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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Rodney Stone, by Arthur Conan Doyle
+
+
+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: Rodney Stone
+
+
+Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
+
+
+
+Release Date: July 27, 2014  [eBook #5148]
+[This file was first posted on May 14, 2002]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODNEY STONE***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1921 Eveleigh Nash & Grayson edition by David Price,
+email ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+
+
+
+
+                               RODNEY STONE
+
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                    By
+                              A. CONAN DOYLE
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                  London
+                       EVELEIGH NASH & GRAYSON LTD.
+                               148, Strand
+                                   1921
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+AMONGST the books to which I am indebted for my material in my endeavour
+to draw various phases of life and character in England at the beginning
+of the century, I would particularly mention Ashton’s “Dawn of the
+Nineteenth Century;” Gronow’s “Reminiscences;” Fitzgerald’s “Life and
+Times of George IV.;” Jesse’s “Life of Brummell;” “Boxiana;”
+“Pugilistica;” Harper’s “Brighton Road;” Robinson’s “Last Earl of
+Barrymore” and “Old Q.;” Rice’s “History of the Turf;” Tristram’s
+“Coaching Days;” James’s “Naval History;” Clark Russell’s “Collingwood”
+and “Nelson.”
+
+I am also much indebted to my friends Mr. J. C. Parkinson and Robert Barr
+for information upon the subject of the ring.
+
+                                                           A. CONAN DOYLE.
+
+HASLEMERE,
+      _September_ 1, 1896.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+    CHAPTER                                         PAGE
+         I.  FRIAR’S OAK                               1
+        II.  THE WALKER OF CLIFFE ROYAL               18
+       III.  THE PLAY-ACTRESS OF ANSTEY CROSS         33
+        IV.  THE PEACE OF AMIENS                      50
+         V.  BUCK TREGELLIS                           65
+        VI.  ON THE THRESHOLD                         86
+       VII.  THE HOPE OF ENGLAND                      98
+      VIII.  THE BRIGHTON ROAD                       121
+        IX.  WATIER’S                                136
+         X.  THE MEN OF THE RING                     153
+        XI.  THE FIGHT IN THE COACH-HOUSE            179
+       XII.  THE COFFEE-ROOM OF FLADONG’S            201
+      XIII.  LORD NELSON                             221
+       XIV.  ON THE ROAD                             234
+        XV.  FOUL PLAY                               253
+       XVI.  CRAWLEY DOWNS                           261
+      XVII.  THE RING-SIDE                           277
+     XVIII.  THE SMITH’S LAST BATTLE                 294
+       XIX.  CLIFFE ROYAL                            314
+        XX.  LORD AVON                               326
+       XXI.  THE VALET’S STORY                       340
+      XXII.  THE END                                 355
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+FRIAR’S OAK.
+
+
+ON this, the first of January of the year 1851, the nineteenth century
+has reached its midway term, and many of us who shared its youth have
+already warnings which tell us that it has outworn us.  We put our
+grizzled heads together, we older ones, and we talk of the great days
+that we have known; but we find that when it is with our children that we
+talk it is a hard matter to make them understand.  We and our fathers
+before us lived much the same life, but they with their railway trains
+and their steamboats belong to a different age.  It is true that we can
+put history-books into their hands, and they can read from them of our
+weary struggle of two and twenty years with that great and evil man.
+They can learn how Freedom fled from the whole broad continent, and how
+Nelson’s blood was shed, and Pitt’s noble heart was broken in striving
+that she should not pass us for ever to take refuge with our brothers
+across the Atlantic.  All this they can read, with the date of this
+treaty or that battle, but I do not know where they are to read of
+ourselves, of the folk we were, and the lives we led, and how the world
+seemed to our eyes when they were young as theirs are now.
+
+If I take up my pen to tell you about this, you must not look for any
+story at my hands, for I was only in my earliest manhood when these
+things befell; and although I saw something of the stories of other
+lives, I could scarce claim one of my own.  It is the love of a woman
+that makes the story of a man, and many a year was to pass before I first
+looked into the eyes of the mother of my children.  To us it seems but an
+affair of yesterday, and yet those children can now reach the plums in
+the garden whilst we are seeking for a ladder, and where we once walked
+with their little hands in ours, we are glad now to lean upon their arms.
+But I shall speak of a time when the love of a mother was the only love I
+knew, and if you seek for something more, then it is not for you that I
+write.  But if you would come out with me into that forgotten world; if
+you would know Boy Jim and Champion Harrison; if you would meet my
+father, one of Nelson’s own men; if you would catch a glimpse of that
+great seaman himself, and of George, afterwards the unworthy King of
+England; if, above all, you would see my famous uncle, Sir Charles
+Tregellis, the King of the Bucks, and the great fighting men whose names
+are still household words amongst you, then give me your hand and let us
+start.
+
+But I must warn you also that, if you think you will find much that is of
+interest in your guide, you are destined to disappointment.  When I look
+over my bookshelves, I can see that it is only the wise and witty and
+valiant who have ventured to write down their experiences.  For my own
+part, if I were only assured that I was as clever and brave as the
+average man about me, I should be well satisfied.  Men of their hands
+have thought well of my brains, and men of brains of my hands, and that
+is the best that I can say of myself.  Save in the one matter of having
+an inborn readiness for music, so that the mastery of any instrument
+comes very easily and naturally to me, I cannot recall any single
+advantage which I can boast over my fellows.  In all things I have been a
+half-way man, for I am of middle height, my eyes are neither blue nor
+grey, and my hair, before Nature dusted it with her powder, was betwixt
+flaxen and brown.  I may, perhaps, claim this: that through life I have
+never felt a touch of jealousy as I have admired a better man than
+myself, and that I have always seen all things as they are, myself
+included, which should count in my favour now that I sit down in my
+mature age to write my memories.  With your permission, then, we will
+push my own personality as far as possible out of the picture.  If you
+can conceive me as a thin and colourless cord upon which my would-be
+pearls are strung, you will be accepting me upon the terms which I should
+wish.
+
+Our family, the Stones, have for many generations belonged to the navy,
+and it has been a custom among us for the eldest son to take the name of
+his father’s favourite commander.  Thus we can trace our lineage back to
+old Vernon Stone, who commanded a high-sterned, peak-nosed, fifty-gun
+ship against the Dutch.  Through Hawke Stone and Benbow Stone we came
+down to my father, Anson Stone, who in his turn christened me Rodney, at
+the parish church of St. Thomas at Portsmouth in the year of grace 1786.
+
+Out of my window as I write I can see my own great lad in the garden, and
+if I were to call out “Nelson!” you would see that I have been true to
+the traditions of our family.
+
+My dear mother, the best that ever a man had, was the second daughter of
+the Reverend John Tregellis, Vicar of Milton, which is a small parish
+upon the borders of the marshes of Langstone.  She came of a poor family,
+but one of some position, for her elder brother was the famous Sir
+Charles Tregellis, who, having inherited the money of a wealthy East
+Indian merchant, became in time the talk of the town and the very
+particular friend of the Prince of Wales.  Of him I shall have more to
+say hereafter; but you will note now that he was my own uncle, and
+brother to my mother.
+
+I can remember her all through her beautiful life for she was but a girl
+when she married, and little more when I can first recall her busy
+fingers and her gentle voice.  I see her as a lovely woman with kind,
+dove’s eyes, somewhat short of stature it is true, but carrying herself
+very bravely.  In my memories of those days she is clad always in some
+purple shimmering stuff, with a white kerchief round her long white neck,
+and I see her fingers turning and darting as she works at her knitting.
+I see her again in her middle years, sweet and loving, planning,
+contriving, achieving, with the few shillings a day of a lieutenant’s pay
+on which to support the cottage at Friar’s Oak, and to keep a fair face
+to the world.  And now, if I do but step into the parlour, I can see her
+once more, with over eighty years of saintly life behind her,
+silver-haired, placid-faced, with her dainty ribboned cap, her
+gold-rimmed glasses, and her woolly shawl with the blue border.  I loved
+her young and I love her old, and when she goes she will take something
+with her which nothing in the world can ever make good to me again.  You
+may have many friends, you who read this, and you may chance to marry
+more than once, but your mother is your first and your last.  Cherish
+her, then, whilst you may, for the day will come when every hasty deed or
+heedless word will come back with its sting to hive in your own heart.
+
+Such, then, was my mother; and as to my father, I can describe him best
+when I come to the time when he returned to us from the Mediterranean.
+During all my childhood he was only a name to me, and a face in a
+miniature hung round my mother’s neck.  At first they told me he was
+fighting the French, and then after some years one heard less about the
+French and more about General Buonaparte.  I remember the awe with which
+one day in Thomas Street, Portsmouth, I saw a print of the great Corsican
+in a bookseller’s window.  This, then, was the arch enemy with whom my
+father spent his life in terrible and ceaseless contest.  To my childish
+imagination it was a personal affair, and I for ever saw my father and
+this clean-shaven, thin-lipped man swaying and reeling in a deadly,
+year-long grapple.  It was not until I went to the Grammar School that I
+understood how many other little boys there were whose fathers were in
+the same case.
+
+Only once in those long years did my father return home, which will show
+you what it meant to be the wife of a sailor in those days.  It was just
+after we had moved from Portsmouth to Friar’s Oak, whither he came for a
+week before he set sail with Admiral Jervis to help him to turn his name
+into Lord St. Vincent.  I remember that he frightened as well as
+fascinated me with his talk of battles, and I can recall as if it were
+yesterday the horror with which I gazed upon a spot of blood upon his
+shirt ruffle, which had come, as I have no doubt, from a mischance in
+shaving.  At the time I never questioned that it had spurted from some
+stricken Frenchman or Spaniard, and I shrank from him in terror when he
+laid his horny hand upon my head.  My mother wept bitterly when he was
+gone, but for my own part I was not sorry to see his blue back and white
+shorts going down the garden walk, for I felt, with the heedless
+selfishness of a child, that we were closer together, she and I, when we
+were alone.
+
+I was in my eleventh year when we moved from Portsmouth to Friar’s Oak, a
+little Sussex village to the north of Brighton, which was recommended to
+us by my uncle, Sir Charles Tregellis, one of whose grand friends, Lord
+Avon, had had his seat near there.  The reason of our moving was that
+living was cheaper in the country, and that it was easier for my mother
+to keep up the appearance of a gentlewoman when away from the circle of
+those to whom she could not refuse hospitality.  They were trying times
+those to all save the farmers, who made such profits that they could, as
+I have heard, afford to let half their land lie fallow, while living like
+gentlemen upon the rest.  Wheat was at a hundred and ten shillings a
+quarter, and the quartern loaf at one and ninepence.  Even in the quiet
+of the cottage of Friar’s Oak we could scarce have lived, were it not
+that in the blockading squadron in which my father was stationed there
+was the occasional chance of a little prize-money.  The line-of-battle
+ships themselves, tacking on and off outside Brest, could earn nothing
+save honour; but the frigates in attendance made prizes of many coasters,
+and these, as is the rule of the service, were counted as belonging to
+the fleet, and their produce divided into head-money.  In this manner my
+father was able to send home enough to keep the cottage and to pay for me
+at the day school of Mr. Joshua Allen, where for four years I learned all
+that he had to teach.  It was at Allen’s school that I first knew Jim
+Harrison, Boy Jim as he has always been called, the nephew of Champion
+Harrison of the village smithy.  I can see him as he was in those days
+with great, floundering, half-formed limbs like a Newfoundland puppy, and
+a face that set every woman’s head round as he passed her.  It was in
+those days that we began our lifelong friendship, a friendship which
+still in our waning years binds us closely as two brothers.  I taught him
+his exercises, for he never loved the sight of a book, and he in turn
+made me box and wrestle, tickle trout on the Adur, and snare rabbits on
+Ditching Down, for his hands were as active as his brain was slow.  He
+was two years my elder, however, so that, long before I had finished my
+schooling, he had gone to help his uncle at the smithy.
+
+Friar’s Oak is in a dip of the Downs, and the forty-third milestone
+between London and Brighton lies on the skirt of the village.  It is but
+a small place, with an ivied church, a fine vicarage, and a row of
+red-brick cottages each in its own little garden.  At one end was the
+forge of Champion Harrison, with his house behind it, and at the other
+was Mr. Allen’s school.  The yellow cottage, standing back a little from
+the road, with its upper story bulging forward and a crisscross of black
+woodwork let into the plaster, is the one in which we lived.  I do not
+know if it is still standing, but I should think it likely, for it was
+not a place much given to change.
+
+Just opposite to us, at the other side of the broad, white road, was the
+Friar’s Oak Inn, which was kept in my day by John Cummings, a man of
+excellent repute at home, but liable to strange outbreaks when he
+travelled, as will afterwards become apparent.  Though there was a stream
+of traffic upon the road, the coaches from Brighton were too fresh to
+stop, and those from London too eager to reach their journey’s end, so
+that if it had not been for an occasional broken trace or loosened wheel,
+the landlord would have had only the thirsty throats of the village to
+trust to.  Those were the days when the Prince of Wales had just built
+his singular palace by the sea, and so from May to September, which was
+the Brighton season, there was never a day that from one to two hundred
+curricles, chaises, and phaetons did not rattle past our doors.  Many a
+summer evening have Boy Jim and I lain upon the grass, watching all these
+grand folk, and cheering the London coaches as they came roaring through
+the dust clouds, leaders and wheelers stretched to their work, the bugles
+screaming and the coachmen with their low-crowned, curly-brimmed hats,
+and their faces as scarlet as their coats.  The passengers used to laugh
+when Boy Jim shouted at them, but if they could have read his big,
+half-set limbs and his loose shoulders aright, they would have looked a
+little harder at him, perhaps, and given him back his cheer.
+
+Boy Jim had never known a father or a mother, and his whole life had been
+spent with his uncle, Champion Harrison.  Harrison was the Friar’s Oak
+blacksmith, and he had his nickname because he fought Tom Johnson when he
+held the English belt, and would most certainly have beaten him had the
+Bedfordshire magistrates not appeared to break up the fight.  For years
+there was no such glutton to take punishment and no more finishing hitter
+than Harrison, though he was always, as I understand, a slow one upon his
+feet.  At last, in a fight with Black Baruk the Jew, he finished the
+battle with such a lashing hit that he not only knocked his opponent over
+the inner ropes, but he left him betwixt life and death for long three
+weeks.  During all this time Harrison lived half demented, expecting
+every hour to feel the hand of a Bow Street runner upon his collar, and
+to be tried for his life.  This experience, with the prayers of his wife,
+made him forswear the ring for ever, and carry his great muscles into the
+one trade in which they seemed to give him an advantage.  There was a
+good business to be done at Friar’s Oak from the passing traffic and the
+Sussex farmers, so that he soon became the richest of the villagers; and
+he came to church on a Sunday with his wife and his nephew, looking as
+respectable a family man as one would wish to see.
+
+He was not a tall man, not more than five feet seven inches, and it was
+often said that if he had had an extra inch of reach he would have been a
+match for Jackson or Belcher at their best.  His chest was like a barrel,
+and his forearms were the most powerful that I have ever seen, with deep
+groves between the smooth-swelling muscles like a piece of water-worn
+rock.  In spite of his strength, however, he was of a slow, orderly, and
+kindly disposition, so that there was no man more beloved over the whole
+country side.  His heavy, placid, clean-shaven face could set very
+sternly, as I have seen upon occasion; but for me and every child in the
+village there was ever a smile upon his lips and a greeting in his eyes.
+There was not a beggar upon the country side who did not know that his
+heart was as soft as his muscles were hard.
+
+There was nothing that he liked to talk of more than his old battles, but
+he would stop if he saw his little wife coming, for the one great shadow
+in her life was the ever-present fear that some day he would throw down
+sledge and rasp and be off to the ring once more.  And you must be
+reminded here once for all that that former calling of his was by no
+means at that time in the debased condition to which it afterwards fell.
+Public opinion has gradually become opposed to it, for the reason that it
+came largely into the hands of rogues, and because it fostered ringside
+ruffianism.  Even the honest and brave pugilist was found to draw
+villainy round him, just as the pure and noble racehorse does.  For this
+reason the Ring is dying in England, and we may hope that when Caunt and
+Bendigo have passed away, they may have none to succeed them.  But it was
+different in the days of which I speak.  Public opinion was then largely
+in its favour, and there were good reasons why it should be so.  It was a
+time of war, when England with an army and navy composed only of those
+who volunteered to fight because they had fighting blood in them, had to
+encounter, as they would now have to encounter, a power which could by
+despotic law turn every citizen into a soldier.  If the people had not
+been full of this lust for combat, it is certain that England must have
+been overborne.  And it was thought, and is, on the face of it,
+reasonable, that a struggle between two indomitable men, with thirty
+thousand to view it and three million to discuss it, did help to set a
+standard of hardihood and endurance.  Brutal it was, no doubt, and its
+brutality is the end of it; but it is not so brutal as war, which will
+survive it.  Whether it is logical now to teach the people to be peaceful
+in an age when their very existence may come to depend upon their being
+warlike, is a question for wiser heads than mine.  But that was what we
+thought of it in the days of your grandfathers, and that is why you might
+find statesmen and philanthropists like Windham, Fox, and Althorp at the
+side of the Ring.
+
+The mere fact that solid men should patronize it was enough in itself to
+prevent the villainy which afterwards crept in.  For over twenty years,
+in the days of Jackson, Brain, Cribb, the Belchers, Pearce, Gully, and
+the rest, the leaders of the Ring were men whose honesty was above
+suspicion; and those were just the twenty years when the Ring may, as I
+have said, have served a national purpose.  You have heard how Pearce
+saved the Bristol girl from the burning house, how Jackson won the
+respect and friendship of the best men of his age, and how Gully rose to
+a seat in the first Reformed Parliament.  These were the men who set the
+standard, and their trade carried with it this obvious recommendation,
+that it is one in which no drunken or foul-living man could long succeed.
+There were exceptions among them, no doubt—bullies like Hickman and
+brutes like Berks; in the main, I say again that they were honest men,
+brave and enduring to an incredible degree, and a credit to the country
+which produced them.  It was, as you will see, my fate to see something
+of them, and I speak of what I know.
+
+In our own village, I can assure you that we were very proud of the
+presence of such a man as Champion Harrison, and if folks stayed at the
+inn, they would walk down as far as the smithy just to have the sight of
+him.  And he was worth seeing, too, especially on a winter’s night when
+the red glare of the forge would beat upon his great muscles and upon the
+proud, hawk-face of Boy Jim as they heaved and swayed over some glowing
+plough coulter, framing themselves in sparks with every blow.  He would
+strike once with his thirty-pound swing sledge, and Jim twice with his
+hand hammer; and the “Clunk—clink, clink! clunk—clink, clink!” would
+bring me flying down the village street, on the chance that, since they
+were both at the anvil, there might be a place for me at the bellows.
+
+Only once during those village years can I remember Champion Harrison
+showing me for an instant the sort of man that he had been.  It chanced
+one summer morning, when Boy Jim and I were standing by the smithy door,
+that there came a private coach from Brighton, with its four fresh
+horses, and its brass-work shining, flying along with such a merry rattle
+and jingling, that the Champion came running out with a hall-fullered
+shoe in his tongs to have a look at it.  A gentleman in a white
+coachman’s cape—a Corinthian, as we would call him in those days—was
+driving, and half a dozen of his fellows, laughing and shouting, were on
+the top behind him.  It may have been that the bulk of the smith caught
+his eye, and that he acted in pure wantonness, or it may possibly have
+been an accident, but, as he swung past, the twenty-foot thong of the
+driver’s whip hissed round, and we heard the sharp snap of it across
+Harrison’s leather apron.
+
+“Halloa, master!” shouted the smith, looking after him.  “You’re not to
+be trusted on the box until you can handle your whip better’n that.”
+
+“What’s that?” cried the driver, pulling up his team.
+
+“I bid you have a care, master, or there will be some one-eyed folk along
+the road you drive.”
+
+“Oh, you say that, do you?” said the driver, putting his whip into its
+socket and pulling off his driving-gloves.  “I’ll have a little talk with
+you, my fine fellow.”
+
+The sporting gentlemen of those days were very fine boxers for the most
+part, for it was the mode to take a course of Mendoza, just as a few
+years afterwards there was no man about town who had not had the mufflers
+on with Jackson.  Knowing their own prowess, they never refused the
+chance of a wayside adventure, and it was seldom indeed that the bargee
+or the navigator had much to boast of after a young blood had taken off
+his coat to him.
+
+This one swung himself off the box-seat with the alacrity of a man who
+has no doubts about the upshot of the quarrel, and after hanging his
+caped coat upon the swingle-bar, he daintily turned up the ruffled cuffs
+of his white cambric shirt.
+
+“I’ll pay you for your advice, my man,” said he.
+
+I am sure that the men upon the coach knew who the burly smith was, and
+looked upon it as a prime joke to see their companion walk into such a
+trap.  They roared with delight, and bellowed out scraps of advice to
+him.
+
+“Knock some of the soot off him, Lord Frederick!” they shouted.  “Give
+the Johnny Raw his breakfast.  Chuck him in among his own cinders!
+Sharp’s the word, or you’ll see the back of him.”
+
+Encouraged by these cries, the young aristocrat advanced upon his man.
+The smith never moved, but his mouth set grim and hard, while his tufted
+brows came down over his keen, grey eyes.  The tongs had fallen, and his
+hands were hanging free.
+
+“Have a care, master,” said he.  “You’ll get pepper if you don’t.”
+
+Something in the assured voice, and something also in the quiet pose,
+warned the young lord of his danger.  I saw him look hard at his
+antagonist, and as he did so, his hands and his jaw dropped together.
+
+“By Gad!” he cried, “it’s Jack Harrison!”
+
+“My name, master!”
+
+“And I thought you were some Essex chaw-bacon!  Why, man, I haven’t seen
+you since the day you nearly killed Black Baruk, and cost me a cool
+hundred by doing it.”
+
+How they roared on the coach.
+
+“Smoked!  Smoked, by Gad!” they yelled.  “It’s Jack Harrison the bruiser!
+Lord Frederick was going to take on the ex-champion.  Give him one on the
+apron, Fred, and see what happens.”
+
+But the driver had already climbed back into his perch, laughing as
+loudly as any of his companions.
+
+“We’ll let you off this time, Harrison,” said he.  “Are those your sons
+down there?”
+
+“This is my nephew, master.”
+
+“Here’s a guinea for him!  He shall never say I robbed him of his uncle.”
+And so, having turned the laugh in his favour by his merry way of taking
+it, he cracked his whip, and away they flew to make London under the five
+hours; while Jack Harrison, with his half-fullered shoe in his hand, went
+whistling back to the forge.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+THE WALKER OF CLIFFE ROYAL.
+
+
+SO much for Champion Harrison!  Now, I wish to say something more about
+Boy Jim, not only because he was the comrade of my youth, but because you
+will find as you go on that this book is his story rather than mine, and
+that there came a time when his name and his fame were in the mouths of
+all England.  You will bear with me, therefore, while I tell you of his
+character as it was in those days, and especially of one very singular
+adventure which neither of us are likely to forget.
+
+It was strange to see Jim with his uncle and his aunt, for he seemed to
+be of another race and breed to them.  Often I have watched them come up
+the aisle upon a Sunday, first the square, thick-set man, and then the
+little, worn, anxious-eyed woman, and last this glorious lad with his
+clear-cut face, his black curls, and his step so springy and light that
+it seemed as if he were bound to earth by some lesser tie than the
+heavy-footed villagers round him.  He had not yet attained his full six
+foot of stature, but no judge of a man (and every woman, at least, is
+one) could look at his perfect shoulders, his narrow loins, and his proud
+head that sat upon his neck like an eagle upon its perch, without feeling
+that sober joy which all that is beautiful in Nature gives to us—a vague
+self-content, as though in some way we also had a hand in the making of
+it.
+
+But we are used to associate beauty with softness in a man.  I do not
+know why they should be so coupled, and they never were with Jim.  Of all
+men that I have known, he was the most iron-hard in body and in mind.
+Who was there among us who could walk with him, or run with him, or swim
+with him?  Who on all the country side, save only Boy Jim, would have
+swung himself over Wolstonbury Cliff, and clambered down a hundred feet
+with the mother hawk flapping at his ears in the vain struggle to hold
+him from her nest?  He was but sixteen, with his gristle not yet all set
+into bone, when he fought and beat Gipsy Lee, of Burgess Hill, who called
+himself the “Cock of the South Downs.”  It was after this that Champion
+Harrison took his training as a boxer in hand.
+
+“I’d rather you left millin’ alone, Boy Jim,” said he, “and so had the
+missus; but if mill you must, it will not be my fault if you cannot hold
+up your hands to anything in the south country.”
+
+And it was not long before he made good his promise.
+
+I have said already that Boy Jim had no love for his books, but by that I
+meant school-books, for when it came to the reading of romances or of
+anything which had a touch of gallantry or adventure, there was no
+tearing him away from it until it was finished.  When such a book came
+into his hands, Friar’s Oak and the smithy became a dream to him, and his
+life was spent out upon the ocean or wandering over the broad continents
+with his heroes.  And he would draw me into his enthusiasms also, so that
+I was glad to play Friday to his Crusoe when he proclaimed that the Clump
+at Clayton was a desert island, and that we were cast upon it for a week.
+But when I found that we were actually to sleep out there without
+covering every night, and that he proposed that our food should be the
+sheep of the Downs (wild goats he called them) cooked upon a fire, which
+was to be made by the rubbing together of two sticks, my heart failed me,
+and on the very first night I crept away to my mother.  But Jim stayed
+out there for the whole weary week—a wet week it was, too!—and came back
+at the end of it looking a deal wilder and dirtier than his hero does in
+the picture-books.  It is well that he had only promised to stay a week,
+for, if it had been a month, he would have died of cold and hunger before
+his pride would have let him come home.
+
+His pride!—that was the deepest thing in all Jim’s nature.  It is a mixed
+quality to my mind, half a virtue and half a vice: a virtue in holding a
+man out of the dirt; a vice in making it hard for him to rise when once
+he has fallen.  Jim was proud down to the very marrow of his bones.  You
+remember the guinea that the young lord had thrown him from the box of
+the coach?  Two days later somebody picked it from the roadside mud.  Jim
+only had seen where it had fallen, and he would not deign even to point
+it out to a beggar.  Nor would he stoop to give a reason in such a case,
+but would answer all remonstrances with a curl of his lip and a flash of
+his dark eyes.  Even at school he was the same, with such a sense of his
+own dignity, that other folk had to think of it too.  He might say, as he
+did say, that a right angle was a proper sort of angle, or put Panama in
+Sicily, but old Joshua Allen would as soon have thought of raising his
+cane against him as he would of letting me off if I had said as much.
+And so it was that, although Jim was the son of nobody, and I of a King’s
+officer, it always seemed to me to have been a condescension on his part
+that he should have chosen me as his friend.
+
+It was this pride of Boy Jim’s which led to an adventure which makes me
+shiver now when I think of it.
+
+It happened in the August of ’99, or it may have been in the early days
+of September; but I remember that we heard the cuckoo in Patcham Wood,
+and that Jim said that perhaps it was the last of him.  I was still at
+school, but Jim had left, he being nigh sixteen and I thirteen.  It was
+my Saturday half-holiday, and we spent it, as we often did, out upon the
+Downs.  Our favourite place was beyond Wolstonbury, where we could
+stretch ourselves upon the soft, springy, chalk grass among the plump
+little Southdown sheep, chatting with the shepherds, as they leaned upon
+their queer old Pyecombe crooks, made in the days when Sussex turned out
+more iron than all the counties of England.
+
+It was there that we lay upon that glorious afternoon.  If we chose to
+roll upon our right sides, the whole weald lay in front of us, with the
+North Downs curving away in olive-green folds, with here and there the
+snow-white rift of a chalk-pit; if we turned upon our left, we overlooked
+the huge blue stretch of the Channel.  A convoy, as I can well remember,
+was coming up it that day, the timid flock of merchantmen in front; the
+frigates, like well-trained dogs, upon the skirts; and two burly drover
+line-of-battle ships rolling along behind them.  My fancy was soaring out
+to my father upon the waters, when a word from Jim brought it back on to
+the grass like a broken-winged gull.
+
+“Roddy,” said he, “have you heard that Cliffe Royal is haunted?”
+
+Had I heard it?  Of course I had heard it.  Who was there in all the Down
+country who had not heard of the Walker of Cliffe Royal?
+
+“Do you know the story of it, Roddy?”
+
+“Why,” said I, with some pride, “I ought to know it, seeing that my
+mother’s brother, Sir Charles Tregellis, was the nearest friend of Lord
+Avon, and was at this card-party when the thing happened.  I heard the
+vicar and my mother talking about it last week, and it was all so clear
+to me that I might have been there when the murder was done.”
+
+“It is a strange story,” said Jim, thoughtfully; “but when I asked my
+aunt about it, she would give me no answer; and as to my uncle, he cut me
+short at the very mention of it.”
+
+“There is a good reason for that,” said I, “for Lord Avon was, as I have
+heard, your uncle’s best friend; and it is but natural that he would not
+wish to speak of his disgrace.”
+
+“Tell me the story, Roddy.”
+
+“It is an old one now—fourteen years old—and yet they have not got to the
+end of it.  There were four of them who had come down from London to
+spend a few days in Lord Avon’s old house.  One was his own young
+brother, Captain Barrington; another was his cousin, Sir Lothian Hume;
+Sir Charles Tregellis, my uncle, was the third; and Lord Avon the fourth.
+They are fond of playing cards for money, these great people, and they
+played and played for two days and a night.  Lord Avon lost, and Sir
+Lothian lost, and my uncle lost, and Captain Barrington won until he
+could win no more.  He won their money, but above all he won papers from
+his elder brother which meant a great deal to him.  It was late on a
+Monday night that they stopped playing.  On the Tuesday morning Captain
+Barrington was found dead beside his bed with his throat cut.
+
+“And Lord Avon did it?”
+
+“His papers were found burned in the grate, his wristband was clutched in
+the dead man’s hand, and his knife lay beside the body.”
+
+“Did they hang him, then?”
+
+“They were too slow in laying hands upon him.  He waited until he saw
+that they had brought it home to him, and then he fled.  He has never
+been seen since, but it is said that he reached America.”
+
+“And the ghost walks?”
+
+“There are many who have seen it.”
+
+“Why is the house still empty?”
+
+“Because it is in the keeping of the law.  Lord Avon had no children, and
+Sir Lothian Hume—the same who was at the card-party—is his nephew and
+heir.  But he can touch nothing until he can prove Lord Avon to be dead.”
+
+Jim lay silent for a bit, plucking at the short grass with his fingers.
+
+“Roddy,” said he at last, “will you come with me to-night and look for
+the ghost?”
+
+It turned me cold, the very thought of it.
+
+“My mother would not let me.”
+
+“Slip out when she’s abed.  I’ll wait for you at the smithy.”
+
+“Cliffe Royal is locked.”
+
+“I’ll open a window easy enough.”
+
+“I’m afraid, Jim.”
+
+“But you are not afraid if you are with me, Roddy.  I’ll promise you that
+no ghost shall hurt you.”
+
+So I gave him my word that I would come, and then all the rest of the day
+I went about the most sad-faced lad in Sussex.  It was all very well for
+Boy Jim!  It was that pride of his which was taking him there.  He would
+go because there was no one else on the country side that would dare.
+But I had no pride of that sort.  I was quite of the same way of thinking
+as the others, and would as soon have thought of passing my night at
+Jacob’s gibbet on Ditchling Common as in the haunted house of Cliffe
+Royal.  Still, I could not bring myself to desert Jim; and so, as I say,
+I slunk about the house with so pale and peaky a face that my dear mother
+would have it that I had been at the green apples, and sent me to bed
+early with a dish of camomile tea for my supper.
+
+England went to rest betimes in those days, for there were few who could
+afford the price of candles.  When I looked out of my window just after
+the clock had gone ten, there was not a light in the village save only at
+the inn.  It was but a few feet from the ground, so I slipped out, and
+there was Jim waiting for me at the smithy corner.  We crossed John’s
+Common together, and so past Ridden’s Farm, meeting only one or two
+riding officers upon the way.  There was a brisk wind blowing, and the
+moon kept peeping through the rifts of the scud, so that our road was
+sometimes silver-clear, and sometimes so black that we found ourselves
+among the brambles and gorse-bushes which lined it.  We came at last to
+the wooden gate with the high stone pillars by the roadside, and, looking
+through between the rails, we saw the long avenue of oaks, and at the end
+of this ill-boding tunnel, the pale face of the house glimmered in the
+moonshine.
+
+That would have been enough for me, that one glimpse of it, and the sound
+of the night wind sighing and groaning among the branches.  But Jim swung
+the gate open, and up we went, the gravel squeaking beneath our tread.
+It towered high, the old house, with many little windows in which the
+moon glinted, and with a strip of water running round three sides of it.
+The arched door stood right in the face of us, and on one side a lattice
+hung open upon its hinges.
+
+“We’re in luck, Roddy,” whispered Jim.  “Here’s one of the windows open.”
+
+“Don’t you think we’ve gone far enough, Jim?” said I, with my teeth
+chattering.
+
+“I’ll lift you in first.”
+
+“No, no, I’ll not go first.”
+
+“Then I will.”  He gripped the sill, and had his knee on it in an
+instant.  “Now, Roddy, give me your hands.”  With a pull he had me up
+beside him, and a moment later we were both in the haunted house.
+
+How hollow it sounded when we jumped down on to the wooden floor!  There
+was such a sudden boom and reverberation that we both stood silent for a
+moment.  Then Jim burst out laughing.
+
+“What an old drum of a place it is!” he cried; “we’ll strike a light,
+Roddy, and see where we are.”
+
+He had brought a candle and a tinder-box in his pocket.  When the flame
+burned up, we saw an arched stone roof above our heads, and broad deal
+shelves all round us covered with dusty dishes.  It was the pantry.
+
+“I’ll show you round,” said Jim, merrily; and, pushing the door open, he
+led the way into the hall.  I remember the high, oak-panelled walls, with
+the heads of deer jutting out, and a single white bust, which sent my
+heart into my mouth, in the corner.  Many rooms opened out of this, and
+we wandered from one to the other—the kitchens, the still-room, the
+morning-room, the dining-room, all filled with the same choking smell of
+dust and of mildew.
+
+“This is where they played the cards, Jim,” said I, in a hushed voice.
+“It was on that very table.”
+
+“Why, here are the cards themselves!” cried he; and he pulled a brown
+towel from something in the centre of the sideboard.  Sure enough it was
+a pile of playing-cards—forty packs, I should think, at the least—which
+had lain there ever since that tragic game which was played before I was
+born.
+
+“I wonder whence that stair leads?” said Jim.
+
+“Don’t go up there, Jim!” I cried, clutching at his arm.  “That must lead
+to the room of the murder.”
+
+“How do you know that?”
+
+“The vicar said that they saw on the ceiling—Oh, Jim, you can see it even
+now!”
+
+He held up his candle, and there was a great, dark smudge upon the white
+plaster above us.
+
+“I believe you’re right,” said he; “but anyhow I’m going to have a look
+at it.”
+
+“Don’t, Jim, don’t!” I cried.
+
+“Tut, Roddy! you can stay here if you are afraid.  I won’t be more than a
+minute.  There’s no use going on a ghost hunt unless—Great Lord, there’s
+something coming down the stairs!”
+
+I heard it too—a shuffling footstep in the room above, and then a creak
+from the steps, and then another creak, and another.  I saw Jim’s face as
+if it had been carved out of ivory, with his parted lips and his staring
+eyes fixed upon the black square of the stair opening.  He still held the
+light, but his fingers twitched, and with every twitch the shadows sprang
+from the walls to the ceiling.  As to myself, my knees gave way under me,
+and I found myself on the floor crouching down behind Jim, with a scream
+frozen in my throat.  And still the step came slowly from stair to stair.
+
+Then, hardly daring to look and yet unable to turn away my eyes, I saw a
+figure dimly outlined in the corner upon which the stair opened.  There
+was a silence in which I could hear my poor heart thumping, and then when
+I looked again the figure was gone, and the low creak, creak was heard
+once more upon the stairs.  Jim sprang after it, and I was left
+half-fainting in the moonlight.
+
+But it was not for long.  He was down again in a minute, and, passing his
+hand under my arm, he half led and half carried me out of the house.  It
+was not until we were in the fresh night air again that he opened his
+mouth.
+
+“Can you stand, Roddy?”
+
+“Yes, but I’m shaking.”
+
+“So am I,” said he, passing his hand over his forehead.  “I ask your
+pardon, Roddy.  I was a fool to bring you on such an errand.  But I never
+believed in such things.  I know better now.”
+
+“Could it have been a man, Jim?” I asked, plucking up my courage now that
+I could hear the dogs barking on the farms.
+
+“It was a spirit, Rodney.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“Because I followed it and saw it vanish into a wall, as easily as an eel
+into sand.  Why, Roddy, what’s amiss now?”
+
+My fears were all back upon me, and every nerve creeping with horror.
+
+“Take me away, Jim!  Take me away!” I cried.
+
+I was glaring down the avenue, and his eyes followed mine.  Amid the
+gloom of the oak trees something was coming towards us.
+
+“Quiet, Roddy!” whispered Jim.  “By heavens, come what may, my arms are
+going round it this time.”
+
+We crouched as motionless as the trunks behind us.  Heavy steps ploughed
+their way through the soft gravel, and a broad figure loomed upon us in
+the darkness.
+
+Jim sprang upon it like a tiger.
+
+“_You’re_ not a spirit, anyway!” he cried.
+
+The man gave a shout of surprise, and then a growl of rage.
+
+“What the deuce!” he roared, and then, “I’ll break your neck if you don’t
+let go.”
+
+The threat might not have loosened Jim’s grip, but the voice did.
+
+“Why, uncle!” he cried.
+
+“Well, I’m blessed if it isn’t Boy Jim!  And what’s this?  Why, it’s
+young Master Rodney Stone, as I’m a living sinner!  What in the world are
+you two doing up at Cliffe Royal at this time of night?”
+
+We had all moved out into the moonlight, and there was Champion Harrison
+with a big bundle on his arm,—and such a look of amazement upon his face
+as would have brought a smile back on to mine had my heart not still been
+cramped with fear.
+
+“We’re exploring,” said Jim.
+
+“Exploring, are you?  Well, I don’t think you were meant to be Captain
+Cooks, either of you, for I never saw such a pair of peeled-turnip faces.
+Why, Jim, what are you afraid of?”
+
+“I’m not afraid, uncle.  I never was afraid; but spirits are new to me,
+and—”
+
+“Spirits?”
+
+“I’ve been in Cliffe Royal, and we’ve seen the ghost.”
+
+The Champion gave a whistle.
+
+“That’s the game, is it?” said he.  “Did you have speech with it?”
+
+“It vanished first.”
+
+The Champion whistled once more.
+
+“I’ve heard there is something of the sort up yonder,” said he; “but it’s
+not a thing as I would advise you to meddle with.  There’s enough trouble
+with the folk of this world, Boy Jim, without going out of your way to
+mix up with those of another.  As to young Master Rodney Stone, if his
+good mother saw that white face of his, she’d never let him come to the
+smithy more.  Walk slowly on, and I’ll see you back to Friar’s Oak.”
+
+We had gone half a mile, perhaps, when the Champion overtook us, and I
+could not but observe that the bundle was no longer under his arm.  We
+were nearly at the smithy before Jim asked the question which was already
+in my mind.
+
+“What took _you_ up to Cliffe Royal, uncle?”
+
+“Well, as a man gets on in years,” said the Champion, “there’s many a
+duty turns up that the likes of you have no idea of.  When you’re near
+forty yourself, you’ll maybe know the truth of what I say.”
+
+So that was all we could draw from him; but, young as I was, I had heard
+of coast smuggling and of packages carried to lonely places at night, so
+that from that time on, if I had heard that the preventives had made a
+capture, I was never easy until I saw the jolly face of Champion Harrison
+looking out of his smithy door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+THE PLAY-ACTRESS OF ANSTEY CROSS.
+
+
+I HAVE told you something about Friar’s Oak, and about the life that we
+led there.  Now that my memory goes back to the old place it would gladly
+linger, for every thread which I draw from the skein of the past brings
+out half a dozen others that were entangled with it.  I was in two minds
+when I began whether I had enough in me to make a book of, and now I know
+that I could write one about Friar’s Oak alone, and the folk whom I knew
+in my childhood.  They were hard and uncouth, some of them, I doubt not;
+and yet, seen through the golden haze of time, they all seem sweet and
+lovable.  There was our good vicar, Mr. Jefferson, who loved the whole
+world save only Mr. Slack, the Baptist minister of Clayton; and there was
+kindly Mr. Slack, who was all men’s brother save only of Mr. Jefferson,
+the vicar of Friar’s Oak.  Then there was Monsieur Rudin, the French
+Royalist refugee who lived over on the Pangdean road, and who, when the
+news of a victory came in, was convulsed with joy because we had beaten
+Buonaparte, and shaken with rage because we had beaten the French, so
+that after the Nile he wept for a whole day out of delight and then for
+another one out of fury, alternately clapping his hands and stamping his
+feet.  Well I remember his thin, upright figure and the way in which he
+jauntily twirled his little cane; for cold and hunger could not cast him
+down, though we knew that he had his share of both.  Yet he was so proud
+and had such a grand manner of talking, that no one dared to offer him a
+cloak or a meal.  I can see his face now, with a flush over each craggy
+cheek-bone when the butcher made him the present of some ribs of beef.
+He could not but take it, and yet whilst he was stalking off he threw a
+proud glance over his shoulder at the butcher, and he said, “Monsieur, I
+have a dog!”  Yet it was Monsieur Rudin and not his dog who looked
+plumper for a week to come.
+
+Then I remember Mr. Paterson, the farmer, who was what you would now call
+a Radical, though at that time some called him a Priestley-ite, and some
+a Fox-ite, and nearly everybody a traitor.  It certainly seemed to me at
+the time to be very wicked that a man should look glum when he heard of a
+British victory; and when they burned his straw image at the gate of his
+farm, Boy Jim and I were among those who lent a hand.  But we were bound
+to confess that he was game, though he might be a traitor, for down he
+came, striding into the midst of us with his brown coat and his buckled
+shoes, and the fire beating upon his grim, schoolmaster face.  My word,
+how he rated us, and how glad we were at last to sneak quietly away.
+
+“You livers of a lie!” said he.  “You and those like you have been
+preaching peace for nigh two thousand years, and cutting throats the
+whole time.  If the money that is lost in taking French lives were spent
+in saving English ones, you would have more right to burn candles in your
+windows.  Who are you that dare to come here to insult a law-abiding
+man?”
+
+“We are the people of England!” cried young Master Ovington, the son of
+the Tory Squire.
+
+“You! you horse-racing, cock-fighting ne’er-do-weel!  Do you presume to
+talk for the people of England?  They are a deep, strong, silent stream,
+and you are the scum, the bubbles, the poor, silly froth that floats upon
+the surface.”
+
+We thought him very wicked then, but, looking back, I am not sure that we
+were not very wicked ourselves.
+
+And then there were the smugglers!  The Downs swarmed with them, for
+since there might be no lawful trade betwixt France and England, it had
+all to run in that channel.  I have been up on St. John’s Common upon a
+dark night, and, lying among the bracken, I have seen as many as seventy
+mules and a man at the head of each go flitting past me as silently as
+trout in a stream.  Not one of them but bore its two ankers of the right
+French cognac, or its bale of silk of Lyons and lace of Valenciennes.  I
+knew Dan Scales, the head of them, and I knew Tom Hislop, the riding
+officer, and I remember the night they met.
+
+“Do you fight, Dan?” asked Tom.
+
+“Yes, Tom; thou must fight for it.”
+
+On which Tom drew his pistol, and blew Dan’s brains out.
+
+“It was a sad thing to do,” he said afterwards, “but I knew Dan was too
+good a man for me, for we tried it out before.”
+
+It was Tom who paid a poet from Brighton to write the lines for the
+tombstone, which we all thought were very true and good, beginning—
+
+   “Alas!  Swift flew the fatal lead
+   Which piercéd through the young man’s head.
+   He instantly fell, resigned his breath,
+   And closed his languid eyes in death.”
+
+There was more of it, and I dare say it is all still to be read in
+Patcham Churchyard.
+
+One day, about the time of our Cliffe Royal adventure, I was seated in
+the cottage looking round at the curios which my father had fastened on
+to the walls, and wishing, like the lazy lad that I was, that Mr. Lilly
+had died before ever he wrote his Latin grammar, when my mother, who was
+sitting knitting in the window, gave a little cry of surprise.
+
+“Good gracious!” she cried.  “What a vulgar-looking woman!”
+
+It was so rare to hear my mother say a hard word against anybody (unless
+it were General Buonaparte) that I was across the room and at the window
+in a jump.  A pony-chaise was coming slowly down the village street, and
+in it was the queerest-looking person that I had ever seen.  She was very
+stout, with a face that was of so dark a red that it shaded away into
+purple over the nose and cheeks.  She wore a great hat with a white
+curling ostrich feather, and from under its brim her two bold, black eyes
+stared out with a look of anger and defiance as if to tell the folk that
+she thought less of them than they could do of her.  She had some sort of
+scarlet pelisse with white swans-down about her neck, and she held the
+reins slack in her hands, while the pony wandered from side to side of
+the road as the fancy took him.  Each time the chaise swayed, her head
+with the great hat swayed also, so that sometimes we saw the crown of it
+and sometimes the brim.
+
+“What a dreadful sight!” cried my mother.
+
+“What is amiss with her, mother?”
+
+“Heaven forgive me if I misjudge her, Rodney, but I think that the
+unfortunate woman has been drinking.”
+
+“Why,” I cried, “she has pulled the chaise up at the smithy.  I’ll find
+out all the news for you;” and, catching up my cap, away I scampered.
+
+Champion Harrison had been shoeing a horse at the forge door, and when I
+got into the street I could see him with the creature’s hoof still under
+his arm, and the rasp in his hand, kneeling down amid the white parings.
+The woman was beckoning him from the chaise, and he staring up at her
+with the queerest expression upon his face.  Presently he threw down his
+rasp and went across to her, standing by the wheel and shaking his head
+as he talked to her.  For my part, I slipped into the smithy, where Boy
+Jim was finishing the shoe, and I watched the neatness of his work and
+the deft way in which he turned up the caulkens.  When he had done with
+it he carried it out, and there was the strange woman still talking with
+his uncle.
+
+“Is that he?” I heard her ask.
+
+Champion Harrison nodded.
+
+She looked at Jim, and I never saw such eyes in a human head, so large,
+and black, and wonderful.  Boy as I was, I knew that, in spite of that
+bloated face, this woman had once been very beautiful.  She put out a
+hand, with all the fingers going as if she were playing on the
+harpsichord, and she touched Jim on the shoulder.
+
+“I hope—I hope you’re well,” she stammered.
+
+“Very well, ma’am,” said Jim, staring from her to his uncle.
+
+“And happy too?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am, I thank you.”
+
+“Nothing that you crave for?”
+
+“Why, no, ma’am, I have all that I lack.”
+
+“That will do, Jim,” said his uncle, in a stern voice.  “Blow up the
+forge again, for that shoe wants reheating.”
+
+But it seemed as if the woman had something else that she would say, for
+she was angry that he should be sent away.  Her eyes gleamed, and her
+head tossed, while the smith with his two big hands outspread seemed to
+be soothing her as best he could.  For a long time they whispered until
+at last she appeared to be satisfied.
+
+“To-morrow, then?” she cried loud out.
+
+“To-morrow,” he answered.
+
+“You keep your word and I’ll keep mine,” said she, and dropped the lash
+on the pony’s back.  The smith stood with the rasp in his hand, looking
+after her until she was just a little red spot on the white road.  Then
+he turned, and I never saw his face so grave.
+
+“Jim,” said he, “that’s Miss Hinton, who has come to live at The Maples,
+out Anstey Cross way.  She’s taken a kind of a fancy to you, Jim, and
+maybe she can help you on a bit.  I promised her that you would go over
+and see her to-morrow.”
+
+“I don’t want her help, uncle, and I don’t want to see her.”
+
+“But I’ve promised, Jim, and you wouldn’t make me out a liar.  She does
+but want to talk with you, for it is a lonely life she leads.”
+
+“What would she want to talk with such as me about?”
+
+“Why, I cannot say that, but she seemed very set upon it, and women have
+their fancies.  There’s young Master Stone here who wouldn’t refuse to go
+and see a good lady, I’ll warrant, if he thought he might better his
+fortune by doing so.”
+
+“Well, uncle, I’ll go if Roddy Stone will go with me,” said Jim.
+
+“Of course he’ll go.  Won’t you, Master Rodney?”
+
+So it ended in my saying “yes,” and back I went with all my news to my
+mother, who dearly loved a little bit of gossip.  She shook her head when
+she heard where I was going, but she did not say nay, and so it was
+settled.
+
+It was a good four miles of a walk, but when we reached it you would not
+wish to see a more cosy little house: all honeysuckle and creepers, with
+a wooden porch and lattice windows.  A common-looking woman opened the
+door for us.
+
+“Miss Hinton cannot see you,” said she.
+
+“But she asked us to come,” said Jim.
+
+“I can’t help that,” cried the woman, in a rude voice.  “I tell you that
+she can’t see you.”
+
+We stood irresolute for a minute.
+
+“Maybe you would just tell her I am here,” said Jim, at last.
+
+“Tell her!  How am I to tell her when she couldn’t so much as hear a
+pistol in her ears?  Try and tell her yourself, if you have a mind to.”
+
+She threw open a door as she spoke, and there, in a reclining chair at
+the further end of the room, we caught a glimpse of a figure all lumped
+together, huge and shapeless, with tails of black hair hanging down.
+
+The sound of dreadful, swine-like breathing fell upon our ears.  It was
+but a glance, and then we were off hot-foot for home.  As for me, I was
+so young that I was not sure whether this was funny or terrible; but when
+I looked at Jim to see how he took it, he was looking quite white and
+ill.
+
+“You’ll not tell any one, Roddy,” said he.
+
+“Not unless it’s my mother.”
+
+“I won’t even tell my uncle.  I’ll say she was ill, the poor lady! it’s
+enough that we should have seen her in her shame, without its being the
+gossip of the village.  It makes me feel sick and heavy at heart.”
+
+“She was so yesterday, Jim.”
+
+“Was she?  I never marked it.  But I know that she has kind eyes and a
+kind heart, for I saw the one in the other when she looked at me.  Maybe
+it’s the want of a friend that has driven her to this.”
+
+It blighted his spirits for days, and when it had all gone from my mind
+it was brought back to me by his manner.  But it was not to be our last
+memory of the lady with the scarlet pelisse, for before the week was out
+Jim came round to ask me if I would again go up with him.
