on these progresses was white tie, evening +trousers and vest, and silk hat, with the oldest shooting coat in one’s +wardrobe. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 to victory with his whip, he received such an ovation at Chantilly +as seldom falls to the lot of a perfidious Briton. + +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. + +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. + +It was subsequent to the various thrilling incidents we have narrated +that Jonas selected Brighton as his headquarters. + +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. + +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. + +The back room was more or less a sealed subject, and supposed to contain +club memoranda, Jinks’ books, and to be the spot where the “proprietor” +carried on the business. + +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. + +The procedure in the latter case may briefly be described as follows:— + +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. + +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.” + +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 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. + +“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. + +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. + +“Oh, yes I will, he’s all right,” was the half-hearted reply. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +The scheme was nothing less than procuring the contract for the supply of +cards at the principal gambling resorts of Nice, Monaco, St. Petersburg, +Homburg, Paris, and Ostend. + +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. + +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. + +It was during this winter, too, that the culprit, detected cheating at +the Raleigh, put an end to his career. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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). + +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. + +Five minutes later Biscoe was raking in £1,000 (in counters). + +“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. + +“What’s up?” inquired Biscoe. + +“D—d if I know,” was the laconic reply, as an Englishman left the table. + +“The Committee, sir,” replied the Count, “have decided to count the +cards, and on their authority I take possession of those before you.” + +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 _procès verbal_ also took place, presided +over by the Duc de Richelieu, and within an hour it was known to every +_gamin_ 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. + +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 _not_ redeemed by the club, and the “acceptance” was as +far from redemption as ever. + +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. + +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. + +A week or two later a paragraph appeared in a Dublin paper, and there the +matter ended. + +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! _Faites vos jeux, messieurs_! + +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.” + +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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +That the publicity had been far-reaching, the following from the Paris +_Figaro_ will show:— + +“One had hoped that chevaliers of industry were 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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Suspicion was all the stronger from the cards when counted being found +to exceed the proper number by twenty-seven. + +“It was under these circumstances that the Major bought the bank at +auction last Monday, and lost the first two coups. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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!’ + +“The warning was not in vain. + +“It was accepted by all but one player, who placed on the table about +sixty Louis. + +“The Major H—, in no way disconcerted, again dealt, and turned up nine—a +nine of diamonds. + +“There was no further room for doubt, and all the players left their +seats. + +“The game was suspended, the cards were counted; there were twenty-seven +too many; and contained five nines of diamonds instead of four. + +“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 _correctionnelle_. + +No more liberal player ever existed than George Hay. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Only one more chance,” whined the tailor. + +“Very well,” replied George, “you owe me” (and he named a considerable +sum). “I’ll play you one game double or quits.” + +The tailor pondered for some moments, and then replied: + +“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.” + +Failing to catch the subtlety of this logic, George consented, and the +result was again against the tailor. + +“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 _will_ do,” +and ringing the bell, he ordered the waiter to bring in the list of +members. + +Scanning the names and counting the number, he again addressed the +tailor: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +THE COUP DE JARNAC. + + +THE 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _trente et quarante_, but to those +accursed private parties in Paris, and possibly nearer home, where the +following was in full blast many years ago. + +Assuming, then, that we have not all experienced a plucking, the +procedure at (say) baccarat may be given. + +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? + +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 in rotation (face upwards) reading from left to right:— + + 7 0 5 9 0 2 6 0 4 1 3 6 0 + + 8 0 1 2 6 9 0 8 7 0 9 7 0 + + 4 9 0 2 5 0 4 8 0 3 2 0 8 + + 1 1 3 5 5 3 4 0 0 0 6 0 7 + + (0 represents tens and court cards.) + +Cut the cards as often as you please, and the sequence and _consequence_ +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. + +“Lightning shuffling,” whereby the _artiste_ (!) appears to dislocate +every card whilst really disturbing none is added to complete the +illusion. + +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. + +There is, however, one system one should invariably follow: avoid play, +as a _private_ 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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +THE PUBLIC HANGING OF THE PIRATES. + + +IN 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 _coupé_ on a long railway journey. + +And so it came about that the phenomenal sight of the execution of the +seven _Flowery Land_ 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. + +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.” + +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. + +Cursing the elements, the sightseers little knew in what good stead the +downpour served them, and with nothing worse than being drenched to the +skin the party arrived safely. + +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. + +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. + +Here was to be seen the lowest scum of London densely packed together as +far as the eye could reach, and estimated by _The Times_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 _contretemps_ occurred, and one poor +wretch fell fainting, almost into the arms of the officiating priest. + +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 + + “Calcraft, Calcraft, he’s the man,” + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 new era was thenceforth +inaugurated. Instead of the length of the drop being left to the +discretion of the _artiste_, 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. + +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. + +It was thus that the hero we are discussing came upon the scene some few +years later. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Surely no passer-by can walk under the porch of Gilbey’s offices in +Oxford Street without shuddering at the many sad scenes that ancient +portico and that ancient street have witnessed. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +THE HOSTELRIES OF THE SIXTIES. + + +LONG’S 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 for a +broken-down ex-Derby horse that would have been dear at £100. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +The tableau half an hour later in the Colonel’s apartments may reasonably +be left to the reader’s 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. + +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. + +“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!” + +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.” + +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.” + +Jack Peyton, who commanded the 7th Dragoon Guards, was another patron of +Long’s. Shortly after his second marriage with a wealthy widow, 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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _canard_. + +“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 fortunes in their resurrection ever +bring back the indescribable air of solid comfort that characterised +these hostelries of the Sixties. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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” had had his last drink, and had been duly +gathered to his fathers. + +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. + +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.” + +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 _serviette_ 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 “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 _sine +quâ non_ 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! + +“Blood,” some genius discovered, “is thicker than water”—and the most +unobservant must admit that some of it is very thick indeed. + +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? + +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. + +The best was Phillips’s, at 99, Regent Street, where 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 and its attendant cigarette and coffee may be traced the present +accepted theory that “clubs were made for man, and not man for clubs.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +THE DRAMA—LEGITIMATE AND OTHERWISE. + + +THE 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 _ad +libitum_ 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. + +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.” + +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. + +It appears that some scene shifters with voracious appetites were sending +again and again for a slice 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 _you_?” But we managed to slip out without +giving the desired explanation, and so ended the tercentenary and the +spirit Ben Webster had invoked. + +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. + +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 one glance, one sign of +recognition, from the bevy beyond the footlights. + +When Valentine Baker began casting sheep’s eyes at the demure maiden +reading the _Family Herald_ 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. + +The rumour came like a thunderbolt, and in every Army club the whispered +communication ran: “Valentine Baker is arrested, by Gad!” + +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. + +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. + +“I’ll stand next the wall,” continued our guide, “and you get on my +shoulders,” and then an acrobatic performance took place that would have +insured an engagement at any music-hall. + +The sequel is matter of history. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The Strand Theatre also was a highly popular resort, run exclusively by +the Swanborough family and their numerous sisters, cousins, and aunts. + +To “The Old Lady,” rightly or wrongly, was attributed every _malaprop_ +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.” + +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 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. + +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 _he_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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 +_en bloc_, are said to have bowed down and worshipped, as was only meet +and proper and to be expected of a “loyal and dutiful” people. + +“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. + +Pretty little Camille Dubois, who eventually developed into a Stanhope, +was also at this delightful 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 _morceau_ that I was aware had emanated from +his inspired brain, I expressed a desire to procure a copy. + +“Ach, mein Gott!” he replied, “it is a gavotte in F.” + +Gavottes in F are, happily, rare inspirations! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 loth to encourage +such filial piety, her inamorato put her into a cab, and then—with an eye +to business—judiciously followed. + +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. + +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. + +Later the sweet girl went on tour with one of Alec Henderson’s companies, +and met a bagman she eventually married. + +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. + +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 kissed by the Kaiser, and all by +sheer superficial excellence. + +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 _clientèle_, +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 _cabinet particulier_ 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 may have in store for us, we may not +be bereft of our old nobility. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Lucia_ 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 +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. + +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 _fire proof_ construction. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +MOSTLY “OTHERWISE” (continued). + + +IN 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. + +“But she’s engaged to me,” the poor old chap pleaded. + +“And when she’s Mrs. Goodenough we shall always he delighted to see her,” +was the stern, uncompromising reply. + +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. + +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. + +No such voice as that gifted being’s has ever been 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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +Sims Reeves, indeed! But no matter—may they both rest in peace. + +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. + +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. + +No abominations in imitation of French cookery were to be found here. No +half-crown dinners of half-a-dozen courses, with their deadly +accompaniments of artichokes fried in tallow (_au Cardinal_) would have +been permitted here; no New Zealand mutton garnished with turnip-tops +(_ris dé veau garni aux truffes_) 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +So far as execution and diabolical contortions were concerned he was +immense, and as big an impostor as Jullien himself. + +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 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. + +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. + +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 _Lucia_ 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. + +Sir Michael Costa meanwhile sat grim and immovable, when a few bars would +probably have nerved up the fluttering victim, but _that_ 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +“These,” pointing to one group, was Grisi’s usual introduction, “are the +_Marionettes_, and these”—indicating the others—“are the _Grisettes_.” + +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. + +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. + +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 the +requirements of their numerous patrons (_vide_ daily papers, etc.). + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +“Come, Mabel, shall we go to the Covent Garden ball?” + +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. + +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. + +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 _éclat_ to the performance. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +He also belonged to the “Howlers,” a half club, half pot-house, in the +vicinity of the Strand. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _off-shoot_ 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. + +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 _Santa +Maria_ 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. + +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 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.” + +“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. + +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 +_Santa Maria_ 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +USURERS AND MILLIONAIRES. + + +WHEN “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 _Gazette_ 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 _Gazette_, +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; 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 sign—as the +precursor to a snub—when one was promoted to this retreat. + +“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. + +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. + +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 _Mr._ Lewis, +could be seen only by appointment, and assumed an expression between that +of a bank director and an Egyptian sphinx. + +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 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 _carte blanche_ 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.” + +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.” + +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. + +In the old days the usurer used his own name, now they cull the peerage +for the most historical they can find. But + + “Brown, Jones, or Moses + Can change their names but not their noses.” + +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 +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. + +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. + +That even then they existed goes without saying; that they did not assist +in making history is equally undeniable. + +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 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—_Quod erat +demonstrandum_. + +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. + +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. + +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 _faux pas_ 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 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. +SOME CURIOUS FISH OF THE SIXTIES. + + +SIR 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. + +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. + +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’?” + +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 above was +invariably paid, leaving the onus of recovery to the astute Bob Morris. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The eyesore has long disappeared, but twenty years ago it was an object +of interest to strollers in Kensington Gardens. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The Inspecting General was Sir Percy Douglas, who had expressed the +desire of seeing and hearing that instructive manœuvre, a _feu de joie_. +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. + +Every barrel was choked with mutton fat—a favourite recipe against rust +amongst the old warriors of England. + +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. + +His lordship had apparently been exploiting the shambles, and brought +away a blade-bone for possible emergency. + +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. + +Sir Charles Ross, a wealthy Highland baronet, 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. + +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 _find_ it. + +A substitute was eventually found, and the routine of the establishment +resumed its normal condition. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, _never_!” After which he paid up, and toddled into the +attendant four-wheeler. + +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. + +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 obtainable was that the old +gentleman woke with a start to find himself enveloped in flames. + +As he himself described it, he thought he was dead and that he had _not_ +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. + +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. + +“Come here, my little girl,” said his lordship. “Now, if you were to +tell a story do you know where you would go to?” + +“No, sir,” was the candid reply. + +“Neither do I,” was the judicial endorsement; “an excellent answer; swear +the witness.” + +But that was before the “shock” that brought him to his senses. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Impossible,” replied the little man. “I’ll bet a fiver you don’t,” and +before the astonished audience could say “Jack Robinson” the gallant +Gussy had been seized by his spurs and smeared across the floor. + +But all this was in the days of practical joking. + +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. + +On the occasion of the Goddard joke, his only remark was, “D— stupid!” + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. +SPIRITUALISM AND REALISM. + + +THE 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. + +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 sounds could be +seen and heard and which no one would rent. + +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: + + “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. + + “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. + + “‘—,’ said my friend, ‘we have learnt a terrible experience; Satan + has been unloosed amongst us. Let us pray.’” + +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. + +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! + +To all which, my enlightened twentieth-century reader, there is probably +another side. The whole thing may be an absolute fable. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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? + +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 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.” + +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.” + +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). + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 on +him like an avalanche with a peremptory notice to quit. + +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 _Overland Route_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. +THE ROCK AND THE CAPE. + + +THE 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +The sentry was ex-Lieutenant Stourton. + +Gibraltar then—as now—was a favourite winter resort, and the “Club House +Hotel” opposite the main guard did a roaring trade. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A fly-leaf that appeared weekly—why, no one could explain—although less +original than one might have 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. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +But all this was in the days of purchase. + +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?” + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +Every youngster purchased a quadruped—some vicious and young, others +blind and in the last stage of senile decay—and Staines, an assistant +surgeon, was so frequently sent whirling into space that his animal was +christened “Benzine-Collas,” because it was “warranted to remove +Staines.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +Across the bay was Tangier, and many found an inexhaustible store of +delight in visiting that most Oriental of towns. + +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. + +Here Martin—late messman of the _Racoon_—had 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. + +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. _Racoon_. + +“Where do you come from, Martin?” on one occasion inquired an inquisitive +officer. + +“Devonshire,” was the unexpected reply; “but I left home in my infancy.” + +He had made this assertion so often that there is no doubt he believed +it. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Then I’m entitled to some?” he remarked. + +“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. + +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 saucerful of +porridge every morning about seven on the bridge. + +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 _ad libitum_ at eight, he was a considerable gainer by the +satisfying effect of two-pennyworth of porridge at seven. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, and literally collapsed as he met her coffin emerging from +her door. + +Apropos of this terrible scourge, an instance that many can vouch for +occurred some years previously in India. + +My regiment was being decimated by cholera, and corpses were hurriedly +placed in an outhouse that was infested with rats. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.’” + +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. + +“The pants, sir, are a rich blue, with a broad lace 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.” + +“But that’s all easily arranged, Colonel,” we explained, and on the +eventful day we proceeded to truss him. + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +The local grandees liberally prepared for the coming feast, and having +eaten to repletion proceeded to fill their pockets. + +“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. + +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. + +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), etc., that +the Colonel rose and delighted his hearers with a string of most amusing +lies. + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +This magnificent lake is the resort of every kind of 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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Again there was a report, and next we saw Fellowes running with all his +might, followed by the lion. + +What ensued may best be given in his own words, as narrated to us that +night. + +“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. + +“Cautiously approaching, I found he was stone dead.” + +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. + +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 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 _one_ egg, and my sensations were as +if I had swallowed an omnibus. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 they will repay the trouble, +and after scientific manipulation by a London furrier are highly +appreciated for muffs and boas. + +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. + +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 golden calves of +the West End with sticks varying from two to three guineas a-piece. + +The above two incidents exemplify what is described as the encouragement +of British industries. + +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.” + +“Well,” we all asked, “why didn’t you shoot him?” + +“’Pon my word, I had half a mind to,” was the heartfelt reply—“but, so +help me bob, I funked it.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: “I shot them one +morning after bathing, before you fellows were up.” + +There was not a boatswain bird within fifty miles of where we had been, +and the specimens had evidently been cured for years. + +It was only a righteous lie, such as the generous “Colonel” could never +resist. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. +EASTWARD HO! + + +PERHAPS 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. + +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 _Danae_ 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 _Himalaya_—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, 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. + +The crews meanwhile took up the quarrel, and some of the _Danae_ 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. + +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 _Danae_ was +recommissioned and sailed away, the _Himalaya_ returned to Portsmouth, +and so the matter ended. + +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. + +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, +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. + +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. + +On another occasion, when I was embarking at Portsmouth, barely had the +_Himalaya_ 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. + +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 month later at St. Helena, and only just reached the deck as +the “blue Peter” was being hauled down. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 _Rattlesnake_, 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, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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 +“_plats_” 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 _toujours tortue_. + +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 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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. +THE GUILLOTINE AND MADAME RACHEL. + + +ON one of my numerous visits to Paris a notorious +poisoner—Le-Pommerais—was awaiting execution by the guillotine. + +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. + +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. + +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 the fateful morning arrived, +and then _voilà_; 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +An obliging _maître d’hôtel_ 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. + +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 species—not of the sea—shouted in his purest +Franco-Houndsditch, “_Garsong_, _apporty moir un morphion rôti_.” + +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. + +Lord Chief Justice Cockburn and his boon companion, Serjeant Ballantine, +once witnessed an act of unnecessary brutality towards a female in the +Haymarket. + +“Why this unnecessary violence, my man?” inquired the amiable Sir +Alexander. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Madame Goncourt, it may be added, was still without her profits. + +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. + +This, however, did not last long, and Benson ended his career shortly +after by throwing himself over the balustrade of an American gaol. + +Surely never was a commonplace affair dignified with such a high-sounding +title! ’Twas the novelty that did it. + +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. + +Very few of the _dramatis personæ_ appear to be left. + +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. + +But the sixties were celebrated for a much more 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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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 +_beauté du diable_ type, with the suspicion of a cast in one of her +heavy-lashed eyes, which made her more bewitching than ever. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Alma in all her glory had her own ideas, and appeared invariably and +literally in “semi-nude.” + +Years after she was recognised by a former adorer at the Concordia Music +Hall in Constantinople, but all the _beauté du diable_ 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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“You’ve won the heart of a great lord,” was her greeting one day, “who +desires to see you in your natural beauty.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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? + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. +REMINISCENCES OF THE PURPLE. + + +THE 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. + +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. + +For this service General MacDonald was selected 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was the 11th that Lord Cardigan brought to 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. + +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 _The Times_ 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 _esprit de corps_. + +Whilst on this delicate subject memory suggests many presumptuous +reminiscences. + +When Prince Alfred was a supernumerary Lieutenant of the _Racoon_, 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. + +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. + +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 _Racoon_ 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. + +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. + +Years later, when the Duke of Edinburgh commanded the _Galatea_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was during this season that a march for the whole division was ordered +to Maryborough, twenty-two miles distant. + +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. + +The Vansittart family in those long-ago days were represented by some +interesting scions. + +“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. + +“Pop,” on the other hand, was of the 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 _Sultan_, 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 _Hector_ 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 _Serapis_. 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. + +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. + +The man who commanded the _Galatea_ and afterwards the _Sultan_, was a +very different person to the lieutenant of the _Racoon_, and genial and +adventurous as he once was, the captain soon developed into a morose and +unpopular commander. + +On board the _Galatea_ was the pick of the Navy, whilst the social +addenda associated with the supposed requirements of Royalty were +represented by the 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. + +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. + +With an excellent piper like Farquharson, engaged to combine grooming and +boot cleaning with 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.” + +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. + +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, _faux pas_, and unpleasantries than any combination of female +adornments before or since. + +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 advertisement over a fashionable +proselyte were thus shattered, and his reverence resumed his theme. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was in the early seventies—if I remember rightly—that I had many +acquaintances amongst the various 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.” + +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. + +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. + +Not many nights later a muster of some dozen 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 my enlightened twentieth-century reader will never +again see in London. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 of ’62, and that his Excellency vowed that amid all +his miscellaneous experiences nothing so unique had ever equally +delighted him. + +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. + +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. + +Whilst on the subject of Russian diplomatists a deafening experience I +had a few years later may not be without interest. + +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. + +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 _literally_ began. + +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. + +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 rattle in +their astonishment, and our heads to whirl with after-dinner loyalty. + +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. + +The impetus given to that industry must have been enormous! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. +DHULEEP SINGH—AND FIFTY YEARS AFTER. + + +WE 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It is in these latter roles that we purpose to interest our readers. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +After his escapades in Paris he is said to have written to the British +Government, “_Capivi_,” evidently intending to reiterate the cypher +telegram attributed to Sir Charles Napier, the conqueror of Scinde, +“_Peccavi_” (a mot that will appeal to all classical readers). Thereupon +he was forgiven, and shortly after he died, and so the race of the “Lion +of the Punjaub” went out like a lamb. + +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. + + + +FIFTY YEARS AFTER. + + +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. + +What is the _true_ version of the “_Stone_ Bridge” being left _open_ at +Lucknow? + +Why is it invariably confused with the “_Iron_ Bridge?” + +What was the _true_ reason of the Cawnpore reverse? + +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. + +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. 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. + +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 _last_ 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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +And whilst on this subject I am reminded, by the recent death of George +FitzGeorge at Lucerne, of many incidents more or less military. + +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.” + +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. + +The banquet was the finest a French cook could produce, and one dish with +“_Sauce Robert_” especially appreciated. + +“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 _cordon bleu_ in every regimental cook-house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. +THE LAST OF THE OLD BRIGADE. + + +I WILL 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Fields of sugar cane, ripe for the sickle, were laid low in a twinkling; +houses were unroofed, and tents 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. + +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. + +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.” + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + + * * * * * + + THE END. + + * * * * * + + * * * * * + + _Printed at The Chapel River Press_, _Kingston_, _Surrey_ + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LONDON IN THE SIXTIES*** + + +******* This file should be named 44163-0.txt or 44163-0.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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