+
+“My uncle has had a letter,” said he.  “She would speak with me, and I
+would be easier if you came with me, Rod.”
+
+For me it was only a pleasure outing, but I could see, as we drew near
+the house, that Jim was troubling in his mind lest we should find that
+things were amiss.
+
+His fears were soon set at rest, however, for we had scarce clicked the
+garden gate before the woman was out of the door of the cottage and
+running down the path to meet us.  She was so strange a figure, with some
+sort of purple wrapper on, and her big, flushed face smiling out of it,
+that I might, if I had been alone, have taken to my heels at the sight of
+her.  Even Jim stopped for a moment as if he were not very sure of
+himself, but her hearty ways soon set us at our ease.
+
+“It is indeed good of you to come and see an old, lonely woman,” said
+she, “and I owe you an apology that I should give you a fruitless journey
+on Tuesday, but in a sense you were yourselves the cause of it, since the
+thought of your coming had excited me, and any excitement throws me into
+a nervous fever.  My poor nerves!  You can see for yourselves how they
+serve me.”
+
+She held out her twitching hands as she spoke.  Then she passed one of
+them through Jim’s arm, and walked with him up the path.
+
+“You must let me know you, and know you well,” said she.  “Your uncle and
+aunt are quite old acquaintances of mine, and though you cannot remember
+me, I have held you in my arms when you were an infant.  Tell me, little
+man,” she added, turning to me, “what do you call your friend?”
+
+“Boy Jim, ma’am,” said I.
+
+“Then if you will not think me forward, I will call you Boy Jim also.  We
+elderly people have our privileges, you know.  And now you shall come in
+with me, and we will take a dish of tea together.”
+
+She led the way into a cosy room—the same which we had caught a glimpse
+of when last we came—and there, in the middle, was a table with white
+napery, and shining glass, and gleaming china, and red-cheeked apples
+piled upon a centre-dish, and a great plateful of smoking muffins which
+the cross-faced maid had just carried in.  You can think that we did
+justice to all the good things, and Miss Hinton would ever keep pressing
+us to pass our cup and to fill our plate.  Twice during our meal she rose
+from her chair and withdrew into a cupboard at the end of the room, and
+each time I saw Jim’s face cloud, for we heard a gentle clink of glass
+against glass.
+
+“Come now, little man,” said she to me, when the table had been cleared.
+“Why are you looking round so much?”
+
+“Because there are so many pretty things upon the walls.”
+
+“And which do you think the prettiest of them?”
+
+“Why, that!” said I, pointing to a picture which hung opposite to me.  It
+was of a tall and slender girl, with the rosiest cheeks and the tenderest
+eyes—so daintily dressed, too, that I had never seen anything more
+perfect.  She had a posy of flowers in her hand and another one was lying
+upon the planks of wood upon which she was standing.
+
+“Oh, that’s the prettiest, is it?” said she, laughing.  “Well, now, walk
+up to it, and let us hear what is writ beneath it.”
+
+I did as she asked, and read out: “Miss Polly Hinton, as ‘Peggy,’ in _The
+Country Wife_, played for her benefit at the Haymarket Theatre, September
+14th, 1782.”
+
+“It’s a play-actress,” said I.
+
+“Oh, you rude little boy, to say it in such a tone,” said she; “as if a
+play-actress wasn’t as good as any one else.  Why, ’twas but the other
+day that the Duke of Clarence, who may come to call himself King of
+England, married Mrs. Jordan, who is herself only a play-actress.  And
+whom think you that this one is?”
+
+She stood under the picture with her arms folded across her great body,
+and her big black eyes looking from one to the other of us.
+
+“Why, where are your eyes?” she cried at last.  “_I_ was Miss Polly
+Hinton of the Haymarket Theatre.  And perhaps you never heard the name
+before?”
+
+We were compelled to confess that we never had.  And the very name of
+play-actress had filled us both with a kind of vague horror, like the
+country-bred folk that we were.  To us they were a class apart, to be
+hinted at rather than named, with the wrath of the Almighty hanging over
+them like a thundercloud.  Indeed, His judgments seemed to be in visible
+operation before us when we looked upon what this woman was, and what she
+had been.
+
+“Well,” said she, laughing like one who is hurt, “you have no cause to
+say anything, for I read on your face what you have been taught to think
+of me.  So this is the upbringing that you have had, Jim—to think evil of
+that which you do not understand!  I wish you had been in the theatre
+that very night with Prince Florizel and four Dukes in the boxes, and all
+the wits and macaronis of London rising at me in the pit.  If Lord Avon
+had not given me a cast in his carriage, I had never got my flowers back
+to my lodgings in York Street, Westminster.  And now two little country
+lads are sitting in judgment upon me!”
+
+Jim’s pride brought a flush on to his cheeks, for he did not like to be
+called a country lad, or to have it supposed that he was so far behind
+the grand folk in London.
+
+“I have never been inside a play-house,” said he; “I know nothing of
+them.”
+
+“Nor I either.”
+
+“Well,” said she, “I am not in voice, and it is ill to play in a little
+room with but two to listen, but you must conceive me to be the Queen of
+the Peruvians, who is exhorting her countrymen to rise up against the
+Spaniards, who are oppressing them.”
+
+And straightway that coarse, swollen woman became a queen—the grandest,
+haughtiest queen that you could dream of—and she turned upon us with such
+words of fire, such lightning eyes and sweeping of her white hand, that
+she held us spellbound in our chairs.  Her voice was soft and sweet, and
+persuasive at the first, but louder it rang and louder as it spoke of
+wrongs and freedom and the joys of death in a good cause, until it
+thrilled into my every nerve, and I asked nothing more than to run out of
+the cottage and to die then and there in the cause of my country.  And
+then in an instant she changed.  She was a poor woman now, who had lost
+her only child, and who was bewailing it.  Her voice was full of tears,
+and what she said was so simple, so true, that we both seemed to see the
+dead babe stretched there on the carpet before us, and we could have
+joined in with words of pity and of grief.  And then, before our cheeks
+were dry, she was back into her old self again.
+
+“How like you that, then?” she cried.  “That was my way in the days when
+Sally Siddons would turn green at the name of Polly Hinton.  It’s a fine
+play, is _Pizarro_.”
+
+“And who wrote it, ma’am?”
+
+“Who wrote it?  I never heard.  What matter who did the writing of it!
+But there are some great lines for one who knows how they should be
+spoken.”
+
+“And you play no longer, ma’am?”
+
+“No, Jim, I left the boards when—when I was weary of them.  But my heart
+goes back to them sometimes.  It seems to me there is no smell like that
+of the hot oil in the footlights and of the oranges in the pit.  But you
+are sad, Jim.”
+
+“It was but the thought of that poor woman and her child.”
+
+“Tut, never think about her!  I will soon wipe her from your mind.  This
+is ‘Miss Priscilla Tomboy,’ from _The Romp_.  You must conceive that the
+mother is speaking, and that the forward young minx is answering.”
+
+And she began a scene between the two of them, so exact in voice and
+manner that it seemed to us as if there were really two folk before us:
+the stern old mother with her hand up like an ear-trumpet, and her
+flouncing, bouncing daughter.  Her great figure danced about with a
+wonderful lightness, and she tossed her head and pouted her lips as she
+answered back to the old, bent figure that addressed her.  Jim and I had
+forgotten our tears, and were holding our ribs before she came to the end
+of it.
+
+“That is better,” said she, smiling at our laughter.  “I would not have
+you go back to Friar’s Oak with long faces, or maybe they would not let
+you come to me again.”
+
+She vanished into her cupboard, and came out with a bottle and glass,
+which she placed upon the table.
+
+“You are too young for strong waters,” she said, “but this talking gives
+one a dryness, and—”
+
+Then it was that Boy Jim did a wonderful thing.  He rose from his chair,
+and he laid his hand upon the bottle.
+
+“Don’t!” said he.
+
+She looked him in the face, and I can still see those black eyes of hers
+softening before the gaze.
+
+“Am I to have none?”
+
+“Please, don’t.”
+
+With a quick movement she wrested the bottle out of his hand and raised
+it up so that for a moment it entered my head that she was about to drink
+it off.  Then she flung it through the open lattice, and we heard the
+crash of it on the path outside.
+
+“There, Jim!” said she; “does that satisfy you?  It’s long since any one
+cared whether I drank or no.”
+
+“You are too good and kind for that,” said he.
+
+“Good!” she cried.  “Well, I love that you should think me so.  And it
+would make you happier if I kept from the brandy, Jim?  Well, then, I’ll
+make you a promise, if you’ll make me one in return.”
+
+“What’s that, miss?”
+
+“No drop shall pass my lips, Jim, if you will swear, wet or shine, blow
+or snow, to come up here twice in every week, that I may see you and
+speak with you, for, indeed, there are times when I am very lonesome.”
+
+So the promise was made, and very faithfully did Jim keep it, for many a
+time when I have wanted him to go fishing or rabbit-snaring, he has
+remembered that it was his day for Miss Hinton, and has tramped off to
+Anstey Cross.  At first I think that she found her share of the bargain
+hard to keep, and I have seen Jim come back with a black face on him, as
+if things were going amiss.  But after a time the fight was won—as all
+fights are won if one does but fight long enough—and in the year before
+my father came back Miss Hinton had become another woman.  And it was not
+her ways only, but herself as well, for from being the person that I have
+described, she became in one twelve-month as fine a looking lady as there
+was in the whole country-side.  Jim was prouder of it by far than of
+anything he had had a hand in in his life, but it was only to me that he
+ever spoke about it, for he had that tenderness towards her that one has
+for those whom one has helped.  And she helped him also, for by her talk
+of the world and of what she had seen, she took his mind away from the
+Sussex country-side and prepared it for a broader life beyond.  So
+matters stood between them at the time when peace was made and my father
+came home from the sea.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+THE PEACE OF AMIENS.
+
+
+MANY a woman’s knee was on the ground, and many a woman’s soul spent
+itself in joy and thankfulness when the news came with the fall of the
+leaf in 1801 that the preliminaries of peace had been settled.  All
+England waved her gladness by day and twinkled it by night.  Even in
+little Friar’s Oak we had our flags flying bravely, and a candle in every
+window, with a big G.R. guttering in the wind over the door of the inn.
+Folk were weary of the war, for we had been at it for eight years, taking
+Holland, and Spain, and France each in turn and all together.  All that
+we had learned during that time was that our little army was no match for
+the French on land, and that our large navy was more than a match for
+them upon the water.  We had gained some credit, which we were sorely in
+need of after the American business; and a few Colonies, which were
+welcome also for the same reason; but our debt had gone on rising and our
+consols sinking, until even Pitt stood aghast.  Still, if we had known
+that there never could be peace between Napoleon and ourselves, and that
+this was only the end of a round and not of the battle, we should have
+been better advised had we fought it out without a break.  As it was, the
+French got back the twenty thousand good seamen whom we had captured, and
+a fine dance they led us with their Boulogne flotillas and fleets of
+invasion before we were able to catch them again.
+
+My father, as I remember him best, was a tough, strong little man, of no
+great breadth, but solid and well put together.  His face was burned of a
+reddish colour, as bright as a flower-pot, and in spite of his age (for
+he was only forty at the time of which I speak) it was shot with lines,
+which deepened if he were in any way perturbed, so that I have seen him
+turn on the instant from a youngish man to an elderly.  His eyes
+especially were meshed round with wrinkles, as is natural for one who had
+puckered them all his life in facing foul wind and bitter weather.  These
+eyes were, perhaps, his strangest feature, for they were of a very clear
+and beautiful blue, which shone the brighter out of that ruddy setting.
+By nature he must have been a fair-skinned man, for his upper brow, where
+his cap came over it, was as white as mine, and his close-cropped hair
+was tawny.
+
+He had served, as he was proud to say, in the last of our ships which had
+been chased out of the Mediterranean in ’97, and in the first which had
+re-entered it in ’98.  He was under Miller, as third lieutenant of the
+_Theseus_, when our fleet, like a pack of eager fox hounds in a covert,
+was dashing from Sicily to Syria and back again to Naples, trying to pick
+up the lost scent.  With the same good fighting man he served at the
+Nile, where the men of his command sponged and rammed and trained until,
+when the last tricolour had come down, they hove up the sheet anchor and
+fell dead asleep upon the top of each other under the capstan bars.
+Then, as a second lieutenant, he was in one of those grim three-deckers
+with powder-blackened hulls and crimson scupper-holes, their spare cables
+tied round their keels and over their bulwarks to hold them together,
+which carried the news into the Bay of Naples.  From thence, as a reward
+for his services, he was transferred as first lieutenant to the _Aurora_
+frigate, engaged in cutting off supplies from Genoa, and in her he still
+remained until long after peace was declared.
+
+How well I can remember his home-coming!  Though it is now
+eight-and-forty years ago, it is clearer to me than the doings of last
+week, for the memory of an old man is like one of those glasses which
+shows out what is at a distance and blurs all that is near.
+
+My mother had been in a tremble ever since the first rumour of the
+preliminaries came to our ears, for she knew that he might come as soon
+as his message.  She said little, but she saddened my life by insisting
+that I should be for ever clean and tidy.  With every rumble of wheels,
+too, her eyes would glance towards the door, and her hands steal up to
+smooth her pretty black hair.  She had embroidered a white “Welcome” upon
+a blue ground, with an anchor in red upon each side, and a border of
+laurel leaves; and this was to hang upon the two lilac bushes which
+flanked the cottage door.  He could not have left the Mediterranean
+before we had this finished, and every morning she looked to see if it
+were in its place and ready to be hanged.
+
+But it was a weary time before the peace was ratified, and it was April
+of next year before our great day came round to us.  It had been raining
+all morning, I remember—a soft spring rain, which sent up a rich smell
+from the brown earth and pattered pleasantly upon the budding chestnuts
+behind our cottage.  The sun had shone out in the evening, and I had come
+down with my fishing-rod (for I had promised Boy Jim to go with him to
+the mill-stream), when what should I see but a post-chaise with two
+smoking horses at the gate, and there in the open door of it were my
+mother’s black skirt and her little feet jutting out, with two blue arms
+for a waist-belt, and all the rest of her buried in the chaise.  Away I
+ran for the motto, and I pinned it up on the bushes as we had agreed, but
+when I had finished there were the skirts and the feet and the blue arms
+just the same as before.
+
+“Here’s Rod,” said my mother at last, struggling down on to the ground
+again.  “Roddy, darling, here’s your father!”
+
+I saw the red face and the kindly, light-blue eyes looking out at me.
+
+“Why, Roddy, lad, you were but a child and we kissed good-bye when last
+we met; but I suppose we must put you on a different rating now.  I’m
+right glad from my heart to see you, dear lad; and as to you,
+sweetheart—”
+
+The blue arms flew out, and there were the skirt and the two feet fixed
+in the door again.
+
+“Here are the folk coming, Anson,” said my mother, blushing.  “Won’t you
+get out and come in with us?”
+
+And then suddenly it came home to us both that for all his cheery face he
+had never moved more than his arms, and that his leg was resting on the
+opposite seat of the chaise.
+
+“Oh, Anson, Anson!” she cried.
+
+“Tut, ’tis but the bone of my leg,” said he, taking his knee between his
+hands and lifting it round.  “I got it broke in the Bay, but the surgeon
+has fished it and spliced it, though it’s a bit crank yet.  Why, bless
+her kindly heart, if I haven’t turned her from pink to white.  You can
+see for yourself that it’s nothing.”
+
+He sprang out as he spoke, and with one leg and a staff he hopped swiftly
+up the path, and under the laurel-bordered motto, and so over his own
+threshold for the first time for five years.  When the post-boy and I had
+carried up the sea-chest and the two canvas bags, there he was sitting in
+his armchair by the window in his old weather-stained blue coat.  My
+mother was weeping over his poor leg, and he patting her hair with one
+brown hand.  His other he threw round my waist, and drew me to the side
+of his chair.
+
+“Now that we have peace, I can lie up and refit until King George needs
+me again,” said he.  “’Twas a carronade that came adrift in the Bay when
+it was blowing a top-gallant breeze with a beam sea.  Ere we could make
+it fast it had me jammed against the mast.  Well, well,” he added,
+looking round at the walls of the room, “here are all my old curios, the
+same as ever: the narwhal’s horn from the Arctic, and the blowfish from
+the Moluccas, and the paddles from Fiji, and the picture of the _Ca Ira_
+with Lord Hotham in chase.  And here you are, Mary, and you also, Roddy,
+and good luck to the carronade which has sent me into so snug a harbour
+without fear of sailing orders.”
+
+My mother had his long pipe and his tobacco all ready for him, so that he
+was able now to light it and to sit looking from one of us to the other
+and then back again, as if he could never see enough of us.  Young as I
+was, I could still understand that this was the moment which he had
+thought of during many a lonely watch, and that the expectation of it had
+cheered his heart in many a dark hour.  Sometimes he would touch one of
+us with his hand, and sometimes the other, and so he sat, with his soul
+too satiated for words, whilst the shadows gathered in the little room
+and the lights of the inn windows glimmered through the gloom.  And then,
+after my mother had lit our own lamp, she slipped suddenly down upon her
+knees, and he got one knee to the ground also, so that, hand-in-hand,
+they joined their thanks to Heaven for manifold mercies.  When I look
+back at my parents as they were in those days, it is at that very moment
+that I can picture them most clearly: her sweet face with the wet shining
+upon her cheeks, and his blue eyes upturned to the smoke-blackened
+ceiling.  I remember that he swayed his reeking pipe in the earnestness
+of his prayer, so that I was half tears and half smiles as I watched him.
+
+“Roddy, lad,” said he, after supper was over, “you’re getting a man now,
+and I suppose you will go afloat like the rest of us.  You’re old enough
+to strap a dirk to your thigh.”
+
+“And leave me without a child as well as without a husband!” cried my
+mother.
+
+“Well, there’s time enough yet,” said he, “for they are more inclined to
+empty berths than to fill them, now that peace has come.  But I’ve never
+tried what all this schooling has done for you, Rodney.  You have had a
+great deal more than ever I had, but I dare say I can make shift to test
+it.  Have you learned history?”
+
+“Yes, father,” said I, with some confidence.
+
+“Then how many sail of the line were at the Battle of Camperdown?”
+
+He shook his head gravely when he found that I could not answer him.
+
+“Why, there are men in the fleet who never had any schooling at all who
+could tell you that we had seven 74’s, seven 64’s, and two 50-gun ships
+in the action.  There’s a picture on the wall of the chase of the _Ca
+Ira_.  Which were the ships that laid her aboard?”
+
+Again I had to confess that he had beaten me.
+
+“Well, your dad can teach you something in history yet,” he cried,
+looking in triumph at my mother.  “Have you learned geography?”
+
+“Yes, father,” said I, though with less confidence than before.
+
+“Well, how far is it from Port Mahon to Algeciras?”
+
+I could only shake my head.
+
+“If Ushant lay three leagues upon your starboard quarter, what would be
+your nearest English port?”
+
+Again I had to give it up.
+
+“Well, I don’t see that your geography is much better than your history,”
+said he.  “You’d never get your certificate at this rate.  Can you do
+addition?  Well, then, let us see if you can tot up my prize-money.”
+
+He shot a mischievous glance at my mother as he spoke, and she laid down
+her knitting on her lap and looked very earnestly at him.
+
+“You never asked me about that, Mary,” said he.
+
+“The Mediterranean is not the station for it, Anson.  I have heard you
+say that it is the Atlantic for prize-money, and the Mediterranean for
+honour.”
+
+“I had a share of both last cruise, which comes from changing a
+line-of-battleship for a frigate.  Now, Rodney, there are two pounds in
+every hundred due to me when the prize-courts have done with them.  When
+we were watching Massena, off Genoa, we got a matter of seventy
+schooners, brigs, and tartans, with wine, food, and powder.  Lord Keith
+will want his finger in the pie, but that’s for the Courts to settle.
+Put them at four pounds apiece to me, and what will the seventy bring?”
+
+“Two hundred and eighty pounds,” I answered.
+
+“Why, Anson, it is a fortune!” cried my mother, clapping her hands.
+
+“Try you again, Roddy!” said he, shaking his pipe at me.  “There was the
+_Xebec_ frigate out of Barcelona with twenty thousand Spanish dollars
+aboard, which make four thousand of our pounds.  Her hull should be worth
+another thousand.  What’s my share of that?”
+
+“A hundred pounds.”
+
+“Why, the purser couldn’t work it out quicker,” he cried in his delight.
+“Here’s for you again!  We passed the Straits and worked up to the
+Azores, where we fell in with the _La Sabina_ from the Mauritius with
+sugar and spices.  Twelve hundred pounds she’s worth to me, Mary, my
+darling, and never again shall you soil your pretty fingers or pinch upon
+my beggarly pay.”
+
+My dear mother had borne her long struggle without a sign all these
+years, but now that she was so suddenly eased of it she fell sobbing upon
+his neck.  It was a long time before my father had a thought to spare
+upon my examination in arithmetic.
+
+“It’s all in your lap, Mary,” said he, dashing his own hand across his
+eyes.  “By George, lass, when this leg of mine is sound we’ll bear down
+for a spell to Brighton, and if there is a smarter frock than yours upon
+the Steyne, may I never tread a poop again.  But how is it that you are
+so quick at figures, Rodney, when you know nothing of history or
+geography?”
+
+I tried to explain that addition was the same upon sea or land, but that
+history and geography were not.
+
+“Well,” he concluded, “you need figures to take a reckoning, and you need
+nothing else save what your mother wit will teach you.  There never was
+one of our breed who did not take to salt water like a young gull.  Lord
+Nelson has promised me a vacancy for you, and he’ll be as good as his
+word.”
+
+So it was that my father came home to us, and a better or kinder no lad
+could wish for.  Though my parents had been married so long, they had
+really seen very little of each other, and their affection was as warm
+and as fresh as if they were two newly-wedded lovers.  I have learned
+since that sailors can be coarse and foul, but never did I know it from
+my father; for, although he had seen as much rough work as the wildest
+could wish for, he was always the same patient, good-humoured man, with a
+smile and a jolly word for all the village.  He could suit himself to his
+company, too, for on the one hand he could take his wine with the vicar,
+or with Sir James Ovington, the squire of the parish; while on the other
+he would sit by the hour amongst my humble friends down in the smithy,
+with Champion Harrison, Boy Jim, and the rest of them, telling them such
+stories of Nelson and his men that I have seen the Champion knot his
+great hands together, while Jim’s eyes have smouldered like the forge
+embers as he listened.
+
+My father had been placed on half-pay, like so many others of the old war
+officers, and so, for nearly two years, he was able to remain with us.
+During all this time I can only once remember that there was the
+slightest disagreement between him and my mother.  It chanced that I was
+the cause of it, and as great events sprang out of it, I must tell you
+how it came about.  It was indeed the first of a series of events which
+affected not only my fortunes, but those of very much more important
+people.
+
+The spring of 1803 was an early one, and the middle of April saw the
+leaves thick upon the chestnut trees.  One evening we were all seated
+together over a dish of tea when we heard the scrunch of steps outside
+our door, and there was the postman with a letter in his hand.
+
+“I think it is for me,” said my mother, and sure enough it was addressed
+in the most beautiful writing to Mrs. Mary Stone, of Friar’s Oak, and
+there was a red seal the size of a half-crown upon the outside of it with
+a flying dragon in the middle.
+
+“Whom think you that it is from, Anson?” she asked.
+
+“I had hoped that it was from Lord Nelson,” answered my father.  “It is
+time the boy had his commission.  But if it be for you, then it cannot be
+from any one of much importance.”
+
+“Can it not!” she cried, pretending to be offended.  “You will ask my
+pardon for that speech, sir, for it is from no less a person than Sir
+Charles Tregellis, my own brother.”
+
+My mother seemed to speak with a hushed voice when she mentioned this
+wonderful brother of hers, and always had done as long as I can remember,
+so that I had learned also to have a subdued and reverent feeling when I
+heard his name.  And indeed it was no wonder, for that name was never
+mentioned unless it were in connection with something brilliant and
+extraordinary.  Once we heard that he was at Windsor with the King.
+Often he was at Brighton with the Prince.  Sometimes it was as a
+sportsman that his reputation reached us, as when his Meteor beat the
+Duke of Queensberry’s Egham, at Newmarket, or when he brought Jim Belcher
+up from Bristol, and sprang him upon the London fancy.  But usually it
+was as the friend of the great, the arbiter of fashions, the king of
+bucks, and the best-dressed man in town that his reputation reached us.
+My father, however, did not appear to be elated at my mother’s triumphant
+rejoinder.
+
+“Ay, and what does he want?” asked he, in no very amiable voice.
+
+“I wrote to him, Anson, and told him that Rodney was growing a man now,
+thinking, since he had no wife or child of his own, he might be disposed
+to advance him.”
+
+“We can do very well without him,” growled my father.  “He sheered off
+from us when the weather was foul, and we have no need of him now that
+the sun is shining.”
+
+“Nay, you misjudge him, Anson,” said my mother, warmly.  “There is no one
+with a better heart than Charles; but his own life moves so smoothly that
+he cannot understand that others may have trouble.  During all these
+years I have known that I had but to say the word to receive as much as I
+wished from him.”
+
+“Thank God that you never had to stoop to it, Mary.  I want none of his
+help.”
+
+“But we must think of Rodney.”
+
+“Rodney has enough for his sea-chest and kit.  He needs no more.”
+
+“But Charles has great power and influence in London.  He could make
+Rodney known to all the great people.  Surely you would not stand in the
+way of his advancement.”
+
+“Let us hear what he says, then,” said my father; and this was the letter
+which she read to him—
+
+                                           14, Jermyn Street, St. James’s,
+                                                        “April 15th, 1803.
+
+    “MY DEAR SISTER MARY,
+
+    “In answer to your letter, I can assure you that you must not
+    conceive me to be wanting in those finer feelings which are the chief
+    adornment of humanity.  It is true that for some years, absorbed as I
+    have been in affairs of the highest importance, I have seldom taken a
+    pen in hand, for which I can assure you that I have been reproached
+    by many _des plus charmantes_ of your charming sex.  At the present
+    moment I lie abed (having stayed late in order to pay a compliment to
+    the Marchioness of Dover at her ball last night), and this is writ to
+    my dictation by Ambrose, my clever rascal of a valet.  I am
+    interested to hear of my nephew Rodney (_Mon dieu_, _quel nom_!), and
+    as I shall be on my way to visit the Prince at Brighton next week, I
+    shall break my journey at Friar’s Oak for the sake of seeing both you
+    and him.  Make my compliments to your husband.
+
+                                          “I am ever, my dear sister Mary,
+                                                            “Your brother,
+                                                      “CHARLES TREGELLIS.”
+
+“What do you think of that?” cried my mother in triumph when she had
+finished.
+
+“I think it is the letter of a fop,” said my father, bluntly.
+
+“You are too hard on him, Anson.  You will think better of him when you
+know him.  But he says that he will be here next week, and this is
+Thursday, and the best curtains unhung, and no lavender in the sheets!”
+
+Away she bustled, half distracted, while my father sat moody, with his
+chin upon his hands, and I remained lost in wonder at the thought of this
+grand new relative from London, and of all that his coming might mean to
+us.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+BUCK TREGELLIS.
+
+
+NOW that I was in my seventeenth year, and had already some need for a
+razor, I had begun to weary of the narrow life of the village, and to
+long to see something of the great world beyond.  The craving was all the
+stronger because I durst not speak openly about it, for the least hint of
+it brought the tears into my mother’s eyes.  But now there was the less
+reason that I should stay at home, since my father was at her side, and
+so my mind was all filled by this prospect of my uncle’s visit, and of
+the chance that he might set my feet moving at last upon the road of
+life.
+
+As you may think, it was towards my father’s profession that my thoughts
+and my hopes turned, for from my childhood I have never seen the heave of
+the sea or tasted the salt upon my lips without feeling the blood of five
+generations of seamen thrill within my veins.  And think of the challenge
+which was ever waving in those days before the eyes of a coast-living
+lad!  I had but to walk up to Wolstonbury in the war time to see the
+sails of the French chasse-marées and privateers.  Again and again I have
+heard the roar of the guns coming from far out over the waters.  Seamen
+would tell us how they had left London and been engaged ere nightfall, or
+sailed out of Portsmouth and been yard-arm to yard-arm before they had
+lost sight of St. Helen’s light.  It was this imminence of the danger
+which warmed our hearts to our sailors, and made us talk, round the
+winter fires, of our little Nelson, and Cuddie Collingwood, and Johnnie
+Jarvis, and the rest of them, not as being great High Admirals with
+titles and dignities, but as good friends whom we loved and honoured
+above all others.  What boy was there through the length and breadth of
+Britain who did not long to be out with them under the red-cross flag?
+
+But now that peace had come, and the fleets which had swept the Channel
+and the Mediterranean were lying dismantled in our harbours, there was
+less to draw one’s fancy seawards.  It was London now of which I thought
+by day and brooded by night: the huge city, the home of the wise and the
+great, from which came this constant stream of carriages, and those
+crowds of dusty people who were for ever flashing past our window-pane.
+It was this one side of life which first presented itself to me, and so,
+as a boy, I used to picture the City as a gigantic stable with a huge
+huddle of coaches, which were for ever streaming off down the country
+roads.  But, then, Champion Harrison told me how the fighting-men lived
+there, and my father how the heads of the Navy lived there, and my mother
+how her brother and his grand friends were there, until at last I was
+consumed with impatience to see this marvellous heart of England.  This
+coming of my uncle, then, was the breaking of light through the darkness,
+though I hardly dared to hope that he would take me with him into those
+high circles in which he lived.  My mother, however, had such confidence
+either in his good nature or in her own powers of persuasion, that she
+already began to make furtive preparations for my departure.
+
+But if the narrowness of the village life chafed my easy spirit, it was a
+torture to the keen and ardent mind of Boy Jim.  It was but a few days
+after the coming of my uncle’s letter that we walked over the Downs
+together, and I had a peep of the bitterness of his heart.
+
+“What is there for me to do, Rodney?” he cried.  “I forge a shoe, and I
+fuller it, and I clip it, and I caulken it, and I knock five holes in it,
+and there it is finished.  Then I do it again and again, and blow up the
+bellows and feed the forge, and rasp a hoof or two, and there is a day’s
+work done, and every day the same as the other.  Was it for this only, do
+you think, that I was born into the world?”
+
+I looked at him, his proud, eagle face, and his tall, sinewy figure, and
+I wondered whether in the whole land there was a finer, handsomer man.
+
+“The Army or the Navy is the place for you, Jim,” said I.
+
+“That is very well,” he cried.  “If you go into the Navy, as you are
+likely to do, you go as an officer, and it is you who do the ordering.
+If I go in, it is as one who was born to receive orders.”
+
+“An officer gets his orders from those above him.”
+
+“But an officer does not have the lash hung over his head.  I saw a poor
+fellow at the inn here—it was some years ago—who showed us his back in
+the tap-room, all cut into red diamonds with the boat-swain’s whip.  ‘Who
+ordered that?’ I asked.  ‘The captain,’ said he.  ‘And what would you
+have had if you had struck him dead?’ said I.  ‘The yard-arm,’ he
+answered.  ‘Then if I had been you that’s where I should have been,’ said
+I, and I spoke the truth.  I can’t help it, Rod!  There’s something here
+in my heart, something that is as much a part of myself as this hand is,
+which holds me to it.”
+
+“I know that you are as proud as Lucifer,” said I.
+
+“It was born with me, Roddy, and I can’t help it.  Life would be easier
+if I could.  I was made to be my own master, and there’s only one place
+where I can hope to be so.”
+
+“Where is that, Jim?”
+
+“In London.  Miss Hinton has told me of it, until I feel as if I could
+find my way through it from end to end.  She loves to talk of it as well
+as I do to listen.  I have it all laid out in my mind, and I can see
+where the playhouses are, and how the river runs, and where the King’s
+house is, and the Prince’s, and the place where the fighting-men live.  I
+could make my name known in London.”
+
+“How?”
+
+“Never mind how, Rod.  I could do it, and I will do it, too.  ‘Wait!’
+says my uncle—‘wait, and it will all come right for you.’  That is what
+he always says, and my aunt the same.  Why should I wait?  What am I to
+wait for?  No, Roddy, I’ll stay no longer eating my heart out in this
+little village, but I’ll leave my apron behind me and I’ll seek my
+fortune in London, and when I come back to Friar’s Oak, it will be in
+such style as that gentleman yonder.”
+
+He pointed as he spoke, and there was a high crimson curricle coming down
+the London road, with two bay mares harnessed tandem fashion before it.
+The reins and fittings were of a light fawn colour, and the gentleman had
+a driving-coat to match, with a servant in dark livery behind.  They
+flashed past us in a rolling cloud of dust, and I had just a glimpse of
+the pale, handsome face of the master, and of the dark, shrivelled
+features of the man.  I should never have given them another thought had
+it not chanced that when the village came into view there was the
+curricle again, standing at the door of the inn, and the grooms busy
+taking out the horses.
+
+“Jim,” I cried, “I believe it is my uncle!” and taking to my heels I ran
+for home at the top of my speed.  At the door was standing the dark-faced
+servant.  He carried a cushion, upon which lay a small and fluffy lapdog.
+
+“You will excuse me, young sir,” said he, in the suavest, most soothing
+of voices, “but am I right in supposing that this is the house of
+Lieutenant Stone?  In that case you will, perhaps, do me the favour to
+hand to Mrs. Stone this note which her brother, Sir Charles Tregellis,
+has just committed to my care.”
+
+I was quite abashed by the man’s flowery way of talking—so unlike
+anything which I had ever heard.  He had a wizened face, and sharp little
+dark eyes, which took in me and the house and my mother’s startled face
+at the window all in the instant.  My parents were together, the two of
+them, in the sitting-room, and my mother read the note to us.
+
+“My dear Mary,” it ran, “I have stopped at the inn, because I am somewhat
+_ravagé_ by the dust of your Sussex roads.  A lavender-water bath may
+restore me to a condition in which I may fitly pay my compliments to a
+lady.  Meantime, I send you Fidelio as a hostage.  Pray give him a
+half-pint of warmish milk with six drops of pure brandy in it.  A better
+or more faithful creature never lived.  _Toujours à toi_.—Charles.”
+
+“Have him in!  Have him in!” cried my father, heartily, running to the
+door.  “Come in, Mr. Fidelio.  Every man to his own taste, and six drops
+to the half-pint seems a sinful watering of grog—but if you like it so,
+you shall have it.”
+
+A smile flickered over the dark face of the servant, but his features
+reset themselves instantly into their usual mask of respectful
+observance.
+
+“You are labouring under a slight error, sir, if you will permit me to
+say so.  My name is Ambrose, and I have the honour to be the valet of Sir
+Charles Tregellis.  This is Fidelio upon the cushion.”
+
+“Tut, the dog!” cried my father, in disgust.  “Heave him down by the
+fireside.  Why should he have brandy, when many a Christian has to go
+without?”
+
+“Hush, Anson!” said my mother, taking the cushion.  “You will tell Sir
+Charles that his wishes shall be carried out, and that we shall expect
+him at his own convenience.”
+
+The man went off noiselessly and swiftly, but was back in a few minutes
+with a flat brown basket.
+
+“It is the refection, madam,” said he.  “Will you permit me to lay the
+table?  Sir Charles is accustomed to partake of certain dishes and to
+drink certain wines, so that we usually bring them with us when we
+visit.”  He opened the basket, and in a minute he had the table all
+shining with silver and glass, and studded with dainty dishes.  So quick
+and neat and silent was he in all he did, that my father was as taken
+with him as I was.
+
+“You’d have made a right good foretopman if your heart is as stout as
+your fingers are quick,” said he.  “Did you never wish to have the honour
+of serving your country?”
+
+“It is my honour, sir, to serve Sir Charles Tregellis, and I desire no
+other master,” he answered.  “But I will convey his dressing-case from
+the inn, and then all will be ready.”
+
+He came back with a great silver-mounted box under his arm, and close at
+his heels was the gentleman whose coming had made such a disturbance.
+
+My first impression of my uncle as he entered the room was that one of
+his eyes was swollen to the size of an apple.  It caught the breath from
+my lips—that monstrous, glistening eye.  But the next instant I perceived
+that he held a round glass in the front of it, which magnified it in this
+fashion.  He looked at us each in turn, and then he bowed very gracefully
+to my mother and kissed her upon either cheek.
+
+“You will permit me to compliment you, my dear Mary,” said he, in a voice
+which was the most mellow and beautiful that I have ever heard.  “I can
+assure you that the country air has used you wondrous well, and that I
+should be proud to see my pretty sister in the Mall.  I am your servant,
+sir,” he continued, holding out his hand to my father.  “It was but last
+week that I had the honour of dining with my friend, Lord St. Vincent,
+and I took occasion to mention you to him.  I may tell you that your name
+is not forgotten at the Admiralty, sir, and I hope that I may see you
+soon walking the poop of a 74-gun ship of your own.  So this is my
+nephew, is it?”  He put a hand upon each of my shoulders in a very
+friendly way and looked me up and down.
+
+“How old are you, nephew?” he asked.
+
+“Seventeen, sir.”
+
+“You look older.  You look eighteen, at the least.  I find him very
+passable, Mary—very passable, indeed.  He has not the _bel_ air, the
+_tournure_—in our uncouth English we have no word for it.  But he is as
+healthy as a May-hedge in bloom.”
+
+So within a minute of his entering our door he had got himself upon terms
+with all of us, and with so easy and graceful a manner that it seemed as
+if he had known us all for years.  I had a good look at him now as he
+stood upon the hearthrug with my mother upon one side and my father on
+the other.  He was a very large man, with noble shoulders, small waist,
+broad hips, well-turned legs, and the smallest of hands and feet.  His
+face was pale and handsome, with a prominent chin, a jutting nose, and
+large blue staring eyes, in which a sort of dancing, mischievous light
+was for ever playing.  He wore a deep brown coat with a collar as high as
+his ears and tails as low as his knees.  His black breeches and silk
+stockings ended in very small pointed shoes, so highly polished that they
+twinkled with every movement.  His vest was of black velvet, open at the
+top to show an embroidered shirt-front, with a high, smooth, white cravat
+above it, which kept his neck for ever on the stretch.  He stood easily,
+with one thumb in the arm-pit, and two fingers of the other hand in his
+vest pocket.  It made me proud as I watched him to think that so
+magnificent a man, with such easy, masterful ways, should be my own blood
+relation, and I could see from my mother’s eyes as they turned towards
+him that the same thought was in her mind.
+
+All this time Ambrose had been standing like a dark-clothed, bronze-faced
+image by the door, with the big silver-bound box under his arm.  He
+stepped forward now into the room.
+
+“Shall I convey it to your bedchamber, Sir Charles?” he asked.
+
+“Ah, pardon me, sister Mary,” cried my uncle, “I am old-fashioned enough
+to have principles—an anachronism, I know, in this lax age.  One of them
+is never to allow my _batterie de toilette_ out of my sight when I am
+travelling.  I cannot readily forget the agonies which I endured some
+years ago through neglecting this precaution.  I will do Ambrose the
+justice to say that it was before he took charge of my affairs.  I was
+compelled to wear the same ruffles upon two consecutive days.  On the
+third morning my fellow was so affected by the sight of my condition,
+that he burst into tears and laid out a pair which he had stolen from
+me.”
+
+As he spoke his face was very grave, but the light in his eyes danced and
+gleamed.  He handed his open snuff-box to my father, as Ambrose followed
+my mother out of the room.
+
+“You number yourself in an illustrious company by dipping your finger and
+thumb into it,” said he.
+
+“Indeed, sir!” said my father, shortly.
+
+“You are free of my box, as being a relative by marriage.  You are free
+also, nephew, and I pray you to take a pinch.  It is the most intimate
+sign of my goodwill.  Outside ourselves there are four, I think, who have
+had access to it—the Prince, of course; Mr Pitt; Monsieur Otto, the
+French Ambassador; and Lord Hawkesbury.  I have sometimes thought that I
+was premature with Lord Hawkesbury.”
+
+“I am vastly honoured, sir,” said my father, looking suspiciously at his
+guest from under his shaggy eyebrows, for with that grave face and those
+twinkling eyes it was hard to know how to take him.
+
+“A woman, sir, has her love to bestow,” said my uncle.  “A man has his
+snuff-box.  Neither is to be lightly offered.  It is a lapse of taste;
+nay, more, it is a breach of morals.  Only the other day, as I was seated
+in Watier’s, my box of prime macouba open upon the table beside me, an
+Irish bishop thrust in his intrusive fingers.  ‘Waiter,’ I cried, ‘my box
+has been soiled!  Remove it!’  The man meant no insult, you understand,
+but that class of people must be kept in their proper sphere.’
+
+“A bishop!” cried my father.  “You draw your line very high, sir.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said my uncle; “I wish no better epitaph upon my tombstone.”
+
+My mother had in the meanwhile descended, and we all drew up to the
+table.
+
+“You will excuse my apparent grossness, Mary, in venturing to bring my
+own larder with me.  Abernethy has me under his orders, and I must eschew
+your rich country dainties.  A little white wine and a cold bird—it is as
+much as the niggardly Scotchman will allow me.”
+
+“We should have you on blockading service when the levanters are
+blowing,” said my father.  “Salt junk and weevilly biscuits, with a rib
+of a tough Barbary ox when the tenders come in.  You would have your
+spare diet there, sir.”
+
+Straightway my uncle began to question him about the sea service, and for
+the whole meal my father was telling him of the Nile and of the Toulon
+blockade, and the siege of Genoa, and all that he had seen and done.  But
+whenever he faltered for a word, my uncle always had it ready for him,
+and it was hard to say which knew most about the business.
+
+“No, I read little or nothing,” said he, when my father marvelled where
+he got his knowledge.  “The fact is that I can hardly pick up a print
+without seeing some allusion to myself: ‘Sir C. T. does this,’ or ‘Sir C.
+T. says the other,’ so I take them no longer.  But if a man is in my
+position all knowledge comes to him.  The Duke of York tells me of the
+Army in the morning, and Lord Spencer chats with me of the Navy in the
+afternoon, and Dundas whispers me what is going forward in the Cabinet,
+so that I have little need of the _Times_ or the _Morning Chronicle_.”
+
+This set him talking of the great world of London, telling my father
+about the men who were his masters at the Admiralty, and my mother about
+the beauties of the town, and the great ladies at Almack’s, but all in
+the same light, fanciful way, so that one never knew whether to laugh or
+to take him gravely.  I think it flattered him to see the way in which we
+all three hung upon his words.  Of some he thought highly and of some
+lowly, but he made no secret that the highest of all, and the one against
+whom all others should be measured, was Sir Charles Tregellis himself.
+
+“As to the King,” said he, “of course, I am _l’ami de famille_ there; and
+even with you I can scarce speak freely, as my relations are
+confidential.”
+
+“God bless him and keep him from ill!” cried my father.
+
+“It is pleasant to hear you say so,” said my uncle.  “One has to come
+into the country to hear honest loyalty, for a sneer and a gibe are more
+the fashions in town.  The King is grateful to me for the interest which
+I have ever shown in his son.  He likes to think that the Prince has a
+man of taste in his circle.”
+
+“And the Prince?” asked my mother.  “Is he well-favoured?”
+
+“He is a fine figure of a man.  At a distance he has been mistaken for
+me.  And he has some taste in dress, though he gets slovenly if I am too
+long away from him.  I warrant you that I find a crease in his coat
+to-morrow.”
+
+We were all seated round the fire by this time, for the evening had
+turned chilly.  The lamp was lighted and so also was my father’s pipe.
+
+“I suppose,” said he, “that this is your first visit to Friar’s Oak?”
+
+My uncle’s face turned suddenly very grave and stern.
+
+“It is my first visit for many years,” said he.  “I was but
+one-and-twenty years of age when last I came here.  I am not likely to
+forget it.”
+
+I knew that he spoke of his visit to Cliffe Royal at the time of the
+murder, and I saw by her face that my mother knew it also.  My father,
+however, had either never heard of it, or had forgotten the circumstance.
+
+“Was it at the inn you stayed?” he asked.
+
+“I stayed with the unfortunate Lord Avon.  It was the occasion when he
+was accused of slaying his younger brother and fled from the country.”
+
+We all fell silent, and my uncle leaned his chin upon his hand, looking
+thoughtfully into the fire.  If I do but close my eyes now, I can see the
+light upon his proud, handsome face, and see also my dear father,
+concerned at having touched upon so terrible a memory, shooting little
+slanting glances at him betwixt the puffs of his pipe.
+
+“I dare say that it has happened with you, sir,” said my uncle at last,
+“that you have lost some dear messmate, in battle or wreck, and that you
+have put him out of your mind in the routine of your daily life, until
+suddenly some word or some scene brings him back to your memory, and you
+find your sorrow as raw as upon the first day of your loss.”
+
+My father nodded.
+
+“So it is with me to-night.  I never formed a close friendship with a
+man—I say nothing of women—save only the once.  That was with Lord Avon.
+We were of an age, he a few years perhaps my senior, but our tastes, our
+judgments, and our characters were alike, save only that he had in him a
+touch of pride such as I have never known in any other man.  Putting
+aside the little foibles of a rich young man of fashion, _les
+indescrétions d’une jeunesse dorée_, I could have sworn that he was as
+good a man as I have ever known.”
+
+“How came he, then, to such a crime?” asked my father.
+
+My uncle shook his head.
+
+“Many a time have I asked myself that question, and it comes home to me
+more to-night than ever.”
+
+All the jauntiness had gone out of his manner, and he had turned suddenly
+into a sad and serious man.
+
+“Was it certain that he did it, Charles?” asked my mother.
+
+My uncle shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“I wish I could think it were not so.  I have thought sometimes that it
+was this very pride, turning suddenly to madness, which drove him to it.
+You have heard how he returned the money which we had lost?”
+
+“Nay, I have heard nothing of it,” my father answered.
+
+“It is a very old story now, though we have not yet found an end to it.
+We had played for two days, the four of us: Lord Avon, his brother
+Captain Barrington, Sir Lothian Hume, and myself.  Of the Captain I knew
+little, save that he was not of the best repute, and was deep in the
+hands of the Jews.  Sir Lothian has made an evil name for himself
+since—’tis the same Sir Lothian who shot Lord Carton in the affair at
+Chalk Farm—but in those days there was nothing against him.  The oldest
+of us was but twenty-four, and we gamed on, as I say, until the Captain
+had cleared the board.  We were all hit, but our host far the hardest.
+
+“That night—I tell you now what it would be a bitter thing for me to tell
+in a court of law—I was restless and sleepless, as often happens when a
+man has kept awake over long.  My mind would dwell upon the fall of the
+cards, and I was tossing and turning in my bed, when suddenly a cry fell
+upon my ears, and then a second louder one, coming from the direction of
+Captain Barrington’s room.  Five minutes later I heard steps passing down
+the passage, and, without striking a light, I opened my door and peeped
+out, thinking that some one was taken unwell.  There was Lord Avon
+walking towards me.  In one hand he held a guttering candle and in the
+other a brown bag, which chinked as he moved.  His face was all drawn and
+distorted—so much so that my question was frozen upon my lips.  Before I
+could utter it he turned into his chamber and softly closed the door.
+
+“Next morning I was awakened by finding him at my bedside.
+
+“‘Charles,’ said he, ‘I cannot abide to think that you should have lost
+this money in my house.  You will find it here upon your table.’
+
+“It was in vain that I laughed at his squeamishness, telling him that I
+should most certainly have claimed my money had I won, so that it would
+be strange indeed if I were not permitted to pay it when I lost.
+
+“‘Neither I nor my brother will touch it,’ said he.  ‘There it lies, and
+you may do what you like about it.’
+
+“He would listen to no argument, but dashed out of the room like a
+madman.  But perhaps these details are familiar to you, and God knows
+they are painful to me to tell.”
+
+My father was sitting with staring eyes, and his forgotten pipe reeking
+in his hand.
+
+“Pray let us hear the end of it, sir,” he cried.
+
+“Well, then, I had finished my toilet in an hour or so—for I was less
+exigeant in those days than now—and I met Sir Lothian Hume at breakfast.
+His experience had been the same as my own, and he was eager to see
+Captain Barrington; and to ascertain why he had directed his brother to
+return the money to us.  We were talking the matter over when suddenly I
+raised my eyes to the corner of the ceiling, and I saw—I saw—”
+
+My uncle had turned quite pale with the vividness of the memory, and he
+passed his hand over his eyes.
+
+“It was crimson,” said he, with a shudder—“crimson with black cracks, and
+from every crack—but I will give you dreams, sister Mary.  Suffice it
+that we rushed up the stair which led direct to the Captain’s room, and
+there we found him lying with the bone gleaming white through his throat.
+A hunting-knife lay in the room—and the knife was Lord Avon’s.  A lace
+ruffle was found in the dead man’s grasp—and the ruffle was Lord Avon’s.
+Some papers were found charred in the grate—and the papers were Lord
+Avon’s.  Oh, my poor friend, in what moment of madness did you come to do
+such a deed?”
+
+The light had gone out of my uncle’s eyes and the extravagance from his
+manner.  His speech was clear and plain, with none of those strange
+London ways which had so amazed me.  Here was a second uncle, a man of
+heart and a man of brains, and I liked him better than the first.
+
+“And what said Lord Avon?” cried my father.
+
+“He said nothing.  He went about like one who walks in his sleep, with
+horror-stricken eyes.  None dared arrest him until there should be due
+inquiry, but when the coroner’s court brought wilful murder against him,
+the constables came for him in full cry.  But they found him fled.  There
+was a rumour that he had been seen in Westminster in the next week, and
+then that he had escaped for America, but nothing more is known.  It will
+be a bright day for Sir Lothian Hume when they can prove him dead, for he
+is next of kin, and till then he can touch neither title nor estate.”
+
+The telling of this grim story had cast a chill upon all of us.  My uncle
+held out his hands towards the blaze, and I noticed that they were as
+white as the ruffles which fringed them.
+
+“I know not how things are at Cliffe Royal now,” said he, thoughtfully.
+“It was not a cheery house, even before this shadow fell upon it.  A
+fitter stage was never set forth for such a tragedy.  But seventeen years
+have passed, and perhaps even that horrible ceiling—”
+
+“It still bears the stain,” said I.
+
+I know not which of the three was the more astonished, for my mother had
+not heard of my adventures of the night.  They never took their wondering
+eyes off me as I told my story, and my heart swelled with pride when my
+uncle said that we had carried ourselves well, and that he did not think
+that many of our age would have stood it as stoutly.
+
+“But as to this ghost, it must have been the creature of your own minds,”
+said he.  “Imagination plays us strange tricks, and though I have as
+steady a nerve as a man might wish, I cannot answer for what I might see
+if I were to stand under that blood-stained ceiling at midnight.”
+
+“Uncle,” said I, “I saw a figure as plainly as I see that fire, and I
+heard the steps as clearly as I hear the crackle of the fagots.  Besides,
+we could not both be deceived.”
+
+“There is truth in that,” said be, thoughtfully.  “You saw no features,
+you say?”
+
+“It was too dark.”
+
+“But only a figure?”
+
+“The dark outline of one.”
+
+“And it retreated up the stairs?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And vanished into the wall?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What part of the wall?” cried a voice from behind us.
+
+My mother screamed, and down came my father’s pipe on to the hearthrug.
+I had sprung round with a catch of my breath, and there was the valet,
+Ambrose, his body in the shadow of the doorway, his dark face protruded
+into the light, and two burning eyes fixed upon mine.
+
+“What the deuce is the meaning of this, sir?” cried my uncle.
+
+It was strange to see the gleam and passion fade out of the man’s face,
+and the demure mask of the valet replace it.  His eyes still smouldered,
+but his features regained their prim composure in an instant.
+
+“I beg your pardon, Sir Charles,” said he.  “I had come in to ask you if
+you had any orders for me, and I did not like to interrupt the young
+gentleman’s story.  I am afraid that I have been somewhat carried away by
+it.”
+
+“I never knew you forget yourself before,” said my uncle.
+
+“You will, I am sure, forgive me, Sir Charles, if you will call to mind
+the relation in which I stood to Lord Avon.”  He spoke with some dignity
+of manner, and with a bow he left the room.
+
+“We must make some little allowance,” said my uncle, with a sudden return
+to his jaunty manner.  “When a man can brew a dish of chocolate, or tie a
+cravat, as Ambrose does, he may claim consideration.  The fact is that
+the poor fellow was valet to Lord Avon, that he was at Cliffe Royal upon
+the fatal night of which I have spoken, and that he is most devoted to
+his old master.  But my talk has been somewhat _triste_, sister Mary, and
+now we shall return, if you please, to the dresses of the Countess
+Lieven, and the gossip of St. James.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+ON THE THRESHOLD.
+
+
+MY father sent me to bed early that night, though I was very eager to
+stay up, for every word which this man said held my attention.  His face,
+his manner, the large waves and sweeps of his white hands, his easy air
+of superiority, his fantastic fashion of talk, all filled me with
+interest and wonder.  But, as I afterwards learned, their conversation
+was to be about myself and my own prospects, so I was despatched to my
+room, whence far into the night I could hear the deep growl of my father
+and the rich tones of my uncle, with an occasional gentle murmur from my
+mother, as they talked in the room beneath.
+
+I had dropped asleep at last, when I was awakened suddenly by something
+wet being pressed against my face, and by two warm arms which were cast
+round me.  My mother’s cheek was against my own, and I could hear the
+click of her sobs, and feel her quiver and shake in the darkness.  A
+faint light stole through the latticed window, and I could dimly see that
+she was in white, with her black hair loose upon her shoulders.
+
+“You won’t forget us, Roddy?  You won’t forget us?”
+
+“Why, mother, what is it?”
+
+“Your uncle, Roddy—he is going to take you away from us.”
+
+“When, mother?”
+
+“To-morrow.”
+
+God forgive me, how my heart bounded for joy, when hers, which was within
+touch of it, was breaking with sorrow!
+
+“Oh, mother!” I cried.  “To London?”
+
+“First to Brighton, that he may present you to the Prince.  Next day to
+London, where you will meet the great people, Roddy, and learn to look
+down upon—to look down upon your poor, simple, old-fashioned father and
+mother.”
+
+I put my arms about her to console her, but she wept so that, for all my
+seventeen years and pride of manhood, it set me weeping also, and with
+such a hiccoughing noise, since I had not a woman’s knack of quiet tears,
+that it finally turned her own grief to laughter.
+
+“Charles would be flattered if he could see the gracious way in which we
+receive his kindness,” said she.  “Be still, Roddy dear, or you will
+certainly wake him.”
+
+“I’ll not go if it is to grieve you,” I cried.
+
+“Nay, dear, you must go, for it may be the one great chance of your life.
+And think how proud it will make us all when we hear of you in the
+company of Charles’s grand friends.  But you will promise me not to
+gamble, Roddy?  You heard to-night of the dreadful things which come from
+it.”
+
+“I promise you, mother.”
+
+“And you will be careful of wine, Roddy?  You are young and unused to
+it.”
+
+“Yes, mother.”
+
+“And play-actresses also, Roddy.  And you will not cast your
+underclothing until June is in.  Young Master Overton came by his death
+through it.  Think well of your dress, Roddy, so as to do your uncle
+credit, for it is the thing for which he is himself most famed.  You have
+but to do what he will direct.  But if there is a time when you are not
+meeting grand people, you can wear out your country things, for your
+brown coat is as good as new, and the blue one, if it were ironed and
+relined, would take you through the summer.  I have put out your Sunday
+clothes with the nankeen vest, since you are to see the Prince to-morrow,
+and you will wear your brown silk stockings and buckle shoes.  Be guarded
+in crossing the London streets, for I am told that the hackney coaches
+are past all imagining.  Fold your clothes when you go to bed, Roddy, and
+do not forget your evening prayers, for, oh, my dear boy, the days of
+temptation are at hand, when I will no longer be with you to help you.”
+
+So with advice and guidance both for this world and the next did my
+mother, with her soft, warm arms around me, prepare me for the great step
+which lay before me.
+
+My uncle did not appear at breakfast in the morning, but Ambrose brewed
+him a dish of chocolate and took it to his room.  When at last, about
+midday, he did descend, he was so fine with his curled hair, his shining
+teeth, his quizzing glass, his snow-white ruffles, and his laughing eyes,
+that I could not take my gaze from him.
+
+“Well, nephew,” he cried, “what do you think of the prospect of coming to
+town with me?”
+
+“I thank you, sir, for the kind interest which you take in me,” said I.
+
+“But you must be a credit to me.  My nephew must be of the best if he is
+to be in keeping with the rest of me.”
+
+“You’ll find him a chip of good wood, sir,” said my father.
+
+“We must make him a polished chip before we have done with him.  Your
+aim, my dear nephew, must always be to be in _bon ton_.  It is not a case
+of wealth, you understand.  Mere riches cannot do it.  Golden Price has
+forty thousand a year, but his clothes are disastrous.  I assure you that
+I saw him come down St. James’s Street the other day, and I was so
+shocked at his appearance that I had to step into Vernet’s for a glass of
+orange brandy.  No, it is a question of natural taste, and of following
+the advice and example of those who are more experienced than yourself.”
+
+“I fear, Charles, that Roddy’s wardrobe is country-made,” said my mother.
+
+“We shall soon set that right when we get to town.  We shall see what
+Stultz or Weston can do for him,” my uncle answered.  “We must keep him
+quiet until he has some clothes to wear.”
+
+This slight upon my best Sunday suit brought a flush to my mother’s
+cheeks, which my uncle instantly observed, for he was quick in noticing
+trifles.
+
+“The clothes are very well for Friar’s Oak, sister Mary,” said he.  “And
+yet you can understand that they might seem _rococo_ in the Mall.  If you
+leave him in my hands I shall see to the matter.”
+
+“On how much, sir,” asked my father, “can a young man dress in town?”
+
+“With prudence and reasonable care, a young man of fashion can dress upon
+eight hundred a year,” my uncle answered.
+
+I saw my poor father’s face grow longer.
+
+“I fear, sir, that Roddy must keep his country clothes,” said he.  “Even
+with my prize-money—”
+
+“Tut, sir!” cried my uncle.  “I already owe Weston something over a
+thousand, so how can a few odd hundreds affect it?  If my nephew comes
+with me, my nephew is my care.  The point is settled, and I must refuse
+to argue upon it.”  He waved his white hands as if to brush aside all
+opposition.
+
+My parents tried to thank him, but he cut them short.
+
+“By the way, now that I am in Friar’s Oak, there is another small piece
+of business which I have to perform,” said he.  “I believe that there is
+a fighting-man named Harrison here, who at one time might have held the
+championship.  In those days poor Avon and I were his principal backers.
+I should like to have a word with him.”
+
+You may think how proud I was to walk down the village street with my
+magnificent relative, and to note out of the corner of my eye how the
+folk came to the doors and windows to see us pass.  Champion Harrison was
+standing outside the smithy, and he pulled his cap off when he saw my
+uncle.
+
+“God bless me, sir!  Who’d ha’ thought of seein’ you at Friar’s Oak?  Why,
+Sir Charles, it brings old memories back to look at your face again.”
+
+“Glad to see you looking so fit, Harrison,” said my uncle, running his
+eyes over him.  “Why, with a week’s training you would be as good a man
+as ever.  I don’t suppose you scale more than thirteen and a half?”
+
+“Thirteen ten, Sir Charles.  I’m in my fortieth year, but I am sound in
+wind and limb, and if my old woman would have let me off my promise, I’d
+ha’ had a try with some of these young ones before now.  I hear that
+they’ve got some amazin’ good stuff up from Bristol of late.”
+
+“Yes, the Bristol yellowman has been the winning colour of late.  How
+d’ye do, Mrs. Harrison?  I don’t suppose you remember me?”
+
+She had come out from the house, and I noticed that her worn face—on
+which some past terror seemed to have left its shadow—hardened into stern
+lines as she looked at my uncle.
+
+“I remember you too well, Sir Charles Tregellis,” said she.  “I trust
+that you have not come here to-day to try to draw my husband back into
+the ways that he has forsaken.”
+
+“That’s the way with her, Sir Charles,” said Harrison, resting his great
+hand upon the woman’s shoulder.  “She’s got my promise, and she holds me
+to it!  There was never a better or more hard-working wife, but she ain’t
+what you’d call a patron of sport, and that’s a fact.”
+
+“Sport!” cried the woman, bitterly.  “A fine sport for you, Sir Charles,
+with your pleasant twenty-mile drive into the country and your
+luncheon-basket and your wines, and so merrily back to London in the cool
+of the evening, with a well-fought battle to talk over.  Think of the
+sport that it was to me to sit through the long hours, listening for the
+wheels of the chaise which would bring my man back to me.  Sometimes he
+could walk in, and sometimes he was led in, and sometimes he was carried
+in, and it was only by his clothes that I could know him—”
+
+“Come, wifie,” said Harrison, patting her on the shoulder.  “I’ve been
+cut up in my time, but never as bad as that.”
+
+“And then to live for weeks afterwards with the fear that every knock at
+the door may be to tell us that the other is dead, and that my man may
+have to stand in the dock and take his trial for murder.”
+
+“No, she hasn’t got a sportin’ drop in her veins,” said Harrison.  “She’d
+never make a patron, never!  It’s Black Baruk’s business that did it,
+when we thought he’d napped it once too often.  Well, she has my promise,
+and I’ll never sling my hat over the ropes unless she gives me leave.”
+
+“You’ll keep your hat on your head like an honest, God-fearing man,
+John,” said his wife, turning back into the house.
+
+“I wouldn’t for the world say anything to make you change your
+resolutions,” said my uncle.  “At the same time, if you had wished to
+take a turn at the old sport, I had a good thing to put in your way.”
+
+“Well, it’s no use, sir,” said Harrison, “but I’d be glad to hear about
+it all the same.”
+
+“They have a very good bit of stuff at thirteen stone down Gloucester
+way.  Wilson is his name, and they call him Crab on account of his
+style.”
+
+Harrison shook his head.  “Never heard of him, sir.”
+
+“Very likely not, for he has never shown in the P.R.  But they think
+great things of him in the West, and he can hold his own with either of
+the Belchers with the mufflers.”
+
+“Sparrin’ ain’t fightin’,” said the smith.
+
+“I am told that he had the best of it in a by-battle with Noah James, of
+Cheshire.”
+
+“There’s no gamer man on the list, sir, than Noah James, the guardsman,”
+said Harrison.  “I saw him myself fight fifty rounds after his jaw had
+been cracked in three places.  If Wilson could beat him, Wilson will go
+far.”
+
+“So they think in the West, and they mean to spring him on the London
+talent.  Sir Lothian Hume is his patron, and to make a long story short,
+he lays me odds that I won’t find a young one of his weight to meet him.
+I told him that I had not heard of any good young ones, but that I had an
+old one who had not put his foot into a ring for many years, who would
+make his man wish he had never come to London.
+
+“‘Young or old, under twenty or over thirty-five, you may bring whom you
+will at the weight, and I shall lay two to one on Wilson,’ said he.  I
+took him in thousands, and here I am.”
+
+“It won’t do, Sir Charles,” said the smith, shaking his head.  “There’s
+nothing would please me better, but you heard for yourself.”
+
+“Well, if you won’t fight, Harrison, I must try to get some promising
+colt.  I’d be glad of your advice in the matter.  By the way, I take the
+chair at a supper of the Fancy at the Waggon and Horses in St. Martin’s
+Lane next Friday.  I should be very glad if you will make one of my
+guests.  Halloa, who’s this?”  Up flew his glass to his eye.
+
+Boy Jim had come out from the forge with his hammer in his hand.  He had,
+I remember, a grey flannel shirt, which was open at the neck and turned
+up at the sleeves.  My uncle ran his eyes over the fine lines of his
+magnificent figure with the glance of a connoisseur.
+
+“That’s my nephew, Sir Charles.”
+
+“Is he living with you?”
+
+“His parents are dead.”
+
+“Has he ever been in London?”
+
+“No, Sir Charles.  He’s been with me here since he was as high as that
+hammer.”
+
+My uncle turned to Boy Jim.
+
+“I hear that you have never been in London,” said he.  “Your uncle is
+coming up to a supper which I am giving to the Fancy next Friday.  Would
+you care to make one of us?”
+
+Boy Jim’s dark eyes sparkled with pleasure.
+
+“I should be glad to come, sir.”
+
+“No, no, Jim,” cried the smith, abruptly.  “I’m sorry to gainsay you,
+lad, but there are reasons why I had rather you stayed down here with
+your aunt.”
+
+“Tut, Harrison, let the lad come!” cried my uncle.
+
+“No, no, Sir Charles.  It’s dangerous company for a lad of his mettle.
+There’s plenty for him to do when I’m away.”
+
+Poor Jim turned away with a clouded brow and strode into the smithy
+again.  For my part, I slipped after him to try to console him, and to
+tell him all the wonderful changes which had come so suddenly into my
+life.  But I had not got half through my story, and Jim, like the good
+fellow that he was, had just begun to forget his own troubles in his
+delight at my good fortune, when my uncle called to me from without.  The
+curricle with its tandem mares was waiting for us outside the cottage,
+and Ambrose had placed the refection-basket, the lap-dog, and the
+precious toilet-box inside of it.  He had himself climbed up behind, and
+I, after a hearty handshake from my father, and a last sobbing embrace
+from my mother, took my place beside my uncle in the front.
+
+“Let go her head!” cried he to the ostler, and with a snap, a crack, and
+a jingle, away we went upon our journey.
+
+Across all the years how clearly I can see that spring day, with the
+green English fields, the windy English sky, and the yellow,
+beetle-browed cottage in which I had grown from a child to a man.  I see,
+too, the figures at the garden gate: my mother, with her face turned away
+and her handkerchief waving; my father, with his blue coat and his white
+shorts, leaning upon his stick with his hand shading his eyes as he
+peered after us.  All the village was out to see young Roddy Stone go off
+with his grand relative from London to call upon the Prince in his own
+palace.  The Harrisons were waving to me from the smithy, and John
+Cummings from the steps of the inn, and I saw Joshua Allen, my old
+schoolmaster, pointing me out to the people, as if he were showing what
+came from his teaching.  To make it complete, who should drive past just
+as we cleared the village but Miss Hinton, the play-actress, the pony and
+phaeton the same as when first I saw her, but she herself another woman;
+and I thought to myself that if Boy Jim had done nothing but that one
+thing, he need not think that his youth had been wasted in the country.
+She was driving to see him, I have no doubt, for they were closer than
+ever, and she never looked up nor saw the hand that I waved to her.  So
+as we took the curve of the road the little village vanished, and there
+in the dip of the Downs, past the spires of Patcham and of Preston, lay
+the broad blue sea and the grey houses of Brighton, with the strange
+Eastern domes and minarets of the Prince’s Pavilion shooting out from the
+centre of it.
+
+To every traveller it was a sight of beauty, but to me it was the
+world—the great wide free world—and my heart thrilled and fluttered as
+the young bird’s may when it first hears the whirr of its own flight, and
+skims along with the blue heaven above it and the green fields beneath.
+The day may come when it may look back regretfully to the snug nest in
+the thornbush, but what does it reck of that when spring is in the air
+and youth in its blood, and the old hawk of trouble has not yet darkened
+the sunshine with the ill-boding shadow of its wings?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+THE HOPE OF ENGLAND.
+
+
+MY uncle drove for some time in silence, but I was conscious that his eye
+was always coming round to me, and I had an uneasy conviction that he was
+already beginning to ask himself whether he could make anything of me, or
+whether he had been betrayed into an indiscretion when he had allowed his
+sister to persuade him to show her son something of the grand world in
+which he lived.
+
+“You sing, don’t you, nephew?” he asked, suddenly.
+
+“Yes, sir, a little.”
+
+“A baritone, I should fancy?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“And your mother tells me that you play the fiddle.  These things will be
+of service to you with the Prince.  Music runs in his family.  Your
+education has been what you could get at a village school.  Well, you are
+not examined in Greek roots in polite society, which is lucky for some of
+us.  It is as well just to have a tag or two of Horace or Virgil: ‘sub
+tegmine fagi,’ or ‘habet fœnum in cornu,’ which gives a flavour to one’s
+conversation like the touch of garlic in a salad.  It is not _bon ton_ to
+be learned, but it is a graceful thing to indicate that you have
+forgotten a good deal.  Can you write verse?”
+
+“I fear not, sir.”
+
+“A small book of rhymes may be had for half a crown.  Vers de Société are
+a great assistance to a young man.  If you have the ladies on your side,
+it does not matter whom you have against you.  You must learn to open a
+door, to enter a room, to present a snuff-box, raising the lid with the
+forefinger of the hand in which you hold it.  You must acquire the bow
+for a man, with its necessary touch of dignity, and that for a lady,
+which cannot be too humble, and should still contain the least suspicion
+of abandon.  You must cultivate a manner with women which shall be
+deprecating and yet audacious.  Have you any eccentricity?”
+
+It made me laugh, the easy way in which he asked the question, as if it
+were a most natural thing to possess.
+
+“You have a pleasant, catching laugh, at all events,” said he.  “But an
+eccentricity is very _bon ton_ at present, and if you feel any leaning
+towards one, I should certainly advise you to let it run its course.
+Petersham would have remained a mere peer all his life had it not come
+out that he had a snuff-box for every day in the year, and that he had
+caught cold through a mistake of his valet, who sent him out on a bitter
+winter day with a thin Sèvres china box instead of a thick tortoiseshell.
+That brought him out of the ruck, you see, and people remember him.  Even
+some small characteristic, such as having an apricot tart on your
+sideboard all the year round, or putting your candle out at night by
+stuffing it under your pillow, serves to separate you from your
+neighbour.  In my own case, it is my precise judgment upon matter of
+dress and decorum which has placed me where I am.  I do not profess to
+follow a law.  I set one.  For example, I am taking you to-day to see the
+Prince in a nankeen vest.  What do you think will be the consequence of
+that?”
+
+My fears told me that it might be my own very great discomfiture, but I
+did not say so.
+
+“Why, the night coach will carry the news to London.  It will be in
+Brookes’s and White’s to-morrow morning.  Within, a week St. James’s
+Street and the Mall will be full of nankeen waistcoats.  A most painful
+incident happened to me once.  My cravat came undone in the street, and I
+actually walked from Carlton House to Watier’s in Bruton Street with the
+two ends hanging loose.  Do you suppose it shook my position?  The same
+evening there were dozens of young bloods walking the streets of London
+with their cravats loose.  If I had not rearranged mine there would not
+be one tied in the whole kingdom now, and a great art would have been
+prematurely lost.  You have not yet began to practise it?”
+
+I confessed that I had not.
+
+“You should begin now in your youth.  I will myself teach you the _coup
+d’archet_.  By using a few hours in each day, which would otherwise be
+wasted, you may hope to have excellent cravats in middle life.  The whole
+knack lies in pointing your chin to the sky, and then arranging your
+folds by the gradual descent of your lower jaw.”
+
+When my uncle spoke like this there was always that dancing, mischievous
+light in his dark blue eyes, which showed me that this humour of his was
+a conscious eccentricity, depending, as I believe, upon a natural
+fastidiousness of taste, but wilfully driven to grotesque lengths for the
+very reason which made him recommend me also to develop some peculiarity
+of my own.  When I thought of the way in which he had spoken of his
+unhappy friend, Lord Avon, upon the evening before, and of the emotion
+which he showed as he told the horrible story, I was glad to think that
+there was the heart of a man there, however much it might please him to
+conceal it.
+
+And, as it happened, I was very soon to have another peep at it, for a
+most unexpected event befell us as we drew up in front of the Crown
+hotel.  A swarm of ostlers and grooms had rushed out to us, and my uncle,
+throwing down the reins, gathered Fidelio on his cushion from under the
+seat.
+
+“Ambrose,” he cried, “you may take Fidelio.”
+
+But there came no answer.  The seat behind was unoccupied.  Ambrose was
+gone.
+
+We could hardly believe our eyes when we alighted and found that it was
+really so.  He had most certainly taken his seat there at Friar’s Oak,
+and from there on we had come without a break as fast as the mares could
+travel.  Whither, then, could he have vanished to?
+
+“He’s fallen off in a fit!” cried my uncle.  “I’d drive back, but the
+Prince is expecting us.  Where’s the landlord?  Here, Coppinger, send
+your best man back to Friar’s Oak as fast as his horse can go, to find
+news of my valet, Ambrose.  See that no pains be spared.  Now, nephew, we
+shall lunch, and then go up to the Pavilion.”
+
+My uncle was much disturbed by the strange loss of his valet, the more so
+as it was his custom to go through a whole series of washings and
+changings after even the shortest journey.  For my own part, mindful of
+my mother’s advice, I carefully brushed the dust from my clothes and made
+myself as neat as possible.  My heart was down in the soles of my little
+silver-buckled shoes now that I had the immediate prospect of meeting so
+great and terrible a person as the Prince of Wales.  I had seen his
+flaring yellow barouche flying through Friar’s Oak many a time, and had
+halloaed and waved my hat with the others as it passed, but never in my
+wildest dreams had it entered my head that I should ever be called upon
+to look him in the face and answer his questions.  My mother had taught
+me to regard him with reverence, as one of those whom God had placed to
+rule over us; but my uncle smiled when I told him of her teaching.
+
+“You are old enough to see things as they are, nephew,” said he, “and
+your knowledge of them is the badge that you are in that inner circle
+where I mean to place you.  There is no one who knows the Prince better
+than I do, and there is no one who trusts him less.  A stranger
+contradiction of qualities was never gathered under one hat.  He is a man
+who is always in a hurry, and yet has never anything to do.  He fusses
+about things with which he has no concern, and he neglects every obvious
+duty.  He is generous to those who have no claim upon him, but he has
+ruined his tradesmen by refusing to pay his just debts.  He is
+affectionate to casual acquaintances, but he dislikes his father, loathes
+his mother, and is not on speaking terms with his wife.  He claims to be
+the first gentleman of England, but the gentlemen of England have
+responded by blackballing his friends at their clubs, and by warning him
+off from Newmarket under suspicion of having tampered with a horse.  He
+spends his days in uttering noble sentiments, and contradicting them by
+ignoble actions.  He tells stories of his own doings which are so
+grotesque that they can only be explained by the madness which runs in
+his blood.  And yet, with all this, he can be courteous, dignified, and
+kindly upon occasion, and I have seen an impulsive good-heartedness in
+the man which has made me overlook faults which come mainly from his
+being placed in a position which no one upon this earth was ever less
+fitted to fill.  But this is between ourselves, nephew; and now you will
+come with me and you will form an opinion for yourself.”
+
+It was but a short walk, and yet it took us some time, for my uncle
+stalked along with great dignity, his lace-bordered handkerchief in one
+hand, and his cane with the clouded amber head dangling from the other.
+Every one that we met seemed to know him, and their hats flew from their
+heads as we passed.  He took little notice of these greetings, save to
+give a nod to one, or to slightly raise his forefinger to another.  It
+chanced, however, that as we turned into the Pavilion Grounds, we met a
+magnificent team of four coal-black horses, driven by a rough-looking,
+middle-aged fellow in an old weather-stained cape.  There was nothing
+that I could see to distinguish him from any professional driver, save
+that he was chatting very freely with a dainty little woman who was
+perched on the box beside him.
+
+“Halloa, Charlie!  Good drive down?” he cried.
+
+My uncle bowed and smiled to the lady.
+
+“Broke it at Friar’s Oak,” said he.  “I’ve my light curricle and two new
+mares—half thorough-bred, half Cleveland bay.”
+
+“What d’you think of my team of blacks?” asked the other.
+
+“Yes, Sir Charles, what d’you think of them?  Ain’t they damnation
+smart?” cried the little woman.
+
+“Plenty of power.  Good horses for the Sussex clay.  Too thick about the
+fetlocks for me.  I like to travel.”
+
+“Travel!” cried the woman, with extraordinary vehemence.  “Why, what
+the—” and she broke into such language as I had never heard from a man’s
+lips before.  “We’d start with our swingle-bars touching, and we’d have
+your dinner ordered, cooked, laid, and eaten before you were there to
+claim it.”
+
+“By George, yes, Letty is right!” cried the man.  “D’you start
+to-morrow?”
+
+“Yes, Jack.”
+
+“Well, I’ll make you an offer.  Look ye here, Charlie!  I’ll spring my
+cattle from the Castle Square at quarter before nine.  You can follow as
+the clock strikes.  I’ve double the horses and double the weight.  If you
+so much as see me before we cross Westminster Bridge, I’ll pay you a cool
+hundred.  If not, it’s my money—play or pay.  Is it a match?”
+
+“Very good,” said my uncle, and, raising his hat, he led the way into the
+grounds.  As I followed, I saw the woman take the reins, while the man
+looked after us, and squirted a jet of tobacco-juice from between his
+teeth in coachman fashion.
+
+“That’s Sir John Lade,” said my uncle, “one of the richest men and best
+whips in England.  There isn’t a professional on the road that can handle
+either his tongue or his ribbons better; but his wife, Lady Letty, is his
+match with the one or the other.”
+
+“It was dreadful to hear her,” said I.
+
+“Oh, it’s her eccentricity.  We all have them; and she amuses the Prince.
+Now, nephew, keep close at my elbow, and have your eyes open and your
+mouth shut.”
+
+Two lines of magnificent red and gold footmen who guarded the door bowed
+deeply as my uncle and I passed between them, he with his head in the air
+and a manner as if he entered into his own, whilst I tried to look
+assured, though my heart was beating thin and fast.  Within there was a
+high and large hall, ornamented with Eastern decorations, which
+harmonized with the domes and minarets of the exterior.  A number of
+people were moving quietly about, forming into groups and whispering to
+each other.  One of these, a short, burly, red-faced man, full of fuss
+and self-importance, came hurrying up to my uncle.
+
+“I have de goot news, Sir Charles,” said he, sinking his voice as one who
+speaks of weighty measures.  “_Es ist vollendet_—dat is, I have it at
+last thoroughly done.”
+
+“Well, serve it hot,” said my uncle, coldly, “and see that the sauces are
+a little better than when last I dined at Carlton House.”
+
+“Ah, mine Gott, you tink I talk of de cuisine.  It is de affair of de
+Prince dat I speak of.  Dat is one little _vol-au-vent_ dat is worth one
+hundred tousand pound.  Ten per cent., and double to be repaid when de
+Royal pappa die.  _Alles ist fertig_.  Goldshmidt of de Hague have took
+it up, and de Dutch public has subscribe de money.”
+
+“God help the Dutch public!” muttered my uncle, as the fat little man
+bustled off with his news to some new-comer.  “That’s the Prince’s famous
+cook, nephew.  He has not his equal in England for a _filet sauté aux
+champignons_.  He manages his master’s money affairs.”
+
+“The cook!” I exclaimed, in bewilderment.
+
+“You look surprised, nephew.”
+
+“I should have thought that some respectable banking firm—”
+
+My uncle inclined his lips to my ear.
+
+“No respectable house would touch them,” he whispered.  “Ah, Mellish, is
+the Prince within?”
+
+“In the private saloon, Sir Charles,” said the gentleman addressed.
+
+“Any one with him?”
+
+“Sheridan and Francis.  He said he expected you.”
+
+“Then we shall go through.”
+
+I followed him through the strangest succession of rooms, full of curious
+barbaric splendour which impressed me as being very rich and wonderful,
+though perhaps I should think differently now.  Gold and scarlet in
+arabesque designs gleamed upon the walls, with gilt dragons and monsters
+writhing along cornices and out of corners.  Look where I would, on panel
+or ceiling, a score of mirrors flashed back the picture of the tall,
+proud, white-faced man, and the youth who walked so demurely at his
+elbow.  Finally, a footman opened a door, and we found ourselves in the
+Prince’s own private apartment.
+
+Two gentlemen were lounging in a very easy fashion upon luxurious
+fauteuils at the further end of the room and a third stood between them,
+his thick, well-formed legs somewhat apart and his hands clasped behind
+him.  The sun was shining in upon them through a side-window, and I can
+see the three faces now—one in the dusk, one in the light, and one cut
+across by the shadow.  Of those at the sides, I recall the reddish nose
+and dark, flashing eyes of the one, and the hard, austere face of the
+other, with the high coat-collars and many-wreathed cravats.  These I
+took in at a glance, but it was upon the man in the centre that my gaze
+was fixed, for this I knew must be the Prince of Wales.
+
+George was then in his forty-first year, and with the help of his tailor
+and his hairdresser, he might have passed as somewhat less.  The sight of
+him put me at my ease, for he was a merry-looking man, handsome too in a
+portly, full-blooded way, with laughing eyes and pouting, sensitive lips.
+His nose was turned upwards, which increased the good-humoured effect of
+his countenance at the expense of its dignity.  His cheeks were pale and
+sodden, like those of a man who lived too well and took too little
+exercise.  He was dressed in a single-breasted black coat buttoned up, a
+pair of leather pantaloons stretched tightly across his broad thighs,
+polished Hessian boots, and a huge white neckcloth.
+
+“Halloa, Tregellis!” he cried, in the cheeriest fashion, as my uncle
+crossed the threshold, and then suddenly the smile faded from his face,
+and his eyes gleamed with resentment.  “What the deuce is this?” he
+shouted, angrily.
+
+A thrill of fear passed through me as I thought that it was my appearance
+which had produced this outburst.  But his eyes were gazing past us, and
+glancing round we saw that a man in a brown coat and scratch wig had
+followed so closely at our heels, that the footmen had let him pass under
+the impression that he was of our party.  His face was very red, and the
+folded blue paper which he carried in his hand shook and crackled in his
+excitement.
+
+“Why, it’s Vuillamy, the furniture man,” cried the Prince.  “What, am I
+to be dunned in my own private room?  Where’s Mellish?  Where’s
+Townshend?  What the deuce is Tom Tring doing?”
+
+“I wouldn’t have intruded, your Royal Highness, but I must have the
+money—or even a thousand on account would do.”
+
+“Must have it, must you, Vuillamy?  That’s a fine word to use.  I pay my
+debts in my own time, and I’m not to be bullied.  Turn him out, footman!
+Take him away!”
+
+“If I don’t get it by Monday, I shall be in your papa’s Bench,” wailed
+the little man, and as the footman led him out we could hear him, amidst
+shouts of laughter, still protesting that he would wind up in “papa’s
+Bench.”
+
+“That’s the very place for a furniture man,” said the man with the red
+nose.
+
+“It should be the longest bench in the world, Sherry,” answered the
+Prince, “for a good many of his subjects will want seats on it.  Very
+glad to see you back, Tregellis, but you must really be more careful what
+you bring in upon your skirts.  It was only yesterday that we had an
+infernal Dutchman here howling about some arrears of interest and the
+deuce knows what.  ‘My good fellow,’ said I, ‘as long as the Commons
+starve me, I have to starve you,’ and so the matter ended.”
+
+“I think, sir, that the Commons would respond now if the matter were
+fairly put before them by Charlie Fox or myself,” said Sheridan.
+
+The Prince burst out against the Commons with an energy of hatred that
+one would scarce expect from that chubby, good-humoured face.
+
+“Why, curse them!” he cried.  “After all their preaching and throwing my
+father’s model life, as they called it, in my teeth, they had to pay
+_his_ debts to the tune of nearly a million, whilst I can’t get a hundred
+thousand out of them.  And look at all they’ve done for my brothers!
+York is Commander-in-Chief.  Clarence is Admiral.  What am I?  Colonel of
+a damned dragoon regiment under the orders of my own younger brother.
+It’s my mother that’s at the bottom of it all.  She always tried to hold
+me back.  But what’s this you’ve brought, Tregellis, eh?”
+
+My uncle put his hand on my sleeve and led me forward.
+
+“This is my sister’s son, sir; Rodney Stone by name,” said he.  “He is
+coming with me to London, and I thought it right to begin by presenting
+him to your Royal Highness.”
+
+“Quite right!  Quite right!” said the Prince, with a good-natured smile,
+patting me in a friendly way upon the shoulder.  “Is your mother living?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said I.
+
+“If you are a good son to her you will never go wrong.  And, mark my
+words, Mr. Rodney Stone, you should honour the King, love your country,
+and uphold the glorious British Constitution.”
+
+When I thought of the energy with which he had just been cursing the
+House of Commons, I could scarce keep from smiling, and I saw Sheridan
+put his hand up to his lips.
+
+“You have only to do this, to show a regard for your word, and to keep
+out of debt in order to insure a happy and respected life.  What is your
+father, Mr. Stone?  Royal Navy!  Well, it is a glorious service.  I have
+had a touch of it myself.  Did I ever tell you how we laid aboard the
+French sloop of war _Minerve_—hey, Tregellis?”
+
+“No, sir,” said my uncle.  Sheridan and Francis exchanged glances behind
+the Prince’s back.
+
+“She was flying her tricolour out there within sight of my pavilion
+windows.  Never saw such monstrous impudence in my life!  It would take a
+man of less mettle than me to stand it.  Out I went in my little
+cock-boat—you know my sixty-ton yawl, Charlie?—with two four-pounders on
+each side, and a six-pounder in the bows.”
+
+“Well, sir!  Well, sir!  And what then, sir?” cried Francis, who appeared
+to be an irascible, rough-tongued man.
+
+“You will permit me to tell the story in my own way, Sir Philip,” said
+the Prince, with dignity.  “I was about to say that our metal was so
+light that I give you my word, gentlemen, that I carried my port
+broadside in one coat pocket, and my starboard in the other.  Up we came
+to the big Frenchman, took her fire, and scraped the paint off her before
+we let drive.  But it was no use.  By George, gentlemen, our balls just
+stuck in her timbers like stones in a mud wall.  She had her nettings up,
+but we scrambled aboard, and at it we went hammer and anvil.  It was a
+sharp twenty minutes, but we beat her people down below, made the hatches
+fast on them, and towed her into Seaham.  Surely you were with us,
+Sherry?”
+
+“I was in London at the time,” said Sheridan, gravely.
+
+“You can vouch for it, Francis!”
+
+“I can vouch to having heard your Highness tell the story.”
+
+“It was a rough little bit of cutlass and pistol work.  But, for my own
+part, I like the rapier.  It’s a gentleman’s weapon.  You heard of my
+bout with the Chevalier d’Eon?  I had him at my sword-point for forty
+minutes at Angelo’s.  He was one of the best blades in Europe, but I was
+a little too supple in the wrist for him.  ‘I thank God there was a
+button on your Highness’s foil,’ said he, when we had finished our
+breather.  By the way, you’re a bit of a duellist yourself, Tregellis.
+How often have you been out?”
+
+“I used to go when I needed exercise,” said my uncle, carelessly.  “But I
+have taken to tennis now instead.  A painful incident happened the last
+time that I was out, and it sickened me of it.”
+
+“You killed your man—?”
+
+“No, no, sir, it was worse than that.  I had a coat that Weston has never
+equalled.  To say that it fitted me is not to express it.  It _was_
+me—like the hide on a horse.  I’ve had sixty from him since, but he could
+never approach it.  The sit of the collar brought tears into my eyes,
+sir, when first I saw it; and as to the waist—”
+
+“But the duel, Tregellis!” cried the Prince.
+
+“Well, sir, I wore it at the duel, like the thoughtless fool that I was.
+It was Major Hunter, of the Guards, with whom I had had a little
+_tracasserie_, because I hinted that he should not come into Brookes’s
+smelling of the stables.  I fired first, and missed.  He fired, and I
+shrieked in despair.  ‘He’s hit!  A surgeon!  A surgeon!’ they cried.  ‘A
+tailor!  A tailor!’ said I, for there was a double hole through the tails
+of my masterpiece.  No, it was past all repair.  You may laugh, sir, but
+I’ll never see the like of it again.”
+
+I had seated myself on a settee in the corner, upon the Prince’s
+invitation, and very glad I was to remain quiet and unnoticed, listening
+to the talk of these men.  It was all in the same extravagant vein,
+garnished with many senseless oaths; but I observed this difference,
+that, whereas my uncle and Sheridan had something of humour in their
+exaggeration, Francis tended always to ill-nature, and the Prince to
+self-glorification.  Finally, the conversation turned to music—I am not
+sure that my uncle did not artfully bring it there, and the Prince,
+hearing from him of my tastes, would have it that I should then and there
+sit down at the wonderful little piano, all inlaid with mother-of-pearl,
+which stood in the corner, and play him the accompaniment to his song.
+It was called, as I remember, “The Briton Conquers but to Save,” and he
+rolled it out in a very fair bass voice, the others joining in the
+chorus, and clapping vigorously when he finished.
+
+“Bravo, Mr. Stone!” said he.  “You have an excellent touch; and I know
+what I am talking about when I speak of music.  Cramer, of the Opera,
+said only the other day that he had rather hand his bâton to me than to
+any amateur in England.  Halloa, it’s Charlie Fox, by all that’s
+wonderful!”
+
+He had run forward with much warmth, and was shaking the hand of a
+singular-looking person who had just entered the room.  The new-comer was
+a stout, square-built man, plainly and almost carelessly dressed, with an
+uncouth manner and a rolling gait.  His age might have been something
+over fifty, and his swarthy, harshly-featured face was already deeply
+lined either by his years or by his excesses.  I have never seen a
+countenance in which the angel and the devil were more obviously wedded.
+Above, was the high, broad forehead of the philosopher, with keen,
+humorous eyes looking out from under thick, strong brows.  Below, was the
+heavy jowl of the sensualist curving in a broad crease over his cravat.
+That brow was the brow of the public Charles Fox, the thinker, the
+philanthropist, the man who rallied and led the Liberal party during the
+twenty most hazardous years of its existence.  That jaw was the jaw of
+the private Charles Fox, the gambler, the libertine, the drunkard.  Yet
+to his sins he never added the crowning one of hypocrisy.  His vices were
+as open as his virtues.  In some quaint freak of Nature, two spirits
+seemed to have been joined in one body, and the same frame to contain the
+best and the worst man of his age.
+
+“I’ve run down from Chertsey, sir, just to shake you by the hand, and to
+make sure that the Tories have not carried you off.”
+
+“Hang it, Charlie, you know that I sink or swim with my friends!  A Whig
+I started, and a Whig I shall remain.”
+
+I thought that I could read upon Fox’s dark face that he was by no means
+so confident about the Prince’s principles.
+
+“Pitt has been at you, sir, I understand?”
+
+“Yes, confound him!  I hate the sight of that sharp-pointed snout of his,
+which he wants to be ever poking into my affairs.  He and Addington have
+been boggling about the debts again.  Why, look ye, Charlie, if Pitt held
+me in contempt he could not behave different.”
+
+I gathered from the smile which flitted over Sheridan’s expressive face
+that this was exactly what Pitt did do.  But straightway they all plunged
+into politics, varied by the drinking of sweet maraschino, which a
+footman brought round upon a salver.  The King, the Queen, the Lords, and
+the Commons were each in succession cursed by the Prince, in spite of the
+excellent advice which he had given me about the British Constitution.
+
+“Why, they allow me so little that I can’t look after my own people.
+There are a dozen annuities to old servants and the like, and it’s all I
+can do to scrape the money together to pay them.  However, my”—he pulled
+himself up and coughed in a consequential way—“my financial agent has
+arranged for a loan, repayable upon the King’s death.  This liqueur isn’t
+good for either of us, Charlie.  We’re both getting monstrous stout.”
+
+“I can’t get any exercise for the gout,” said Fox.
+
+“I am blooded fifty ounces a month, but the more I take the more I make.
+You wouldn’t think, to look at us, Tregellis, that we could do what we
+have done.  We’ve had some days and nights together, Charlie!”
+
+Fox smiled and shook his head.
+
+“You remember how we posted to Newmarket before the races.  We took a
+public coach, Tregellis, clapped the postillions into the rumble, and
+jumped on to their places.  Charlie rode the leader and I the wheeler.
+One fellow wouldn’t let us through his turnpike, and Charlie hopped off
+and had his coat off in a minute.  The fellow thought he had to do with a
+fighting man, and soon cleared the way for us.”
+
+“By the way, sir, speaking of fighting men, I give a supper to the Fancy
+at the Waggon and Horses on Friday next,” said my uncle.  “If you should
+chance to be in town, they would think it a great honour if you should
+condescend to look in upon us.”
+
+“I’ve not seen a fight since I saw Tom Tyne, the tailor, kill Earl
+fourteen years ago.  I swore off then, and you know me as a man of my
+word, Tregellis.  Of course, I’ve been at the ringside _incog._ many a
+time, but never as the Prince of Wales.”
+
+“We should be vastly honoured if you would come _incog._ to our supper,
+sir.”
+
+“Well, well, Sherry, make a note of it.  We’ll be at Carlton House on
+Friday.  The Prince can’t come, you know, Tregellis, but you might
+reserve a chair for the Earl of Chester.”
+
+“Sir, we shall be proud to see the Earl of Chester there,” said my uncle.
+
+“By the way, Tregellis,” said Fox, “there’s some rumour about your having
+a sporting bet with Sir Lothian Hume.  What’s the truth of it?”
+
+“Only a small matter of a couple of thous to a thou, he giving the odds.
+He has a fancy to this new Gloucester man, Crab Wilson, and I’m to find a
+man to beat him.  Anything under twenty or over thirty-five, at or about
+thirteen stone.”
+
+“You take Charlie Fox’s advice, then,” cried the Prince.  “When it comes
+to handicapping a horse, playing a hand, matching a cock, or picking a
+man, he has the best judgment in England.  Now, Charlie, whom have we
+upon the list who can beat Crab Wilson, of Gloucester?”
+
+I was amazed at the interest and knowledge which all these great people
+showed about the ring, for they not only had the deeds of the principal
+men of the time—Belcher, Mendoza, Jackson, or Dutch Sam—at their fingers’
+ends, but there was no fighting man so obscure that they did not know the
+details of his deeds and prospects.  The old ones and then the young were
+discussed—their weight, their gameness, their hitting power, and their
+constitution.  Who, as he saw Sheridan and Fox eagerly arguing as to
+whether Caleb Baldwin, the Westminster costermonger, could hold his own
+with Isaac Bittoon, the Jew, would have guessed that the one was the
+deepest political philosopher in Europe, and that the other would be
+remembered as the author of the wittiest comedy and of the finest speech
+of his generation?
+
+The name of Champion Harrison came very early into the discussion, and
+Fox, who had a high idea of Crab Wilson’s powers, was of opinion that my
+uncle’s only chance lay in the veteran taking the field again.  “He may
+be slow on his pins, but he fights with his head, and he hits like the
+kick of a horse.  When he finished Black Baruk the man flew across the
+outer ring as well as the inner, and fell among the spectators.  If he
+isn’t absolutely stale, Tregellis, he is your best chance.”
+
+My uncle shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“If poor Avon were here we might do something with him, for he was
+Harrison’s first patron, and the man was devoted to him.  But his wife is
+too strong for me.  And now, sir, I must leave you, for I have had the
+misfortune to-day to lose the best valet in England, and I must make
+inquiry for him.  I thank your Royal Highness for your kindness in
+receiving my nephew in so gracious a fashion.”
+
+“Till Friday, then,” said the Prince, holding out his hand.  “I have to
+go up to town in any case, for there is a poor devil of an East India
+Company’s officer who has written to me in his distress.  If I can raise
+a few hundreds, I shall see him and set things right for him.  Now, Mr.
+Stone, you have your life before you, and I hope it will be one which
+your uncle may be proud of.  You will honour the King, and show respect
+for the Constitution, Mr. Stone.  And, hark ye, you will avoid debt, and
+bear in mind that your honour is a sacred thing.”
+
+So I carried away a last impression of his sensual, good-humoured face,
+his high cravat, and his broad leather thighs.  Again we passed the
+strange rooms, the gilded monsters, and the gorgeous footmen, and it was
+with relief that I found myself out in the open air once more, with the
+broad blue sea in front of us, and the fresh evening breeze upon our
+faces.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+THE BRIGHTON ROAD.
+
+
+MY uncle and I were up betimes next morning, but he was much out of
+temper, for no news had been heard of his valet Ambrose.  He had indeed
+become like one of those ants of which I have read, who are so accustomed
+to be fed by smaller ants that when they are left to themselves they die
+of hunger.  It was only by the aid of a man whom the landlord procured,
+and of Fox’s valet, who had been sent expressly across, that his toilet
+was at last performed.
+
+“I must win this race, nephew,” said he, when he had finished breakfast;
+“I can’t afford to be beat.  Look out of the window and see if the Lades
+are there.”
+
+“I see a red four-in-hand in the square, and there is a crowd round it.
+Yes, I see the lady upon the box seat.”
+
+“Is our tandem out?”
+
+“It is at the door.”
+
+“Come, then, and you shall have such a drive as you never had before.”
+
+He stood at the door pulling on his long brown driving-gauntlets and
+giving his orders to the ostlers.
+
+“Every ounce will tell,” said he.  “We’ll leave that dinner-basket
+behind.  And you can keep my dog for me, Coppinger.  You know him and
+understand him.  Let him have his warm milk and curaçoa the same as
+usual.  Whoa, my darlings, you’ll have your fill of it before you reach
+Westminster Bridge.”
+
+“Shall I put in the toilet-case?” asked the landlord.  I saw the struggle
+upon my uncle’s face, but he was true to his principles.
+
+“Put it under the seat—the front seat,” said he.  “Nephew, you must keep
+your weight as far forward as possible.  Can you do anything on a yard of
+tin?  Well, if you can’t, we’ll leave the trumpet.  Buckle that girth up,
+Thomas.  Have you greased the hubs, as I told you?  Well, jump up,
+nephew, and we’ll see them off.”
+
+Quite a crowd had gathered in the Old Square: men and women, dark-coated
+tradesmen, bucks from the Prince’s Court, and officers from Hove, all in
+a buzz of excitement; for Sir John Lade and my uncle were two of the most
+famous whips of the time, and a match between them was a thing to talk of
+for many a long day.
+
+“The Prince will be sorry to have missed the start,” said my uncle.  “He
+doesn’t show before midday.  Ah, Jack, good morning!  Your servant,
+madam!  It’s a fine day for a little bit of waggoning.”
+
+As our tandem came alongside of the four-in-hand, with the two bonny bay
+mares gleaming like shot-silk in the sunshine, a murmur of admiration
+rose from the crowd.  My uncle, in his fawn-coloured driving-coat, with
+all his harness of the same tint, looked the ideal of a Corinthian whip;
+while Sir John Lade, with his many-caped coat, his white hat, and his
+rough, weather-beaten face, might have taken his seat with a line of
+professionals upon any ale-house bench without any one being able to pick
+him out as one of the wealthiest landowners in England.  It was an age of
+eccentricity, but he had carried his peculiarities to a length which
+surprised even the out-and-outers by marrying the sweetheart of a famous
+highwayman when the gallows had come between her and her lover.  She was
+perched by his side, looking very smart in a flowered bonnet and grey
+travelling-dress, while in front of them the four splendid coal-black
+horses, with a flickering touch of gold upon their powerful, well-curved
+quarters, were pawing the dust in their eagerness to be off.
+
+“It’s a hundred that you don’t see us before Westminster with a quarter
+of an hour’s start,” said Sir John.
+
+“I’ll take you another hundred that we pass you,” answered my uncle.
+
+“Very good.  Time’s up.  Good-bye!”  He gave a _tchk_ of the tongue,
+shook his reins, saluted with his whip; in true coachman’s style, and
+away he went, taking the curve out of the square in a workmanlike fashion
+that fetched a cheer from the crowd.  We heard the dwindling roar of the
+wheels upon the cobblestones until they died away in the distance.
+
+It seemed one of the longest quarters of an hour that I had ever known
+before the first stroke of nine boomed from the parish clock.  For my
+part, I was fidgeting in my seat in my impatience, but my uncle’s calm,
+pale face and large blue eyes were as tranquil and demure as those of the
+most unconcerned spectator.  He was keenly on the alert, however, and it
+seemed to me that the stroke of the clock and the thong of his whip fell
+together—not in a blow, but in a sharp snap over the leader, which sent
+us flying with a jingle and a rattle upon our fifty miles’ journey.  I
+heard a roar from behind us, saw the gliding lines of windows with
+staring faces and waving handkerchiefs, and then we were off the stones
+and on to the good white road which curved away in front of us, with the
+sweep of the green downs upon either side.
+
+I had been provided with shillings that the turnpike-gate might not stop
+us, but my uncle reined in the mares and took them at a very easy trot up
+all the heavy stretch which ends in Clayton Hill.  He let them go then,
+and we flashed through Friar’s Oak and across St. John’s Common without
+more than catching a glimpse of the yellow cottage which contained all
+that I loved best.  Never have I travelled at such a pace, and never have
+I felt such a sense of exhilaration from the rush of keen upland air upon
+our faces, and from the sight of those two glorious creatures stretched
+to their utmost, with the roar of their hoofs and the rattle of our
+wheels as the light curricle bounded and swayed behind them.
+
+“It’s a long four miles uphill from here to Hand Cross,” said my uncle,
+as we flew through Cuckfield.  “I must ease them a bit, for I cannot
+afford to break the hearts of my cattle.  They have the right blood in
+them, and they would gallop until they dropped if I were brute enough to
+let them.  Stand up on the seat, nephew, and see if you can get a glimpse
+of them.”
+
+I stood up, steadying myself upon my uncle’s shoulder, but though I could
+see for a mile, or perhaps a quarter more, there was not a sign of the
+four-in-hand.
+
+“If he has sprung his cattle up all these hills they’ll be spent ere they
+see Croydon,” said he.
+
+“They have four to two,” said I.
+
+“_J’en suis bien sûr_.  Sir John’s black strain makes a good, honest
+creature, but not fliers like these.  There lies Cuckfield Place, where
+the towers are, yonder.  Get your weight right forward on the splashboard
+now that we are going uphill, nephew.  Look at the action of that leader:
+did ever you see anything more easy and more beautiful?”
+
+We were taking the hill at a quiet trot, but even so, we made the
+carrier, walking in the shadow of his huge, broad-wheeled, canvas-covered
+waggon, stare at us in amazement.  Close to Hand Cross we passed the
+Royal Brighton stage, which had left at half-past seven, dragging heavily
+up the slope, and its passengers, toiling along through the dust behind,
+gave us a cheer as we whirled by.  At Hand Cross we caught a glimpse of
+the old landlord, hurrying out with his gin and his gingerbread; but the
+dip of the ground was downwards now, and away we flew as fast as eight
+gallant hoofs could take us.
+
+“Do you drive, nephew?”
+
+“Very little, sir.”
+
+“There is no driving on the Brighton Road.”
+
+“How is that, sir?”
+
+“Too good a road, nephew.  I have only to give them their heads, and they
+will race me into Westminster.  It wasn’t always so.  When I was a very
+young man one might learn to handle his twenty yards of tape here as well
+as elsewhere.  There’s not much really good waggoning now south of
+Leicestershire.  Show me a man who can hit ’em and hold ’em on a
+Yorkshire dale-side, and that’s the man who comes from the right school.”
+
+We had raced over Crawley Down and into the broad main street of Crawley
+village, flying between two country waggons in a way which showed me that
+even now a driver might do something on the road.  With every turn I
+peered ahead, looking for our opponents, but my uncle seemed to concern
+himself very little about them, and occupied himself in giving me advice,
+mixed up with so many phrases of the craft, that it was all that I could
+do to follow him.
+
+“Keep a finger for each, or you will have your reins clubbed,” said he.
+“As to the whip, the less fanning the better if you have willing cattle;
+but when you want to put a little life into a coach, see that you get
+your thong on to the one that needs it, and don’t let it fly round after
+you’ve hit.  I’ve seen a driver warm up the off-side passenger on the
+roof behind him every time he tried to cut his off-side wheeler.  I
+believe that is their dust over yonder.”
+
+A long stretch of road lay before us, barred with the shadows of wayside
+trees.  Through the green fields a lazy blue river was drawing itself
+slowly along, passing under a bridge in front of us.  Beyond was a young
+fir plantation, and over its olive line there rose a white whirl which
+drifted swiftly, like a cloud-scud on a breezy day.
+
+“Yes, yes, it’s they!” cried my uncle.  “No one else would travel as
+fast.  Come, nephew, we’re half-way when we cross the mole at Kimberham
+Bridge, and we’ve done it in two hours and fourteen minutes.  The Prince
+drove to Carlton House with a three tandem in four hours and a half.  The
+first half is the worst half, and we might cut his time if all goes well.
+We should make up between this and Reigate.”
+
+And we flew.  The bay mares seemed to know what that white puff in front
+of us signified, and they stretched themselves like greyhounds.  We
+passed a phaeton and pair London-bound, and we left it behind as if it
+had been standing still.  Trees, gates, cottages went dancing by.  We
+heard the folks shouting from the fields, under the impression that we
+were a runaway.  Faster and faster yet they raced, the hoofs rattling
+like castanets, the yellow manes flying, the wheels buzzing, and every
+joint and rivet creaking and groaning, while the curricle swung and
+swayed until I found myself clutching to the side-rail.  My uncle eased
+them and glanced at his watch as we saw the grey tiles and dingy red
+houses of Reigate in the hollow beneath us.
+
+“We did the last six well under twenty minutes,” said he.  “We’ve time in
+hand now, and a little water at the Red Lion will do them no harm.  Red
+four-in-hand passed, ostler?”
+
+“Just gone, sir.”
+
+“Going hard?”
+
+“Galloping full split, sir!  Took the wheel off a butcher’s cart at the
+corner of the High Street, and was out o’ sight before the butcher’s boy
+could see what had hurt him.”
+
+_Z-z-z-z-ack_! went the long thong, and away we flew once more.  It was
+market day at Redhill, and the road was crowded with carts of produce,
+droves of bullocks, and farmers’ gigs.  It was a sight to see how my
+uncle threaded his way amongst them all.  Through the market-place we
+dashed amidst the shouting of men, the screaming of women, and the
+scuttling of poultry, and then we were out in the country again, with the
+long, steep incline of the Redhill Road before us.  My uncle waved his
+whip in the air with a shrill view-halloa.
+
+There was the dust-cloud rolling up the hill in front of us, and through
+it we had a shadowy peep of the backs of our opponents, with a flash of
+brass-work and a gleam of scarlet.
+
+“There’s half the game won, nephew.  Now we must pass them.  Hark
+forrard, my beauties!  By George, if Kitty isn’t foundered!”
+
+The leader had suddenly gone dead lame.  In an instant we were both out
+of the curricle and on our knees beside her.  It was but a stone, wedged
+between frog and shoe in the off fore-foot, but it was a minute or two
+before we could wrench it out.  When we had regained our places the Lades
+were round the curve of the hill and out of sight.
+
+“Bad luck!” growled my uncle.  “But they can’t get away from us!”  For
+the first time he touched the mares up, for he had but cracked the whip
+over their heads before.  “If we catch them in the next few miles we can
+spare them for the rest of the way.”
+
+They were beginning to show signs of exhaustion.  Their breath came quick
+and hoarse, and their beautiful coats were matted with moisture.  At the
+top of the hill, however, they settled down into their swing once more.
+
+“Where on earth have they got to?” cried my uncle.  “Can you make them
+out on the road, nephew?”
+
+We could see a long white ribbon of it, all dotted with carts and waggons
+coming from Croydon to Redhill, but there was no sign of the big red
+four-in-hand.
+
+“There they are!  Stole away!  Stole away!” he cried, wheeling the mares
+round into a side road which struck to the right out of that which we had
+travelled.  “There they are, nephew!  On the brow of the hill!”
+
+Sure enough, on the rise of a curve upon our right the four-in-hand had
+appeared, the horses stretched to the utmost.  Our mares laid themselves
+out gallantly, and the distance between us began slowly to decrease.  I
+found that I could see the black band upon Sir John’s white hat, then
+that I could count the folds of his cape; finally, that I could see the
+pretty features of his wife as she looked back at us.
+
+“We’re on the side road to Godstone and Warlingham,” said my uncle.  “I
+suppose he thought that he could make better time by getting out of the
+way of the market carts.  But we’ve got the deuce of a hill to come down.
+You’ll see some fun, nephew, or I am mistaken.”
+
+As he spoke I suddenly saw the wheels of the four-in-hand disappear, then
+the body of it, and then the two figures upon the box, as suddenly and
+abruptly as if it had bumped down the first three steps of some gigantic
+stairs.  An instant later we had reached the same spot, and there was the
+road beneath us, steep and narrow, winding in long curves into the
+valley.  The four-in-hand was swishing down it as hard as the horses
+could gallop.
+
+“Thought so!” cried my uncle.  “If he doesn’t brake, why should I?  Now,
+my darlings, one good spurt, and we’ll show them the colour of our
+tailboard.”
+
+We shot over the brow and flew madly down the hill with the great red
+coach roaring and thundering before us.  Already we were in her dust, so
+that we could see nothing but the dim scarlet blur in the heart of it,
+rocking and rolling, with its outline hardening at every stride.  We
+could hear the crack of the whip in front of us, and the shrill voice of
+Lady Lade as she screamed to the horses.  My uncle was very quiet, but
+when I glanced up at him I saw that his lips were set and his eyes
+shining, with just a little flush upon each pale cheek.  There was no
+need to urge on the mares, for they were already flying at a pace which
+could neither be stopped nor controlled.  Our leader’s head came abreast
+of the off hind wheel, then of the off front one—then for a hundred yards
+we did not gain an inch, and then with a spurt the bay leader was neck to
+neck with the black wheeler, and our fore wheel within an inch of their
+hind one.
+
+“Dusty work!” said my uncle, quietly.
+
+“Fan ’em, Jack!  Fan ’em!” shrieked the lady.
+
+He sprang up and lashed at his horses.
+
+“Look out, Tregellis!” he shouted.  “There’s a damnation spill coming for
+somebody.”
+
+We had got fairly abreast of them now, the rumps of the horses exactly
+a-line and the fore wheels whizzing together.  There was not six inches
+to spare in the breadth of the road, and every instant I expected to feel
+the jar of a locking wheel.  But now, as we came out from the dust, we
+could see what was ahead, and my uncle whistled between his teeth at the
+sight.
+
+Two hundred yards or so in front of us there was a bridge, with wooden
+posts and rails upon either side.  The road narrowed down at the point,
+so that it was obvious that the two carriages abreast could not possibly
+get over.  One must give way to the other.  Already our wheels were
+abreast of their wheelers.
+
+“I lead!” shouted my uncle.  “You must pull them, Lade!”
+
+“Not I!” he roared.
+
+“No, by George!” shrieked her ladyship.  “Fan ’em, Jack; keep on fanning
+’em!”
+
+It seemed to me that we were all going to eternity together.  But my
+uncle did the only thing that could have saved us.  By a desperate effort
+we might just clear the coach before reaching the mouth of the bridge.
+He sprang up, and lashed right and left at the mares, who, maddened by
+the unaccustomed pain, hurled themselves on in a frenzy.  Down we
+thundered together, all shouting, I believe, at the top of our voices in
+the madness of the moment; but still we were drawing steadily away, and
+we were almost clear of the leaders when we flew on to the bridge.  I
+glanced back at the coach, and I saw Lady Lade, with her savage little
+white teeth clenched together, throw herself forward and tug with both
+hands at the off-side reins.
+
+“Jam them, Jack!” she cried.  “Jam the—before they can pass.”
+
+Had she done it an instant sooner we should have crashed against the
+wood-work, carried it away, and been hurled into the deep gully below.
+As it was, it was not the powerful haunch of the black leader which
+caught our wheel, but the forequarter, which had not weight enough to
+turn us from our course.  I saw a red wet seam gape suddenly through the
+black hair, and next instant we were flying alone down the road, whilst
+the four-in-hand had halted, and Sir John and his lady were down in the
+road together tending to the wounded horse.
+
+“Easy now, my beauties!” cried my uncle, settling down into his seat
+again, and looking back over his shoulder.  “I could not have believed
+that Sir John Lade would have been guilty of such a trick as pulling that
+leader across.  I do not permit a _mauvaise plaisanterie_ of that sort.
+He shall hear from me to-night.”
+
+“It was the lady,” said I.
+
+My uncle’s brow cleared, and he began to laugh.
+
+“It was little Letty, was it?” said he.  “I might have known it.  There’s
+a touch of the late lamented Sixteen-string Jack about the trick.  Well,
+it is only messages of another kind that I send to a lady, so we’ll just
+drive on our way, nephew, and thank our stars that we bring whole bones
+over the Thames.”
+
+We stopped at the Greyhound, at Croydon, where the two good little mares
+were sponged and petted and fed, after which, at an easier pace, we made
+our way through Norbury and Streatham.  At last the fields grew fewer and
+the walls longer.  The outlying villas closed up thicker and thicker,
+until their shoulders met, and we were driving between a double line of
+houses with garish shops at the corners, and such a stream of traffic as
+I had never seen, roaring down the centre.  Then suddenly we were on a
+broad bridge with a dark coffee-brown river flowing sulkily beneath it,
+and bluff-bowed barges drifting down upon its bosom.  To right and left
+stretched a broken, irregular line of many-coloured houses winding along
+either bank as far as I could see.
+
+“That’s the House of Parliament, nephew,” said my uncle, pointing with
+his whip, “and the black towers are Westminster Abbey.  How do, your
+Grace?  How do?  That’s the Duke of Norfolk—the stout man in blue upon
+the swish-tailed mare.  Now we are in Whitehall.  There’s the Treasury on
+the left, and the Horse Guards, and the Admiralty, where the stone
+dolphins are carved above the gate.”
+
+I had the idea, which a country-bred lad brings up with him, that London
+was merely a wilderness of houses, but I was astonished now to see the
+green slopes and the lovely spring trees showing between.
+
+“Yes, those are the Privy Gardens,” said my uncle, “and there is the
+window out of which Charles took his last step on to the scaffold.  You
+wouldn’t think the mares had come fifty miles, would you?  See how _les
+petites cheries_ step out for the credit of their master.  Look at the
+barouche, with the sharp-featured man peeping out of the window.  That’s
+Pitt, going down to the House.  We are coming into Pall Mall now, and
+this great building on the left is Carlton House, the Prince’s Palace.
+There’s St. James’s, the big, dingy place with the clock, and the two
+red-coated sentries before it.  And here’s the famous street of the same
+name, nephew, which is the very centre of the world, and here’s Jermyn
+Street opening out of it, and finally, here’s my own little box, and we
+are well under the five hours from Brighton Old Square.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+WATIER’S.
+
+
+MY uncle’s house in Jermyn Street was quite a small one—five rooms and an
+attic.  “A man-cook and a cottage,” he said, “are all that a wise man
+requires.”  On the other hand, it was furnished with the neatness and
+taste which belonged to his character, so that his most luxurious friends
+found something in the tiny rooms which made them discontented with their
+own sumptuous mansions.  Even the attic, which had been converted into my
+bedroom, was the most perfect little bijou attic that could possibly be
+imagined.  Beautiful and valuable knick-knacks filled every corner of
+every apartment, and the house had become a perfect miniature museum
+which would have delighted a virtuoso.  My uncle explained the presence
+of all these pretty things with a shrug of his shoulders and a wave of
+his hands.  “They are _des petites cadeaux_,” said he, “but it would be
+an indiscretion for me to say more.”
+
+We found a note from Ambrose waiting for us which increased rather than
+explained the mystery of his disappearance.
+
+“My dear Sir Charles Tregellis,” it ran, “it will ever be a subject of
+regret to me that the force of circumstances should have compelled me to
+leave your service in so abrupt a fashion, but something occurred during
+our journey from Friar’s Oak to Brighton which left me without any
+possible alternative.  I trust, however, that my absence may prove to be
+but a temporary one.  The isinglass recipe for the shirt-fronts is in the
+strong-box at Drummond’s Bank.—Yours obediently, AMBROSE.”
+
+“Well, I suppose I must fill his place as best I can,” said my uncle,
+moodily.  “But how on earth could something have occurred to make him
+leave me at a time when we were going full-trot down hill in my curricle?
+I shall never find his match again either for chocolate or cravats.  _Je
+suis desolé_!  But now, nephew, we must send to Weston and have you
+fitted up.  It is not for a gentleman to go to a shop, but for the shop
+to come to the gentleman.  Until you have your clothes you must remain
+_en retraite_.”
+
+The measuring was a most solemn and serious function, though it was
+nothing to the trying-on two days later, when my uncle stood by in an
+agony of apprehension as each garment was adjusted, he and Weston arguing
+over every seam and lapel and skirt until I was dizzy with turning round
+in front of them.  Then, just as I had hoped that all was settled, in
+came young Mr. Brummell, who promised to be an even greater exquisite
+than my uncle, and the whole matter had to be thrashed out between them.
+He was a good-sized man, this Brummell, with a long, fair face, light
+brown hair, and slight sandy side-whiskers.  His manner was languid, his
+voice drawling, and while he eclipsed my uncle in the extravagance of his
+speech, he had not the air of manliness and decision which underlay all
+my kinsman’s affectations.
+
+“Why, George,” cried my uncle, “I thought you were with your regiment.”
+
+“I’ve sent in my papers,” drawled the other.
+
+“I thought it would come to that.”
+
+“Yes.  The Tenth was ordered to Manchester, and they could hardly expect
+me to go to a place like that.  Besides, I found the major monstrous
+rude.”
+
+“How was that?”
+
+“He expected me to know about his absurd drill, Tregellis, and I had
+other things to think of, as you may suppose.  I had no difficulty in
+taking my right place on parade, for there was a trooper with a red nose
+on a flea-bitten grey, and I had observed that my post was always
+immediately in front of him.  This saved a great deal of trouble.  The
+other day, however, when I came on parade, I galloped up one line and
+down the other, but the deuce a glimpse could I get of that long nose of
+his!  Then, just as I was at my wits’ end, I caught sight of him, alone
+at one side; so I formed up in front.  It seems he had been put there to
+keep the ground, and the major so far forgot himself as to say that I
+knew nothing of my duties.”
+
+My uncle laughed, and Brummell looked me up and down with his large,
+intolerant eyes.
+
+“These will do very passably,” said he.  “Buff and blue are always very
+gentlemanlike.  But a sprigged waistcoat would have been better.”
+
+“I think not,” said my uncle, warmly.
+
+“My dear Tregellis, you are infallible upon a cravat, but you must allow
+me the right of my own judgment upon vests.  I like it vastly as it
+stands, but a touch of red sprig would give it the finish that it needs.”
+
+They argued with many examples and analogies for a good ten minutes,
+revolving round me at the same time with their heads on one side and
+their glasses to their eyes.  It was a relief to me when they at last
+agreed upon a compromise.
+
+“You must not let anything I have said shake your faith in Sir Charles’s
+judgment, Mr. Stone,” said Brummell, very earnestly.
+
+I assured him that I should not.
+
+“If you were my nephew, I should expect you to follow my taste.  But you
+will cut a very good figure as it is.  I had a young cousin who came up
+to town last year with a recommendation to my care.  But he would take no
+advice.  At the end of the second week I met him coming down St. James’s
+Street in a snuff-coloured coat cut by a country tailor.  He bowed to me.
+Of course I knew what was due to myself.  I looked all round him, and
+there was an end to his career in town.  You are from the country, Mr.
+Stone?”
+
+“From Sussex, sir.”
+
+“Sussex!  Why, that is where I send my washing to.  There is an excellent
+clear-starcher living near Hayward’s Heath.  I send my shirts two at a
+time, for if you send more it excites the woman and diverts her
+attention.  I cannot abide anything but country washing.  But I should be
+vastly sorry to have to live there.  What can a man find to do?”
+
+“You don’t hunt, George?”
+
+“When I do, it’s a woman.  But surely you don’t go to hounds, Charles?”
+
+“I was out with the Belvoir last winter.”
+
+“The Belvoir!  Did you hear how I smoked Rutland?  The story has been in
+the clubs this month past.  I bet him that my bag would weigh more than
+his.  He got three and a half brace, but I shot his liver-coloured
+pointer, so he had to pay.  But as to hunting, what amusement can there
+be in flying about among a crowd of greasy, galloping farmers?  Every man
+to his own taste, but Brookes’s window by day and a snug corner of the
+macao table at Watier’s by night, give me all I want for mind and body.
+You heard how I plucked Montague the brewer!”
+
+“I have been out of town.”
+
+“I had eight thousand from him at a sitting.  ‘I shall drink your beer in
+future, Mr. Brewer,’ said I.  ‘Every blackguard in London does,’ said he.
+It was monstrous impolite of him, but some people cannot lose with grace.
+Well, I am going down to Clarges Street to pay Jew King a little of my
+interest.  Are you bound that way?  Well, good-bye, then!  I’ll see you
+and your young friend at the club or in the Mall, no doubt,” and he
+sauntered off upon his way.
+
+“That young man is destined to take my place,” said my uncle, gravely,
+when Brummell had departed.  “He is quite young and of no descent, but he
+has made his way by his cool effrontery, his natural taste, and his
+extravagance of speech.  There is no man who can be impolite in so
+polished a fashion.  He has a half-smile, and a way of raising his
+eyebrows, for which he will be shot one of these mornings.  Already his
+opinion is quoted in the clubs as a rival to my own.  Well, every man has
+his day, and when I am convinced that mine is past, St. James’s Street
+shall know me no more, for it is not in my nature to be second to any
+man.  But now, nephew, in that buff and blue suit you may pass anywhere;
+so, if you please, we will step into my _vis-à-vis_, and I will show you
+something of the town.”
+
+How can I describe all that we saw and all that we did upon that lovely
+spring day?  To me it was as if I had been wafted to a fairy world, and
+my uncle might have been some benevolent enchanter in a high-collared,
+long-tailed coat, who was guiding me about in it.  He showed me the
+West-end streets, with the bright carriages and the gaily dressed ladies
+and sombre-clad men, all crossing and hurrying and recrossing like an
+ants’ nest when you turn it over with a stick.  Never had I formed a
+conception of such endless banks of houses, and such a ceaseless stream
+of life flowing between.  Then we passed down the Strand, where the crowd
+was thicker than ever, and even penetrated beyond Temple Bar and into the
+City, though my uncle begged me not to mention it, for he would not wish
+it to be generally known.  There I saw the Exchange and the Bank and
+Lloyd’s Coffee House, with the brown-coated, sharp-faced merchants and
+the hurrying clerks, the huge horses and the busy draymen.  It was a very
+different world this from that which we had left in the West—a world of
+energy and of strength, where there was no place for the listless and the
+idle.  Young as I was, I knew that it was here, in the forest of merchant
+shipping, in the bales which swung up to the warehouse windows, in the
+loaded waggons which roared over the cobblestones, that the power of
+Britain lay.  Here, in the City of London, was the taproot from which
+Empire and wealth and so many other fine leaves had sprouted.  Fashion
+and speech and manners may change, but the spirit of enterprise within
+that square mile or two of land must not change, for when it withers all
+that has grown from it must wither also.
+
+We lunched at Stephen’s, the fashionable inn in Bond Street, where I saw
+a line of tilburys and saddle-horses, which stretched from the door to
+the further end of the street.  And thence we went to the Mall in St.
+James’s Park, and thence to Brookes’s, the great Whig club, and thence
+again to Watier’s, where the men of fashion used to gamble.  Everywhere I
+met the same sort of men, with their stiff figures and small waists, all
+showing the utmost deference to my uncle, and for his sake an easy
+tolerance of me.  The talk was always such as I had already heard at the
+Pavilion: talk of politics, talk of the King’s health, talk of the
+Prince’s extravagance, of the expected renewal of war, of horse-racing,
+and of the ring.  I saw, too, that eccentricity was, as my uncle had told
+me, the fashion; and if the folk upon the Continent look upon us even to
+this day as being a nation of lunatics, it is no doubt a tradition handed
+down from the time when the only travellers whom they were likely to see
+were drawn from the class which I was now meeting.
+
+It was an age of heroism and of folly.  On the one hand soldiers,
+sailors, and statesmen of the quality of Pitt, Nelson, and afterwards
+Wellington, had been forced to the front by the imminent menace of
+Buonaparte.  We were great in arms, and were soon also to be great in
+literature, for Scott and Byron were in their day the strongest forces in
+Europe.  On the other hand, a touch of madness, real or assumed, was a
+passport through doors which were closed to wisdom and to virtue.  The
+man who could enter a drawing-room walking upon his hands, the man who
+had filed his teeth that he might whistle like a coachman, the man who
+always spoke his thoughts aloud and so kept his guests in a quiver of
+apprehension, these were the people who found it easy to come to the
+front in London society.  Nor could the heroism and the folly be kept
+apart, for there were few who could quite escape the contagion of the
+times.  In an age when the Premier was a heavy drinker, the Leader of the
+Opposition a libertine, and the Prince of Wales a combination of the two,
+it was hard to know where to look for a man whose private and public
+characters were equally lofty.  At the same time, with all its faults it
+was a _strong_ age, and you will be fortunate if in your time the country
+produces five such names as Pitt, Fox, Scott, Nelson, and Wellington.
+
+It was in Watier’s that night, seated by my uncle on one of the red
+velvet settees at the side of the room, that I had pointed out to me some
+of those singular characters whose fame and eccentricities are even now
+not wholly forgotten in the world.  The long, many-pillared room, with
+its mirrors and chandeliers, was crowded with full-blooded, loud-voiced
+men-about-town, all in the same dark evening dress with white silk
+stockings, cambric shirt-fronts, and little, flat chapeau-bras under
+their arms.
+
+“The acid-faced old gentleman with the thin legs is the Marquis of
+Queensberry,” said my uncle.  “His chaise was driven nineteen miles in an
+hour in a match against the Count Taafe, and he sent a message fifty
+miles in thirty minutes by throwing it from hand to hand in a
+cricket-ball.  The man he is talking to is Sir Charles Bunbury, of the
+Jockey Club, who had the Prince warned off the Heath at Newmarket on
+account of the in-and-out riding of Sam Chifney, his jockey.  There’s
+Captain Barclay going up to them now.  He knows more about training than
+any man alive, and he has walked ninety miles in twenty-one hours.  You
+have only to look at his calves to see that Nature built him for it.
+There’s another walker there, the man with a flowered vest standing near
+the fireplace.  That is Buck Whalley, who walked to Jerusalem in a long
+blue coat, top-boots, and buckskins.”
+
+“Why did he do that, sir?” I asked, in astonishment.
+
+My uncle shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“It was his humour,” said he.  “He walked into society through it, and
+that was better worth reaching than Jerusalem.  There’s Lord Petersham,
+the man with the beaky nose.  He always rises at six in the evening, and
+he has laid down the finest cellar of snuff in Europe.  It was he who
+ordered his valet to put half a dozen of sherry by his bed and call him
+the day after to-morrow.  He’s talking to Lord Panmure, who can take his
+six bottles of claret and argue with a bishop after it.  The lean man
+with the weak knees is General Scott who lives upon toast and water and
+has won £200,000 at whist.  He is talking to young Lord Blandford who
+gave £1800 for a Boccaccio the other day.  Evening, Dudley!”
+
+“Evening, Tregellis!”  An elderly, vacant-looking man had stopped before
+us and was looking me up and down.
+
+“Some young cub Charlie Tregellis has caught in the country,” he
+murmured.  “He doesn’t look as if he would be much credit to him.  Been
+out of town, Tregellis?”
+
+“For a few days.”
+
+“Hem!” said the man, transferring his sleepy gaze to my uncle.  “He’s
+looking pretty bad.  He’ll be going into the country feet foremost some
+of these days if he doesn’t pull up!”  He nodded, and passed on.
+
+“You mustn’t look so mortified, nephew,” said my uncle, smiling.  “That’s
+old Lord Dudley, and he has a trick of thinking aloud.  People used to be
+offended, but they take no notice of him now.  It was only last week,
+when he was dining at Lord Elgin’s, that he apologized to the company for
+the shocking bad cooking.  He thought he was at his own table, you see.
+It gives him a place of his own in society.  That’s Lord Harewood he has
+fastened on to now.  Harewood’s peculiarity is to mimic the Prince in
+everything.  One day the Prince hid his queue behind the collar of his
+coat, so Harewood cut his off, thinking that they were going out of
+fashion.  Here’s Lumley, the ugly man.  ‘_L’homme laid_’ they called him
+in Paris.  The other one is Lord Foley—they call him No. 11, on account
+of his thin legs.”
+
+“There is Mr. Brummell, sir,” said I.
+
+“Yes, he’ll come to us presently.  That young man has certainly a future
+before him.  Do you observe the way in which he looks round the room from
+under his drooping eyelids, as though it were a condescension that he
+should have entered it?  Small conceits are intolerable, but when they
+are pushed to the uttermost they become respectable.  How do, George?”
+
+“Have you heard about Vereker Merton?” asked Brummell, strolling up with
+one or two other exquisites at his heels.  “He has run away with his
+father’s woman-cook, and actually married her.”
+
+“What did Lord Merton do?”
+
+“He congratulated him warmly, and confessed that he had always underrated
+his intelligence.  He is to live with the young couple, and make a
+handsome allowance on condition that the bride sticks to her old duties.
+By the way, there was a rumour that you were about to marry, Tregellis.”
+
+“I think not,” answered my uncle.  “It would be a mistake to overwhelm
+one by attentions which are a pleasure to many.”
+
+“My view, exactly, and very neatly expressed,” cried Brummell.  “Is it
+fair to break a dozen hearts in order to intoxicate one with rapture?
+I’m off to the Continent next week.”
+
+“Bailiffs?” asked one of his companions.
+
+“Too bad, Pierrepoint.  No, no; it is pleasure and instruction combined.
+Besides, it is necessary to go to Paris for your little things, and if
+there is a chance of the war breaking out again, it would be well to lay
+in a supply.”
+
+“Quite right,” said my uncle, who seemed to have made up his mind to
+outdo Brummell in extravagance.  “I used to get my sulphur-coloured
+gloves from the Palais Royal.  When the war broke out in ’93 I was cut
+off from them for nine years.  Had it not been for a lugger which I
+specially hired to smuggle them, I might have been reduced to English
+tan.”
+
+“The English are excellent at a flat-iron or a kitchen poker, but
+anything more delicate is beyond them.”
+
+“Our tailors are good,” cried my uncle, “but our stuffs lack taste and
+variety.  The war has made us more _rococo_ than ever.  It has cut us off
+from travel, and there is nothing to match travel for expanding the mind.
+Last year, for example, I came upon some new waist-coating in the Square
+of San Marco, at Venice.  It was yellow, with the prettiest little twill
+of pink running through it.  How could I have seen it had I not
+travelled?  I brought it back with me, and for a time it was all the
+rage.”
+
+“The Prince took it up.”
+
+“Yes, he usually follows my lead.  We dressed so alike last year that we
+were frequently mistaken for each other.  It tells against me, but so it
+was.  He often complains that things do not look as well upon him as upon
+me, but how can I make the obvious reply?  By the way, George, I did not
+see you at the Marchioness of Dover’s ball.”
+
+“Yes, I was there, and lingered for a quarter of an hour or so.  I am
+surprised that you did not see me.  I did not go past the doorway,
+however, for undue preference gives rise to jealousy.”
+
+“I went early,” said my uncle, “for I had heard that there were to be
+some tolerable _débutantes_.  It always pleases me vastly when I am able
+to pass a compliment to any of them.  It has happened, but not often, for
+I keep to my own standard.”
+
+So they talked, these singular men, and I, looking from one to the other,
+could not imagine how they could help bursting out a-laughing in each
+other’s faces.  But, on the contrary, their conversation was very grave,
+and filled out with many little bows, and opening and shutting of
+snuff-boxes, and flickings of laced handkerchiefs.  Quite a crowd had
+gathered silently around, and I could see that the talk had been regarded
+as a contest between two men who were looked upon as rival arbiters of
+fashion.  It was finished by the Marquis of Queensberry passing his arm
+through Brummell’s and leading him off, while my uncle threw out his
+laced cambric shirt-front and shot his ruffles as if he were well
+satisfied with his share in the encounter.  It is seven-and-forty years
+since I looked upon that circle of dandies, and where, now, are their
+dainty little hats, their wonderful waistcoats, and their boots, in which
+one could arrange one’s cravat?  They lived strange lives, these men, and
+they died strange deaths—some by their own hands, some as beggars, some
+in a debtor’s gaol, some, like the most brilliant of them all, in a
+madhouse in a foreign land.
+
+“There is the card-room, Rodney,” said my uncle, as we passed an open
+door on our way out.  Glancing in, I saw a line of little green baize
+tables with small groups of men sitting round, while at one side was a
+longer one, from which there came a continuous murmur of voices.  “You
+may lose what you like in there, save only your nerve or your temper,” my
+uncle continued.  “Ah, Sir Lothian, I trust that the luck was with you?”
+
+A tall, thin man, with a hard, austere face, had stepped out of the open
+doorway.  His heavily thatched eyebrows covered quick, furtive grey eyes,
+and his gaunt features were hollowed at the cheek and temple like
+water-grooved flint.  He was dressed entirely in black, and I noticed
+that his shoulders swayed a little as if he had been drinking.
+
+“Lost like the deuce,” he snapped.
+
+“Dice?”
+
+“No, whist.”
+
+“You couldn’t get very hard hit over that.”
+
+“Couldn’t you?” he snarled.  “Play a hundred a trick and a thousand on
+the rub, losing steadily for five hours, and see what you think of it.”
+
+My uncle was evidently struck by the haggard look upon the other’s face.
+
+“I hope it’s not very bad,” he said.
+
+“Bad enough.  It won’t bear talking about.  By the way, Tregellis, have
+you got your man for this fight yet?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You seem to be hanging in the wind a long time.  It’s play or pay, you
+know.  I shall claim forfeit if you don’t come to scratch.”
+
+“If you will name your day I shall produce my man, Sir Lothian,” said my
+uncle, coldly.
+
+“This day four weeks, if you like.”
+
+“Very good.  The 18th of May.”
+
+“I hope to have changed my name by then!”
+
+“How is that?” asked my uncle, in surprise.
+
+“It is just possible that I may be Lord Avon.”
+
+“What, you have had some news?” cried my uncle, and I noticed a tremor in
+his voice.
+
+“I’ve had my agent over at Monte Video, and he believes he has proof that
+Avon died there.  Anyhow, it is absurd to suppose that because a murderer
+chooses to fly from justice—”
+
+“I won’t have you use that word, Sir Lothian,” cried my uncle, sharply.
+
+“You were there as I was.  You know that he was a murderer.”
+
+“I tell you that you shall not say so.”
+
+Sir Lothian’s fierce little grey eyes had to lower themselves before the
+imperious anger which shone in my uncle’s.
+
+“Well, to let that point pass, it is monstrous to suppose that the title
+and the estates can remain hung up in this way for ever.  I’m the heir,
+Tregellis, and I’m going to have my rights.”
+
+“I am, as you are aware, Lord Avon’s dearest friend,” said my uncle,
+sternly.  “His disappearance has not affected my love for him, and until
+his fate is finally ascertained, I shall exert myself to see that _his_
+rights also are respected.”
+
+“His rights would be a long drop and a cracked spine,” Sir Lothian
+answered, and then, changing his manner suddenly, he laid his hand upon
+my uncle’s sleeve.
+
+“Come, come, Tregellis, I was his friend as well as you,” said he.  “But
+we cannot alter the facts, and it is rather late in the day for us to
+fall out over them.  Your invitation holds good for Friday night?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“I shall bring Crab Wilson with me, and finally arrange the conditions of
+our little wager.”
+
+“Very good, Sir Lothian: I shall hope to see you.”  They bowed, and my
+uncle stood a little time looking after him as he made his way amidst the
+crowd.
+
+“A good sportsman, nephew,” said he.  “A bold rider, the best pistol-shot
+in England, but . . . a dangerous man!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+THE MEN OF THE RING.
+
+
+IT was at the end of my first week in London that my uncle gave a supper
+to the fancy, as was usual for gentlemen of that time if they wished to
+figure before the public as Corinthians and patrons of sport.  He had
+invited not only the chief fighting-men of the day, but also those men of
+fashion who were most interested in the ring: Mr. Fletcher Reid, Lord Say
+and Sele, Sir Lothian Hume, Sir John Lade, Colonel Montgomery, Sir Thomas
+Apreece, the Hon. Berkeley Craven, and many more.  The rumour that the
+Prince was to be present had already spread through the clubs, and
+invitations were eagerly sought after.
+
+The Waggon and Horses was a well-known sporting house, with an old
+prize-fighter for landlord.  And the arrangements were as primitive as
+the most Bohemian could wish.  It was one of the many curious fashions
+which have now died out, that men who were _blasé_ from luxury and high
+living seemed to find a fresh piquancy in life by descending to the
+lowest resorts, so that the night-houses and gambling-dens in Covent
+Garden or the Haymarket often gathered illustrious company under their
+smoke-blackened ceilings.  It was a change for them to turn their backs
+upon the cooking of Weltjie and of Ude, or the chambertin of old Q., and
+to dine upon a porter-house steak washed down by a pint of ale from a
+pewter pot.
+
+A rough crowd had assembled in the street to see the fighting-men go in,
+and my uncle warned me to look to my pockets as we pushed our way through
+it.  Within was a large room with faded red curtains, a sanded floor, and
+walls which were covered with prints of pugilists and race-horses.  Brown
+liquor-stained tables were dotted about in it, and round one of these
+half a dozen formidable-looking men were seated, while one, the roughest
+of all, was perched upon the table itself, swinging his legs to and fro.
+A tray of small glasses and pewter mugs stood beside them.
+
+“The boys were thirsty, sir, so I brought up some ale and some liptrap,”
+whispered the landlord; “I thought you would have no objection, sir.”
+
+“Quite right, Bob!  How are you all?  How are you, Maddox?  How are you,
+Baldwin?  Ah, Belcher, I am very glad to see you.”
+
+The fighting-men rose and took their hats off, except the fellow on the
+table, who continued to swing his legs and to look my uncle very coolly
+in the face.
+
+“How are you, Berks?”
+
+“Pretty tidy.  ’Ow are you?”
+
+“Say ‘sir’ when you speak to a genelman,” said Belcher, and with a sudden
+tilt of the table he sent Berks flying almost into my uncle’s arms.
+
+“See now, Jem, none o’ that!” said Berks, sulkily.
+
+“I’ll learn you manners, Joe, which is more than ever your father did.
+You’re not drinkin’ black-jack in a boozin’ ken, but you are meetin’
+noble, slap-up Corinthians, and it’s for you to behave as such.”
+
+“I’ve always been reckoned a genelman-like sort of man,” said Berks,
+thickly, “but if so be as I’ve said or done what I ’adn’t ought to—”
+
+“There, there, Berks, that’s all right!” cried my uncle, only too anxious
+to smooth things over and to prevent a quarrel at the outset of the
+evening.  “Here are some more of our friends.  How are you, Apreece?  How
+are you, Colonel?  Well, Jackson, you are looking vastly better.  Good
+evening, Lade.  I trust Lady Lade was none the worse for our pleasant
+drive.  Ah, Mendoza, you look fit enough to throw your hat over the ropes
+this instant.  Sir Lothian, I am glad to see you.  You will find some old
+friends here.”
+
+Amid the stream of Corinthians and fighting-men who were thronging into
+the room I had caught a glimpse of the sturdy figure and broad,
+good-humoured face of Champion Harrison.  The sight of him was like a
+whiff of South Down air coming into that low-roofed, oil-smelling room,
+and I ran forward to shake him by the hand.
+
+“Why, Master Rodney—or I should say Mr. Stone, I suppose—you’ve changed
+out of all knowledge.  I can’t hardly believe that it was really you that
+used to come down to blow the bellows when Boy Jim and I were at the
+anvil.  Well, you are fine, to be sure!”
+
+“What’s the news of Friar’s Oak?” I asked eagerly.
+
+“Your father was down to chat with me, Master Rodney, and he tells me
+that the war is going to break out again, and that he hopes to see you
+here in London before many days are past; for he is coming up to see Lord
+Nelson and to make inquiry about a ship.  Your mother is well, and I saw
+her in church on Sunday.”
+
+“And Boy Jim?”
+
+Champion Harrison’s good-humoured face clouded over.
+
+“He’d set his heart very much on comin’ here to-night, but there were
+reasons why I didn’t wish him to, and so there’s a shadow betwixt us.
+It’s the first that ever was, and I feel it, Master Rodney.  Between
+ourselves, I have very good reason to wish him to stay with me, and I am
+sure that, with his high spirit and his ideas, he would never settle down
+again after once he had a taste o’ London.  I left him behind me with
+enough work to keep him busy until I get back to him.”
+
+A tall and beautifully proportioned man, very elegantly dressed, was
+strolling towards us.  He stared in surprise and held out his hand to my
+companion.
+
+“Why, Jack Harrison!” he cried.  “This is a resurrection.  Where in the
+world did you come from?”
+
+“Glad to see you, Jackson,” said my companion.  “You look as well and as
+young as ever.”
+
+“Thank you, yes.  I resigned the belt when I could get no one to fight me
+for it, and I took to teaching.”
+
+“I’m doing smith’s work down Sussex way.”
+
+“I’ve often wondered why you never had a shy at my belt.  I tell you
+honestly, between man and man, I’m very glad you didn’t.”
+
+“Well, it’s real good of you to say that, Jackson.  I might ha’ done it,
+perhaps, but the old woman was against it.  She’s been a good wife to me
+and I can’t go against her.  But I feel a bit lonesome here, for these
+boys are since my time.”
+
+“You could do some of them over now,” said Jackson, feeling my friend’s
+upper arm.  “No better bit of stuff was ever seen in a twenty-four foot
+ring.  It would be a rare treat to see you take some of these young ones
+on.  Won’t you let me spring you on them?”
+
+Harrison’s eyes glistened at the idea, but he shook his head.
+
+“It won’t do, Jackson.  My old woman holds my promise.  That’s Belcher,
+ain’t it—the good lookin’ young chap with the flash coat?”
+
+“Yes, that’s Jem.  You’ve not seen him!  He’s a jewel.”
+
+“So I’ve heard.  Who’s the youngster beside him?  He looks a tidy chap.”
+
+“That’s a new man from the West.  Crab Wilson’s his name.”
+
+Harrison looked at him with interest.  “I’ve heard of him,” said he.
+“They are getting a match on for him, ain’t they?”
+
+“Yes.  Sir Lothian Hume, the thin-faced gentleman over yonder, has backed
+him against Sir Charles Tregellis’s man.  We’re to hear about the match
+to-night, I understand.  Jem Belcher thinks great things of Crab Wilson.
+There’s Belcher’s young brother, Tom.  He’s looking out for a match, too.
+They say he’s quicker than Jem with the mufflers, but he can’t hit as
+hard.  I was speaking of your brother, Jem.”
+
+“The young ’un will make his way,” said Belcher, who had come across to
+us.  “He’s more a sparrer than a fighter just at present, but when his
+gristle sets he’ll take on anything on the list.  Bristol’s as full o’
+young fightin’-men now as a bin is of bottles.  We’ve got two more comin’
+up—Gully and Pearce—who’ll make you London milling coves wish they was
+back in the west country again.”
+
+“Here’s the Prince,” said Jackson, as a hum and bustle rose from the
+door.
+
+I saw George come bustling in, with a good-humoured smile upon his comely
+face.  My uncle welcomed him, and led some of the Corinthians up to be
+presented.
+
+“We’ll have trouble, gov’nor,” said Belcher to Jackson.  “Here’s Joe
+Berks drinkin’ gin out of a mug, and you know what a swine he is when
+he’s drunk.”
+
+“You must put a stopper on ’im gov’nor,” said several of the other
+prize-fighters.  “’E ain’t what you’d call a charmer when ’e’s sober, but
+there’s no standing ’im when ’e’s fresh.”
+
+Jackson, on account of his prowess and of the tact which he possessed,
+had been chosen as general regulator of the whole prize-fighting body, by
+whom he was usually alluded to as the Commander-in-Chief.  He and Belcher
+went across now to the table upon which Berks was still perched.  The
+ruffian’s face was already flushed, and his eyes heavy and bloodshot.
+
+“You must keep yourself in hand to-night, Berks,” said Jackson.  “The
+Prince is here, and—”
+
+“I never set eyes on ’im yet,” cried Berks, lurching off the table.
+“Where is ’e, gov’nor?  Tell ’im Joe Berks would like to do ’isself proud
+by shakin’ ’im by the ’and.”
+
+“No, you don’t, Joe,” said Jackson, laying his hand upon Berks’s chest,
+as he tried to push his way through the crowd.  “You’ve got to keep your
+place, Joe, or we’ll put you where you can make all the noise you like.”
+
+“Where’s that, gov’nor?”
+
+“Into the street, through the window.  We’re going to have a peaceful
+evening, as Jem Belcher and I will show you if you get up to any of your
+Whitechapel games.”
+
+“No ’arm, gov’nor,” grumbled Berks.  “I’m sure I’ve always ’ad the name
+of bein’ a very genelman-like man.”
+
+“So I’ve always said, Joe Berks, and mind you prove yourself such.  But
+the supper is ready for us, and there’s the Prince and Lord Sole going
+in.  Two and two, lads, and don’t forget whose company you are in.”
+
+The supper was laid in a large room, with Union Jacks and mottoes hung
+thickly upon the walls.  The tables were arranged in three sides of a
+square, my uncle occupying the centre of the principal one, with the
+Prince upon his right and Lord Sele upon his left.  By his wise
+precaution the seats had been allotted beforehand, so that the gentlemen
+might be scattered among the professionals and no risk run of two enemies
+finding themselves together, or a man who had been recently beaten
+falling into the company of his conqueror.  For my own part, I had
+Champion Harrison upon one side of me and a stout, florid-faced man upon
+the other, who whispered to me that he was “Bill Warr, landlord of the
+One Tun public-house, of Jermyn Street, and one of the gamest men upon
+the list.”
+
+“It’s my flesh that’s beat me, sir,” said he.  “It creeps over me amazin’
+fast.  I should fight at thirteen-eight, and ’ere I am nearly seventeen.
+It’s the business that does it, what with loflin’ about behind the bar
+all day, and bein’ afraid to refuse a wet for fear of offendin’ a
+customer.  It’s been the ruin of many a good fightin’-man before me.”
+
+“You should take to my job,” said Harrison.  “I’m a smith by trade, and
+I’ve not put on half a stone in fifteen years.”
+
+“Some take to one thing and some to another, but the most of us try to
+’ave a bar-parlour of our own.  There’s Will Wood, that I beat in forty
+rounds in the thick of a snowstorm down Navestock way, ’e drives a
+’ackney.  Young Firby, the ruffian, ’e’s a waiter now.  Dick ’Umphries
+sells coals—’e was always of a genelmanly disposition.  George Ingleston
+is a brewer’s drayman.  We all find our own cribs.  But there’s one thing
+you are saved by livin’ in the country, and that is ’avin’ the young
+Corinthians and bloods about town smackin’ you eternally in the face.”
+
+This was the last inconvenience which I should have expected a famous
+prize-fighter to be subjected to, but several bull-faced fellows at the
+other side of the table nodded their concurrence.
+
+“You’re right, Bill,” said one of them.  “There’s no one has had more
+trouble with them than I have.  In they come of an evenin’ into my bar,
+with the wine in their heads.  ‘Are you Tom Owen the bruiser?’ says one
+o’ them.  ‘At your service, sir,’ says I.  ‘Take that, then,’ says he,
+and it’s a clip on the nose, or a backhanded slap across the chops as
+likely as not.  Then they can brag all their lives that they had hit Tom
+Owen.”
+
+“D’you draw their cork in return?” asked Harrison.
+
+“I argey it out with them.  I say to them, ‘Now, gents, fightin’ is my
+profession, and I don’t fight for love any more than a doctor doctors for
+love, or a butcher gives away a loin chop.  Put up a small purse, master,
+and I’ll do you over and proud.  But don’t expect that you’re goin’ to
+come here and get glutted by a middle-weight champion for nothing.”
+
+“That’s my way too, Tom,” said my burly neighbour.  “If they put down a
+guinea on the counter—which they do if they ’ave been drinkin’ very
+’eavy—I give them what I think is about a guinea’s worth and take the
+money.”
+
+“But if they don’t?”
+
+“Why, then, it’s a common assault, d’ye see, against the body of ’is
+Majesty’s liege, William Warr, and I ’as ’em before the beak next
+mornin’, and it’s a week or twenty shillin’s.”
+
+Meanwhile the supper was in full swing—one of those solid and
+uncompromising meals which prevailed in the days of your grandfathers,
+and which may explain to some of you why you never set eyes upon that
+relative.
+
+Great rounds of beef, saddles of mutton, smoking tongues, veal and ham
+pies, turkeys and chickens, and geese, with every variety of vegetables,
+and a succession of fiery cherries and heavy ales were the main staple of
+the feast.  It was the same meal and the same cooking as their Norse or
+German ancestors might have sat down to fourteen centuries before, and,
+indeed, as I looked through the steam of the dishes at the lines of
+fierce and rugged faces, and the mighty shoulders which rounded
+themselves over the board, I could have imagined myself at one of those
+old-world carousals of which I had read, where the savage company gnawed
+the joints to the bone, and then, with murderous horseplay, hurled the
+remains at their prisoners.  Here and there the pale, aquiline features
+of a sporting Corinthian recalled rather the Norman type, but in the main
+these stolid, heavy-jowled faces, belonging to men whose whole life was a
+battle, were the nearest suggestion which we have had in modern times of
+those fierce pirates and rovers from whose loins we have sprung.
+
+And yet, as I looked carefully from man to man in the line which faced
+me, I could see that the English, although they were ten to one, had not
+the game entirely to themselves, but that other races had shown that they
+could produce fighting-men worthy to rank with the best.
+
+There were, it is true, no finer or braver men in the room than Jackson
+and Jem Belcher, the one with his magnificent figure, his small waist and
+Herculean shoulders; the other as graceful as an old Grecian statue, with
+a head whose beauty many a sculptor had wished to copy, and with those
+long, delicate lines in shoulder and loins and limbs, which gave him the
+litheness and activity of a panther.  Already, as I looked at him, it
+seemed to me that there was a shadow of tragedy upon his face, a forecast
+of the day then but a few months distant when a blow from a racquet ball
+darkened the sight of one eye for ever.  Had he stopped there, with his
+unbeaten career behind him, then indeed the evening of his life might
+have been as glorious as its dawn.  But his proud heart could not permit
+his title to be torn from him without a struggle.  If even now you can
+read how the gallant fellow, unable with his one eye to judge his
+distances, fought for thirty-five minutes against his young and
+formidable opponent, and how, in the bitterness of defeat, he was heard
+only to express his sorrow for a friend who had backed him with all he
+possessed, and if you are not touched by the story there must be
+something wanting in you which should go to the making of a man.
+
+But if there were no men at the tables who could have held their own
+against Jackson or Jem Belcher, there were others of a different race and
+type who had qualities which made them dangerous bruisers.  A little way
+down the room I saw the black face and woolly head of Bill Richmond, in a
+purple-and-gold footman’s livery—destined to be the predecessor of
+Molineaux, Sutton, and all that line of black boxers who have shown that
+the muscular power and insensibility to pain which distinguish the
+African give him a peculiar advantage in the sports of the ring.  He
+could boast also of the higher honour of having been the first born
+American to win laurels in the British ring.  There also I saw the keen
+features of Dada Mendoza, the Jew, just retired from active work, and
+leaving behind him a reputation for elegance and perfect science which
+has, to this day, never been exceeded.  The worst fault that the critics
+could find with him was that there was a want of power in his blows—a
+remark which certainly could not have been made about his neighbour,
+whose long face, curved nose, and dark, flashing eyes proclaimed him as a
+member of the same ancient race.  This was the formidable Dutch Sam, who
+fought at nine stone six, and yet possessed such hitting powers, that his
+admirers, in after years, were willing to back him against the
+fourteen-stone Tom Cribb, if each were strapped a-straddle to a bench.
+Half a dozen other sallow Hebrew faces showed how energetically the Jews
+of Houndsditch and Whitechapel had taken to the sport of the land of
+their adoption, and that in this, as in more serious fields of human
+effort, they could hold their own with the best.
+
+It was my neighbour Warr who very good-humouredly pointed out to me all
+these celebrities, the echoes of whose fame had been wafted down even to
+our little Sussex village.
+
+“There’s Andrew Gamble, the Irish champion,” said he.  “It was ’e that
+beat Noah James, the Guardsman, and was afterwards nearly killed by Jem
+Belcher, in the ’ollow of Wimbledon Common by Abbershaw’s gibbet.  The
+two that are next ’im are Irish also, Jack O’Donnell and Bill Ryan.  When
+you get a good Irishman you can’t better ’em, but they’re dreadful ’asty.
+That little cove with the leery face is Caleb Baldwin the Coster, ’im
+that they call the Pride of Westminster.  ’E’s but five foot seven, and
+nine stone five, but ’e’s got the ’eart of a giant.  ’E’s never been
+beat, and there ain’t a man within a stone of ’im that could beat ’im,
+except only Dutch Sam.  There’s George Maddox, too, another o’ the same
+breed, and as good a man as ever pulled his coat off.  The genelmanly man
+that eats with a fork, ’im what looks like a Corinthian, only that the
+bridge of ’is nose ain’t quite as it ought to be, that’s Dick ’Umphries,
+the same that was cock of the middle-weights until Mendoza cut his comb
+for ’im.  You see the other with the grey ’ead and the scars on his
+face?”
+
+“Why, it’s old Tom Faulkner the cricketer!” cried Harrison, following the
+line of Bill Warr’s stubby forefinger.  “He’s the fastest bowler in the
+Midlands, and at his best there weren’t many boxers in England that could
+stand up against him.”
+
+“You’re right there, Jack ’Arrison.  ’E was one of the three who came up
+to fight when the best men of Birmingham challenged the best men of
+London.  ’E’s an evergreen, is Tom.  Why, he was turned five-and-fifty
+when he challenged and beat, after fifty minutes of it, Jack Thornhill,
+who was tough enough to take it out of many a youngster.  It’s better to
+give odds in weight than in years.”
+
+“Youth will be served,” said a crooning voice from the other side of the
+table.  “Ay, masters, youth will be served.”
+
+The man who had spoken was the most extraordinary of all the many curious
+figures in the room.  He was very, very old, so old that he was past all
+comparison, and no one by looking at his mummy skin and fish-like eyes
+could give a guess at his years.  A few scanty grey hairs still hung
+about his yellow scalp.  As to his features, they were scarcely human in
+their disfigurement, for the deep wrinkles and pouchings of extreme age
+had been added to a face which had always been grotesquely ugly, and had
+been crushed and smashed in addition by many a blow.  I had noticed this
+creature at the beginning of the meal, leaning his chest against the edge
+of the table as if its support was a welcome one, and feebly picking at
+the food which was placed before him.  Gradually, however, as his
+neighbours plied him with drink, his shoulders grew squarer, his back
+stiffened, his eyes brightened, and he looked about him, with an air of
+surprise at first, as if he had no clear recollection of how he came
+there, and afterwards with an expression of deepening interest, as he
+listened, with his ear scooped up in his hand, to the conversation around
+him.
+
+“That’s old Buckhorse,” whispered Champion Harrison.  “He was just the
+same as that when I joined the ring twenty years ago.  Time was when he
+was the terror of London.”
+
+“’E was so,” said Bill Warr.  “’E would fight like a stag, and ’e was
+that ’ard that ’e would let any swell knock ’im down for ’alf-a-crown.
+’E ’ad no face to spoil, d’ye see, for ’e was always the ugliest man in
+England.  But ’e’s been on the shelf now for near sixty years, and it
+cost ’im many a beatin’ before ’e could understand that ’is strength was
+slippin’ away from ’im.”
+
+“Youth will be served, masters,” droned the old man, shaking his head
+miserably.
+
+“Fill up ’is glass,” said Warr.  “’Ere, Tom, give old Buckhorse a sup o’
+liptrap.  Warm his ’eart for ’im.”
+
+The old man poured a glass of neat gin down his shrivelled throat, and
+the effect upon him was extraordinary.  A light glimmered in each of his
+dull eyes, a tinge of colour came into his wax-like cheeks, and, opening
+his toothless mouth, he suddenly emitted a peculiar, bell-like, and most
+musical cry.  A hoarse roar of laughter from all the company answered it,
+and flushed faces craned over each other to catch a glimpse of the
+veteran.
+
+“There’s Buckhorse!” they cried.  “Buckhorse is comin’ round again.”
+
+“You can laugh if you vill, masters,” he cried, in his Lewkner Lane
+dialect, holding up his two thin, vein-covered hands.  “It von’t be long
+that you’ll be able to see my crooks vich ’ave been on Figg’s conk, and
+on Jack Broughton’s, and on ’Arry Gray’s, and many another good fightin’
+man that was millin’ for a livin’ before your fathers could eat pap.”
+
+The company laughed again, and encouraged the old man by half-derisive
+and half-affectionate cries.
+
+“Let ’em ’ave it, Buckhorse!  Give it ’em straight!  Tell us how the
+millin’ coves did it in your time.”
+
+The old gladiator looked round him in great contempt.
+
+“Vy, from vot I see,” he cried, in his high, broken treble, “there’s some
+on you that ain’t fit to flick a fly from a joint o’ meat.  You’d make
+werry good ladies’ maids, the most of you, but you took the wrong turnin’
+ven you came into the ring.”
+
+“Give ’im a wipe over the mouth,” said a hoarse voice.
+
+“Joe Berks,” said Jackson, “I’d save the hangman the job of breaking your
+neck if His Royal Highness wasn’t in the room.”
+
+“That’s as it may be, guv’nor,” said the half-drunken ruffian, staggering
+to his feet.  “If I’ve said anything wot isn’t genelmanlike—”
+
+“Sit down, Berks!” cried my uncle, with such a tone of command that the
+fellow collapsed into his chair.
+
+“Vy, vitch of you would look Tom Slack in the face?” piped the old
+fellow; “or Jack Broughton?—him vot told the old Dook of Cumberland that
+all he vanted vas to fight the King o’ Proosia’s guard, day by day, year
+in, year out, until ’e ’ad worked out the whole regiment of ’em—and the
+smallest of ’em six foot long.  There’s not more’n a few of you could ’it
+a dint in a pat o’ butter, and if you gets a smack or two it’s all over
+vith you.  Vich among you could get up again after such a vipe as the
+Eytalian Gondoleery cove gave to Bob Vittaker?”
+
+“What was that, Buckhorse?” cried several voices.
+
+“’E came over ’ere from voreign parts, and ’e was so broad ’e ’ad to come
+edgewise through the doors.  ’E ’ad so, upon my davy!  ’E was that strong
+that wherever ’e ’it the bone had got to go; and when ’e’d cracked a jaw
+or two it looked as though nothing in the country could stan’ against
+him.  So the King ’e sent one of his genelmen down to Figg and he said to
+him: ‘’Ere’s a cove vot cracks a bone every time ’e lets vly, and it’ll
+be little credit to the Lunnon boys if they lets ’im get avay vithout a
+vacking.’  So Figg he ups, and he says, ‘I do not know, master, but he
+may break one of ’is countrymen’s jawbones vid ’is vist, but I’ll bring
+’im a Cockney lad and ’e shall not be able to break ’is jawbone with a
+sledge ’ammer.’  I was with Figg in Slaughter’s coffee-’ouse, as then
+vas, ven ’e says this to the King’s genelman, and I goes so, I does!”
+Again he emitted the curious bell-like cry, and again the Corinthians and
+the fighting-men laughed and applauded him.
+
+“His Royal Highness—that is, the Earl of Chester—would be glad to hear
+the end of your story, Buckhorse,” said my uncle, to whom the Prince had
+been whispering.
+
+“Vell, your R’yal ’Ighness, it vas like this.  Ven the day came round,
+all the volk came to Figg’s Amphitheatre, the same that vos in Tottenham
+Court, an’ Bob Vittaker ’e vos there, and the Eytalian Gondoleery cove ’e
+vas there, and all the purlitest, genteelest crowd that ever vos, twenty
+thousand of ’em, all sittin’ with their ’eads like purtaties on a barrer,
+banked right up round the stage, and me there to pick up Bob, d’ye see,
+and Jack Figg ’imself just for fair play to do vot was right by the cove
+from voreign parts.  They vas packed all round, the folks was, but down
+through the middle of ’em was a passage just so as the gentry could come
+through to their seats, and the stage it vas of wood, as the custom then
+vas, and a man’s ’eight above the ’eads of the people.  Vell, then, ven
+Bob was put up opposite this great Eytalian man I says ‘Slap ’im in the
+vind, Bob,’ ’cos I could see vid ’alf an eye that he vas as puffy as a
+cheesecake; so Bob he goes in, and as he comes the vorriner let ’im ’ave
+it amazin’ on the conk.  I ’eard the thump of it, and I kind o’ velt
+somethin’ vistle past me, but ven I looked there vas the Eytalian a
+feelin’ of ’is muscles in the middle o’ the stage, and as to Bob, there
+vern’t no sign’ of ’im at all no more’n if ’e’d never been.”
+
+His audience was riveted by the old prize-fighter’s story.  “Well,” cried
+a dozen voices, “what then, Buckhorse: ’ad ’e swallowed ’im, or what?”
+
+“Yell, boys, that vas vat _I_ wondered, when sudden I seed two legs
+a-stickin’ up out o’ the crowd a long vay off, just like these two
+vingers, d’ye see, and I knewed they vas Bob’s legs, seein’ that ’e ’ad
+kind o’ yellow small clothes vid blue ribbons—vich blue vas ’is colour—at
+the knee.  So they up-ended ’im, they did, an’ they made a lane for ’im
+an’ cheered ’im to give ’im ’eart, though ’e never lacked for that.  At
+virst ’e vas that dazed that ’e didn’t know if ’e vas in church or in
+’Orsemonger Gaol; but ven I’d bit ’is two ears ’e shook ’isself together.
+‘Ve’ll try it again, Buck,’ says ’e.  ‘The mark!’ says I.  And ’e vinked
+all that vas left o’ one eye.  So the Eytalian ’e lets swing again, but
+Bob ’e jumps inside an’ ’e lets ’im ’ave it plumb square on the meat safe
+as ’ard as ever the Lord would let ’im put it in.”
+
+“Well?  Well?”
+
+“Vell, the Eytalian ’e got a touch of the gurgles, an’ ’e shut ’imself
+right up like a two-foot rule.  Then ’e pulled ’imself straight, an’ ’e
+gave the most awful Glory Allelujah screech as ever you ’eard.  Off ’e
+jumps from the stage an’ down the passage as ’ard as ’is ’oofs would
+carry ’im.  Up jumps the ’ole crowd, and after ’im as ’ard as they could
+move for laughin’.  They vas lyin’ in the kennel three deep all down
+Tottenham Court road wid their ’ands to their sides just vit to break
+themselves in two.  Vell, ve chased ’im down ’Olburn, an’ down Fleet
+Street, an’ down Cheapside, an’ past the ’Change, and on all the vay to
+Voppin’ an’ we only catched ’im in the shippin’ office, vere ’e vas
+askin’ ’ow soon ’e could get a passage to voreign parts.”
+
+There was much laughter and clapping of glasses upon the table at the
+conclusion of old Buckhorse’s story, and I saw the Prince of Wales hand
+something to the waiter, who brought it round and slipped it into the
+skinny hand of the veteran, who spat upon it before thrusting it into his
+pocket.  The table had in the meanwhile been cleared, and was now studded
+with bottles and glasses, while long clay pipes and tobacco-boxes were
+handed round.  My uncle never smoked, thinking that the habit might
+darken his teeth, but many of the Corinthians, and the Prince amongst the
+first of them, set the example of lighting up.  All restraint had been
+done away with, and the prize-fighters, flushed with wine, roared across
+the tables to each other, or shouted their greetings to friends at the
+other end of the room.  The amateurs, falling into the humour of their
+company, were hardly less noisy, and loudly debated the merits of the
+different men, criticizing their styles of fighting before their faces,
+and making bets upon the results of future matches.
+
+In the midst of the uproar there was an imperative rap upon the table,
+and my uncle rose to speak.  As he stood with his pale, calm face and
+fine figure, I had never seen him to greater advantage, for he seemed,
+with all his elegance, to have a quiet air of domination amongst these
+fierce fellows, like a huntsman walking carelessly through a springing
+and yapping pack.  He expressed his pleasure at seeing so many good
+sportsmen under one roof, and acknowledged the honour which had been done
+both to his guests and himself by the presence there that night of the
+illustrious personage whom he should refer to as the Earl of Chester.  He
+was sorry that the season prevented him from placing game upon the table,
+but there was so much sitting round it that it would perhaps be hardly
+missed (cheers and laughter).  The sports of the ring had, in his
+opinion, tended to that contempt of pain and of danger which had
+contributed so much in the past to the safety of the country, and which
+might, if what he heard was true, be very quickly needed once more.  If
+an enemy landed upon our shores it was then that, with our small army, we
+should be forced to fall back upon native valour trained into hardihood
+by the practice and contemplation of manly sports.  In time of peace also
+the rules of the ring had been of service in enforcing the principles of
+fair play, and in turning public opinion against that use of the knife or
+of the boot which was so common in foreign countries.  He begged,
+therefore, to drink “Success to the Fancy,” coupled with the name of John
+Jackson, who might stand as a type of all that was most admirable in
+British boxing.
+
+Jackson having replied with a readiness which many a public man might
+have envied, my uncle rose once more.
+
+“We are here to-night,” said he, “not only to celebrate the past glories
+of the prize ring, but also to arrange some sport for the future.  It
+should be easy, now that backers and fighting men are gathered together
+under one roof, to come to terms with each other.  I have myself set an
+example by making a match with Sir Lothian Hume, the terms of which will
+be communicated to you by that gentleman.”
+
+Sir Lothian rose with a paper in his hand.
+
+“The terms, your Royal Highness and gentlemen, are briefly these,” said
+he.  “My man, Crab Wilson, of Gloucester, having never yet fought a prize
+battle, is prepared to meet, upon May the 18th of this year, any man of
+any weight who may be selected by Sir Charles Tregellis.  Sir Charles
+Tregellis’s selection is limited to men below twenty or above thirty-five
+years of age, so as to exclude Belcher and the other candidates for
+championship honours.  The stakes are two thousand pounds against a
+thousand, two hundred to be paid by the winner to his man; play or pay.”
+
+It was curious to see the intense gravity of them all, fighters and
+backers, as they bent their brows and weighed the conditions of the
+match.
+
+“I am informed,” said Sir John Lade, “that Crab Wilson’s age is
+twenty-three, and that, although he has never fought a regular P.R.
+battle, he has none the less fought within ropes for a stake on many
+occasions.”
+
+“I’ve seen him half a dozen times at the least,” said Belcher.
+
+“It is precisely for that reason, Sir John, that I am laying odds of two
+to one in his favour.”
+
+“May I ask,” said the Prince, “what the exact height and weight of Wilson
+may be?”
+
+“Five foot eleven and thirteen-ten, your Royal Highness.”
+
+“Long enough and heavy enough for anything on two legs,” said Jackson,
+and the professionals all murmured their assent.
+
+“Read the rules of the fight, Sir Lothian.”
+
+“The battle to take place on Tuesday, May the 18th, at the hour of ten in
+the morning, at a spot to be afterwards named.  The ring to be twenty
+foot square.  Neither to fall without a knock-down blow, subject to the
+decision of the umpires.  Three umpires to be chosen upon the ground,
+namely, two in ordinary and one in reference.  Does that meet your
+wishes, Sir Charles?”
+
+My uncle bowed.
+
+“Have you anything to say, Wilson?”
+
+The young pugilist, who had a curious, lanky figure, and a craggy, bony
+face, passed his fingers through his close-cropped hair.
+
+“If you please, zir,” said he, with a slight west-country burr, “a
+twenty-voot ring is too small for a thirteen-stone man.”
+
+There was another murmur of professional agreement.
+
+“What would you have it, Wilson?”
+
+“Vour-an’-twenty, Sir Lothian.”
+
+“Have you any objection, Sir Charles?”
+
+“Not the slightest.”
+
+“Anything else, Wilson?”
+
+“If you please, zir, I’d like to know whom I’m vighting with.”
+
+“I understand that you have not publicly nominated your man, Sir
+Charles?”
+
+“I do not intend to do so until the very morning of the fight.  I believe
+I have that right within the terms of our wager.”
+
+“Certainly, if you choose to exercise it.”
+
+“I do so intend.  And I should be vastly pleased if Mr. Berkeley Craven
+will consent to be stake-holder.”
+
+That gentleman having willingly given his consent, the final formalities
+which led up to these humble tournaments were concluded.
+
+And then, as these full-blooded, powerful men became heated with their
+wine, angry eyes began to glare across the table, and amid the grey
+swirls of tobacco-smoke the lamp-light gleamed upon the fierce, hawk-like
+Jews, and the flushed, savage Saxons.  The old quarrel as to whether
+Jackson had or had not committed a foul by seizing Mendoza by the hair on
+the occasion of their battle at Hornchurch, eight years before, came to
+the front once more.  Dutch Sam hurled a shilling down upon the table,
+and offered to fight the Pride of Westminster for it if he ventured to
+say that Mendoza had been fairly beaten.  Joe Berks, who had grown
+noisier and more quarrelsome as the evening went on, tried to clamber
+across the table, with horrible blasphemies, to come to blows with an old
+Jew named Fighting Yussef, who had plunged into the discussion.  It
+needed very little more to finish the supper by a general and ferocious
+battle, and it was only the exertions of Jackson, Belcher, Harrison, and
+others of the cooler and steadier men, which saved us from a riot.
+
+And then, when at last this question was set aside, that of the rival
+claims to championships at different weights came on in its stead, and
+again angry words flew about and challenges were in the air.  There was
+no exact limit between the light, middle, and heavyweights, and yet it
+would make a very great difference to the standing of a boxer whether he
+should be regarded as the heaviest of the light-weights, or the lightest
+of the heavy-weights.  One claimed to be ten-stone champion, another was
+ready to take on anything at eleven, but would not run to twelve, which
+would have brought the invincible Jem Belcher down upon him.  Faulkner
+claimed to be champion of the seniors, and even old Buckhorse’s curious
+call rang out above the tumult as he turned the whole company to laughter
+and good humour again by challenging anything over eighty and under seven
+stone.
+
+But in spite of gleams of sunshine, there was thunder in the air, and
+Champion Harrison had just whispered in my ear that he was quite sure
+that we should never get through the night without trouble, and was
+advising me, if it got very bad, to take refuge under the table, when the
+landlord entered the room hurriedly and handed a note to my uncle.
+
+He read it, and then passed it to the Prince, who returned it with raised
+eyebrows and a gesture of surprise.  Then my uncle rose with the scrap of
+paper in his hand and a smile upon his lips.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said he, “there is a stranger waiting below who desires a
+fight to a finish with the best men in the room.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+THE FIGHT IN THE COACH-HOUSE.
+
+
+THE curt announcement was followed by a moment of silent surprise, and
+then by a general shout of laughter.  There might be argument as to who
+was champion at each weight; but there could be no question that all the
+champions of all the weights were seated round the tables.  An audacious
+challenge which embraced them one and all, without regard to size or age,
+could hardly be regarded otherwise than as a joke—but it was a joke which
+might be a dear one for the joker.
+
+“Is this genuine?” asked my uncle.
+
+“Yes, Sir Charles,” answered the landlord; “the man is waiting below.”
+
+“It’s a kid!” cried several of the fighting-men.  “Some cove is a
+gammonin’ us.”
+
+“Don’t you believe it,” answered the landlord.  “He’s a real slap-up
+Corinthian, by his dress; and he means what he says, or else I ain’t no
+judge of a man.”
+
+My uncle whispered for a few moments with the Prince of Wales.  “Well,
+gentlemen,” said he, at last, “the night is still young, and if any of
+you should wish to show the company a little of your skill, you could not
+ask a better opportunity.”
+
+“What weight is he, Bill?” asked Jem Belcher.
+
+“He’s close on six foot, and I should put him well into the thirteen
+stones when he’s buffed.”
+
+“Heavy metal!” cried Jackson.  “Who takes him on?”
+
+They all wanted to, from nine-stone Dutch Sam upwards.  The air was
+filled with their hoarse shouts and their arguments why each should be
+the chosen one.  To fight when they were flushed with wine and ripe for
+mischief—above all, to fight before so select a company with the Prince
+at the ringside, was a chance which did not often come in their way.
+Only Jackson, Belcher, Mendoza, and one or two others of the senior and
+more famous men remained silent, thinking it beneath their dignity that
+they should condescend to so irregular a bye-battle.
+
+“Well, you can’t all fight him,” remarked Jackson, when the babel had
+died away.  “It’s for the chairman to choose.”
+
+“Perhaps your Royal Highness has a preference,” said my uncle.
+
+“By Jove, I’d take him on myself if my position was different,” said the
+Prince, whose face was growing redder and his eyes more glazed.  “You’ve
+seen me with the mufflers, Jackson!  You know my form!”
+
+“I’ve seen your Royal Highness, and I have felt your Royal Highness,”
+said the courtly Jackson.
+
+“Perhaps Jem Belcher would give us an exhibition,” said my uncle.
+
+Belcher smiled and shook his handsome head.
+
+“There’s my brother Tom here has never been blooded in London yet, sir.
+He might make a fairer match of it.”
+
+“Give him over to me!” roared Joe Berks.  “I’ve been waitin’ for a turn
+all evenin’, an’ I’ll fight any man that tries to take my place.  ’E’s my
+meat, my masters.  Leave ’im to me if you want to see ’ow a calf’s ’ead
+should be dressed.  If you put Tom Belcher before me I’ll fight Tom
+Belcher, an’ for that matter I’ll fight Jem Belcher, or Bill Belcher, or
+any other Belcher that ever came out of Bristol.”
+
+It was clear that Berks had got to the stage when he must fight some one.
+His heavy face was gorged and the veins stood out on his low forehead,
+while his fierce grey eyes looked viciously from man to man in quest of a
+quarrel.  His great red hands were bunched into huge, gnarled fists, and
+he shook one of them menacingly as his drunken gaze swept round the
+tables.
+
+“I think you’ll agree with me, gentlemen, that Joe Berks would be all the
+better for some fresh air and exercise,” said my uncle.  “With the
+concurrence of His Royal Highness and of the company, I shall select him
+as our champion on this occasion.”
+
+“You do me proud,” cried the fellow, staggering to his feet and pulling
+at his coat.  “If I don’t glut him within the five minutes, may I never
+see Shropshire again.”
+
+“Wait a bit, Berks,” cried several of the amateurs.  “Where’s it going to
+be held?”
+
+“Where you like, masters.  I’ll fight him in a sawpit, or on the outside
+of a coach if it please you.  Put us toe to toe, and leave the rest with
+me.”
+
+“They can’t fight here with all this litter,” said my uncle.  “Where
+shall it be?”
+
+“’Pon my soul, Tregellis,” cried the Prince, “I think our unknown friend
+might have a word to say upon that matter.  He’ll be vastly ill-used if
+you don’t let him have his own choice of conditions.”
+
+“You are right, sir.  We must have him up.”
+
+“That’s easy enough,” said the landlord, “for here he comes through the
+doorway.”
+
+I glanced round and had a side view of a tall and well-dressed young man
+in a long, brown travelling coat and a black felt hat.  The next instant
+he had turned and I had clutched with both my hands on to Champion
+Harrison’s arm.
+
+“Harrison!” I gasped.  “It’s Boy Jim!”
+
+And yet somehow the possibility and even the probability of it had
+occurred to me from the beginning, and I believe that it had to Harrison
+also, for I had noticed that his face grew grave and troubled from the
+very moment that there was talk of the stranger below.  Now, the instant
+that the buzz of surprise and admiration caused by Jim’s face and figure
+had died away, Harrison was on his feet, gesticulating in his excitement.
+
+“It’s my nephew Jim, gentlemen,” he cried.  “He’s not twenty yet, and
+it’s no doing of mine that he should be here.”
+
+“Let him alone, Harrison,” cried Jackson.  “He’s big enough to take care
+of himself.”
+
+“This matter has gone rather far,” said my uncle.  “I think, Harrison,
+that you are too good a sportsman to prevent your nephew from showing
+whether he takes after his uncle.”
+
+“It’s very different from me,” cried Harrison, in great distress.  “But
+I’ll tell you what I’ll do, gentlemen.  I never thought to stand up in a
+ring again, but I’ll take on Joe Berks with pleasure, just to give a bit
+o’ sport to this company.”
+
+Boy Jim stepped across and laid his hand upon the prize-fighter’s
+shoulder.
+
+“It must be so, uncle,” I heard him whisper.  “I am sorry to go against
+your wishes, but I have made up my mind, and I must carry it through.”
+
+Harrison shrugged his huge shoulders.
+
+“Jim, Jim, you don’t know what you are doing!  But I’ve heard you speak
+like that before, boy, and I know that it ends in your getting your way.”
+
+“I trust, Harrison, that your opposition is withdrawn?” said my uncle.
+
+“Can I not take his place?”
+
+“You would not have it said that I gave a challenge and let another carry
+it out?” whispered Jim.  “This is my one chance.  For Heaven’s sake don’t
+stand in my way.”
+
+The smith’s broad and usually stolid face was all working with his
+conflicting emotions.  At last he banged his fist down upon the table.
+
+“It’s no fault of mine!” he cried.  “It was to be and it is.  Jim, boy,
+for the Lord’s sake remember your distances, and stick to out-fightin’
+with a man that could give you a stone.”
+
+“I was sure that Harrison would not stand in the way of sport,” said my
+uncle.  “We are glad that you have stepped up, that we might consult you
+as to the arrangements for giving effect to your very sporting
+challenge.”
+
+“Whom am I to fight?” asked Jim, looking round at the company, who were
+now all upon their feet.
+
+“Young man, you’ll know enough of who you ’ave to fight before you are
+through with it,” cried Berks, lurching heavily through the crowd.
+“You’ll need a friend to swear to you before I’ve finished, d’ye see?”
+
+Jim looked at him with disgust in every line of his face.
+
+“Surely you are not going to set me to fight a drunken man!” said he.
+“Where is Jem Belcher?”
+
+“My name, young man.”
+
+“I should be glad to try you, if I may.”
+
+“You must work up to me, my lad.  You don’t take a ladder at one jump,
+but you do it rung by rung.  Show yourself to be a match for me, and I’ll
+give you a turn.”
+
+“I’m much obliged to you.”
+
+“And I like the look of you, and wish you well,” said Belcher, holding
+out his hand.  They were not unlike each other, either in face or figure,
+though the Bristol man was a few years the older, and a murmur of
+critical admiration was heard as the two tall, lithe figures, and keen,
+clean-cut faces were contrasted.
+
+“Have you any choice where the fight takes place?” asked my uncle.
+
+“I am in your hands, sir,” said Jim.
+
+“Why not go round to the Five’s Court?” suggested Sir John Lade.
+
+“Yes, let us go to the Five’s Court.”
+
+But this did not at all suit the views of the landlord, who saw in this
+lucky incident a chance of reaping a fresh harvest from his spendthrift
+company.
+
+“If it please you,” he cried, “there is no need to go so far.  My
+coach-house at the back of the yard is empty, and a better place for a
+mill you’ll never find.”
+
+There was a general shout in favour of the coach-house, and those who
+were nearest the door began to slip through, in the hope of scouring the
+best places.  My stout neighbour, Bill Warr, pulled Harrison to one side.
+
+“I’d stop it if I were you,” he whispered.
+
+“I would if I could.  It’s no wish of mine that he should fight.  But
+there’s no turning him when once his mind is made up.”  All his own
+fights put together had never reduced the pugilist to such a state of
+agitation.
+
+“Wait on ’im yourself, then, and chuck up the sponge when things begin to
+go wrong.  You know Joe Berks’s record?”
+
+“He’s since my time.”
+
+“Well, ’e’s a terror, that’s all.  It’s only Belcher that can master ’im.
+You see the man for yourself, six foot, fourteen stone, and full of the
+devil.  Belcher’s beat ’im twice, but the second time ’e ’ad all ’is work
+to do it.”
+
+“Well, well, we’ve got to go through with it.  You’ve not seen Boy Jim
+put his mawleys up, or maybe you’d think better of his chances.  When he
+was short of sixteen he licked the Cock of the South Downs, and he’s come
+on a long way since then.”
+
+The company was swarming through the door and clattering down the stair,
+so we followed in the stream.  A fine rain was falling, and the yellow
+lights from the windows glistened upon the wet cobblestones of the yard.
+How welcome was that breath of sweet, damp air after the fetid atmosphere
+of the supper-room.  At the other end of the yard was an open door
+sharply outlined by the gleam of lanterns within, and through this they
+poured, amateurs and fighting-men jostling each other in their eagerness
+to get to the front.  For my own part, being a smallish man, I should
+have seen nothing had I not found an upturned bucket in a corner, upon
+which I perched myself with the wall at my back.
+
+It was a large room with a wooden floor and an open square in the
+ceiling, which was fringed with the heads of the ostlers and stable boys
+who were looking down from the harness-room above.  A carriage-lamp was
+slung in each corner, and a very large stable-lantern hung from a rafter
+in the centre.  A coil of rope had been brought in, and under the
+direction of Jackson four men had been stationed to hold it.
+
+“What space do you give them?” asked my uncle.
+
+“Twenty-four, as they are both big ones, sir.”
+
+“Very good, and half-minutes between rounds, I suppose?  I’ll umpire if
+Sir Lothian Hume will do the same, and you can hold the watch and
+referee, Jackson.”
+
+With great speed and exactness every preparation was rapidly made by
+these experienced men.  Mendoza and Dutch Sam were commissioned to attend
+to Berks, while Belcher and Jack Harrison did the same for Boy Jim.
+Sponges, towels, and some brandy in a bladder were passed over the heads
+of the crowd for the use of the seconds.
+
+“Here’s our man,” cried Belcher.  “Come along, Berks, or we’ll go to
+fetch you.”
+
+Jim appeared in the ring stripped to the waist, with a coloured
+handkerchief tied round his middle.  A shout of admiration came from the
+spectators as they looked upon the fine lines of his figure, and I found
+myself roaring with the rest.  His shoulders were sloping rather than
+bulky, and his chest was deep rather than broad, but the muscle was all
+in the right place, rippling down in long, low curves from neck to
+shoulder, and from shoulder to elbow.  His work at the anvil had
+developed his arms to their utmost, and his healthy country living gave a
+sleek gloss to his ivory skin, which shone in the lamplight.  His
+expression was full of spirit and confidence, and he wore a grim sort of
+half-smile which I had seen many a time in our boyhood, and which meant,
+I knew, that his pride had set iron hard, and that his senses would fail
+him long before his courage.
+
+Joe Berks in the meanwhile had swaggered in and stood with folded arms
+between his seconds in the opposite corner.  His face had none of the
+eager alertness of his opponent, and his skin, of a dead white, with
+heavy folds about the chest and ribs, showed, even to my inexperienced
+eyes, that he was not a man who should fight without training.  A life of
+toping and ease had left him flabby and gross.  On the other hand, he was
+famous for his mettle and for his hitting power, so that, even in the
+face of the advantages of youth and condition, the betting was three to
+one in his favour.  His heavy-jowled, clean-shaven face expressed
+ferocity as well as courage, and he stood with his small, blood-shot eyes
+fixed viciously upon Jim, and his lumpy shoulders stooping a little
+forwards, like a fierce hound training on a leash.
+
+The hubbub of the betting had risen until it drowned all other sounds,
+men shouting their opinions from one side of the coach-house to the
+other, and waving their hands to attract attention, or as a sign that
+they had accepted a wager.  Sir John Lade, standing just in front of me,
+was roaring out the odds against Jim, and laying them freely with those
+who fancied the appearance of the unknown.
+
+“I’ve seen Berks fight,” said he to the Honourable Berkeley Craven.  “No
+country hawbuck is going to knock out a man with such a record.”
+
+“He may be a country hawbuck,” the other answered, “but I have been
+reckoned a judge of anything either on two legs or four, and I tell you,
+Sir John, that I never saw a man who looked better bred in my life.  Are
+you still laying against him?”
+
+“Three to one.”
+
+“Have you once in hundreds.”
+
+“Very good, Craven!  There they go!  Berks!  Berks!  Bravo!  Berks!
+Bravo!  I think, Craven, that I shall trouble you for that hundred.”
+
+The two men had stood up to each other, Jim as light upon his feet as a
+goat, with his left well out and his right thrown across the lower part
+of his chest, while Berks held both arms half extended and his feet
+almost level, so that he might lead off with either side.  For an instant
+they looked each other over, and then Berks, ducking his head and rushing
+in with a handover-hand style of hitting, bored Jim down into his corner.
+It was a backward slip rather than a knockdown, but a thin trickle of
+blood was seen at the corner of Jim’s mouth.  In an instant the seconds
+had seized their men and carried them back into their corners.
+
+“Do you mind doubling our bet?” said Berkeley Craven, who was craning his
+neck to get a glimpse of Jim.
+
+“Four to one on Berks!  Four to one on Berks!” cried the ringsiders.
+
+“The odds have gone up, you see.  Will you have four to one in hundreds?”
+
+“Very good, Sir John.”
+
+“You seem to fancy him more for having been knocked down.”
+
+“He was pushed down, but he stopped every blow, and I liked the look on
+his face as he got up again.”
+
+“Well, it’s the old stager for me.  Here they come again!  He’s got a
+pretty style, and he covers his points well, but it isn’t the best
+looking that wins.”
+
+They were at it again, and I was jumping about upon my bucket in my
+excitement.  It was evident that Berks meant to finish the battle
+off-hand, whilst Jim, with two of the most experienced men in England to
+advise him, was quite aware that his correct tactics were to allow the
+ruffian to expend his strength and wind in vain.  There was something
+horrible in the ferocious energy of Berks’s hitting, every blow fetching
+a grunt from him as he smashed it in, and after each I gazed at Jim, as I
+have gazed at a stranded vessel upon the Sussex beach when wave after
+wave has roared over it, fearing each time that I should find it
+miserably mangled.  But still the lamplight shone upon the lad’s clear,
+alert face, upon his well-opened eyes and his firm-set mouth, while the
+blows were taken upon his forearm or allowed, by a quick duck of the
+head, to whistle over his shoulder.  But Berks was artful as well as
+violent.  Gradually he worked Jim back into an angle of the ropes from
+which there was no escape, and then, when he had him fairly penned, he
+sprang upon him like a tiger.  What happened was so quick that I cannot
+set its sequence down in words, but I saw Jim make a quick stoop under
+the swinging arms, and at the same instant I heard a sharp, ringing
+smack, and there was Jim dancing about in the middle of the ring, and
+Berks lying upon his side on the floor, with his hand to his eye.
+
+How they roared!  Prize-fighters, Corinthians, Prince, stable-boy, and
+landlord were all shouting at the top of their lungs.  Old Buckhorse was
+skipping about on a box beside me, shrieking out criticisms and advice in
+strange, obsolete ring-jargon, which no one could understand.  His dull
+eyes were shining, his parchment face was quivering with excitement, and
+his strange musical call rang out above all the hubbub.  The two men were
+hurried to their corners, one second sponging them down and the other
+flapping a towel in front of their face; whilst they, with arms hanging
+down and legs extended, tried to draw all the air they could into their
+lungs in the brief space allowed them.
+
+“Where’s your country hawbuck now?” cried Craven, triumphantly.  “Did
+ever you witness anything more masterly?”
+
+“He’s no Johnny Raw, certainly,” said Sir John, shaking his head.  “What
+odds are you giving on Berks, Lord Sole?”
+
+“Two to one.”
+
+“I take you twice in hundreds.”
+
+“Here’s Sir John Lade hedging!” cried my uncle, smiling back at us over
+his shoulder.
+
+“Time!” said Jackson, and the two men sprang forward to the mark again.
+
+This round was a good deal shorter than that which had preceded it.
+Berks’s orders evidently were to close at any cost, and so make use of
+his extra weight and strength before the superior condition of his
+antagonist could have time to tell.  On the other hand, Jim, after his
+experience in the last round, was less disposed to make any great
+exertion to keep him at arms’ length.  He led at Berks’s head, as he came
+rushing in, and missed him, receiving a severe body blow in return, which
+left the imprint of four angry knuckles above his ribs.  As they closed
+Jim caught his opponent’s bullet head under his arm for an instant, and
+put a couple of half-arm blows in; but the prize-fighter pulled him over
+by his weight, and the two fell panting side by side upon the ground.
+Jim sprang up, however, and walked over to his corner, while Berks,
+distressed by his evening’s dissipation, leaned one arm upon Mendoza and
+the other upon Dutch Sam as he made for his seat.
+
+“Bellows to mend!” cried Jem Belcher.  “Where’s the four to one now?”
+
+“Give us time to get the lid off our pepper-box,” said Mendoza.  “We mean
+to make a night of it.”
+
+“Looks like it,” said Jack Harrison.  “He’s shut one of his eyes already.
+Even money that my boy wins it!”
+
+“How much?” asked several voices.
+
+“Two pound four and threepence,” cried Harrison, counting out all his
+worldly wealth.
+
+“Time!” said Jackson once more.
+
+They were both at the mark in an instant, Jim as full of sprightly
+confidence as ever, and Berks with a fixed grin upon his bull-dog face
+and a most vicious gleam in the only eye which was of use to him.  His
+half-minute had not enabled him to recover his breath, and his huge,
+hairy chest was rising and falling with a quick, loud panting like a
+spent hound.  “Go in, boy!  Bustle him!” roared Harrison and Belcher.
+“Get your wind, Joe; get your wind!” cried the Jews.  So now we had a
+reversal of tactics, for it was Jim who went in to hit with all the
+vigour of his young strength and unimpaired energy, while it was the
+savage Berks who was paying his debt to Nature for the many injuries
+which he had done her.  He gasped, he gurgled, his face grew purple in
+his attempts to get his breath, while with his long left arm extended and
+his right thrown across, he tried to screen himself from the attack of
+his wiry antagonist.  “Drop when he hits!” cried Mendoza.  “Drop and have
+a rest!”
+
+But there was no shyness or shiftiness about Berks’s fighting.  He was
+always a gallant ruffian, who disdained to go down before an antagonist
+as long as his legs would sustain him.  He propped Jim off with his long
+arm, and though the lad sprang lightly round him looking for an opening,
+he was held off as if a forty-inch bar of iron were between them.  Every
+instant now was in favour of Berks, and already his breathing was easier
+and the bluish tinge fading from his face.  Jim knew that his chance of a
+speedy victory was slipping away from him, and he came back again and
+again as swift as a flash to the attack without being able to get past
+the passive defence of the trained fighting-man.  It was at such a moment
+that ringcraft was needed, and luckily for Jim two masters of it were at
+his back.
+
+“Get your left on his mark, boy,” they shouted, “then go to his head with
+the right.”
+
+Jim heard and acted on the instant.  Plunk! came his left just where his
+antagonist’s ribs curved from his breast-bone.  The force of the blow was
+half broken by Berks’s elbow, but it served its purpose of bringing
+forward his head.  Spank! went the right, with the clear, crisp sound of
+two billiard balls clapping together, and Berks reeled, flung up his
+arms, spun round, and fell in a huge, fleshy heap upon the floor.  His
+seconds were on him instantly, and propped him up in a sitting position,
+his head rolling helplessly from one shoulder to the other, and finally
+toppling backwards with his chin pointed to the ceiling.  Dutch Sam
+thrust the brandy-bladder between his teeth, while Mendoza shook him
+savagely and howled insults in his ear, but neither the spirits nor the
+sense of injury could break into that serene insensibility.  “Time!” was
+duly called, and the Jews, seeing that the affair was over, let their
+man’s head fall back with a crack upon the floor, and there he lay, his
+huge arms and legs asprawl, whilst the Corinthians and fighting-men
+crowded past him to shake the hand of his conqueror.
+
+For my part, I tried also to press through the throng, but it was no easy
+task for one of the smallest and weakest men in the room.  On all sides
+of me I heard a brisk discussion from amateurs and professionals of Jim’s
+performance and of his prospects.
+
+“He’s the best bit of new stuff that I’ve seen since Jem Belcher fought
+his first fight with Paddington Jones at Wormwood Scrubbs four years ago
+last April,” said Berkeley Craven.  “You’ll see him with the belt round
+his waist before he’s five-and-twenty, or I am no judge of a man.”
+
+“That handsome face of his has cost me a cool five hundred,” grumbled Sir
+John Lade.  “Who’d have thought he was such a punishing hitter?”
+
+“For all that,” said another, “I am confident that if Joe Berks had been
+sober he would have eaten him.  Besides, the lad was in training, and the
+other would burst like an overdone potato if he were hit.  I never saw a
+man so soft, or with his wind in such condition.  Put the men in
+training, and it’s a horse to a hen on the bruiser.”
+
+Some agreed with the last speaker and some were against him, so that a
+brisk argument was being carried on around me.  In the midst of it the
+Prince took his departure, which was the signal for the greater part of
+the company to make for the door.  In this way I was able at last to
+reach the corner where Jim had just finished his dressing, while Champion
+Harrison, with tears of joy still shining upon his cheeks, was helping
+him on with his overcoat.
+
+“In four rounds!” he kept repeating in a sort of an ecstasy.  “Joe Berks
+in four rounds!  And it took Jem Belcher fourteen!”
+
+“Well, Roddy,” cried Jim, holding out his hand, “I told you that I would
+come to London and make my name known.”
+
+“It was splendid, Jim!”
+
+“Dear old Roddy!  I saw your white face staring at me from the corner.
+You are not changed, for all your grand clothes and your London friends.”
+
+“It is you who are changed, Jim,” said I; “I hardly knew you when you
+came into the room.”
+
+“Nor I,” cried the smith.  “Where got you all these fine feathers, Jim?
+Sure I am that it was not your aunt who helped you to the first step
+towards the prize-ring.”
+
+“Miss Hinton has been my friend—the best friend I ever had.”
+
+“Humph!  I thought as much,” grumbled the smith.  “Well, it is no doing
+of mine, Jim, and you must bear witness to that when we go home again.  I
+don’t know what—but, there, it is done, and it can’t be helped.  After
+all, she’s—Now, the deuce take my clumsy tongue!”
+
+I could not tell whether it was the wine which he had taken at supper or
+the excitement of Boy Jim’s victory which was affecting Harrison, but his
+usually placid face wore a most disturbed expression, and his manner
+seemed to betray an alternation of exultation and embarrassment.  Jim
+looked curiously at him, wondering evidently what it was that lay behind
+these abrupt sentences and sudden silences.  The coach-house had in the
+mean time been cleared; Berks with many curses had staggered at last to
+his feet, and had gone off in company with two other bruisers, while Jem
+Belcher alone remained chatting very earnestly with my uncle.
+
+“Very good, Belcher,” I heard my uncle say.
+
+“It would be a real pleasure to me to do it, sir,” and the famous
+prize-fighter, as the two walked towards us.
+
+“I wished to ask you, Jim Harrison, whether you would undertake to be my
+champion in the fight against Crab Wilson of Gloucester?” said my uncle.
+
+“That is what I want, Sir Charles—to have a chance of fighting my way
+upwards.”
+
+“There are heavy stakes upon the event—very heavy stakes,” said my uncle.
+“You will receive two hundred pounds, if you win.  Does that satisfy
+you?”
+
+“I shall fight for the honour, and because I wish to be thought worthy of
+being matched against Jem Belcher.”
+
+Belcher laughed good-humouredly.
+
+“You are going the right way about it, lad,” said he.  “But you had a
+soft thing on to-night with a drunken man who was out of condition.”
+
+“I did not wish to fight him,” said Jim, flushing.
+
+“Oh, I know you have spirit enough to fight anything on two legs.  I knew
+that the instant I clapped eyes on you; but I want you to remember that
+when you fight Crab Wilson, you will fight the most promising man from
+the west, and that the best man of the west is likely to be the best man
+in England.  He’s as quick and as long in the reach as you are, and he’ll
+train himself to the last half-ounce of tallow.  I tell you this now,
+d’ye see, because if I’m to have the charge of you—”
+
+“Charge of me!”
+
+“Yes,” said my uncle.  “Belcher has consented to train you for the coming
+battle if you are willing to enter.”
+
+“I am sure I am very much obliged to you,” cried Jim, heartily.  “Unless
+my uncle should wish to train me, there is no one I would rather have.”
+
+“Nay, Jim; I’ll stay with you a few days, but Belcher knows a deal more
+about training than I do.  Where will the quarters be?”
+
+“I thought it would be handy for you if we fixed it at the George, at
+Crawley.  Then, if we have choice of place, we might choose Crawley Down,
+for, except Molesey Hurst, and, maybe, Smitham Bottom, there isn’t a spot
+in the country that would compare with it for a mill.  Do you agree with
+that?”
+
+“With all my heart,” said Jim.
+
+“Then you’re my man from this hour on, d’ye see?” said Belcher.  “Your
+food is mine, and your drink is mine, and your sleep is mine, and all
+you’ve to do is just what you are told.  We haven’t an hour to lose, for
+Wilson has been in half-training this month back.  You saw his empty
+glass to-night.”
+
+“Jim’s fit to fight for his life at the present moment,” said Harrison.
+“But we’ll both come down to Crawley to-morrow.  So good night, Sir
+Charles.”
+
+“Good night, Roddy,” said Jim.  “You’ll come down to Crawley and see me
+at my training quarters, will you not?”
+
+And I heartily promised that I would.
+
+“You must be more careful, nephew,” said my uncle, as we rattled home in
+his model _vis-à-vis_.  “_En première jeunesse_ one is a little inclined
+to be ruled by one’s heart rather than by one’s reason.  Jim Harrison
+seems to be a most respectable young fellow, but after all he is a
+blacksmith’s apprentice, and a candidate for the prize-ring.  There is a
+vast gap between his position and that of my own blood relation, and you
+must let him feel that you are his superior.”
+
+“He is the oldest and dearest friend that I have in the world, sir,” I
+answered.  “We were boys together, and have never had a secret from each
+other.  As to showing him that I am his superior, I don’t know how I can
+do that, for I know very well that he is mine.”
+
+“Hum!” said my uncle, drily, and it was the last word that he addressed
+to me that night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+THE COFFEE-ROOM OF FLADONG’S.
+
+
+SO Boy Jim went down to the George, at Crawley, under the charge of Jim
+Belcher and Champion Harrison, to train for his great fight with Crab
+Wilson, of Gloucester, whilst every club and bar parlour of London rang
+with the account of how he had appeared at a supper of Corinthians, and
+beaten the formidable Joe Berks in four rounds.  I remembered that
+afternoon at Friar’s Oak when Jim had told me that he would make his name
+known, and his words had come true sooner than he could have expected it,
+for, go where one might, one heard of nothing but the match between Sir
+Lothian Hume and Sir Charles Tregellis, and the points of the two
+probable combatants.  The betting was still steadily in favour of Wilson,
+for he had a number of bye-battles to set against this single victory of
+Jim’s, and it was thought by connoisseurs who had seen him spar that the
+singular defensive tactics which had given him his nickname would prove
+very puzzling to a raw antagonist.  In height, strength, and reputation
+for gameness there was very little to choose between them, but Wilson had
+been the more severely tested.
+
+It was but a few days before the battle that my father made his promised
+visit to London.  The seaman had no love of cities, and was happier
+wandering over the Downs, and turning his glass upon every topsail which
+showed above the horizon, than when finding his way among crowded
+streets, where, as he complained, it was impossible to keep a course by
+the sun, and hard enough by dead reckoning.  Rumours of war were in the
+air, however, and it was necessary that he should use his influence with
+Lord Nelson if a vacancy were to be found either for himself or for me.
+
+My uncle had just set forth, as was his custom of an evening, clad in his
+green riding-frock, his plate buttons, his Cordovan boots, and his round
+hat, to show himself upon his crop-tailed tit in the Mall.  I had
+remained behind, for, indeed, I had already made up my mind that I had no
+calling for this fashionable life.  These men, with their small waists,
+their gestures, and their unnatural ways, had become wearisome to me, and
+even my uncle, with his cold and patronizing manner, filled me with very
+mixed feelings.  My thoughts were back in Sussex, and I was dreaming of
+the kindly, simple ways of the country, when there came a rat-tat at the
+knocker, the ring of a hearty voice, and there, in the doorway, was the
+smiling, weather-beaten face, with the puckered eyelids and the light
+blue eyes.
+
+“Why, Roddy, you are grand indeed!” he cried.  “But I had rather see you
+with the King’s blue coat upon your back than with all these frills and
+ruffles.”
+
+“And I had rather wear it, father.”
+
+“It warms my heart to hear you say so.  Lord Nelson has promised me that
+he would find a berth for you, and to-morrow we shall seek him out and
+remind him of it.  But where is your uncle?”
+
+“He is riding in the Mall.”
+
+A look of relief passed over my father’s honest face, for he was never
+very easy in his brother-in-law’s company.  “I have been to the
+Admiralty,” said he, “and I trust that I shall have a ship when war
+breaks out; by all accounts it will not be long first.  Lord St. Vincent
+told me so with his own lips.  But I am at Fladong’s, Rodney, where, if
+you will come and sup with me, you will see some of my messmates from the
+Mediterranean.”
+
+When you think that in the last year of the war we had 140,000 seamen and
+mariners afloat, commanded by 4000 officers, and that half of these had
+been turned adrift when the Peace of Amiens laid their ships up in the
+Hamoaze or Portsdown creek, you will understand that London, as well as
+the dockyard towns, was full of seafarers.  You could not walk the
+streets without catching sight of the gipsy-faced, keen-eyed men whose
+plain clothes told of their thin purses as plainly as their listless air
+showed their weariness of a life of forced and unaccustomed inaction.
+Amid the dark streets and brick houses there was something out of place
+in their appearance, as when the sea-gulls, driven by stress of weather,
+are seen in the Midland shires.  Yet while prize-courts procrastinated,
+or there was a chance of an appointment by showing their sunburned faces
+at the Admiralty, so long they would continue to pace with their
+quarter-deck strut down Whitehall, or to gather of an evening to discuss
+the events of the last war or the chances of the next at Fladong’s, in
+Oxford Street, which was reserved as entirely for the Navy as Slaughter’s
+was for the Army, or Ibbetson’s for the Church of England.
+
+It did not surprise me, therefore, that we should find the large room in
+which we supped crowded with naval men, but I remember that what did
+cause me some astonishment was to observe that all these sailors, who had
+served under the most varying conditions in all quarters of the globe,
+from the Baltic to the East Indies, should have been moulded into so
+uniform a type that they were more like each other than brother is
+commonly to brother.  The rules of the service insured that every face
+should be clean-shaven, every head powdered, and every neck covered by
+the little queue of natural hair tied with a black silk ribbon.  Biting
+winds and tropical suns had combined to darken them, whilst the habit of
+command and the menace of ever-recurring dangers had stamped them all
+with the same expression of authority and of alertness.  There were some
+jovial faces amongst them, but the older officers, with their deep-lined
+cheeks and their masterful noses, were, for the most part, as austere as
+so many weather-beaten ascetics from the desert.  Lonely watches, and a
+discipline which cut them off from all companionship, had left their mark
+upon those Red Indian faces.  For my part, I could hardly eat my supper
+for watching them.  Young as I was, I knew that if there were any freedom
+left in Europe it was to these men that we owed it; and I seemed to read
+upon their grim, harsh features the record of that long ten years of
+struggle which had swept the tricolour from the seas.
+
+When we had finished our supper, my father led me into the great
+coffee-room, where a hundred or more officers may have been assembled,
+drinking their wine and smoking their long clay pipes, until the air was
+as thick as the main-deck in a close-fought action.  As we entered we
+found ourselves face to face with an elderly officer who was coming out.
+He was a man with large, thoughtful eyes, and a full, placid face—such a
+face as one would expect from a philosopher and a philanthropist, rather
+than from a fighting seaman.
+
+“Here’s Cuddie Collingwood,” whispered my father.
+
+“Halloa, Lieutenant Stone!” cried the famous admiral very cheerily.  “I
+have scarce caught a glimpse of you since you came aboard the _Excellent_
+after St. Vincent.  You had the luck to be at the Nile also, I
+understand?”
+
+“I was third of the _Theseus_, under Millar, sir.”
+
+“It nearly broke my heart to have missed it.  I have not yet outlived it.
+To think of such a gallant service, and I engaged in harassing the
+market-boats, the miserable cabbage-carriers of St. Luccars!”
+
+“Your plight was better than mine, Sir Cuthbert,” said a voice from
+behind us, and a large man in the full uniform of a post-captain took a
+step forward to include himself in our circle.  His mastiff face was
+heavy with emotion, and he shook his head miserably as he spoke.
+
+“Yes, yes, Troubridge, I can understand and sympathize with your
+feelings.”
+
+“I passed through torment that night, Collingwood.  It left a mark on me
+that I shall never lose until I go over the ship’s side in a canvas
+cover.  To have my beautiful _Culloden_ laid on a sandbank just out of
+gunshot.  To hear and see the fight the whole night through, and never to
+pull a lanyard or take the tompions out of my guns.  Twice I opened my
+pistol-case to blow out my brains, and it was but the thought that Nelson
+might have a use for me that held me back.”
+
+Collingwood shook the hand of the unfortunate captain.
+
+“Admiral Nelson was not long in finding a use for you, Troubridge,” said
+he.  “We have all heard of your siege of Capua, and how you ran up your
+ship’s guns without trenches or parallels, and fired point-blank through
+the embrasures.”
+
+The melancholy cleared away from the massive face of the big seaman, and
+his deep laughter filled the room.
+
+“I’m not clever enough or slow enough for their Z-Z fashions,” said he.
+“We got alongside and slapped it in through their port-holes until they
+struck their colours.  But where have you been, Sir Cuthbert?”
+
+“With my wife and my two little lasses at Morpeth in the North Country.
+I have but seen them this once in ten years, and it may be ten more, for
+all I know, ere I see them again.  I have been doing good work for the
+fleet up yonder.”
+
+“I had thought, sir, that it was inland,” said my father.
+
+Collingwood took a little black bag out of his pocket and shook it.
+
+“Inland it is,” said he, “and yet I have done good work for the fleet
+there.  What do you suppose I hold in this bag?”
+
+“Bullets,” said Troubridge.
+
+“Something that a sailor needs even more than that,” answered the
+admiral, and turning it over he tilted a pile of acorns on to his palm.
+“I carry them with me in my country walks, and where I see a fruitful
+nook I thrust one deep with the end of my cane.  My oak trees may fight
+those rascals over the water when I am long forgotten.  Do you know,
+lieutenant, how many oaks go to make an eighty-gun ship?”
+
+My father shook his head.
+
+“Two thousand, no less.  For every two-decked ship that carries the white
+ensign there is a grove the less in England.  So how are our grandsons to
+beat the French if we do not give them the trees with which to build
+their ships?”
+
+He replaced his bag in his pocket, and then, passing his arm through
+Troubridge’s, they went through the door together.
+
+“There’s a man whose life might help you to trim your own course,” said
+my father, as we took our seats at a vacant table.  “He is ever the same
+quiet gentleman, with his thoughts busy for the comfort of his ship’s
+company, and his heart with his wife and children whom he has so seldom
+seen.  It is said in the fleet that an oath has never passed his lips,
+Rodney, though how he managed when he was first lieutenant of a raw crew
+is more than I can conceive.  But they all love Cuddie, for they know
+he’s an angel to fight.  How d’ye do, Captain Foley?  My respects, Sir
+Ed’ard!  Why, if they could but press the company, they would man a
+corvette with flag officers.”
+
+“There’s many a man here, Rodney,” continued my father, as he glanced
+about him, “whose name may never find its way into any book save his own
+ship’s log, but who in his own way has set as fine an example as any
+admiral of them all.  We know them, and talk of them in the fleet, though
+they may never be bawled in the streets of London.  There’s as much
+seamanship and pluck in a good cutter action as in a line-o’-battleship
+fight, though you may not come by a title nor the thanks of Parliament
+for it.  There’s Hamilton, for example, the quiet, pale-faced man who is
+learning against the pillar.  It was he who, with six rowing-boats, cut
+out the 44-gun frigate _Hermione_ from under the muzzles of two hundred
+shore-guns in the harbour of Puerto Cabello.  No finer action was done in
+the whole war.  There’s Jaheel Brenton, with the whiskers.  It was he who
+attacked twelve Spanish gunboats in his one little brig, and made four of
+them strike to him.  There’s Walker, of the _Rose_ cutter, who, with
+thirteen men, engaged three French privateers with crews of a hundred and
+forty-six.  He sank one, captured one, and chased the third.  How are
+you, Captain Ball?  I hope I see you well?”
+
+Two or three of my father’s acquaintances who had been sitting close by
+drew up their chairs to us, and soon quite a circle had formed, all
+talking loudly and arguing upon sea matters, shaking their long,
+red-tipped pipes at each other as they spoke.  My father whispered in my
+ear that his neighbour was Captain Foley, of the _Goliath_, who led the
+van at the Nile, and that the tall, thin, foxy-haired man opposite was
+Lord Cochrane, the most dashing frigate captain in the Service.  Even at
+Friar’s Oak we had heard how, in the little _Speedy_, of fourteen small
+guns with fifty-four men, he had carried by boarding the Spanish frigate
+_Gamo_ with her crew of three hundred.  It was easy to see that he was a
+quick, irascible, high-blooded man, for he was talking hotly about his
+grievances with a flush of anger upon his freckled cheeks.
+
+“We shall never do any good upon the ocean until we have hanged the
+dockyard contractors,” he cried.  “I’d have a dead dockyard contractor as
+a figure-head for every first-rate in the fleet, and a provision dealer
+for every frigate.  I know them with their puttied seams and their devil
+bolts, risking five hundred lives that they may steal a few pounds’ worth
+of copper.  What became of the _Chance_, and of the _Martin_, and of the
+_Orestes_?  They foundered at sea, and were never heard of more, and I
+say that the crews of them were murdered men.”
+
+Lord Cochrane seemed to be expressing the views of all, for a murmur of
+assent, with a mutter of hearty, deep-sea curses, ran round the circle.
+
+“Those rascals over yonder manage things better,” said an old one-eyed
+captain, with the blue-and-white riband for St. Vincent peeping out of
+his third buttonhole.  “They sheer away their heads if they get up to any
+foolery.  Did ever a vessel come out of Toulon as my 38-gun frigate did
+from Plymouth last year, with her masts rolling about until her shrouds
+were like iron bars on one side and hanging in festoons upon the other?
+The meanest sloop that ever sailed out of France would have overmatched
+her, and then it would be on me, and not on this Devonport bungler, that
+a court-martial would be called.”
+
+They loved to grumble, those old salts, for as soon as one had shot off
+his grievance his neighbour would follow with another, each more bitter
+than the last.
+
+“Look at our sails!” cried Captain Foley.  “Put a French and a British
+ship at anchor together, and how can you tell which is which?”
+
+“Frenchy has his fore and maintop-gallant masts about equal,” said my
+father.
+
+“In the old ships, maybe, but how many of the new are laid down on the
+French model?  No, there’s no way of telling them at anchor.  But let
+them hoist sail, and how d’you tell them then?”
+
+“Frenchy has white sails,” cried several.
+
+“And ours are black and rotten.  That’s the difference.  No wonder they
+outsail us when the wind can blow through our canvas.”
+
+“In the _Speedy_,” said Cochrane, “the sailcloth was so thin that, when I
+made my observation, I always took my meridian through the foretopsail
+and my horizon through the foresail.”
+
+There was a general laugh at this, and then at it they all went again,
+letting off into speech all those weary broodings and silent troubles
+which had rankled during long years of service, for an iron discipline
+prevented them from speaking when their feet were upon their own
+quarter-decks.  One told of his powder, six pounds of which were needed
+to throw a ball a thousand yards.  Another cursed the Admiralty Courts,
+where a prize goes in as a full-rigged ship and comes out as a schooner.
+The old captain spoke of the promotions by Parliamentary interest which
+had put many a youngster into the captain’s cabin when he should have
+been in the gun-room.  And then they came back to the difficulty of
+finding crews for their vessels, and they all together raised up their
+voices and wailed.
+
+“What is the use of building fresh ships,” cried Foley, “when even with a
+ten-pound bounty you can’t man the ships that you have got?”
+
+But Lord Cochrane was on the other side in this question.
+
+“You’d have the men, sir, if you treated them well when you got them,”
+said he.  “Admiral Nelson can get his ships manned.  So can Admiral
+Collingwood.  Why?  Because he has thought for the men, and so the men
+have thought for him.  Let men and officers know and respect each other,
+and there’s no difficulty in keeping a ship’s company.  It’s the infernal
+plan of turning a crew over from ship to ship and leaving the officers
+behind that rots the Navy.  But I have never found a difficulty, and I
+dare swear that if I hoist my pennant to-morrow I shall have all my old
+_Speedies_ back, and as many volunteers as I care to take.”
+
+“That is very well, my lord,” said the old captain, with some warmth;
+“when the Jacks hear that the _Speedy_ took fifty vessels in thirteen
+months, they are sure to volunteer to serve with her commander.  Every
+good cruiser can fill her complement quickly enough.  But it is not the
+cruisers that fight the country’s battles and blockade the enemy’s ports.
+I say that all prize-money should be divided equally among the whole
+fleet, and until you have such a rule, the smartest men will always be
+found where they are of least service to any one but themselves.”
+
+This speech produced a chorus of protests from the cruiser officers and a
+hearty agreement from the line-of-battleship men, who seemed to be in the
+majority in the circle which had gathered round.  From the flushed faces
+and angry glances it was evident that the question was one upon which
+there was strong feeling upon both sides.
+
+“What the cruiser gets the cruiser earns,” cried a frigate captain.
+
+“Do you mean to say, sir,” said Captain Foley, “that the duties of an
+officer upon a cruiser demand more care or higher professional ability
+than those of one who is employed upon blockade service, with a lee coast
+under him whenever the wind shifts to the west, and the topmasts of an
+enemy’s squadron for ever in his sight?”
+
+“I do not claim higher ability, sir.”
+
+“Then why should you claim higher pay?  Can you deny that a seaman before
+the mast makes more in a fast frigate than a lieutenant can in a
+battleship?”
+
+“It was only last year,” said a very gentlemanly-looking officer, who
+might have passed for a buck upon town had his skin not been burned to
+copper in such sunshine as never bursts upon London—“it was only last
+year that I brought the old _Alexander_ back from the Mediterranean,
+floating like an empty barrel and carrying nothing but honour for her
+cargo.  In the Channel we fell in with the frigate _Minerva_ from the
+Western Ocean, with her lee ports under water and her hatches bursting
+with the plunder which had been too valuable to trust to the prize crews.
+She had ingots of silver along her yards and bowsprit, and a bit of
+silver plate at the truck of the masts.  My Jacks could have fired into
+her, and would, too, if they had not been held back.  It made them mad to
+think of all they had done in the south, and then to see this saucy
+frigate flashing her money before their eyes.”
+
+“I cannot see their grievance, Captain Ball,” said Cochrane.
+
+“When you are promoted to a two-decker, my lord, it will possibly become
+clearer to you.”
+
+“You speak as if a cruiser had nothing to do but take prizes.  If that is
+your view, you will permit me to say that you know very little of the
+matter.  I have handled a sloop, a corvette, and a frigate, and I have
+found a great variety of duties in each of them.  I have had to avoid the
+enemy’s battleships and to fight his cruisers.  I have had to chase and
+capture his privateers, and to cut them out when they run under his
+batteries.  I have had to engage his forts, to take my men ashore, and to
+destroy his guns and his signal stations.  All this, with convoying,
+reconnoitring, and risking one’s own ship in order to gain a knowledge of
+the enemy’s movements, comes under the duties of the commander of a
+cruiser.  I make bold to say that the man who can carry these objects out
+with success has deserved better of the country than the officer of a
+battleship, tacking from Ushant to the Black Rocks and back again until
+she builds up a reef with her beef-bones.”
+
+“Sir,” said the angry old sailor, “such an officer is at least in no
+danger of being mistaken for a privateersman.”
+
+“I am surprised, Captain Bulkeley,” Cochran retorted hotly, “that you
+should venture to couple the names of privateersman and King’s officer.”
+
+There was mischief brewing among these hot-headed, short-spoken salts,
+but Captain Foley changed the subject to discuss the new ships which were
+being built in the French ports.  It was of interest to me to hear these
+men, who were spending their lives in fighting against our neighbours,
+discussing their character and ways.  You cannot conceive—you who live in
+times of peace and charity—how fierce the hatred was in England at that
+time against the French, and above all against their great leader.  It
+was more than a mere prejudice or dislike.  It was a deep, aggressive
+loathing of which you may even now form some conception if you examine
+the papers or caricatures of the day.  The word “Frenchman” was hardly
+spoken without “rascal” or “scoundrel” slipping in before it.  In all
+ranks of life and in every part of the country the feeling was the same.
+Even the Jacks aboard our ships fought with a viciousness against a
+French vessel which they would never show to Dane, Dutchman, or Spaniard.
+
+If you ask me now, after fifty years, why it was that there should have
+been this virulent feeling against them, so foreign to the easy-going and
+tolerant British nature, I would confess that I think the real reason was
+fear.  Not fear of them individually, of course—our foulest detractors
+have never called us faint-hearted—but fear of their star, fear of their
+future, fear of the subtle brain whose plans always seemed to go aright,
+and of the heavy hand which had struck nation after nation to the ground.
+We were but a small country, with a population which, when the war began,
+was not much more than half that of France.  And then, France had
+increased by leaps and bounds, reaching out to the north into Belgium and
+Holland, and to the south into Italy, whilst we were weakened by
+deep-lying disaffection among both Catholics and Presbyterians in
+Ireland.  The danger was imminent and plain to the least thoughtful.  One
+could not walk the Kent coast without seeing the beacons heaped up to
+tell the country of the enemy’s landing, and if the sun were shining on
+the uplands near Boulogne, one might catch the flash of its gleam upon
+the bayonets of manoeuvring veterans.  No wonder that a fear of the
+French power lay deeply in the hearts of the most gallant men, and that
+fear should, as it always does, beget a bitter and rancorous hatred.
+
+The seamen did not speak kindly then of their recent enemies.  Their
+hearts loathed them, and in the fashion of our country their lips said
+what the heart felt.  Of the French officers they could not have spoken
+with more chivalry, as of worthy foemen, but the nation was an
+abomination to them.  The older men had fought against them in the
+American War, they had fought again for the last ten years, and the
+dearest wish of their hearts seemed to be that they might be called upon
+to do the same for the remainder of their days.  Yet if I was surprised
+by the virulence of their animosity against the French, I was even more
+so to hear how highly they rated them as antagonists.  The long
+succession of British victories which had finally made the French take to
+their ports and resign the struggle in despair had given all of us the
+idea that for some reason a Briton on the water must, in the nature of
+things, always have the best of it against a Frenchman.  But these men
+who had done the fighting did not think so.  They were loud in their
+praise of their foemen’s gallantry, and precise in their reasons for his
+defeat.  They showed how the officers of the old French Navy had nearly
+all been aristocrats.  How the Revolution had swept them out of their
+ships, and the force been left with insubordinate seamen and no competent
+leaders.  This ill-directed fleet had been hustled into port by the
+pressure of the well-manned and well-commanded British, who had pinned
+them there ever since, so that they had never had an opportunity of
+learning seamanship.  Their harbour drill and their harbour gunnery had
+been of no service when sails had to be trimmed and broadsides fired on
+the heave of an Atlantic swell.  Let one of their frigates get to sea and
+have a couple of years’ free run in which the crew might learn their
+duties, and then it would be a feather in the cap of a British officer if
+with a ship of equal force he could bring down her colours.
+
+Such were the views of these experienced officers, fortified by many
+reminiscences and examples of French gallantry, such as the way in which
+the crew of the _L’Orient_ had fought her quarter-deck guns when the
+main-deck was in a blaze beneath them, and when they must have known that
+they were standing over an exploding magazine.  The general hope was that
+the West Indian expedition since the peace might have given many of their
+fleet an ocean training, and that they might be tempted out into
+mid-Channel if the war were to break out afresh.  But would it break out
+afresh?  We had spent gigantic sums and made enormous exertions to curb
+the power of Napoleon and to prevent him from becoming the universal
+despot of Europe.  Would the Government try it again?  Or were they
+appalled by the gigantic load of debt which must bend the backs of many
+generations unborn?  Pitt was there, and surely he was not a man to leave
+his work half done.
+
+And then suddenly there was a bustle at the door.  Amid the grey swirl of
+the tobacco-smoke I could catch a glimpse of a blue coat and gold
+epaulettes, with a crowd gathering thickly round them, while a hoarse
+murmur rose from the group which thickened into a deep-chested cheer.
+Every one was on his feet, peering and asking each other what it might
+mean.  And still the crowd seethed and the cheering swelled.
+
+“What is it?  What has happened?” cried a score of voices.
+
+“Put him up!  Hoist him up!” shouted somebody, and an instant later I saw
+Captain Troubridge appear above the shoulders of the crowd.  His face was
+flushed, as if he were in wine, and he was waving what seemed to be a
+letter in the air.  The cheering died away, and there was such a hush
+that I could hear the crackle of the paper in his hand.
+
+“Great news, gentlemen!” he roared.  “Glorious news!  Rear-Admiral
+Collingwood has directed me to communicate it to you.  The French
+Ambassador has received his papers to-night.  Every ship on the list is
+to go into commission.  Admiral Cornwallis is ordered out of Cawsand Bay
+to cruise off Ushant.  A squadron is starting for the North Sea and
+another for the Irish Channel.”
+
+He may have had more to say, but his audience could wait no longer.  How
+they shouted and stamped and raved in their delight!  Harsh old
+flag-officers, grave post-captains, young lieutenants, all were roaring
+like schoolboys breaking up for the holidays.  There was no thought now
+of those manifold and weary grievances to which I had listened.  The foul
+weather was passed, and the landlocked sea-birds would be out on the foam
+once more.  The rhythm of “God Save the King” swelled through the babel,
+and I heard the old lines sung in a way that made you forget their bad
+rhymes and their bald sentiments.  I trust that you will never hear them
+so sung, with tears upon rugged cheeks, and catchings of the breath from
+strong men.  Dark days will have come again before you hear such a song
+or see such a sight as that.  Let those talk of the phlegm of our
+countrymen who have never seen them when the lava crust of restraint is
+broken, and when for an instant the strong, enduring fires of the North
+glow upon the surface.  I saw them then, and if I do not see them now, I
+am not so old or so foolish as to doubt that they are there.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+LORD NELSON.
+
+
+MY father’s appointment with Lord Nelson was an early one, and he was the
+more anxious to be punctual as he knew how much the Admiral’s movements
+must be affected by the news which we had heard the night before.  I had
+hardly breakfasted then, and my uncle had not rung for his chocolate,
+when he called for me at Jermyn Street.  A walk of a few hundred yards
+brought us to the high building of discoloured brick in Piccadilly, which
+served the Hamiltons as a town house, and which Nelson used as his
+head-quarters when business or pleasure called him from Merton.  A
+footman answered our knock, and we were ushered into a large drawing-room
+with sombre furniture and melancholy curtains.  My father sent in his
+name, and there we sat, looking at the white Italian statuettes in the
+corners, and the picture of Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples which hung
+over the harpsichord.  I can remember that a black clock was ticking
+loudly upon the mantelpiece, and that every now and then, amid the rumble
+of the hackney coaches, we could hear boisterous laughter from some inner
+chamber.
+
+When at last the door opened, both my father and I sprang to our feet,
+expecting to find ourselves face to face with the greatest living
+Englishman.  It was a very different person, however, who swept into the
+room.
+
+She was a lady, tall, and, as it seemed to me, exceedingly beautiful,
+though, perhaps, one who was more experienced and more critical might
+have thought that her charm lay in the past rather than the present.  Her
+queenly figure was moulded upon large and noble lines, while her face,
+though already tending to become somewhat heavy and coarse, was still
+remarkable for the brilliancy of the complexion, the beauty of the large,
+light blue eyes, and the tinge of the dark hair which curled over the low
+white forehead.  She carried herself in the most stately fashion, so that
+as I looked at her majestic entrance, and at the pose which she struck as
+she glanced at my father, I was reminded of the Queen of the Peruvians
+as, in the person of Miss Polly Hinton, she incited Boy Jim and myself to
+insurrection.
+
+“Lieutenant Anson Stone?” she asked.
+
+“Yes, your ladyship,” answered my father.
+
+“Ah,” she cried, with an affected and exaggerated start, “you know me,
+then?”
+
+“I have seen your ladyship at Naples.”
+
+“Then you have doubtless seen my poor Sir William also—my poor, poor Sir
+William!”  She touched her dress with her white, ring-covered fingers, as
+if to draw our attention to the fact that she was in the deepest
+mourning.
+
+“I heard of your ladyship’s sad loss,” said my father.
+
+“We died together,” she cried.  “What can my life be now save a
+long-drawn living death?”
+
+She spoke in a beautiful, rich voice, with the most heart-broken thrill
+in it, but I could not conceal from myself that she appeared to be one of
+the most robust persons that I had ever seen, and I was surprised to
+notice that she shot arch little questioning glances at me, as if the
+admiration even of so insignificant a person were of some interest to
+her.  My father, in his blunt, sailor fashion, tried to stammer out some
+commonplace condolence, but her eyes swept past his rude, weather-beaten
+face to ask and reask what effect she had made upon me.
+
+“There he hangs, the tutelary angel of this house,” she cried, pointing
+with a grand sweeping gesture to a painting upon the wall, which
+represented a very thin-faced, high-nosed gentleman with several orders
+upon his coat.  “But enough of my private sorrow!”  She dashed invisible
+tears from her eyes.  “You have come to see Lord Nelson.  He bid me say
+that he would be with you in an instant.  You have doubtless heard that
+hostilities are about to reopen?”
+
+“We heard the news last night.”
+
+“Lord Nelson is under orders to take command of the Mediterranean Fleet.
+You can think at such a moment—But, ah, is it not his lordship’s step
+that I hear?”
+
+My attention was so riveted by the lady’s curious manner and by the
+gestures and attitudes with which she accompanied every remark, that I
+did not see the great admiral enter the room.  When I turned he was
+standing close by my elbow, a small, brown man with the lithe, slim
+figure of a boy.  He was not clad in uniform, but he wore a high-collared
+brown coat, with the right sleeve hanging limp and empty by his side.
+The expression of his face was, as I remember it, exceedingly sad and
+gentle, with the deep lines upon it which told of the chafing of his
+urgent and fiery soul.  One eye was disfigured and sightless from a
+wound, but the other looked from my father to myself with the quickest
+and shrewdest of expressions.  Indeed, his whole manner, with his short,
+sharp glance and the fine poise of the head, spoke of energy and
+alertness, so that he reminded me, if I may compare great things with
+small, of a well-bred fighting terrier, gentle and slim, but keen and
+ready for whatever chance might send.
+
+“Why, Lieutenant Stone,” said he, with great cordiality, holding out his
+left hand to my father, “I am very glad to see you.  London is full of
+Mediterranean men, but I trust that in a week there will not be an
+officer amongst you all with his feet on dry land.”
+
+“I had come to ask you, sir, if you could assist me to a ship.”
+
+“You shall have one, Stone, if my word goes for anything at the
+Admiralty.  I shall want all my old Nile men at my back.  I cannot
+promise you a first-rate, but at least it shall be a 64-gun ship, and I
+can tell you that there is much to be done with a handy, well-manned,
+well-found 64-gun ship.”
+
+“Who could doubt it who has heard of the _Agamemnon_?” cried Lady
+Hamilton, and straightway she began to talk of the admiral and of his
+doings with such extravagance of praise and such a shower of compliments
+and of epithets, that my father and I did not know which way to look,
+feeling shame and sorrow for a man who was compelled to listen to such
+things said in his own presence.  But when I ventured to glance at Lord
+Nelson I found, to my surprise, that, far from showing any embarrassment,
+he was smiling with pleasure, as if this gross flattery of her ladyship’s
+were the dearest thing in all the world to him.
+
+“Come, come, my dear lady,” said he, “you speak vastly beyond my merits;”
+upon which encouragement she started again in a theatrical apostrophe to
+Britain’s darling and Neptune’s eldest son, which he endured with the
+same signs of gratitude and pleasure.  That a man of the world,
+five-and-forty years of age, shrewd, honest, and acquainted with Courts,
+should be beguiled by such crude and coarse homage, amazed me, as it did
+all who knew him; but you who have seen much of life do not need to be
+told how often the strongest and noblest nature has its one inexplicable
+weakness, showing up the more obviously in contrast to the rest, as the
+dark stain looks the fouler upon the whitest sheet.
+
+“You are a sea-officer of my own heart, Stone,” said he, when her
+ladyship had exhausted her panegyric.  “You are one of the old breed!”
+He walked up and down the room with little, impatient steps as he talked,
+turning with a whisk upon his heel every now and then, as if some
+invisible rail had brought him up.  “We are getting too fine for our work
+with these new-fangled epaulettes and quarter-deck trimmings.  When I
+joined the Service, you would find a lieutenant gammoning and rigging his
+own bowsprit, or aloft, maybe, with a marlinspike slung round his neck,
+showing an example to his men.  Now, it’s as much as he’ll do to carry
+his own sextant up the companion.  When could you join?”
+
+“To-night, my lord.”
+
+“Right, Stone, right!  That is the true spirit.  They are working double
+tides in the yards, but I do not know when the ships will be ready.  I
+hoist my flag on the _Victory_ on Wednesday, and we sail at once.”
+
+“No, no; not so soon!  She cannot be ready for sea,” said Lady Hamilton,
+in a wailing voice, clasping her hands and turning up her eyes as she
+spoke.
+
+“She must and she shall be ready,” cried Nelson, with extraordinary
+vehemence.  “By Heaven! if the devil stands at the door, I sail on
+Wednesday.  Who knows what these rascals may be doing in my absence?  It
+maddens me to think of the deviltries which they may be devising.  At
+this very instant, dear lady, the Queen, _our_ Queen, may be straining
+her eyes for the topsails of Nelson’s ships.”
+
+Thinking, as I did, that he was speaking of our own old Queen Charlotte,
+I could make no meaning out of this; but my father told me afterwards
+that both Nelson and Lady Hamilton had conceived an extraordinary
+affection for the Queen of Naples, and that it was the interests of her
+little kingdom which he had so strenuously at heart.  It may have been my
+expression of bewilderment which attracted Nelson’s attention to me, for
+he suddenly stopped in his quick quarter-deck walk, and looked me up and
+down with a severe eye.
+
+“Well, young gentleman!” said he, sharply.
+
+“This is my only son, sir,” said my father.  “It is my wish that he
+should join the Service, if a berth can be found for him; for we have all
+been King’s officers for many generations.”
+
+“So, you wish to come and have your bones broken?” cried Nelson, roughly,
+looking with much disfavour at the fine clothes which had cost my uncle
+and Mr. Brummel such a debate.  “You will have to change that grand coat
+for a tarry jacket if you serve under me, sir.”
+
+I was so embarrassed by the abruptness of his manner that I could but
+stammer out that I hoped I should do my duty, on which his stern mouth
+relaxed into a good-humoured smile, and he laid his little brown hand for
+an instant upon my shoulder.
+
+“I dare say that you will do very well,” said he.  “I can see that you
+have the stuff in you.  But do not imagine that it is a light service
+which you undertake, young gentleman, when you enter His Majesty’s Navy.
+It is a hard profession.  You hear of the few who succeed, but what do
+you know of the hundreds who never find their way?  Look at my own luck!
+Out of 200 who were with me in the San Juan expedition, 145 died in a
+single night.  I have been in 180 engagements, and I have, as you see,
+lost my eye and my arm, and been sorely wounded besides.  It chanced that
+I came through, and here I am flying my admiral’s flag; but I remember
+many a man as good as me who did not come through.  Yes,” he added, as
+her ladyship broke in with a voluble protest, “many and many as good a
+man who has gone to the sharks or the land-crabs.  But it is a useless
+sailor who does not risk himself every day, and the lives of all of us
+are in the hands of Him who best knows when to claim them.”
+
+For an instant, in his earnest gaze and reverent manner, we seemed to
+catch a glimpse of the deeper, truer Nelson, the man of the Eastern
+counties, steeped in the virile Puritanism which sent from that district
+the Ironsides to fashion England within, and the Pilgrim Fathers to
+spread it without.  Here was the Nelson who declared that he saw the hand
+of God pressing upon the French, and who waited on his knees in the cabin
+of his flag-ship while she bore down upon the enemy’s line.  There was a
+human tenderness, too, in his way of speaking of his dead comrades, which
+made me understand why it was that he was so beloved by all who served
+with him, for, iron-hard as he was as seaman and fighter, there ran
+through his complex nature a sweet and un-English power of affectionate
+emotion, showing itself in tears if he were moved, and in such tender
+impulses as led him afterwards to ask his flag-captain to kiss him as he
+lay dying in the cockpit of the _Victory_.
+
+My father had risen to depart, but the admiral, with that kindliness
+which he ever showed to the young, and which had been momentarily chilled
+by the unfortunate splendour of my clothes, still paced up and down in
+front of us, shooting out crisp little sentences of exhortation and
+advice.
+
+“It is ardour that we need in the Service, young gentleman,” said he.
+“We need red-hot men who will never rest satisfied.  We had them in the
+Mediterranean, and we shall have them again.  There was a band of
+brothers!  When I was asked to recommend one for special service, I told
+the Admiralty they might take the names as they came, for the same spirit
+animated them all.  Had we taken nineteen vessels, we should never have
+said it was well done while the twentieth sailed the seas.  You know how
+it was with us, Stone.  You are too old a Mediterranean man for me to
+tell you anything.”
+
+“I trust, my lord, that I shall be with you when next we meet them,” said
+my father.
+
+“Meet them we shall and must.  By Heaven, I shall never rest until I have
+given them a shaking.  The scoundrel Buonaparte wishes to humble us.  Let
+him try, and God help the better cause!”
+
+He spoke with such extraordinary animation that the empty sleeve flapped
+about in the air, giving him the strangest appearance.  Seeing my eyes
+fixed upon it, he turned with a smile to my father.
+
+“I can still work my fin, Stone,” said he, putting his hand across to the
+stump of his arm.  “What used they to say in the fleet about it?”
+
+“That it was a sign, sir, that it was a bad hour to cross your hawse.”
+
+“They knew me, the rascals.  You can see, young gentleman, that not a
+scrap of the ardour with which I serve my country has been shot away.
+Some day you may find that you are flying your own flag, and when that
+time comes you may remember that my advice to an officer is that he
+should have nothing to do with tame, slow measures.  Lay all your stake,
+and if you lose through no fault of your own, the country will find you
+another stake as large.  Never mind manœuvres!  Go for them!  The only
+manœuvre you need is that which will place you alongside your enemy.
+Always fight, and you will always be right.  Give not a thought to your
+own ease or your own life, for from the day that you draw the blue coat
+over your back you have no life of your own.  It is the country’s, to be
+most freely spent if the smallest gain can come from it.  How is the wind
+this morning, Stone?”
+
+“East-south-east,” my father answered, readily.
+
+“Then Cornwallis is, doubtless, keeping well up to Brest, though, for my
+own part, I had rather tempt them out into the open sea.”
+
+“That is what every officer and man in the fleet would prefer, your
+lordship,” said my father.
+
+“They do not love the blockading service, and it is little wonder, since
+neither money nor honour is to be gained at it.  You can remember how it
+was in the winter months before Toulon, Stone, when we had neither
+firing, wine, beef, pork, nor flour aboard the ships, nor a spare piece
+of rope, canvas, or twine.  We braced the old hulks with our spare
+cables, and God knows there was never a Levanter that I did not expect it
+to send us to the bottom.  But we held our grip all the same.  Yet I fear
+that we do not get much credit for it here in England, Stone, where they
+light the windows for a great battle, but they do not understand that it
+is easier for us to fight the Nile six times over, than to keep our
+station all winter in the blockade.  But I pray God that we may meet this
+new fleet of theirs and settle the matter by a pell-mell battle.”
+
+“May I be with you, my lord!” said my father, earnestly.  “But we have
+already taken too much of your time, and so I beg to thank you for your
+kindness and to wish you good morning.”
+
+“Good morning, Stone!” said Nelson.  “You shall have your ship, and if I
+can make this young gentleman one of my officers it shall be done.  But I
+gather from his dress,” he continued, running his eye over me, “that you
+have been more fortunate in prize-money than most of your comrades.  For
+my own part, I never did nor could turn my thoughts to money-making.”
+
+My father explained that I had been under the charge of the famous Sir
+Charles Tregellis, who was my uncle, and with whom I was now residing.
+
+“Then you need no help from me,” said Nelson, with some bitterness.  “If
+you have either guineas or interest you can climb over the heads of old
+sea-officers, though you may not know the poop from the galley, or a
+carronade from a long nine.  Nevertheless—But what the deuce have we
+here?”
+
+The footman had suddenly precipitated himself into the room, but stood
+abashed before the fierce glare of the admiral’s eye.
+
+“Your lordship told me to rush to you if it should come,” he explained,
+holding out a large blue envelope.
+
+“By Heaven, it is my orders!” cried Nelson, snatching it up and fumbling
+with it in his awkward, one-handed attempt to break the seals.  Lady
+Hamilton ran to his assistance, but no sooner had she glanced at the
+paper inclosed than she burst into a shrill scream, and throwing up her
+hands and her eyes, she sank backwards in a swoon.  I could not but
+observe, however, that her fall was very carefully executed, and that she
+was fortunate enough, in spite of her insensibility, to arrange her
+drapery and attitude into a graceful and classical design.  But he, the
+honest seaman, so incapable of deceit or affectation that he could not
+suspect it in others, ran madly to the bell, shouting for the maid, the
+doctor, and the smelling-salts, with incoherent words of grief, and such
+passionate terms of emotion that my father thought it more discreet to
+twitch me by the sleeve as a signal that we should steal from the room.
+There we left him then in the dim-lit London drawing-room, beside himself
+with pity for this shallow and most artificial woman, while without, at
+the edge of the Piccadilly curb, there stood the high dark berline ready
+to start him upon that long journey which was to end in his chase of the
+French fleet over seven thousand miles of ocean, his meeting with it, his
+victory, which confined Napoleon’s ambition for ever to the land, and his
+death, coming, as I would it might come to all of us, at the crowning
+moment of his life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+ON THE ROAD.
+
+
+AND now the day of the great fight began to approach.  Even the imminent
+outbreak of war and the renewed threats of Napoleon were secondary things
+in the eyes of the sportsmen—and the sportsmen in those days made a large
+half of the population.  In the club of the patrician and the plebeian
+gin-shop, in the coffee-house of the merchant or the barrack of the
+soldier, in London or the provinces, the same question was interesting
+the whole nation.  Every west-country coach brought up word of the fine
+condition of Crab Wilson, who had returned to his own native air for his
+training, and was known to be under the immediate care of Captain
+Barclay, the expert.  On the other hand, although my uncle had not yet
+named his man, there was no doubt amongst the public that Jim was to be
+his nominee, and the report of his physique and of his performance found
+him many backers.  On the whole, however, the betting was in favour of
+Wilson, for Bristol and the west country stood by him to a man, whilst
+London opinion was divided.  Three to two were to be had on Wilson at any
+West End club two days before the battle.
+
+I had twice been down to Crawley to see Jim in his training quarters,
+where I found him undergoing the severe regimen which was usual.  From
+early dawn until nightfall he was running, jumping, striking a bladder
+which swung upon a bar, or sparring with his formidable trainer.  His
+eyes shone and his skin glowed with exuberent health, and he was so
+confident of success that my own misgivings vanished as I watched his
+gallant bearing and listened to his quiet and cheerful words.
+
+“But I wonder that you should come and see me now, Rodney,” said he, when
+we parted, trying to laugh as he spoke.  “I have become a bruiser and
+your uncle’s paid man, whilst you are a Corinthian upon town.  If you had
+not been the best and truest little gentleman in the world, you would
+have been my patron instead of my friend before now.”
+
+When I looked at this splendid fellow, with his high-bred, clean-cut
+face, and thought of the fine qualities and gentle, generous impulses
+which I knew to lie within him, it seemed so absurd that he should speak
+as though my friendship towards him were a condescension, that I could
+not help laughing aloud.
+
+“That is all very well, Rodney,” said he, looking hard into my eyes.
+“But what does your uncle think about it?”
+
+This was a poser, and I could only answer lamely enough that, much as I
+was indebted to my uncle, I had known Jim first, and that I was surely
+old enough to choose my own friends.
+
+Jim’s misgivings were so far correct that my uncle did very strongly
+object to any intimacy between us; but there were so many other points in
+which he disapproved of my conduct, that it made the less difference.  I
+fear that he was already disappointed in me.  I would not develop an
+eccentricity, although he was good enough to point out several by which I
+might “come out of the ruck,” as he expressed it, and so catch the
+attention of the strange world in which he lived.
+
+“You are an active young fellow, nephew,” said he.  “Do you not think
+that you could engage to climb round the furniture of an ordinary room
+without setting foot upon the ground?  Some little _tour-de-force_ of the
+sort is in excellent taste.  There was a captain in the Guards who
+attained considerable social success by doing it for a small wager.  Lady
+Lieven, who is exceedingly exigeant, used to invite him to her evenings
+merely that he might exhibit it.”
+
+I had to assure him that the feat would be beyond me.
+
+“You are just a little _difficile_,” said he, shrugging his shoulders.
+“As my nephew, you might have taken your position by perpetuating my own
+delicacy of taste.  If you had made bad taste your enemy, the world of
+fashion would willingly have looked upon you as an arbiter by virtue of
+your family traditions, and you might without a struggle have stepped
+into the position to which this young upstart Brummell aspires.  But you
+have no instinct in that direction.  You are incapable of minute
+attention to detail.  Look at your shoes!  Look at your cravat!  Look at
+your watch-chain!  Two links are enough to show.  I _have_ shown three,
+but it was an indiscretion.  At this moment I can see no less than five
+of yours.  I regret it, nephew, but I do not think that you are destined
+to attain that position which I have a right to expect from my blood
+relation.”
+
+“I am sorry to be a disappointment to you, sir,” said I.
+
+“It is your misfortune not to have come under my influence earlier,” said
+he.  “I might then have moulded you so as to have satisfied even my own
+aspirations.  I had a younger brother whose case was a similar one.  I
+did what I could for him, but he would wear ribbons in his shoes, and he
+publicly mistook white Burgundy for Rhine wine.  Eventually the poor
+fellow took to books, and lived and died in a country vicarage.  He was a
+good man, but he was commonplace, and there is no place in society for
+commonplace people.”
+
+“Then I fear, sir, that there is none for me,” said I.  “But my father
+has every hope that Lord Nelson will find me a position in the fleet.  If
+I have been a failure in town, I am none the less conscious of your
+kindness in trying to advance my interests, and I hope that, should I
+receive my commission, I may be a credit to you yet.”
+
+“It is possible that you may attain the very spot which I had marked out
+for you, but by another road,” said my uncle.  “There are many men in
+town, such as Lord St. Vincent, Lord Hood, and others, who move in the
+most respectable circles, although they have nothing but their services
+in the Navy to recommend them.”
+
+It was on the afternoon of the day before the fight that this
+conversation took place between my uncle and myself in the dainty sanctum
+of his Jermyn-Street house.  He was clad, I remember, in his flowing
+brocade dressing-gown, as was his custom before he set off for his club,
+and his foot was extended upon a stool—for Abernethy had just been in to
+treat him for an incipient attack of the gout.  It may have been the
+pain, or it may have been his disappointment at my career, but his manner
+was more testy than was usual with him, and I fear that there was
+something of a sneer in his smile as he spoke of my deficiencies.  For my
+own part I was relieved at the explanation, for my father had left London
+in the full conviction that a vacancy would speedily be found for us
+both, and the one thing which had weighed upon my mind was that I might
+have found it hard to leave my uncle without interfering with the plans
+which he had formed.  I was heart-weary of this empty life, for which I
+was so ill-fashioned, and weary also of that intolerant talk which would
+make a coterie of frivolous women and foolish fops the central point of
+the universe.  Something of my uncle’s sneer may have flickered upon my
+lips as I heard him allude with supercilious surprise to the presence in
+those sacrosanct circles of the men who had stood between the country and
+destruction.
+
+“By the way, nephew,” said he, “gout or no gout, and whether Abernethy
+likes it or not, we must be down at Crawley to-night.  The battle will
+take place upon Crawley Downs.  Sir Lothian Hume and his man are at
+Reigate.  I have reserved beds at the George for both of us.  The crush
+will, it is said, exceed anything ever known.  The smell of these country
+inns is always most offensive to me—_mais que voulez-vous_?  Berkeley
+Craven was saying in the club last night that there is not a bed within
+twenty miles of Crawley which is not bespoke, and that they are charging
+three guineas for the night.  I hope that your young friend, if I must
+describe him as such, will fulfil the promise which he has shown, for I
+have rather more upon the event than I care to lose.  Sir Lothian has
+been plunging also—he made a single bye-bet of five thousand to three
+upon Wilson in Limmer’s yesterday.  From what I hear of his affairs it
+will be a serious matter for him if we should pull it off.  Well,
+Lorimer?”
+
+“A person to see you, Sir Charles,” said the new valet.
+
+“You know that I never see any one until my dressing is complete.”
+
+“He insists upon seeing you, sir.  He pushed open the door.”
+
+“Pushed it open!  What d’you mean, Lorimer?  Why didn’t you put him out?”
+
+A smile passed over the servant’s face.  At the same moment there came a
+deep voice from the passage.
+
+“You show me in this instant, young man, d’ye ’ear?  Let me see your
+master, or it’ll be the worse for you.”
+
+I thought that I had heard the voice before, but when, over the shoulder
+of the valet, I caught a glimpse of a large, fleshy, bull-face, with a
+flattened Michael Angelo nose in the centre of it, I knew at once that it
+was my neighbour at the supper party.
+
+“It’s Warr, the prizefighter, sir,” said I.
+
+“Yes, sir,” said our visitor, pushing his huge form into the room.  “It’s
+Bill Warr, landlord of the One Ton public-’ouse, Jermyn Street, and the
+gamest man upon the list.  There’s only one thing that ever beat me, Sir
+Charles, and that was my flesh, which creeps over me that amazin’ fast
+that I’ve always got four stone that ’as no business there.  Why, sir,
+I’ve got enough to spare to make a feather-weight champion out of.  You’d
+’ardly think, to look at me, that even after Mendoza fought me I was able
+to jump the four-foot ropes at the ring-side just as light as a little
+kiddy; but if I was to chuck my castor into the ring now I’d never get it
+till the wind blew it out again, for blow my dicky if I could climb
+after.  My respec’s to you, young sir, and I ’ope I see you well.”
+
+My uncle’s face had expressed considerable disgust at this invasion of
+his privacy, but it was part of his position to be on good terms with the
+fighting-men, so he contented himself with asking curtly what business
+had brought him there.  For answer the huge prizefighter looked meaningly
+at the valet.
+
+“It’s important, Sir Charles, and between man and man,” said he.
+
+“You may go, Lorimer.  Now, Warr, what is the matter?”
+
+The bruiser very calmly seated himself astride of a chair with his arms
+resting upon the back of it.
+
+“I’ve got information, Sir Charles,” said he.
+
+“Well, what is it?” cried my uncle, impatiently.
+
+“Information of value.”
+
+“Out with it, then!”
+
+“Information that’s worth money,” said Warr, and pursed up his lips.
+
+“I see.  You want to be paid for what you know?”
+
+The prizefighter smiled an affirmative.
+
+“Well, I don’t buy things on trust.  You should know me better than to
+try on such a game with me.”
+
+“I know you for what you are, Sir Charles, and that is a noble, slap-up
+Corinthian.  But if I was to use this against you, d’ye see, it would be
+worth ’undreds in my pocket.  But my ’eart won’t let me do it, for Bill
+Warr’s always been on the side o’ good sport and fair play.  If I use it
+for you, then I expect that you won’t see me the loser.”
+
+“You can do what you like,” said my uncle.  “If your news is of service
+to me, I shall know how to treat you.”
+
+“You can’t say fairer than that.  We’ll let it stand there, gov’nor, and
+you’ll do the ’andsome thing, as you ’ave always ’ad the name for doin’.
+Well, then, your man, Jim ’Arisen, fights Crab Wilson, of Gloucester, at
+Crawley Down to-morrow mornin’ for a stake.”
+
+“What of that?”
+
+“Did you ’appen to know what the bettin’ was yesterday?”
+
+“It was three to two on Wilson.”
+
+“Right you are, gov’nor.  Three to two was offered in my own bar-parlour.
+D’you know what the bettin’ is to-day?”
+
+“I have not been out yet.”
+
+“Then I’ll tell you.  It’s seven to one against your man.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“Seven to one, gov’nor, no less.”
+
+“You’re talking nonsense, Warr!  How could the betting change from three
+to two to seven to one?”
+
+“Ive been to Tom Owen’s, and I’ve been to the ’Ole in the Wall, and I’ve
+been to the Waggon and ’Orses, and you can get seven to one in any of
+them.  There’s tons of money being laid against your man.  It’s a ’orse
+to a ’en in every sportin’ ’ouse and boozin’ ken from ’ere to Stepney.”
+
+For a moment the expression upon my uncle’s face made me realize that
+this match was really a serious matter to him.  Then he shrugged his
+shoulders with an incredulous smile.
+
+“All the worse for the fools who give the odds,” said he.  “My man is all
+right.  You saw him yesterday, nephew?”
+
+“He was all right yesterday, sir.”
+
+“If anything had gone wrong I should have heard.”
+
+“But perhaps,” said Warr, “it ’as not gone wrong with ’im _yet_.”
+
+“What d’you mean?”
+
+“I’ll tell you what I mean, sir.  You remember Berks?  You know that ’e
+ain’t to be overmuch depended on at any time, and that ’e ’ad a grudge
+against your man ’cause ’e laid ’im out in the coach-’ouse.  Well, last
+night about ten o’clock in ’e comes into my bar, and the three bloodiest
+rogues in London at ’is ’eels.  There was Red Ike, ’im that was warned
+off the ring ’cause ’e fought a cross with Bittoon; and there was
+Fightin’ Yussef, who would sell ’is mother for a seven-shillin’-bit; the
+third was Chris McCarthy, who is a fogle-snatcher by trade, with a pitch
+outside the ’Aymarket Theatre.  You don’t often see four such beauties
+together, and all with as much as they could carry, save only Chris, who
+is too leary a cove to drink when there’s somethin’ goin’ forward.  For
+my part, I showed ’em into the parlour, not ’cos they was worthy of it,
+but ’cos I knew right well they would start bashin’ some of my customers,
+and maybe get my license into trouble if I left ’em in the bar.  I served
+’em with drink, and stayed with ’em just to see that they didn’t lay
+their ’ands on the stuffed parroquet and the pictures.
+
+“Well, gov’nor, to cut it short, they began to talk about the fight, and
+they all laughed at the idea that young Jim ’Arrison could win it—all
+except Chris, and e’ kept a-nudging and a-twitchin’ at the others until
+Joe Berks nearly gave him a wipe across the face for ’is trouble.  I saw
+somethin’ was in the wind, and it wasn’t very ’ard to guess what it
+was—especially when Red Ike was ready to put up a fiver that Jim ’Arrison
+would never fight at all.  So I up to get another bottle of liptrap, and
+I slipped round to the shutter that we pass the liquor through from the
+private bar into the parlour.  I drew it an inch open, and I might ’ave
+been at the table with them, I could ’ear every word that clearly.
+
+“There was Chris McCarthy growlin’ at them for not keepin’ their tongues
+still, and there was Joe Berks swearin’ that ’e would knock ’is face in
+if ’e dared give ’im any of ’is lip.  So Chris ’e sort of argued with
+them, for ’e was frightened of Berks, and ’e put it to them whether they
+would be fit for the job in the mornin’, and whether the gov’nor would
+pay the money if ’e found they ’ad been drinkin’ and were not to be
+trusted.  This struck them sober, all three, an’ Fighting Yussef asked
+what time they were to start.  Chris said that as long as they were at
+Crawley before the George shut up they could work it.  ‘It’s poor pay for
+a chance of a rope,’ said Red Ike.  ‘Rope be damned!’ cried Chris, takin’
+a little loaded stick out of his side pocket.  ‘If three of you ’old him
+down and I break his arm-bone with this, we’ve earned our money, and we
+don’t risk more’n six months’ jug.’  ‘’E’ll fight,’ said Berks.  ‘Well,
+it’s the only fight ’e’ll get,’ answered Chris, and that was all I ’eard
+of it.  This mornin’ out I went, and I found as I told you afore that the
+money is goin’ on to Wilson by the ton, and that no odds are too long for
+the layers.  So it stands, gov’nor, and you know what the meanin’ of it
+may be better than Bill Warr can tell you.”
+
+“Very good, Warr,” said my uncle, rising.  “I am very much obliged to you
+for telling me this, and I will see that you are not a loser by it.  I
+put it down as the gossip of drunken ruffians, but none the less you have
+served me vastly by calling my attention to it.  I suppose I shall see
+you at the Downs to-morrow?”
+
+“Mr. Jackson ’as asked me to be one o’ the beaters-out, sir.”
+
+“Very good.  I hope that we shall have a fair and good fight.  Good day
+to you, and thank you.”
+
+My uncle had preserved his jaunty demeanour as long as Warr was in the
+room, but the door had hardly closed upon him before he turned to me with
+a face which was more agitated than I had ever seen it.
+
+“We must be off for Crawley at once, nephew,” said he, ringing the bell.
+“There’s not a moment to be lost.  Lorimer, order the bays to be
+harnessed in the curricle.  Put the toilet things in, and tell William to
+have it round at the door as soon as possible.”
+
+“I’ll see to it, sir,” said I, and away I ran to the mews in Little Ryder
+Street, where my uncle stabled his horses.  The groom was away, and I had
+to send a lad in search of him, while with the help of the livery-man I
+dragged the curricle from the coach-house and brought the two mares out
+of their stalls.  It was half an hour, or possibly three-quarters, before
+everything had been found, and Lorimer was already waiting in Jermyn
+Street with the inevitable baskets, whilst my uncle stood in the open
+door of his house, clad in his long fawn-coloured driving-coat, with no
+sign upon his calm pale face of the tumult of impatience which must, I
+was sure, be raging within.
+
+“We shall leave you, Lorimer,” said he.  “We might find it hard to get a
+bed for you.  Keep at her head, William!  Jump in, nephew.  Halloa, Warr,
+what is the matter now?”
+
+The prizefighter was hastening towards us as fast as his bulk would
+allow.
+
+“Just one word before you go, Sir Charles,” he panted.  “I’ve just ’eard
+in my taproom that the four men I spoke of left for Crawley at one
+o’clock.”
+
+“Very good, Warr,” said my uncle, with his foot upon the step.
+
+“And the odds ’ave risen to ten to one.”
+
+“Let go her head, William!”
+
+“Just one more word, gov’nor.  You’ll excuse the liberty, but if I was
+you I’d take my pistols with me.”
+
+“Thank you; I have them.”
+
+The long thong cracked between the ears of the leader, the groom sprang
+for the pavement, and Jermyn Street had changed for St. James’s, and that
+again for Whitehall with a swiftness which showed that the gallant mares
+were as impatient as their master.  It was half-past four by the
+Parliament clock as we flew on to Westminster Bridge.  There was the
+flash of water beneath us, and then we were between those two long
+dun-coloured lines of houses which had been the avenue which had led us
+to London.  My uncle sat with tightened lips and a brooding brow.  We had
+reached Streatham before he broke the silence.
+
+“I have a good deal at stake, nephew,” said he.
+
+“So have I, sir,” I answered.
+
+“You!” he cried, in surprise.
+
+“My friend, sir.”
+
+“Ah, yes, I had forgot.  You have some eccentricities, after all, nephew.
+You are a faithful friend, which is a rare enough thing in our circles.
+I never had but one friend of my own position, and he—but you’ve heard me
+tell the story.  I fear it will be dark before we reach Crawley.”
+
+“I fear that it will.”
+
+“In that case we may be too late.”
+
+“Pray God not, sir!”
+
+“We sit behind the best cattle in England, but I fear lest we find the
+roads blocked before we get to Crawley.  Did you observe, nephew, that
+these four villains spoke in Warr’s hearing of the master who was behind
+them, and who was paying them for their infamy?  Did you not understand
+that they were hired to cripple my man?  Who, then, could have hired
+them?  Who had an interest unless it was—I know Sir Lothian Hume to be a
+desperate man.  I know that he has had heavy card losses at Watier’s and
+White’s.  I know also that he has much at stake upon this event, and that
+he has plunged upon it with a rashness which made his friends think that
+he had some private reason for being satisfied as to the result.  By
+Heaven, it all hangs together!  If it should be so—!”  He relapsed into
+silence, but I saw the same look of cold fierceness settle upon his
+features which I had marked there when he and Sir John Lade had raced
+wheel to wheel down the Godstone road.
+
+The sun sank slowly towards the low Surrey hills, and the shadows crept
+steadily eastwards, but the whirr of the wheels and the roar of the hoofs
+never slackened.  A fresh wind blew upon our faces, while the young
+leaves drooped motionless from the wayside branches.  The golden edge of
+the sun was just sinking behind the oaks of Reigate Hill when the
+dripping mares drew up before the Crown at Redhill.  The landlord, an old
+sportsman and ringsider, ran out to greet so well-known a Corinthian as
+Sir Charles Tregellis.
+
+“You know Berks, the bruiser?” asked my uncle.
+
+“Yes, Sir Charles.”
+
+“Has he passed?”
+
+“Yes, Sir Charles.  It may have been about four o’clock, though with this
+crowd of folk and carriages it’s hard to swear to it.  There was him, and
+Red Ike, and Fighting Yussef the Jew, and another, with a good bit of
+blood betwixt the shafts.  They’d been driving her hard, too, for she was
+all in a lather.”
+
+“That’s ugly, nephew,” said my uncle, when we were flying onwards towards
+Reigate.  “If they drove so hard, it looks as though they wished to get
+early to work.”
+
+“Jim and Belcher would surely be a match for the four of them,” I
+suggested.
+
+“If Belcher were with him I should have no fear.  But you cannot tell
+what _diablerie_ they may be up to.  Let us only find him safe and sound,
+and I’ll never lose sight of him until I see him in the ring.  We’ll sit
+up on guard with our pistols, nephew, and I only trust that these
+villains may be indiscreet enough to attempt it.  But they must have been
+very sure of success before they put the odds up to such a figure, and it
+is that which alarms me.”
+
+“But surely they have nothing to win by such villainy, sir?  If they were
+to hurt Jim Harrison the battle could not be fought, and the bets would
+not be decided.”
+
+“So it would be in an ordinary prize-battle, nephew; and it is fortunate
+that it should be so, or the rascals who infest the ring would soon make
+all sport impossible.  But here it is different.  On the terms of the
+wager I lose unless I can produce a man, within the prescribed ages, who
+can beat Crab Wilson.  You must remember that I have never named my man.
+_C’est dommage_, but so it is!  We know who it is and so do our
+opponents, but the referees and stakeholder would take no notice of that.
+If we complain that Jim Harrison has been crippled, they would answer
+that they have no official knowledge that Jim Harrison was our nominee.
+It’s play or pay, and the villains are taking advantage of it.”
+
+My uncle’s fears as to our being blocked upon the road were only too well
+founded, for after we passed Reigate there was such a procession of every
+sort of vehicle, that I believe for the whole eight miles there was not a
+horse whose nose was further than a few feet from the back of the
+curricle or barouche in front.  Every road leading from London, as well
+as those from Guildford in the west and Tunbridge in the east, had
+contributed their stream of four-in-hands, gigs, and mounted sportsmen,
+until the whole broad Brighton highway was choked from ditch to ditch
+with a laughing, singing, shouting throng, all flowing in the same
+direction.  No man who looked upon that motley crowd could deny that, for
+good or evil, the love of the ring was confined to no class, but was a
+national peculiarity, deeply seated in the English nature, and a common
+heritage of the young aristocrat in his drag and of the rough costers
+sitting six deep in their pony cart.  There I saw statesmen and soldiers,
+noblemen and lawyers, farmers and squires, with roughs of the East End
+and yokels of the shires, all toiling along with the prospect of a night
+of discomfort before them, on the chance of seeing a fight which might,
+for all that they knew, be decided in a single round.  A more cheery and
+hearty set of people could not be imagined, and the chaff flew about as
+thick as the dust clouds, while at every wayside inn the landlord and the
+drawers would be out with trays of foam-headed tankards to moisten those
+importunate throats.  The ale-drinking, the rude good-fellowship, the
+heartiness, the laughter at discomforts, the craving to see the fight—all
+these may be set down as vulgar and trivial by those to whom they are
+distasteful; but to me, listening to the far-off and uncertain echoes of
+our distant past, they seem to have been the very bones upon which much
+that is most solid and virile in this ancient race was moulded.
+
+But, alas for our chance of hastening onwards!  Even my uncle’s skill
+could not pick a passage through that moving mass.  We could but fall
+into our places and be content to snail along from Reigate to Horley and
+on to Povey Cross and over Lowfield Heath, while day shaded away into
+twilight, and that deepened into night.  At Kimberham Bridge the
+carriage-lamps were all lit, and it was wonderful, where the road curved
+downwards before us, to see this writhing serpent with the golden scales
+crawling before us in the darkness.  And then, at last, we saw the
+formless mass of the huge Crawley elm looming before us in the gloom, and
+there was the broad village street with the glimmer of the cottage
+windows, and the high front of the old George Inn, glowing from every
+door and pane and crevice, in honour of the noble company who were to
+sleep within that night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+FOUL PLAY.
+
+
+MY uncle’s impatience would not suffer him to wait for the slow rotation
+which would bring us to the door, but he flung the reins and a
+crown-piece to one of the rough fellows who thronged the side-walk, and
+pushing his way vigorously through the crowd, he made for the entrance.
+As he came within the circle of light thrown by the windows, a whisper
+ran round as to who this masterful gentleman with the pale face and the
+driving-coat might be, and a lane was formed to admit us.  I had never
+before understood the popularity of my uncle in the sporting world, for
+the folk began to huzza as we passed with cries of “Hurrah for Buck
+Tregellis!  Good luck to you and your man, Sir Charles!  Clear a path for
+a bang-up noble Corinthian!” whilst the landlord, attracted by the
+shouting, came running out to greet us.
+
+“Good evening, Sir Charles!” he cried.  “I hope I see you well, sir, and
+I trust that you will find that your man does credit to the George.”
+
+“How is he?” asked my uncle, quickly.
+
+“Never better, sir.  Looks a picture, he does—and fit to fight for a
+kingdom.”
+
+My uncle gave a sigh of relief.
+
+“Where is he?” he asked.
+
+“He’s gone to his room early, sir, seein’ that he had some very
+partic’lar business to-morrow mornin’,” said the landlord, grinning.
+
+“Where is Belcher?”
+
+“Here he is, in the bar parlour.”
+
+He opened a door as he spoke, and looking in we saw a score of
+well-dressed men, some of whose faces had become familiar to me during my
+short West End career, seated round a table upon which stood a steaming
+soup-tureen filled with punch.  At the further end, very much at his ease
+amongst the aristocrats and exquisites who surrounded him, sat the
+Champion of England, his superb figure thrown back in his chair, a flush
+upon his handsome face, and a loose red handkerchief knotted carelessly
+round his throat in the picturesque fashion which was long known by his
+name.  Half a century has passed since then, and I have seen my share of
+fine men.  Perhaps it is because I am a slight creature myself, but it is
+my peculiarity that I had rather look upon a splendid man than upon any
+work of Nature.  Yet during all that time I have never seen a finer man
+than Jim Belcher, and if I wish to match him in my memory, I can only
+turn to that other Jim whose fate and fortunes I am trying to lay before
+you.
+
+There was a shout of jovial greeting when my uncle’s face was seen in the
+doorway.
+
+“Come in, Tregellis!”  “We were expecting you!”  “There’s a devilled
+bladebone ordered.”  “What’s the latest from London?”  “What is the
+meaning of the long odds against your man?”  “Have the folk gone mad?”
+“What the devil is it all about?”  They were all talking at once.
+
+“Excuse me, gentlemen,” my uncle answered.  “I shall be happy to give you
+any information in my power a little later.  I have a matter of some
+slight importance to decide.  Belcher, I would have a word with you!”
+
+The Champion came out with us into the passage.
+
+“Where is your man, Belcher?”
+
+“He has gone to his room, sir.  I believe that he should have a clear
+twelve hours’ sleep before fighting.”
+
+“What sort of day has he had?”
+
+“I did him lightly in the matter of exercise.  Clubs, dumbbells, walking,
+and a half-hour with the mufflers.  He’ll do us all proud, sir, or I’m a
+Dutchman!  But what in the world’s amiss with the betting?  If I didn’t
+know that he was as straight as a line, I’d ha’ thought he was planning a
+cross and laying against himself.”
+
+“It’s about that I’ve hurried down.  I have good information, Belcher,
+that there has been a plot to cripple him, and that the rogues are so
+sure of success that they are prepared to lay anything against his
+appearance.”
+
+Belcher whistled between his teeth.
+
+“I’ve seen no sign of anything of the kind, sir.  No one has been near
+him or had speech with him, except only your nephew there and myself.”
+
+“Four villains, with Berks at their head, got the start of us by several
+hours.  It was Warr who told me.”
+
+“What Bill Warr says is straight, and what Joe Berks does is crooked.
+Who were the others, sir?”
+
+“Red Ike, Fighting Yussef, and Chris McCarthy.”
+
+“A pretty gang, too!  Well, sir, the lad is safe, but it would be as
+well, perhaps, for one or other of us to stay in his room with him.  For
+my own part, as long as he’s my charge I’m never very far away.”
+
+“It is a pity to wake him.”
+
+“He can hardly be asleep with all this racket in the house.  This way,
+sir, and down the passage!”
+
+We passed along the low-roofed, devious corridors of the old-fashioned
+inn to the back of the house.
+
+“This is my room, sir,” said Belcher, nodding to a door upon the right.
+“This one upon the left is his.”  He threw it open as he spoke.  “Here’s
+Sir Charles Tregellis come to see you, Jim,” said he; and then, “Good
+Lord, what is the meaning of this?”
+
+The little chamber lay before us brightly illuminated by a brass lamp
+which stood upon the table.  The bedclothes had not been turned down, but
+there was an indentation upon the counterpane which showed that some one
+had lain there.  One-half of the lattice window was swinging on its
+hinge, and a cloth cap lying upon the table was the only sign of the
+occupant.  My uncle looked round him and shook his head.
+
+“It seems that we are too late,” said he.
+
+“That’s his cap, sir.  Where in the world can he have gone to with his
+head bare?  I thought he was safe in his bed an hour ago.  Jim!  Jim!” he
+shouted.
+
+“He has certainly gone through the window,” cried my uncle.  “I believe
+these villains have enticed him out by some devilish device of their own.
+Hold the lamp, nephew.  Ha!  I thought so.  Here are his footmarks upon
+the flower-bed outside.”
+
+The landlord, and one or two of the Corinthians from the bar-parlour, had
+followed us to the back of the house.  Some one had opened the side door,
+and we found ourselves in the kitchen garden, where, clustering upon the
+gravel path, we were able to hold the lamp over the soft, newly turned
+earth which lay between us and the window.
+
+“That’s his footmark!” said Belcher.  “He wore his running boots this
+evening, and you can see the nails.  But what’s this?  Some one else has
+been here.”
+
+“A woman!” I cried.
+
+“By Heaven, you’re right, nephew,” said my uncle.
+
+Belcher gave a hearty curse.
+
+“He never had a word to say to any girl in the village.  I took
+partic’lar notice of that.  And to think of them coming in like this at
+the last moment!”
+
+“It’s clear as possible, Tregellis,” said the Hon. Berkeley Craven, who
+was one of the company from the bar-parlour.  “Whoever it was came
+outside the window and tapped.  You see here, and here, the small feet
+have their toes to the house, while the others are all leading away.  She
+came to summon him, and he followed her.”
+
+“That is perfectly certain,” said my uncle.  “There’s not a moment to be
+lost.  We must divide and search in different directions, unless we can
+get some clue as to where they have gone.”
+
+“There’s only the one path out of the garden,” cried the landlord,
+leading the way.  “It opens out into this back lane, which leads up to
+the stables.  The other end of the lane goes out into the side road.”
+
+The bright yellow glare from a stable lantern cut a ring suddenly from
+the darkness, and an ostler came lounging out of the yard.
+
+“Who’s that?” cried the landlord.
+
+“It’s me, master!  Bill Shields.”
+
+“How long have you been there, Bill?”
+
+“Well, master, I’ve been in an’ out of the stables this hour back.  We
+can’t pack in another ’orse, and there’s no use tryin’.  I daren’t ’ardly
+give them their feed, for, if they was to thicken out just ever so
+little—”
+
+“See here, Bill.  Be careful how you answer, for a mistake may cost you
+your place.  Have you seen any one pass down the lane?”
+
+“There was a feller in a rabbit-skin cap some time ago.  ’E was loiterin’
+about until I asked ’im what ’is business was, for I didn’t care about
+the looks of ’im, or the way that ’e was peepin’ in at the windows.  I
+turned the stable lantern on to ’im, but ’e ducked ’is face, an’ I could
+only swear to ’is red ’ead.”
+
+I cast a quick glance at my uncle, and I saw that the shadow had deepened
+upon his face.
+
+“What became of him?” he asked.
+
+“’E slouched away, sir, an’ I saw the last of ’im.”
+
+“You’ve seen no one else?  You didn’t, for example, see a woman and a man
+pass down the lane together?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Or hear anything unusual?”
+
+“Why, now that you mention it, sir, I did ’ear somethin’; but on a night
+like this, when all these London blades are in the village—”
+
+“What was it, then?” cried my uncle, impatiently.
+
+“Well, sir, it was a kind of a cry out yonder as if some one ’ad got
+’imself into trouble.  I thought, maybe, two sparks were fightin’, and I
+took no partic’lar notice.”
+
+“Where did it come from?”
+
+“From the side road, yonder.”
+
+“Was it distant?”
+
+“No, sir; I should say it didn’t come from more’n two hundred yards.”
+
+“A single cry?”
+
+“Well, it was a kind of screech, sir, and then I ’eard somebody drivin’
+very ’ard down the road.  I remember thinking that it was strange that
+any one should be driving away from Crawley on a great night like this.”
+
+My uncle seized the lantern from the fellow’s hand, and we all trooped
+behind him down the lane.  At the further end the road cut it across at
+right angles.  Down this my uncle hastened, but his search was not a long
+one, for the glaring light fell suddenly upon something which brought a
+groan to my lips and a bitter curse to those of Jem Belcher.  Along the
+white surface of the dusty highway there was drawn a long smear of
+crimson, while beside this ominous stain there lay a murderous little
+pocket-bludgeon, such as Warr had described in the morning.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+CRAWLEY DOWNS.
+
+
+ALL through that weary night my uncle and I, with Belcher, Berkeley
+Craven, and a dozen of the Corinthians, searched the country side for
+some trace of our missing man, but save for that ill-boding splash upon
+the road not the slightest clue could be obtained as to what had befallen
+him.  No one had seen or heard anything of him, and the single cry in the
+night of which the ostler told us was the only indication of the tragedy
+which had taken place.  In small parties we scoured the country as far as
+East Grinstead and Bletchingley, and the sun had been long over the
+horizon before we found ourselves back at Crawley once more with heavy
+hearts and tired feet.  My uncle, who had driven to Reigate in the hope
+of gaining some intelligence, did not return until past seven o’clock,
+and a glance at his face gave us the same black news which he gathered
+from ours.
+
+We held a council round our dismal breakfast-table, to which Mr. Berkeley
+Craven was invited as a man of sound wisdom and large experience in
+matters of sport.  Belcher was half frenzied by this sudden ending of all
+the pains which he had taken in the training, and could only rave out
+threats at Berks and his companions, with terrible menaces as to what he
+would do when he met them.  My uncle sat grave and thoughtful, eating
+nothing and drumming his fingers upon the table, while my heart was heavy
+within me, and I could have sunk my face into my hands and burst into
+tears as I thought how powerless I was to aid my friend.  Mr. Craven, a
+fresh-faced, alert man of the world, was the only one of us who seemed to
+preserve both his wits and his appetite.
+
+“Let me see!  The fight was to be at ten, was it not?” he asked.
+
+“It was to be.”
+
+“I dare say it will be, too.  Never say die, Tregellis!  Your man has
+still three hours in which to come back.”
+
+My uncle shook his head.
+
+“The villains have done their work too well for that, I fear,” said he.
+
+“Well, now, let us reason it out,” said Berkeley Craven.  “A woman comes
+and she coaxes this young man out of his room.  Do you know any young
+woman who had an influence over him?”
+
+My uncle looked at me.
+
+“No,” said I.  “I know of none.”
+
+“Well, we know that she came,” said Berkeley Craven.  “There can be no
+question as to that.  She brought some piteous tale, no doubt, such as a
+gallant young man could hardly refuse to listen to.  He fell into the
+trap, and allowed himself to be decoyed to the place where these rascals
+were waiting for him.  We may take all that as proved, I should fancy,
+Tregellis.”
+
+“I see no better explanation,” said my uncle.
+
+“Well, then, it is obviously not the interest of these men to kill him.
+Warr heard them say as much.  They could not make sure, perhaps, of doing
+so tough a young fellow an injury which would certainly prevent him from
+fighting.  Even with a broken arm he might pull the fight off, as men
+have done before.  There was too much money on for them to run any risks.
+They gave him a tap on the head, therefore, to prevent his making too
+much resistance, and they then drove him off to some farmhouse or stable,
+where they will hold him a prisoner until the time for the fight is over.
+I warrant that you see him before to-night as well as ever he was.”
+
+This theory sounded so reasonable that it seemed to lift a little of the
+weight from my heart, but I could see that from my uncle’s point of view
+it was a poor consolation.
+
+“I dare say you are right, Craven,” said he.
+
+“I am sure that I am.”
+
+“But it won’t help us to win the fight.”
+
+“That’s the point, sir,” cried Belcher.  “By the Lord, I wish they’d let
+me take his place, even with my left arm strapped behind me.”
+
+“I should advise you in any case to go to the ringside,” said Craven.
+“You should hold on until the last moment in the hope of your man turning
+up.”
+
+“I shall certainly do so.  And I shall protest against paying the wagers
+under such circumstances.”
+
+Craven shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“You remember the conditions of the match,” said he.  “I fear it is pay
+or play.  No doubt the point might be submitted to the referees, but I
+cannot doubt that they would have to give it against you.”
+
+We had sunk into a melancholy silence, when suddenly Belcher sprang up
+from the table.
+
+“Hark!” he cried.  “Listen to that!”
+
+“What is it?” we cried, all three.
+
+“The betting!  Listen again!”
+
+Out of the babel of voices and roaring of wheels outside the window a
+single sentence struck sharply on our ears.
+
+“Even money upon Sir Charles’s nominee!”
+
+“Even money!” cried my uncle.  “It was seven to one against me,
+yesterday.  What is the meaning of this?”
+
+“Even money either way,” cried the voice again.
+
+“There’s somebody knows something,” said Belcher, “and there’s nobody has
+a better right to know what it is than we.  Come on, sir, and we’ll get
+to the bottom of it.”
+
+The village street was packed with people, for they had been sleeping
+twelve and fifteen in a room, whilst hundreds of gentlemen had spent the
+night in their carriages.  So thick was the throng that it was no easy
+matter to get out of the George.  A drunken man, snoring horribly in his
+breathing, was curled up in the passage, absolutely oblivious to the
+stream of people who flowed round and occasionally over him.
+
+“What’s the betting, boys?” asked Belcher, from the steps.
+
+“Even money, Jim,” cried several voices.
+
+“It was long odds on Wilson when last I heard.”
+
+“Yes; but there came a man who laid freely the other way, and he started
+others taking the odds, until now you can get even money.”
+
+“Who started it?”
+
+“Why, that’s he!  The man that lies drunk in the passage.  He’s been
+pouring it down like water ever since he drove in at six o’clock, so it’s
+no wonder he’s like that.”
+
+Belcher stooped down and turned over the man’s inert head so as to show
+his features.
+
+“He’s a stranger to me, sir.”
+
+“And to me,” added my uncle.
+
+“But not to me,” I cried.  “It’s John Cumming, the landlord of the inn at
+Friar’s Oak.  I’ve known him ever since I was a boy, and I can’t be
+mistaken.”
+
+“Well, what the devil can _he_ know about it?” said Craven.
+
+“Nothing at all, in all probability,” answered my uncle.  “He is backing
+young Jim because he knows him, and because he has more brandy than
+sense.  His drunken confidence set others to do the same, and so the odds
+came down.”
+
+“He was as sober as a judge when he drove in here this morning,” said the
+landlord.  “He began backing Sir Charles’s nominee from the moment he
+arrived.  Some of the other boys took the office from him, and they very
+soon brought the odds down amongst them.”
+
+“I wish he had not brought himself down as well,” said my uncle.  “I beg
+that you will bring me a little lavender water, landlord, for the smell
+of this crowd is appalling.  I suppose you could not get any sense from
+this drunken fellow, nephew, or find out what it is he knows.”
+
+It was in vain that I rocked him by the shoulder and shouted his name in
+his ear.  Nothing could break in upon that serene intoxication.
+
+“Well, it’s a unique situation as far as my experience goes,” said
+Berkeley Craven.  “Here we are within a couple of hours of the fight, and
+yet you don’t know whether you have a man to represent you.  I hope you
+don’t stand to lose very much, Tregellis.”
+
+My uncle shrugged his shoulders carelessly, and took a pinch of his snuff
+with that inimitable sweeping gesture which no man has ever ventured to
+imitate.
+
+“Pretty well, my boy!” said he.  “But it is time that we thought of going
+up to the Downs.  This night journey has left me just a little
+_effleuré_, and I should like half an hour of privacy to arrange my
+toilet.  If this is my last kick, it shall at least be with a
+well-brushed boot.”
+
+I have heard a traveller from the wilds of America say that he looked
+upon the Red Indian and the English gentleman as closely akin, citing the
+passion for sport, the aloofness and the suppression of the emotions in
+each.  I thought of his words as I watched my uncle that morning, for I
+believe that no victim tied to the stake could have had a worse outlook
+before him.  It was not merely that his own fortunes were largely at
+stake, but it was the dreadful position in which he would stand before
+this immense concourse of people, many of whom had put their money upon
+his judgment, if he should find himself at the last moment with an
+impotent excuse instead of a champion to put before them.  What a
+situation for a man who prided himself upon his aplomb, and upon bringing
+all that he undertook to the very highest standard of success!  I, who
+knew him well, could tell from his wan cheeks and his restless fingers
+that he was at his wit’s ends what to do; but no stranger who observed
+his jaunty bearing, the flecking of his laced handkerchief, the handling
+of his quizzing glass, or the shooting of his ruffles, would ever have
+thought that this butterfly creature could have had a care upon earth.
+
+It was close upon nine o’clock when we were ready to start for the Downs,
+and by that time my uncle’s curricle was almost the only vehicle left in
+the village street.  The night before they had lain with their wheels
+interlocking and their shafts under each other’s bodies, as thick as they
+could fit, from the old church to the Crawley Elm, spanning the road
+five-deep for a good half-mile in length.  Now the grey village street
+lay before us almost deserted save by a few women and children.  Men,
+horses, carriages—all were gone.  My uncle drew on his driving-gloves and
+arranged his costume with punctilious neatness; but I observed that he
+glanced up and down the road with a haggard and yet expectant eye before
+he took his seat.  I sat behind with Belcher, while the Hon. Berkeley
+Craven took the place beside him.
+
+The road from Crawley curves gently upwards to the upland heather-clad
+plateau which extends for many miles in every direction.  Strings of
+pedestrians, most of them so weary and dust-covered that it was evident
+that they had walked the thirty miles from London during the night, were
+plodding along by the sides of the road or trailing over the long mottled
+slopes of the moorland.  A horseman, fantastically dressed in green and
+splendidly mounted, was waiting at the crossroads, and as he spurred
+towards us I recognised the dark, handsome face and bold black eyes of
+Mendoza.
+
+“I am waiting here to give the office, Sir Charles,” said he.  “It’s down
+the Grinstead road, half a mile to the left.”
+
+“Very good,” said my uncle, reining his mares round into the cross-road.
+
+“You haven’t got your man there,” remarked Mendoza, with something of
+suspicion in his manner.
+
+“What the devil is that to you?” cried Belcher, furiously.
+
+“It’s a good deal to all of us, for there are some funny stories about.”
+
+“You keep them to yourself, then, or you may wish you had never heard
+them.”
+
+“All right, Jem!  Your breakfast don’t seem to have agreed with you this
+morning.”
+
+“Have the others arrived?” asked my uncle, carelessly.
+
+“Not yet, Sir Charles.  But Tom Oliver is there with the ropes and
+stakes.  Jackson drove by just now, and most of the ring-keepers are up.”
+
+“We have still an hour,” remarked my uncle, as he drove on.  “It is
+possible that the others may be late, since they have to come from
+Reigate.”
+
+“You take it like a man, Tregellis,” said Craven.  “We must keep a bold
+face and brazen it out until the last moment.”
+
+“Of course, sir,” cried Belcher.  “I’ll never believe the betting would
+rise like that if somebody didn’t know something.  We’ll hold on by our
+teeth and nails, Sir Charles, and see what comes of it.”
+
+We could hear a sound like the waves upon the beach, long before we came
+in sight of that mighty multitude, and then at last, on a sudden dip of
+the road, we saw it lying before us, a whirlpool of humanity with an open
+vortex in the centre.  All round, the thousands of carriages and horses
+were dotted over the moor, and the slopes were gay with tents and booths.
+A spot had been chosen for the ring, where a great basin had been
+hollowed out in the ground, so that all round that natural amphitheatre a
+crowd of thirty thousand people could see very well what was going on in
+the centre.  As we drove up a buzz of greeting came from the people upon
+the fringe which was nearest to us, spreading and spreading, until the
+whole multitude had joined in the acclamation.  Then an instant later a
+second shout broke forth, beginning from the other side of the arena, and
+the faces which had been turned towards us whisked round, so that in a
+twinkling the whole foreground changed from white to dark.
+
+“It’s they.  They are in time,” said my uncle and Craven together.
+
+Standing up on our curricle, we could see the cavalcade approaching over
+the Downs.  In front came a huge yellow barouche, in which sat Sir
+Lothian Hume, Crab Wilson, and Captain Barclay, his trainer.  The
+postillions were flying canary-yellow ribands from their caps, those
+being the colours under which Wilson was to fight.  Behind the carriage
+there rode a hundred or more noblemen and gentlemen of the west country,
+and then a line of gigs, tilburies, and carriages wound away down the
+Grinstead road as far as our eyes could follow it.  The big barouche came
+lumbering over the sward in our direction until Sir Lothian Hume caught
+sight of us, when he shouted to his postillions to pull up.
+
+“Good morning, Sir Charles,” said he, springing out of the carriage.  “I
+thought I knew your scarlet curricle.  We have an excellent morning for
+the battle.”
+
+My uncle bowed coldly, and made no answer.
+
+“I suppose that since we are all here we may begin at once,” said Sir
+Lothian, taking no notice of the other’s manner.
+
+“We begin at ten o’clock.  Not an instant before.”
+
+“Very good, if you prefer it.  By the way, Sir Charles, where is your
+man?”
+
+“I would ask _you_ that question, Sir Lothian,” answered my uncle.
+“Where is my man?”
+
+A look of astonishment passed over Sir Lothian’s features, which, if it
+were not real, was most admirably affected.
+
+“What do you mean by asking me such a question?”
+
+“Because I wish to know.”
+
+“But how can I tell, and what business is it of mine?”
+
+“I have reason to believe that you have made it your business.”
+
+“If you would kindly put the matter a little more clearly there would be
+some possibility of my understanding you.”
+
+They were both very white and cold, formal and unimpassioned in their
+bearing, but exchanging glances which crossed like rapier blades.  I
+thought of Sir Lothian’s murderous repute as a duellist, and I trembled
+for my uncle.
+
+“Now, sir, if you imagine that you have a grievance against me, you will
+oblige me vastly by putting it into words.”
+
+“I will,” said my uncle.  “There has been a conspiracy to maim or kidnap
+my man, and I have every reason to believe that you are privy to it.”
+
+An ugly sneer came over Sir Lothian’s saturnine face.
+
+“I see,” said he.  “Your man has not come on quite as well as you had
+expected in his training, and you are hard put to it to invent an excuse.
+Still, I should have thought that you might have found a more probable
+one, and one which would entail less serious consequences.”
+
+“Sir,” answered my uncle, “you are a liar, but how great a liar you are
+nobody knows save yourself.”
+
+Sir Lothian’s hollow cheeks grew white with passion, and I saw for an
+instant in his deep-set eyes such a glare as comes from the frenzied
+hound rearing and ramping at the end of its chain.  Then, with an effort,
+he became the same cold, hard, self-contained man as ever.
+
+“It does not become our position to quarrel like two yokels at a fair,”
+said he; “we shall go further into the matter afterwards.”
+
+“I promise you that we shall,” answered my uncle, grimly.
+
+“Meanwhile, I hold you to the terms of your wager.  Unless you produce
+your nominee within five-and-twenty minutes, I claim the match.”
+
+“Eight-and-twenty minutes,” said my uncle, looking at his watch.  “You
+may claim it then, but not an instant before.”
+
+He was admirable at that moment, for his manner was that of a man with
+all sorts of hidden resources, so that I could hardly make myself realize
+as I looked at him that our position was really as desperate as I knew it
+to be.  In the meantime Berkeley Craven, who had been exchanging a few
+words with Sir Lothian Hume, came back to our side.
+
+“I have been asked to be sole referee in this matter,” said he.  “Does
+that meet with your wishes, Sir Charles?”
+
+“I should be vastly obliged to you, Craven, if you will undertake the
+duties.”
+
+“And Jackson has been suggested as timekeeper.”
+
+“I could not wish a better one.”
+
+“Very good.  That is settled.”
+
+In the meantime the last of the carriages had come up, and the horses had
+all been picketed upon the moor.  The stragglers who had dotted the grass
+had closed in until the huge crowd was one unit with a single mighty
+voice, which was already beginning to bellow its impatience.  Looking
+round, there was hardly a moving object upon the whole vast expanse of
+green and purple down.  A belated gig was coming at full gallop down the
+road which led from the south, and a few pedestrians were still trailing
+up from Crawley, but nowhere was there a sign of the missing man.
+
+“The betting keeps up for all that,” said Belcher.  “I’ve just been to
+the ring-side, and it is still even.”
+
+“There’s a place for you at the outer ropes, Sir Charles,” said Craven.
+
+“There is no sign of my man yet.  I won’t come in until he arrives.”
+
+“It is my duty to tell you that only ten minutes are left.”
+
+“I make it five,” cried Sir Lothian Hume.
+
+“That is a question which lies with the referee,” said Craven, firmly.
+“My watch makes it ten minutes, and ten it must be.”
+
+“Here’s Crab Wilson!” cried Belcher, and at the same moment a shout like
+a thunderclap burst from the crowd.  The west countryman had emerged from
+his dressing-tent, followed by Dutch Sam and Tom Owen, who were acting as
+his seconds.  He was nude to the waist, with a pair of white calico
+drawers, white silk stockings, and running shoes.  Round his middle was a
+canary-yellow sash, and dainty little ribbons of the same colour
+fluttered from the sides of his knees.  He carried a high white hat in
+his hand, and running down the lane which had been kept open through the
+crowd to allow persons to reach the ring, he threw the hat high into the
+air, so that it fell within the staked inclosure.  Then with a double
+spring he cleared the outer and inner line of rope, and stood with his
+arms folded in the centre.
+
+I do not wonder that the people cheered.  Even Belcher could not help
+joining in the general shout of applause.  He was certainly a splendidly
+built young athlete, and one could not have wished to look upon a finer
+sight as his white skin, sleek and luminous as a panther’s, gleamed in
+the light of the morning sun, with a beautiful liquid rippling of muscles
+at every movement.  His arms were long and slingy, his shoulders loose
+and yet powerful, with the downward slant which is a surer index of power
+than squareness can be.  He clasped his hands behind his head, threw them
+aloft, and swung them backwards, and at every movement some fresh expanse
+of his smooth, white skin became knobbed and gnarled with muscles, whilst
+a yell of admiration and delight from the crowd greeted each fresh
+exhibition.  Then, folding his arms once more, he stood like a beautiful
+statue waiting for his antagonist.
+
+Sir Lothian Hume had been looking impatiently at his watch, and now he
+shut it with a triumphant snap.
+
+“Time’s up!” he cried.  “The match is forfeit.”
+
+“Time is not up,” said Craven.
+
+“I have still five minutes.”  My uncle looked round with despairing eyes.
+
+“Only three, Tregellis!”
+
+A deep angry murmur was rising from the crowd.
+
+“It’s a cross!  It’s a cross!  It’s a fake!” was the cry.
+
+“Two minutes, Tregellis!”
+
+“Where’s your man, Sir Charles?  Where’s the man that we have backed?”
+Flushed faces began to crane over each other, and angry eyes glared up at
+us.
+
+“One more minute, Tregellis!  I am very sorry, but it will be my duty to
+declare it forfeit against you.”
+
+There was a sudden swirl in the crowd, a rush, a shout, and high up in
+the air there spun an old black hat, floating over the heads of the
+ring-siders and flickering down within the ropes.
+
+“Saved, by the Lord!” screamed Belcher.
+
+“I rather fancy,” said my uncle, calmly, “that this must be my man.”
+
+“Too late!” cried Sir Lothian.
+
+“No,” answered the referee.  “It was still twenty seconds to the hour.
+The fight will now proceed.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+THE RING-SIDE.
+
+
+OUT of the whole of that vast multitude I was one of the very few who had
+observed whence it was that this black hat, skimming so opportunely over
+the ropes, had come.  I have already remarked that when we looked around
+us there had been a single gig travelling very rapidly upon the southern
+road.  My uncle’s eyes had rested upon it, but his attention had been
+drawn away by the discussion between Sir Lothian Hume and the referee
+upon the question of time.  For my own part, I had been so struck by the
+furious manner in which these belated travellers were approaching, that I
+had continued to watch them with all sorts of vague hopes within me,
+which I did not dare to put into words for fear of adding to my uncle’s
+disappointments.  I had just made out that the gig contained a man and a
+woman, when suddenly I saw it swerve off the road, and come with a
+galloping horse and bounding wheels right across the moor, crashing
+through the gorse bushes, and sinking down to the hubs in the heather and
+bracken.  As the driver pulled up his foam-spattered horse, he threw the
+reins to his companion, sprang from his seat, butted furiously into the
+crowd, and then an instant afterwards up went the hat which told of his
+challenge and defiance.
+
+“There is no hurry now, I presume, Craven,” said my uncle, as coolly as
+if this sudden effect had been carefully devised by him.
+
+“Now that your man has his hat in the ring you can take as much time as
+you like, Sir Charles.”
+
+“Your friend has certainly cut it rather fine, nephew.”
+
+“It is not Jim, sir,” I whispered.  “It is some one else.”
+
+My uncle’s eyebrows betrayed his astonishment.
+
+“Some one else!” he ejaculated.
+
+“And a good man too!” roared Belcher, slapping his thigh with a crack
+like a pistol-shot.  “Why, blow my dickey if it ain’t old Jack Harrison
+himself!”
+
+Looking down at the crowd, we had seen the head and shoulders of a
+powerful and strenuous man moving slowly forward, and leaving behind him
+a long V-shaped ripple upon its surface like the wake of a swimming dog.
+Now, as he pushed his way through the looser fringe the head was raised,
+and there was the grinning, hardy face of the smith looking up at us.  He
+had left his hat in the ring, and was enveloped in an overcoat with a
+blue bird’s-eye handkerchief tied round his neck.  As he emerged from the
+throng he let his great-coat fly loose, and showed that he was dressed in
+his full fighting kit—black drawers, chocolate stockings, and white
+shoes.
+
+“I’m right sorry to be so late, Sir Charles,” he cried.  “I’d have been
+sooner, but it took me a little time to make it all straight with the
+missus.  I couldn’t convince her all at once, an’ so I brought her with
+me, and we argued it out on the way.”
+
+Looking at the gig, I saw that it was indeed Mrs. Harrison who was seated
+in it.  Sir Charles beckoned him up to the wheel of the curricle.
+
+“What in the world brings you here, Harrison?” he whispered.  “I am as
+glad to see you as ever I was to see a man in my life, but I confess that
+I did not expect you.”
+
+“Well, sir, you heard I was coming,” said the smith.
+
+“Indeed, I did not.”
+
+“Didn’t you get a message, Sir Charles, from a man named Cumming,
+landlord of the Friar’s Oak Inn?  Mister Rodney there would know him.”
+
+“We saw him dead drunk at the George.”
+
+“There, now, if I wasn’t afraid of it!” cried Harrison, angrily.  “He’s
+always like that when he’s excited, and I never saw a man more off his
+head than he was when he heard I was going to take this job over.  He
+brought a bag of sovereigns up with him to back me with.”
+
+“That’s how the betting got turned,” said my uncle.  “He found others to
+follow his lead, it appears.”
+
+“I was so afraid that he might get upon the drink that I made him promise
+to go straight to you, sir, the very instant he should arrive.  He had a
+note to deliver.”
+
+“I understand that he reached the George at six, whilst I did not return
+from Reigate until after seven, by which time I have no doubt that he had
+drunk his message to me out of his head.  But where is your nephew Jim,
+and how did you come to know that you would be needed?”
+
+“It is not his fault, I promise you, that you should be left in the
+lurch.  As to me, I had my orders to take his place from the only man
+upon earth whose word I have never disobeyed.”
+
+“Yes, Sir Charles,” said Mrs. Harrison, who had left the gig and
+approached us.  “You can make the most of it this time, for never again
+shall you have my Jack—not if you were to go on your knees for him.”
+
+“She’s not a patron of sport, and that’s a fact,” said the smith.
+
+“Sport!” she cried, with shrill contempt and anger.  “Tell me when all is
+over.”
+
+She hurried away, and I saw her afterwards seated amongst the bracken,
+her back turned towards the multitude, and her hands over her ears,
+cowering and wincing in an agony of apprehension.
+
+Whilst this hurried scene had been taking place, the crowd had become
+more and more tumultuous, partly from their impatience at the delay, and
+partly from their exuberant spirits at the unexpected chance of seeing so
+celebrated a fighting man as Harrison.  His identity had already been
+noised abroad, and many an elderly connoisseur plucked his long net-purse
+out of his fob, in order to put a few guineas upon the man who would
+represent the school of the past against the present.  The younger men
+were still in favour of the west-countryman, and small odds were to be
+had either way in proportion to the number of the supporters of each in
+the different parts of the crowd.
+
+In the mean time Sir Lothian Hume had come bustling up to the Honourable
+Berkeley Craven, who was still standing near our curricle.
+
+“I beg to lodge a formal protest against these proceedings,” said he.
+
+“On what grounds, sir?”
+
+“Because the man produced is not the original nominee of Sir Charles
+Tregellis.”
+
+“I never named one, as you are well aware,” said my uncle.
+
+“The betting has all been upon the understanding that young Jim Harrison
+was my man’s opponent.  Now, at the last moment, he is withdrawn and
+another and more formidable man put into his place.”
+
+“Sir Charles Tregellis is quite within his rights,” said Craven, firmly.
+“He undertook to produce a man who should be within the age limits
+stipulated, and I understand that Harrison fulfils all the conditions.
+You are over five-and-thirty, Harrison?”
+
+“Forty-one next month, master.”
+
+“Very good.  I direct that the fight proceed.”
+
+But alas! there was one authority which was higher even than that of the
+referee, and we were destined to an experience which was the prelude, and
+sometimes the conclusion, also, of many an old-time fight.  Across the
+moor there had ridden a black-coated gentleman, with buff-topped
+hunting-boots and a couple of grooms behind him, the little knot of
+horsemen showing up clearly upon the curving swells and then dipping down
+into the alternate hollows.  Some of the more observant of the crowd had
+glanced suspiciously at this advancing figure, but the majority had not
+observed him at all until he reined up his horse upon a knoll which
+overlooked the amphitheatre, and in a stentorian voice announced that he
+represented the _Custos rotulorum_ of His Majesty’s county of Sussex,
+that he proclaimed this assembly to be gathered together for an illegal
+purpose, and that he was commissioned to disperse it by force, if
+necessary.
+
+Never before had I understood that deep-seated fear and wholesome respect
+which many centuries of bludgeoning at the hands of the law had beaten
+into the fierce and turbulent natives of these islands.  Here was a man
+with two attendants upon one side, and on the other thirty thousand very
+angry and disappointed people, many of them fighters by profession, and
+some from the roughest and most dangerous classes in the country.  And
+yet it was the single man who appealed confidently to force, whilst the
+huge multitude swayed and murmured like a mutinous fierce-willed creature
+brought face to face with a power against which it knew that there was
+neither argument nor resistance.  My uncle, however, with Berkeley
+Craven, Sir John Lade, and a dozen other lords and gentlemen, hurried
+across to the interrupter of the sport.
+
+“I presume that you have a warrant, sir?” said Craven.
+
+“Yes, sir, I have a warrant.”
+
+“Then I have a legal right to inspect it.”
+
+The magistrate handed him a blue paper which the little knot of gentlemen
+clustered their heads over, for they were mostly magistrates themselves,
+and were keenly alive to any possible flaw in the wording.  At last
+Craven shrugged his shoulders, and handed it back.
+
+“This seems to be correct, sir,” said he.
+
+“It is entirely correct,” answered the magistrate, affably.  “To prevent
+waste of your valuable time, gentlemen, I may say, once for all, that it
+is my unalterable determination that no fight shall, under any
+circumstances, be brought off in the county over which I have control,
+and I am prepared to follow you all day in order to prevent it.”
+
+To my inexperience this appeared to bring the whole matter to a
+conclusion, but I had underrated the foresight of those who arrange these
+affairs, and also the advantages which made Crawley Down so favourite a
+rendezvous.  There was a hurried consultation between the principals, the
+backers, the referee, and the timekeeper.
+
+“It’s seven miles to Hampshire border and about two to Surrey,” said
+Jackson.  The famous Master of the Ring was clad in honour of the
+occasion in a most resplendent scarlet coat worked in gold at the
+buttonholes, a white stock, a looped hat with a broad black band, buff
+knee-breeches, white silk stockings, and paste buckles—a costume which
+did justice to his magnificent figure, and especially to those famous
+“balustrade” calves which had helped him to be the finest runner and
+jumper as well as the most formidable pugilist in England.  His hard,
+high-boned face, large piercing eyes, and immense physique made him a
+fitting leader for that rough and tumultuous body who had named him as
+their commander-in-chief.
+
+“If I might venture to offer you a word of advice,” said the affable
+official, “it would be to make for the Hampshire line, for Sir James
+Ford, on the Surrey border, has as great an objection to such assemblies
+as I have, whilst Mr. Merridew, of Long Hall, who is the Hampshire
+magistrate, has fewer scruples upon the point.”
+
+“Sir,” said my uncle, raising his hat in his most impressive manner, “I
+am infinitely obliged to you.  With the referee’s permission, there is
+nothing for it but to shift the stakes.”
+
+In an instant a scene of the wildest animation had set in.  Tom Owen and
+his assistant, Fogo, with the help of the ring-keepers, plucked up the
+stakes and ropes, and carried them off across country.  Crab Wilson was
+enveloped in great coats, and borne away in the barouche, whilst Champion
+Harrison took Mr. Craven’s place in our curricle.  Then, off the huge
+crowd started, horsemen, vehicles, and pedestrians, rolling slowly over
+the broad face of the moorland.  The carriages rocked and pitched like
+boats in a seaway, as they lumbered along, fifty abreast, scrambling and
+lurching over everything which came in their way.  Sometimes, with a snap
+and a thud, one axle would come to the ground, whilst a wheel reeled off
+amidst the tussocks of heather, and roars of delight greeted the owners
+as they looked ruefully at the ruin.  Then as the gorse clumps grew
+thinner, and the sward more level, those on foot began to run, the riders
+struck in their spurs, the drivers cracked their whips, and away they all
+streamed in the maddest, wildest cross-country steeplechase, the yellow
+barouche and the crimson curricle, which held the two champions, leading
+the van.
+
+“What do you think of your chances, Harrison?” I heard my uncle ask, as
+the two mares picked their way over the broken ground.
+
+“It’s my last fight, Sir Charles,” said the smith.  “You heard the missus
+say that if she let me off this time I was never to ask again.  I must
+try and make it a good one.”
+
+“But your training?”
+
+“I’m always in training, sir.  I work hard from morning to night, and I
+drink little else than water.  I don’t think that Captain Barclay can do
+much better with all his rules.”
+
+“He’s rather long in the reach for you.”
+
+“I’ve fought and beat them that were longer.  If it comes to a rally I
+should hold my own, and I should have the better of him at a throw.”
+
+“It’s a match of youth against experience.  Well, I would not hedge a
+guinea of my money.  But, unless he was acting under force, I cannot
+forgive young Jim for having deserted me.”
+
+“He _was_ acting under force, Sir Charles.”
+
+“You have seen him, then?”
+
+“No, master, I have not seen him.”
+
+“You know where he is?”
+
+“Well, it is not for me to say one way or the other.  I can only tell you
+that he could not help himself.  But here’s the beak a-comin’ for us
+again.”
+
+The ominous figure galloped up once more alongside of our curricle, but
+this time his mission was a more amiable one.
+
+“My jurisdiction ends at that ditch, sir,” said he.  “I should fancy that
+you could hardly wish a better place for a mill than the sloping field
+beyond.  I am quite sure that no one will interfere with you there.”
+
+His anxiety that the fight should be brought off was in such contrast to
+the zeal with which he had chased us from his county, that my uncle could
+not help remarking upon it.
+
+“It is not for a magistrate to wink at the breaking of the law, sir,” he
+answered.  “But if my colleague of Hampshire has no scruples about its
+being brought off within his jurisdiction, I should very much like to see
+the fight,” with which he spurred his horse up an adjacent knoll, from
+which he thought that he might gain the best view of the proceedings.
+
+And now I had a view of all those points of etiquette and curious
+survivals of custom which are so recent, that we have not yet appreciated
+that they may some day be as interesting to the social historian as they
+then were to the sportsman.  A dignity was given to the contest by a
+rigid code of ceremony, just as the clash of mail-clad knights was
+prefaced and adorned by the calling of the heralds and the showing of
+blazoned shields.  To many in those ancient days the tourney may have
+seemed a bloody and brutal ordeal, but we who look at it with ample
+perspective see that it was a rude but gallant preparation for the
+conditions of life in an iron age.  And so also, when the ring has become
+as extinct as the lists, we may understand that a broader philosophy
+would show that all things, which spring up so naturally and
+spontaneously, have a function to fulfil, and that it is a less evil that
+two men should, of their own free will, fight until they can fight no
+more than that the standard of hardihood and endurance should run the
+slightest risk of being lowered in a nation which depends so largely upon
+the individual qualities of her citizens for her defence.  Do away with
+war, if the cursed thing can by any wit of man be avoided, but until you
+see your way to that, have a care in meddling with those primitive
+qualities to which at any moment you may have to appeal for your own
+protection.
+
+Tom Owen and his singular assistant, Fogo, who combined the functions of
+prize-fighter and of poet, though, fortunately for himself, he could use
+his fists better than his pen, soon had the ring arranged according to
+the rules then in vogue.  The white wooden posts, each with the P.C. of
+the pugilistic club printed upon it, were so fixed as to leave a square
+of 24 feet within the roped enclosure.  Outside this ring an outer one
+was pitched, eight feet separating the two.  The inner was for the
+combatants and for their seconds, while in the outer there were places
+for the referee, the timekeeper, the backers, and a few select and
+fortunate individuals, of whom, through being in my uncle’s company, I
+was one.  Some twenty well-known prize-fighters, including my friend Bill
+Warr, Black Richmond, Maddox, The Pride of Westminster, Tom Belcher,
+Paddington Jones, Tough Tom Blake, Symonds the ruffian, Tyne the tailor,
+and others, were stationed in the outer ring as beaters.  These fellows
+all wore the high white hats which were at that time much affected by the
+fancy, and they were armed with horse-whips, silver-mounted, and each
+bearing the P.C. monogram.  Did any one, be it East End rough or West End
+patrician, intrude within the outer ropes, this corp of guardians neither
+argued nor expostulated, but they fell upon the offender and laced him
+with their whips until he escaped back out of the forbidden ground.  Even
+with so formidable a guard and such fierce measures, the beaters-out, who
+had to check the forward heaves of a maddened, straining crowd, were
+often as exhausted at the end of a fight as the principals themselves.
+In the mean time they formed up in a line of sentinels, presenting under
+their row of white hats every type of fighting face, from the fresh
+boyish countenances of Tom Belcher, Jones, and the other younger
+recruits, to the scarred and mutilated visages of the veteran bruisers.
+
+Whilst the business of the fixing of the stakes and the fastening of the
+ropes was going forward, I from my place of vantage could hear the talk
+of the crowd behind me, the front two rows of which were lying upon the
+grass, the next two kneeling, and the others standing in serried ranks
+all up the side of the gently sloping hill, so that each line could just
+see over the shoulders of that which was in front.  There were several,
+and those amongst the most experienced, who took the gloomiest view of
+Harrison’s chances, and it made my heart heavy to overhear them.
+
+“It’s the old story over again,” said one.  “They won’t bear in mind that
+youth will be served.  They only learn wisdom when it’s knocked into
+them.”
+
+“Ay, ay,” responded another.  “That’s how Jack Slack thrashed Boughton,
+and I myself saw Hooper, the tinman, beat to pieces by the fighting
+oilman.  They all come to it in time, and now it’s Harrison’s turn.”
+
+“Don’t you be so sure about that!” cried a third.  “I’ve seen Jack
+Harrison fight five times, and I never yet saw him have the worse of it.
+He’s a slaughterer, and so I tell you.”
+
+“He was, you mean.”
+
+“Well, I don’t see no such difference as all that comes to, and I’m
+putting ten guineas on my opinion.”
+
+“Why,” said a loud, consequential man from immediately behind me,
+speaking with a broad western burr, “vrom what I’ve zeen of this young
+Gloucester lad, I doan’t think Harrison could have stood bevore him for
+ten rounds when he vas in his prime.  I vas coming up in the Bristol
+coach yesterday, and the guard he told me that he had vifteen thousand
+pound in hard gold in the boot that had been zent up to back our man.”
+
+“They’ll be in luck if they see their money again,” said another.
+“Harrison’s no lady’s-maid fighter, and he’s blood to the bone.  He’d
+have a shy at it if his man was as big as Carlton House.”
+
+“Tut,” answered the west-countryman.  “It’s only in Bristol and
+Gloucester that you can get men to beat Bristol and Gloucester.”
+
+“It’s like your damned himpudence to say so,” said an angry voice from
+the throng behind him.  “There are six men in London that would hengage
+to walk round the best twelve that hever came from the west.”
+
+The proceedings might have opened by an impromptu bye-battle between the
+indignant cockney and the gentleman from Bristol, but a prolonged roar of
+applause broke in upon their altercation.  It was caused by the
+appearance in the ring of Crab Wilson, followed by Dutch Sam and Mendoza
+carrying the basin, sponge, brandy-bladder, and other badges of their
+office.  As he entered Wilson pulled the canary-yellow handkerchief from
+his waist, and going to the corner post, he tied it to the top of it,
+where it remained fluttering in the breeze.  He then took a bundle of
+smaller ribands of the same colour from his seconds, and walking round,
+he offered them to the noblemen and Corinthians at half-a-guinea apiece
+as souvenirs of the fight.  His brisk trade was only brought to an end by
+the appearance of Harrison, who climbed in a very leisurely manner over
+the ropes, as befitted his more mature years and less elastic joints.
+The yell which greeted him was even more enthusiastic than that which had
+heralded Wilson, and there was a louder ring of admiration in it, for the
+crowd had already had their opportunity of seeing Wilson’s physique,
+whilst Harrison’s was a surprise to them.
+
+I had often looked upon the mighty arms and neck of the smith, but I had
+never before seen him stripped to the waist, or understood the marvellous
+symmetry of development which had made him in his youth the favourite
+model of the London sculptors.  There was none of that white sleek skin
+and shimmering play of sinew which made Wilson a beautiful picture, but
+in its stead there was a rugged grandeur of knotted and tangled muscle,
+as though the roots of some old tree were writhing from breast to
+shoulder, and from shoulder to elbow.  Even in repose the sun threw
+shadows from the curves of his skin, but when he exerted himself every
+muscle bunched itself up, distinct and hard, breaking his whole trunk
+into gnarled knots of sinew.  His skin, on face and body, was darker and
+harsher than that of his youthful antagonist, but he looked tougher and
+harder, an effect which was increased by the sombre colour of his
+stockings and breeches.  He entered the ring, sucking a lemon, with Jim
+Belcher and Caleb Baldwin, the coster, at his heels.  Strolling across to
+the post, he tied his blue bird’s-eye handkerchief over the
+west-countryman’s yellow, and then walked to his opponent with his hand
+out.
+
+“I hope I see you well, Wilson,” said he.
+
+“Pretty tidy, I thank you,” answered the other.  “We’ll speak to each
+other in a different vashion, I ’spects, afore we part.”
+
+“But no ill-feeling,” said the smith, and the two fighting men grinned at
+each other as they took their own corners.
+
+“May I ask, Mr. Referee, whether these two men have been weighed?” asked
+Sir Lothian Hume, standing up in the outer ring.
+
+“Their weight has just been taken under my supervision, sir,” answered
+Mr. Craven.  “Your man brought the scale down at thirteen-three, and
+Harrison at thirteen-eight.”
+
+“He’s a fifteen-stoner from the loins upwards,” cried Dutch Sam, from his
+corner.
+
+“We’ll get some of it off him before we finish.”
+
+“You’ll get more off him than ever you bargained for,” answered Jim
+Belcher, and the crowd laughed at the rough chaff.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+THE SMITH’S LAST BATTLE.
+
+
+“CLEAR the outer ring!” cried Jackson, standing up beside the ropes with
+a big silver watch in his hand.
+
+“Ss-whack! ss-whack! ss-whack!” went the horse-whips—for a number of the
+spectators, either driven onwards by the pressure behind or willing to
+risk some physical pain on the chance of getting a better view, had crept
+under the ropes and formed a ragged fringe within the outer ring.  Now,
+amidst roars of laughter from the crowd and a shower of blows from the
+beaters-out, they dived madly back, with the ungainly haste of frightened
+sheep blundering through a gap in their hurdles.  Their case was a hard
+one, for the folk in front refused to yield an inch of their places—but
+the arguments from the rear prevailed over everything else, and presently
+every frantic fugitive had been absorbed, whilst the beaters-out took
+their stands along the edge at regular intervals, with their whips held
+down by their thighs.
+
+“Gentlemen,” cried Jackson, again, “I am requested to inform you that Sir
+Charles Tregellis’s nominee is Jack Harrison, fighting at thirteen-eight,
+and Sir Lothian Hume’s is Crab Wilson, at thirteen-three.  No person can
+be allowed at the inner ropes save the referee and the timekeeper.  I
+have only to beg that, if the occasion should require it, you will all
+give me your assistance to keep the ground clear, to prevent confusion,
+and to have a fair fight.  All ready?”
+
+“All ready!” from both corners.
+
+“Time!”
+
+There was a breathless hush as Harrison, Wilson, Belcher, and Dutch Sam
+walked very briskly into the centre of the ring.  The two men shook
+hands, whilst their seconds did the same, the four hands crossing each
+other.  Then the seconds dropped back, and the two champions stood toe to
+toe, with their hands up.
+
+It was a magnificent sight to any one who had not lost his sense of
+appreciation of the noblest of all the works of Nature.  Both men
+fulfilled that requisite of the powerful athlete that they should look
+larger without their clothes than with them.  In ring slang, they buffed
+well.  And each showed up the other’s points on account of the extreme
+contrast between them: the long, loose-limbed, deer-footed youngster, and
+the square-set, rugged veteran with his trunk like the stump of an oak.
+The betting began to rise upon the younger man from the instant that they
+were put face to face, for his advantages were obvious, whilst those
+qualities which had brought Harrison to the top in his youth were only a
+memory in the minds of the older men.  All could see the three inches
+extra of height and two of reach which Wilson possessed, and a glance at
+the quick, cat-like motions of his feet, and the perfect poise of his
+body upon his legs, showed how swiftly he could spring either in or out
+from his slower adversary.  But it took a subtler insight to read the
+grim smile which flickered over the smith’s mouth, or the smouldering
+fire which shone in his grey eyes, and it was only the old-timers who
+knew that, with his mighty heart and his iron frame, he was a perilous
+man to lay odds against.
+
+Wilson stood in the position from which he had derived his nickname, his
+left hand and left foot well to the front, his body sloped very far back
+from his loins, and his guard thrown across his chest, but held well
+forward in a way which made him exceedingly hard to get at.  The smith,
+on the other hand, assumed the obsolete attitude which Humphries and
+Mendoza introduced, but which had not for ten years been seen in a
+first-class battle.  Both his knees were slightly bent, he stood square
+to his opponent, and his two big brown fists were held over his mark so
+that he could lead equally with either.  Wilson’s hands, which moved
+incessantly in and out, had been stained with some astringent juice with
+the purpose of preventing them from puffing, and so great was the
+contrast between them and his white forearms, that I imagined that he was
+wearing dark, close-fitting gloves until my uncle explained the matter in
+a whisper.  So they stood in a quiver of eagerness and expectation,
+whilst that huge multitude hung so silently and breathlessly upon every
+motion that they might have believed themselves to be alone, man to man,
+in the centre of some primeval solitude.
+
+It was evident from the beginning that Crab Wilson meant to throw no
+chance away, and that he would trust to his lightness of foot and
+quickness of hand until he should see something of the tactics of this
+rough-looking antagonist.  He paced swiftly round several times, with
+little, elastic, menacing steps, whilst the smith pivoted slowly to
+correspond.  Then, as Wilson took a backward step to induce Harrison to
+break his ground and follow him, the older man grinned and shook his
+head.
+
+“You must come to me, lad,” said he.  “I’m too old to scamper round the
+ring after you.  But we have the day before us, and I’ll wait.”
+
+He may not have expected his invitation to be so promptly answered; but
+in an instant, with a panther spring, the west-countryman was on him.
+Smack! smack! smack!  Thud! thud!  The first three were on Harrison’s
+face, the last two were heavy counters upon Wilson’s body.  Back danced
+the youngster, disengaging himself in beautiful style, but with two angry
+red blotches over the lower line of his ribs.  “Blood for Wilson!” yelled
+the crowd, and as the smith faced round to follow the movements of his
+nimble adversary, I saw with a thrill that his chin was crimson and
+dripping.  In came Wilson again with a feint at the mark and a flush hit
+on Harrison’s cheek; then, breaking the force of the smith’s ponderous
+right counter, he brought the round to a conclusion by slipping down upon
+the grass.
+
+“First knock-down for Harrison!” roared a thousand voices, for ten times
+as many pounds would change hands upon the point.
+
+“I appeal to the referee!” cried Sir Lothian Hume.  “It was a slip, and
+not a knock-down.”
+
+“I give it a slip,” said Berkeley Craven, and the men walked to their
+corners, amidst a general shout of applause for a spirited and
+well-contested opening round.  Harrison fumbled in his mouth with his
+finger and thumb, and then with a sharp half-turn he wrenched out a
+tooth, which he threw into the basin.  “Quite like old times,” said he to
+Belcher.
+
+“Have a care, Jack!” whispered the anxious second.  “You got rather more
+than you gave.”
+
+“Maybe I can carry more, too,” said he serenely, whilst Caleb Baldwin
+mopped the big sponge over his face, and the shining bottom of the tin
+basin ceased suddenly to glimmer through the water.
+
+I could gather from the comments of the experienced Corinthians around
+me, and from the remarks of the crowd behind, that Harrison’s chance was
+thought to have been lessened by this round.
+
+“I’ve seen his old faults and I haven’t seen his old merits,” said Sir
+John Lade, our opponent of the Brighton Road.  “He’s as slow on his feet
+and with his guard as ever.  Wilson hit him as he liked.”
+
+“Wilson may hit him three times to his once, but his one is worth
+Wilson’s three,” remarked my uncle.  “He’s a natural fighter and the
+other an excellent sparrer, but I don’t hedge a guinea.”
+
+A sudden hush announced that the men were on their feet again, and so
+skilfully had the seconds done their work, that neither looked a jot the
+worse for what had passed.  Wilson led viciously with his left, but
+misjudged his distance, receiving a smashing counter on the mark in reply
+which sent him reeling and gasping to the ropes.  “Hurrah for the old
+one!” yelled the mob, and my uncle laughed and nudged Sir John Lade.  The
+west-countryman smiled, and shook himself like a dog from the water as
+with a stealthy step he came back to the centre of the ring, where his
+man was still standing.  Bang came Harrison’s right upon the mark once
+more, but Crab broke the blow with his elbow, and jumped laughing away.
+Both men were a little winded, and their quick, high breathing, with the
+light patter of their feet as they danced round each other, blended into
+one continuous, long-drawn sound.  Two simultaneous exchanges with the
+left made a clap like a pistol-shot, and then as Harrison rushed in for a
+fall, Wilson slipped him, and over went my old friend upon his face,
+partly from the impetus of his own futile attack, and partly from a
+swinging half-arm blow which the west-countryman brought home upon his
+ear as he passed.
+
+“Knock-down for Wilson,” cried the referee, and the answering roar was
+like the broadside of a seventy-four.  Up went hundreds of curly brimmed
+Corinthian hats into the air, and the slope before us was a bank of
+flushed and yelling faces.  My heart was cramped with my fears, and I
+winced at every blow, yet I was conscious also of an absolute
+fascination, with a wild thrill of fierce joy and a certain exultation in
+our common human nature which could rise above pain and fear in its
+straining after the very humblest form of fame.
+
+Belcher and Baldwin had pounced upon their man, and had him up and in his
+corner in an instant, but, in spite of the coolness with which the hardy
+smith took his punishment, there was immense exultation amongst the
+west-countrymen.
+
+“We’ve got him!  He’s beat!  He’s beat!” shouted the two Jew seconds.
+“It’s a hundred to a tizzy on Gloucester!”
+
+“Beat, is he?” answered Belcher.  “You’ll need to rent this field before
+you can beat him, for he’ll stand a month of that kind of fly-flappin’.”
+He was swinging a towel in front of Harrison as he spoke, whilst Baldwin
+mopped him with the sponge.
+
+“How is it with you, Harrison?” asked my uncle.
+
+“Hearty as a buck, sir.  It’s as right as the day.”
+
+The cheery answer came with so merry a ring that the clouds cleared from
+my uncle’s face.
+
+“You should recommend your man to lead more, Tregellis,” said Sir John
+Lade.  “He’ll never win it unless he leads.”
+
+“He knows more about the game than you or I do, Lade.  I’ll let him take
+his own way.”
+
+“The betting is three to one against him now,” said a gentleman, whose
+grizzled moustache showed that he was an officer of the late war.
+
+“Very true, General Fitzpatrick.  But you’ll observe that it is the raw
+young bloods who are giving the odds, and the Sheenies who are taking
+them.  I still stick to my opinion.”
+
+The two men came briskly up to the scratch at the call of time, the smith
+a little lumpy on one side of his head, but with the same good-humoured
+and yet menacing smile upon his lips.  As to Wilson, he was exactly as he
+had begun in appearance, but twice I saw him close his lips sharply as if
+he were in a sudden spasm of pain, and the blotches over his ribs were
+darkening from scarlet to a sullen purple.  He held his guard somewhat
+lower to screen this vulnerable point, and he danced round his opponent
+with a lightness which showed that his wind had not been impaired by the
+body-blows, whilst the smith still adopted the impassive tactics with
+which he had commenced.
+
+Many rumours had come up to us from the west as to Crab Wilson’s fine
+science and the quickness of his hitting, but the truth surpassed what
+had been expected of him.  In this round and the two which followed he
+showed a swiftness and accuracy which old ringsiders declared that
+Mendoza in his prime had never surpassed.  He was in and out like
+lightning, and his blows were heard and felt rather than seen.  But
+Harrison still took them all with the same dogged smile, occasionally
+getting in a hard body-blow in return, for his adversary’s height and his
+position combined to keep his face out of danger.  At the end of the
+fifth round the odds were four to one, and the west-countrymen were
+riotous in their exultation.
+
+“What think you now?” cried the west-countryman behind me, and in his
+excitement he could get no further save to repeat over and over again,
+“What think you now?”  When in the sixth round the smith was peppered
+twice without getting in a counter, and had the worst of the fall as
+well, the fellow became inarticulate altogether, and could only huzza
+wildly in his delight.  Sir Lothian Hume was smiling and nodding his
+head, whilst my uncle was coldly impassive, though I was sure that his
+heart was as heavy as mine.
+
+“This won’t do, Tregellis,” said General Fitzpatrick.  “My money is on
+the old one, but the other is the finer boxer.”
+
+“My man is _un peu passé_, but he will come through all right,” answered
+my uncle.
+
+I saw that both Belcher and Baldwin were looking grave, and I knew that
+we must have a change of some sort, or the old tale of youth and age
+would be told once more.
+
+The seventh round, however, showed the reserve strength of the hardy old
+fighter, and lengthened the faces of those layers of odds who had
+imagined that the fight was practically over, and that a few finishing
+rounds would have given the smith his _coup-de-grâce_.  It was clear when
+the two men faced each other that Wilson had made himself up for
+mischief, and meant to force the fighting and maintain the lead which he
+had gained, but that grey gleam was not quenched yet in the veteran’s
+eyes, and still the same smile played over his grim face.  He had become
+more jaunty, too, in the swing of his shoulders and the poise of his
+head, and it brought my confidence back to see the brisk way in which he
+squared up to his man.
+
+Wilson led with his left, but was short, and he only just avoided a
+dangerous right-hander which whistled in at his ribs.  “Bravo, old ’un,
+one of those will be a dose of laudanum if you get it home,” cried
+Belcher.  There was a pause of shuffling feet and hard breathing, broken
+by the thud of a tremendous body blow from Wilson, which the smith
+stopped with the utmost coolness.  Then again a few seconds of silent
+tension, when Wilson led viciously at the head, but Harrison took it on
+his forearm, smiling and nodding at his opponent.  “Get the pepper-box
+open!” yelled Mendoza, and Wilson sprang in to carry out his
+instructions, but was hit out again by a heavy drive on the chest.
+“Now’s the time!  Follow it up!” cried Belcher, and in rushed the smith,
+pelting in his half-arm blows, and taking the returns without a wince,
+until Crab Wilson went down exhausted in the corner.  Both men had their
+marks to show, but Harrison had all the best of the rally, so it was our
+turn to throw our hats into the air and to shout ourselves hoarse, whilst
+the seconds clapped their man upon his broad back as they hurried him to
+his corner.
+
+“What think you now?” shouted all the neighbours of the west-countryman,
+repeating his own refrain.
+
+“Why, Dutch Sam never put in a better rally,” cried Sir John Lade.
+“What’s the betting now, Sir Lothian?”
+
+“I have laid all that I intend; but I don’t think my man can lose it.”
+For all that, the smile had faded from his face, and I observed that he
+glanced continually over his shoulder into the crowd behind him.
+
+A sullen purple cloud had been drifting slowly up from the
+south-west—though I dare say that out of thirty thousand folk there were
+very few who had spared the time or attention to mark it.  Now it
+suddenly made its presence apparent by a few heavy drops of rain,
+thickening rapidly into a sharp shower, which filled the air with its
+hiss, and rattled noisily upon the high, hard hats of the Corinthians.
+Coat-collars were turned up and handkerchiefs tied round necks, whilst
+the skins of the two men glistened with the moisture as they stood up to
+each other once more.  I noticed that Belcher whispered very earnestly
+into Harrison’s ear as he rose from his knee, and that the smith nodded
+his head curtly, with the air of a man who understands and approves of
+his orders.
+
+And what those orders were was instantly apparent.  Harrison was to be
+turned from the defender into the attacker.  The result of the rally in
+the last round had convinced his seconds that when it came to
+give-and-take hitting, their hardy and powerful man was likely to have
+the better of it.  And then on the top of this came the rain.  With the
+slippery grass the superior activity of Wilson would be neutralized, and
+he would find it harder to avoid the rushes of his opponent.  It was in
+taking advantage of such circumstances that the art of ringcraft lay, and
+many a shrewd and vigilant second had won a losing battle for his man.
+“Go in, then!  Go in!” whooped the two prize-fighters, while every backer
+in the crowd took up the roar.
+
+And Harrison went in, in such fashion that no man who saw him do it will
+ever forget it.  Crab Wilson, as game as a pebble, met him with a flush
+hit every time, but no human strength or human science seemed capable of
+stopping the terrible onslaught of this iron man.  Round after round he
+scrambled his way in, slap-bang, right and left, every hit tremendously
+sent home.  Sometimes he covered his own face with his left, and
+sometimes he disdained to use any guard at all, but his springing hits
+were irresistible.  The rain lashed down upon them, pouring from their
+faces and running in crimson trickles over their bodies, but neither gave
+any heed to it save to manœuvre always with the view of bringing it in to
+each other’s eyes.  But round after round the west-countryman fell, and
+round after round the betting rose, until the odds were higher in our
+favour than ever they had been against us.  With a sinking heart, filled
+with pity and admiration for these two gallant men, I longed that every
+bout might be the last, and yet the “Time!” was hardly out of Jackson’s
+mouth before they had both sprung from their second’s knees, with
+laughter upon their mutilated faces and chaffing words upon their
+bleeding lips.  It may have been a humble object-lesson, but I give you
+my word that many a time in my life I have braced myself to a hard task
+by the remembrance of that morning upon Crawley Downs, asking myself if
+my manhood were so weak that I would not do for my country, or for those
+whom I loved, as much as these two would endure for a paltry stake and
+for their own credit amongst their fellows.  Such a spectacle may
+brutalize those who are brutal, but I say that there is a spiritual side
+to it also, and that the sight of the utmost human limit of endurance and
+courage is one which bears a lesson of its own.
+
+But if the ring can breed bright virtues, it is but a partisan who can
+deny that it can be the mother of black vices also, and we were destined
+that morning to have a sight of each.  It so chanced that, as the battle
+went against his man, my eyes stole round very often to note the
+expression upon Sir Lothian Hume’s face, for I knew how fearlessly he had
+laid the odds, and I understood that his fortunes as well as his champion
+were going down before the smashing blows of the old bruiser.  The
+confident smile with which he had watched the opening rounds had long
+vanished from his lips, and his cheeks had turned of a sallow pallor,
+whilst his small, fierce grey eyes looked furtively from under his craggy
+brows, and more than once he burst into savage imprecations when Wilson
+was beaten to the ground.  But especially I noticed that his chin was
+always coming round to his shoulder, and that at the end of every round
+he sent keen little glances flying backwards into the crowd.  For some
+time, amidst the immense hillside of faces which banked themselves up on
+the slope behind us, I was unable to pick out the exact point at which
+his gaze was directed.  But at last I succeeded in following it.  A very
+tall man, who showed a pair of broad, bottle-green shoulders high above
+his neighbours, was looking very hard in our direction, and I assured
+myself that a quick exchange of almost imperceptible signals was going on
+between him and the Corinthian baronet.  I became conscious, also, as I
+watched this stranger, that the cluster of men around him were the
+roughest elements of the whole assembly: fierce, vicious-looking fellows,
+with cruel, debauched faces, who howled like a pack of wolves at every
+blow, and yelled execrations at Harrison whenever he walked across to his
+corner.  So turbulent were they that I saw the ringkeepers whisper
+together and glance up in their direction, as if preparing for trouble in
+store, but none of them had realized how near it was to breaking out, or
+how dangerous it might prove.
+
+Thirty rounds had been fought in an hour and twenty-five minutes, and the
+rain was pelting down harder than ever.  A thick steam rose from the two
+fighters, and the ring was a pool of mud.  Repeated falls had turned the
+men brown, with a horrible mottling of crimson blotches.  Round after
+round had ended by Crab Wilson going down, and it was evident, even to my
+inexperienced eyes, that he was weakening rapidly.  He leaned heavily
+upon the two Jews when they led him to his corner, and he reeled when
+their support was withdrawn.  Yet his science had, through long practice,
+become an automatic thing with him, so that he stopped and hit with less
+power, but with as great accuracy as ever.  Even now a casual observer
+might have thought that he had the best of the battle, for the smith was
+far the more terribly marked, but there was a wild stare in the
+west-countryman’s eyes, and a strange catch in his breathing, which told
+us that it is not the most dangerous blow which shows upon the surface.
+A heavy cross-buttock at the end of the thirty-first round shook the
+breath from his body, and he came up for the thirty-second with the same
+jaunty gallantry as ever, but with the dazed expression of a man whose
+wind has been utterly smashed.
+
+“He’s got the roly-polies,” cried Belcher.  “You have it your own way
+now!”
+
+“I’ll vight for a week yet,” gasped Wilson.
+
+“Damme, I like his style,” cried Sir John Lade.  “No shifting, nothing
+shy, no hugging nor hauling.  It’s a shame to let him fight.  Take the
+brave fellow away!”
+
+“Take him away!  Take him away!” echoed a hundred voices.
+
+“I won’t be taken away!  Who dares say so?” cried Wilson, who was back,
+after another fall, upon his second’s knee.
+
+“His heart won’t suffer him to cry enough,” said General Fitzpatrick.
+“As his patron, Sir Lothian, you should direct the sponge to be thrown
+up.”
+
+“You think he can’t win it?”
+
+“He is hopelessly beat, sir.”
+
+“You don’t know him.  He’s a glutton of the first water.”
+
+“A gamer man never pulled his shirt off; but the other is too strong for
+him.”
+
+“Well, sir, I believe that he can fight another ten rounds.”  He half
+turned as he spoke, and I saw him throw up his left arm with a singular
+gesture into the air.
+
+“Cut the ropes!  Fair play!  Wait till the rain stops!” roared a
+stentorian voice behind me, and I saw that it came from the big man with
+the bottle-green coat.  His cry was a signal, for, like a thunderclap,
+there came a hundred hoarse voices shouting together: “Fair play for
+Gloucester!  Break the ring!  Break the ring!”
+
+Jackson had called “Time,” and the two mud-plastered men were already
+upon their feet, but the interest had suddenly changed from the fight to
+the audience.  A succession of heaves from the back of the crowd had sent
+a series of long ripples running through it, all the heads swaying
+rhythmically in the one direction like a wheatfield in a squall.  With
+every impulsion the oscillation increased, those in front trying vainly
+to steady themselves against the rushes from behind, until suddenly there
+came a sharp snap, two white stakes with earth clinging to their points
+flew into the outer ring, and a spray of people, dashed from the solid
+wave behind, were thrown against the line of the beaters-out.  Down came
+the long horse-whips, swayed by the most vigorous arms in England; but
+the wincing and shouting victims had no sooner scrambled back a few yards
+from the merciless cuts, before a fresh charge from the rear hurled them
+once more into the arms of the prize-fighters.  Many threw themselves
+down upon the turf and allowed successive waves to pass over their
+bodies, whilst others, driven wild by the blows, returned them with their
+hunting-crops and walking-canes.  And then, as half the crowd strained to
+the left and half to the right to avoid the pressure from behind, the
+vast mass was suddenly reft in twain, and through the gap surged the
+rough fellows from behind, all armed with loaded sticks and yelling for
+“Fair play and Gloucester!”  Their determined rush carried the
+prize-fighters before them, the inner ropes snapped like threads, and in
+an instant the ring was a swirling,’ seething mass of figures, whips and
+sticks falling and clattering, whilst, face to face, in the middle of it
+all, so wedged that they could neither advance nor retreat, the smith and
+the west-countryman continued their long-drawn battle as oblivious of the
+chaos raging round them as two bulldogs would have been who had got each
+other by the throat.  The driving rain, the cursing and screams of pain,
+the swish of the blows, the yelling of orders and advice, the heavy smell
+of the damp cloth—every incident of that scene of my early youth comes
+back to me now in my old age as clearly as if it had been but yesterday.
+
+It was not easy for us to observe anything at the time, however, for we
+were ourselves in the midst of the frantic crowd, swaying about and
+carried occasionally quite off our feet, but endeavouring to keep our
+places behind Jackson and Berkeley Craven, who, with sticks and whips
+meeting over their heads, were still calling the rounds and
+superintending the fight.
+
+“The ring’s broken!” shouted Sir Lothian Hume.  “I appeal to the referee!
+The fight is null and void.”
+
+“You villain!” cried my uncle, hotly; “this is your doing.”
+
+“You have already an account to answer for with me,” said Hume, with his
+sinister sneer, and as he spoke he was swept by the rush of the crowd
+into my uncle’s very arms.  The two men’s faces were not more than a few
+inches apart, and Sir Lothian’s bold eyes had to sink before the
+imperious scorn which gleamed coldly in those of my uncle.
+
+“We will settle our accounts, never fear, though I degrade myself in
+meeting such a blackleg.  What is it, Craven?”
+
+“We shall have to declare a draw, Tregellis.”
+
+“My man has the fight in hand.”
+
+“I cannot help it.  I cannot attend to my duties when every moment I am
+cut over with a whip or a stick.”
+
+Jackson suddenly made a wild dash into the crowd, but returned with empty
+hands and a rueful face.
+
+“They’ve stolen my timekeeper’s watch,” he cried.  “A little cove
+snatched it out of my hand.”
+
+My uncle clapped his hand to his fob.
+
+“Mine has gone also!” he cried.
+
+“Draw it at once, or your man will get hurt,” said Jackson, and we saw
+that as the undaunted smith stood up to Wilson for another round, a dozen
+rough fellows were clustering round him with bludgeons.
+
+“Do you consent to a draw, Sir Lothian Hume?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“And you, Sir Charles?”
+
+“Certainly not.”
+
+“The ring is gone.”
+
+“That is no fault of mine.”
+
+“Well, I see no help for it.  As referee I order that the men be
+withdrawn, and that the stakes be returned to their owners.”
+
+“A draw!  A draw!” shrieked every one, and the crowd in an instant
+dispersed in every direction, the pedestrians running to get a good lead
+upon the London road, and the Corinthians in search of their horses and
+carriages.  Harrison ran over to Wilson’s corner and shook him by the
+hand.
+
+“I hope I have not hurt you much.”
+
+“I’m hard put to it to stand.  How are you?”
+
+“My head’s singin’ like a kettle.  It was the rain that helped me.”
+
+“Yes, I thought I had you beat one time.  I never wish a better battle.”
+
+“Nor me either.  Good-bye.”
+
+And so those two brave-hearted fellows made their way amidst the yelping
+roughs, like two wounded lions amidst a pack of wolves and jackals.  I
+say again that, if the ring has fallen low, it is not in the main the
+fault of the men who have done the fighting, but it lies at the door of
+the vile crew of ring-side parasites and ruffians, who are as far below
+the honest pugilist as the welsher and the blackleg are below the noble
+racehorse which serves them as a pretext for their villainies.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+CLIFFE ROYAL.
+
+
+MY uncle was humanely anxious to get Harrison to bed as soon as possible,
+for the smith, although he laughed at his own injuries, had none the less
+been severely punished.
+
+“Don’t you dare ever to ask my leave to fight again, Jack Harrison,” said
+his wife, as she looked ruefully at his battered face.  “Why, it’s worse
+than when you beat Black Baruk; and if it weren’t for your topcoat, I
+couldn’t swear you were the man who led me to the altar!  If the King of
+England ask you, I’ll never let you do it more.”
+
+“Well, old lass, I give my davy that I never will.  It’s best that I
+leave fightin’ before fightin’ leaves me.”  He screwed up his face as he
+took a sup from Sir Charles’s brandy flask.  “It’s fine liquor, sir, but
+it gets into my cut lips most cruel.  Why, here’s John Cummings of the
+Friars’ Oak Inn, as I’m a sinner, and seekin’ for a mad doctor, to judge
+by the look of him!”
+
+It was certainly a most singular figure who was approaching us over the
+moor.  With the flushed, dazed face of a man who is just recovering from
+recent intoxication, the landlord was tearing madly about, his hat gone,
+and his hair and beard flying in the wind.  He ran in little zigzags from
+one knot of people to another, whilst his peculiar appearance drew a
+running fire of witticisms as he went, so that he reminded me
+irresistibly of a snipe skimming along through a line of guns.  We saw
+him stop for an instant by the yellow barouche, and hand something to Sir
+Lothian Hume.  Then on he came again, until at last, catching sight of
+us, he gave a cry of joy, and ran for us full speed with a note held out
+at arm’s length.
+
+“You’re a nice cove, too, John Cummings,” said Harrison, reproachfully.
+“Didn’t I tell you not to let a drop pass your lips until you had given
+your message to Sir Charles?”
+
+“I ought to be pole-axed, I ought,” he cried in bitter repentance.  “I
+asked for you, Sir Charles, as I’m a livin’ man, I did, but you weren’t
+there, and what with bein’ so pleased at gettin’ such odds when I knew
+Harrison was goin’ to fight, an’ what with the landlord at the George
+wantin’ me to try his own specials, I let my senses go clean away from
+me.  And now it’s only after the fight is over that I see you, Sir
+Charles, an’ if you lay that whip over my back, it’s only what I
+deserve.”
+
+But my uncle was paying no attention whatever to the voluble
+self-reproaches of the landlord.  He had opened the note, and was reading
+it with a slight raising of the eyebrows, which was almost the very
+highest note in his limited emotional gamut.
+
+“What make you of this, nephew?” he asked, handing it to me.
+
+This was what I read—
+
+    “SIR CHARLES TREGELLIS,
+
+    “For God’s sake, come at once, when this reaches you, to Cliffe
+    Royal, and tarry as little as possible upon the way.  You will see me
+    there, and you will hear much which concerns you deeply.  I pray you
+    to come as soon as may be; and until then I remain him whom you knew
+    as
+
+                                                         “JAMES HARRISON.”
+
+“Well, nephew?” asked my uncle.
+
+“Why, sir, I cannot tell what it may mean.”
+
+“Who gave it to you, sirrah?”
+
+“It was young Jim Harrison himself, sir,” said the landlord, “though
+indeed I scarce knew him at first, for he looked like his own ghost.  He
+was so eager that it should reach you that he would not leave me until
+the horse was harnessed and I started upon my way.  There was one note
+for you and one for Sir Lothian Hume, and I wish to God he had chosen a
+better messenger!”
+
+“This is a mystery indeed,” said my uncle, bending his brows over the
+note.  “What should he be doing at that house of ill-omen?  And why does
+he sign himself ‘him whom you knew as Jim Harrison?’  By what other style
+should I know him?  Harrison, you can throw a light upon this.  You, Mrs.
+Harrison; I see by your face that you understand it.”
+
+“Maybe we do, Sir Charles; but we are plain folk, my Jack and I, and we
+go as far as we see our way, and when we don’t see our way any longer, we
+just stop.  We’ve been goin’ this twenty year, but now we’ll draw aside
+and let our betters get to the front; so if you wish to find what that
+note means, I can only advise you to do what you are asked, and to drive
+over to Cliffe Royal, where you will find out.”
+
+My uncle put the note into his pocket.
+
+“I don’t move until I have seen you safely in the hands of the surgeon,
+Harrison.”
+
+“Never mind for me, sir.  The missus and me can drive down to Crawley in
+the gig, and a yard of stickin’ plaster and a raw steak will soon set me
+to rights.”
+
+But my uncle was by no means to be persuaded, and he drove the pair into
+Crawley, where the smith was left under the charge of his wife in the
+very best quarters which money could procure.  Then, after a hasty
+luncheon, we turned the mares’ heads for the south.
+
+“This ends my connection with the ring, nephew,” said my uncle.  “I
+perceive that there is no possible means by which it can be kept pure
+from roguery.  I have been cheated and befooled; but a man learns wisdom
+at last, and never again do I give countenance to a prize-fight.”
+
+Had I been older or he less formidable, I might have said what was in my
+heart, and begged him to give up other things also—to come out from those
+shallow circles in which he lived, and to find some work that was worthy
+of his strong brain and his good heart.  But the thought had hardly
+formed itself in my mind before he had dropped his serious vein, and was
+chatting away about some new silver-mounted harness which he intended to
+spring upon the Mall, and about the match for a thousand guineas which he
+meant to make between his filly Ethelberta and Lord Doncaster’s famous
+three-year-old Aurelius.
+
+We had got as far as Whiteman’s Green, which is rather more than midway
+between Crawley Down and Friars’ Oak, when, looking backwards, I saw far
+down the road the gleam of the sun upon a high yellow carriage.  Sir
+Lothian Hume was following us.
+
+“He has had the same summons as we, and is bound for the same
+destination,” said my uncle, glancing over his shoulder at the distant
+barouche.  “We are both wanted at Cliffe Royal—we, the two survivors of
+that black business.  And it is Jim Harrison of all people who calls us
+there.  Nephew, I have had an eventful life, but I feel as if the very
+strangest scene of it were waiting for me among those trees.”
+
+He whipped up the mares, and now from the curve of the road we could see
+the high dark pinnacles of the old Manor-house shooting up above the
+ancient oaks which ring it round.  The sight of it, with its bloodstained
+and ghost-blasted reputation, would in itself have been enough to send a
+thrill through my nerves; but when the words of my uncle made me suddenly
+realize that this strange summons was indeed for the two men who were
+concerned in that old-world tragedy, and that it was the playmate of my
+youth who had sent it, I caught my breath as I seemed vaguely to catch a
+glimpse of some portentous thing forming itself in front of us.  The
+rusted gates between the crumbling heraldic pillars were folded back, and
+my uncle flicked the mares impatiently as we flew up the weed-grown
+avenue, until he pulled them on their haunches before the time-blotched
+steps.  The front door was open, and Boy Jim was waiting there to meet
+us.
+
+But it was a different Boy Jim from him whom I had known and loved.
+There was a change in him somewhere, a change so marked that it was the
+first thing that I noticed, and yet so subtle that I could not put words
+to it.  He was not better dressed than of old, for I well knew the old
+brown suit that he wore.
+
+He was not less comely, for his training had left him the very model of
+what a man should be.  And yet there was a change, a touch of dignity in
+the expression, a suggestion of confidence in the bearing which seemed,
+now that it was supplied, to be the one thing which had been needed to
+give him harmony and finish.
+
+Somehow, in spite of his prowess, his old school name of “Boy” had clung
+very naturally to him, until that instant when I saw him standing in his
+self-contained and magnificent manhood in the doorway of the ancient
+house.  A woman stood beside him, her hand resting upon his shoulder, and
+I saw that it was Miss Hinton of Anstey Cross.
+
+“You remember me, Sir Charles Tregellis,” said she, coming forward, as we
+sprang down from the curricle.
+
+My uncle looked hard at her with a puzzled face.
+
+“I do not think that I have the privilege, madame.  And yet—”
+
+“Polly Hinton, of the Haymarket.  You surely cannot have forgotten Polly
+Hinton.”
+
+“Forgotten!  Why, we have mourned for you in Fops’ Alley for more years
+than I care to think of.  But what in the name of wonder—”
+
+“I was privately married, and I retired from the stage.  I want you to
+forgive me for taking Jim away from you last night.”
+
+“It was you, then?”
+
+“I had a stronger claim even than you could have.  You were his patron; I
+was his mother.”  She drew his head down to hers as she spoke, and there,
+with their cheeks together, were the two faces, the one stamped with the
+waning beauty of womanhood, the other with the waxing strength of man,
+and yet so alike in the dark eyes, the blue-black hair and the broad
+white brow, that I marvelled that I had never read her secret on the
+first days that I had seen them together.  “Yes,” she cried, “he is my
+own boy, and he saved me from what is worse than death, as your nephew
+Rodney could tell you.  Yet my lips were sealed, and it was only last
+night that I could tell him that it was his mother whom he had brought
+back by his gentleness and his patience into the sweetness of life.”
+
+“Hush, mother!” said Jim, turning his lips to her cheek.  “There are some
+things which are between ourselves.  But tell me, Sir Charles, how went
+the fight?”
+
+“Your uncle would have won it, but the roughs broke the ring.”
+
+“He is no uncle of mine, Sir Charles, but he has been the best and truest
+friend, both to me and to my father, that ever the world could offer.  I
+only know one as true,” he continued, taking me by the hand, “and dear
+old Rodney Stone is his name.  But I trust he was not much hurt?”
+
+“A week or two will set him right.  But I cannot pretend to understand
+how this matter stands, and you must allow me to say that I have not
+heard you advance anything yet which seems to me to justify you in
+abandoning your engagements at a moment’s notice.”
+
+“Come in, Sir Charles, and I am convinced that you will acknowledge that
+I could not have done otherwise.  But here, if I mistake not, is Sir
+Lothian Hume.”
+
+The yellow barouche had swung into the avenue, and a few moments later
+the weary, panting horses had pulled up behind our curricle.  Sir Lothian
+sprang out, looking as black as a thunder-cloud.
+
+“Stay where you are, Corcoran,” said he; and I caught a glimpse of a
+bottle-green coat which told me who was his travelling companion.
+“Well,” he continued, looking round him with an insolent stare, “I should
+vastly like to know who has had the insolence to give me so pressing an
+invitation to visit my own house, and what in the devil you mean by
+daring to trespass upon my grounds?”
+
+“I promise you that you will understand this and a good deal more before
+we part, Sir Lothian,” said Jim, with a curious smile playing over his
+face.  “If you will follow me, I will endeavour to make it all clear to
+you.”
+
+With his mother’s hand in his own, he led us into that ill-omened room
+where the cards were still heaped upon the sideboard, and the dark shadow
+lurked in the corner of the ceiling.
+
+“Now, sirrah, your explanation!” cried Sir Lothian, standing with his
+arms folded by the door.
+
+“My first explanations I owe to you, Sir Charles,” said Jim; and as I
+listened to his voice and noted his manner, I could not but admire the
+effect which the company of her whom he now knew to be his mother had had
+upon a rude country lad.  “I wish to tell you what occurred last night.”
+
+“I will tell it for you, Jim,” said his mother.  “You must know, Sir
+Charles, that though my son knew nothing of his parents, we were both
+alive, and had never lost sight of him.  For my part, I let him have his
+own way in going to London and in taking up this challenge.  It was only
+yesterday that it came to the ears of his father, who would have none of
+it.  He was in the weakest health, and his wishes were not to be
+gainsayed.  He ordered me to go at once and to bring his son to his side.
+I was at my wit’s end, for I was sure that Jim would never come unless a
+substitute were provided for him.  I went to the kind, good couple who
+had brought him up, and I told them how matters stood.  Mrs. Harrison
+loved Jim as if he had been her own son, and her husband loved mine, so
+they came to my help, and may God bless them for their kindness to a
+distracted wife and mother!  Harrison would take Jim’s place if Jim would
+go to his father.  Then I drove to Crawley.  I found out which was Jim’s
+room, and I spoke to him through the window, for I was sure that those
+who had backed him would not let him go.  I told him that I was his
+mother.  I told him who was his father.  I said that I had my phaeton
+ready, and that he might, for all I knew, be only in time to receive the
+dying blessing of that parent whom he had never known.  Still the boy
+would not go until he had my assurance that Harrison would take his
+place.”
+
+“Why did he not leave a message with Belcher?”
+
+“My head was in a whirl, Sir Charles.  To find a father and a mother, a
+new name and a new rank in a few minutes might turn a stronger brain than
+ever mine was.  My mother begged me to come with her, and I went.  The
+phaeton was waiting, but we had scarcely started when some fellow seized
+the horses’ heads, and a couple of ruffians attacked us.  One of them I
+beat over the head with the butt of the whip, so that he dropped the
+cudgel with which he was about to strike me; then lashing the horse, I
+shook off the others and got safely away.  I cannot imagine who they were
+or why they should molest us.”
+
+“Perhaps Sir Lothian Hume could tell you,” said my uncle.
+
+Our enemy said nothing; but his little grey eyes slid round with a most
+murderous glance in our direction.
+
+“After I had come here and seen my father I went down—”
+
+My uncle stopped him with a cry of astonishment.
+
+“What did you say, young man?  You came here and you saw your father—here
+at Cliffe Royal?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+My uncle had turned very pale.
+
+“In God’s name, then, tell us who your father is!”
+
+Jim made no answer save to point over our shoulders, and glancing round,
+we became aware that two people had entered the room through the door
+which led to the bedroom stair.  The one I recognized in an instant.
+That impassive, mask-like face and demure manner could only belong to
+Ambrose, the former valet of my uncle.  The other was a very different
+and even more singular figure.  He was a tall man, clad in a dark
+dressing-gown, and leaning heavily upon a stick.  His long, bloodless
+countenance was so thin and so white that it gave the strangest illusion
+of transparency.  Only within the folds of a shroud have I ever seen so
+wan a face.  The brindled hair and the rounded back gave the impression
+of advanced age, and it was only the dark brows and the bright alert eyes
+glancing out from beneath them which made me doubt whether it was really
+an old man who stood before us.
+
+There was an instant of silence, broken by a deep oath from Sir Lothian
+Hume—
+
+“Lord Avon, by God!” he cried.
+
+“Very much at your service, gentlemen,” answered the strange figure in
+the dressing-gown.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+LORD AVON.
+
+
+MY uncle was an impassive man by nature and had become more so by the
+tradition of the society in which he lived.  He could have turned a card
+upon which his fortune depended without the twitch of a muscle, and I had
+seen him myself driving to imminent death on the Godstone Road with as
+calm a face as if he were out for his daily airing in the Mall.  But now
+the shock which had come upon him was so great that he could only stand
+with white cheeks and staring, incredulous eyes.  Twice I saw him open
+his lips, and twice he put his hand up to his throat, as though a barrier
+had risen betwixt himself and his utterance.  Finally, he took a sudden
+little run forward with both his hands thrown out in greeting.
+
+“Ned!” he cried.
+
+But the strange man who stood before him folded his arms over his breast.
+
+“No Charles,” said he.
+
+My uncle stopped and looked at him in amazement.
+
+“Surely, Ned, you have a greeting for me after all these years?”
+
+“You believed me to have done this deed, Charles.  I read it in your eyes
+and in your manner on that terrible morning.  You never asked me for an
+explanation.  You never considered how impossible such a crime must be
+for a man of my character.  At the first breath of suspicion you, my
+intimate friend, the man who knew me best, set me down as a thief and a
+murderer.”
+
+“No, no, Ned.”
+
+“You did, Charles; I read it in your eyes.  And so it was that when I
+wished to leave that which was most precious to me in safe hands I had to
+pass you over and to place him in the charge of the one man who from the
+first never doubted my innocence.  Better a thousand times that my son
+should be brought up in a humble station and in ignorance of his
+unfortunate father, than that he should learn to share the doubts and
+suspicions of his equals.”
+
+“Then he is really your son!” cried my uncle, staring at Jim in
+amazement.
+
+For answer the man stretched out his long withered arm, and placed a
+gaunt hand upon the shoulder of the actress, whilst she looked up at him
+with love in her eyes.
+
+“I married, Charles, and I kept it secret from my friends, for I had
+chosen my wife outside our own circles.  You know the foolish pride which
+has always been the strongest part of my nature.  I could not bear to
+avow that which I had done.  It was this neglect upon my part which led
+to an estrangement between us, and drove her into habits for which it is
+I who am to blame and not she.  Yet on account of these same habits I
+took the child from her and gave her an allowance on condition that she
+did not interfere with it.  I had feared that the boy might receive evil
+from her, and had never dreamed in my blindness that she might get good
+from him.  But I have learned in my miserable life, Charles, that there
+is a power which fashions things for us, though we may strive to thwart
+it, and that we are in truth driven by an unseen current towards a
+certain goal, however much we may deceive ourselves into thinking that it
+is our own sails and oars which are speeding us upon our way.”
+
+My eyes had been upon the face of my uncle as he listened, but now as I
+turned them from him they fell once more upon the thin, wolfish face of
+Sir Lothian Hume.  He stood near the window, his grey silhouette thrown
+up against the square of dusty glass; and I have never seen such a play
+of evil passions, of anger, of jealousy, of disappointed greed upon a
+human face before.
+
+“Am I to understand,” said he, in a loud, harsh voice, “that this young
+man claims to be the heir of the peerage of Avon?”
+
+“He is my lawful son.”
+
+“I knew you fairly well, sir, in our youth; but you will allow me to
+observe that neither I nor any friend of yours ever heard of a wife or a
+son.  I defy Sir Charles Tregellis to say that he ever dreamed that there
+was any heir except myself.”
+
+“I have already explained, Sir Lothian, why I kept my marriage secret.”
+
+“You have explained, sir; but it is for others in another place to say if
+that explanation is satisfactory.”
+
+Two blazing dark eyes flashed out of the pale haggard face with as
+strange and sudden an effect as if a stream of light were to beat through
+the windows of a shattered and ruined house.
+
+“You dare to doubt my word?”
+
+“I demand a proof.”
+
+“My word is proof to those who know me.”
+
+“Excuse me, Lord Avon; but I know you, and I see no reason why I should
+accept your statement.”
+
+It was a brutal speech, and brutally delivered.  Lord Avon staggered
+forward, and it was only his son on one side and his wife on the other
+who kept his quivering hands from the throat of his insulter.  Sir
+Lothian recoiled from the pale fierce face with the black brows, but he
+still glared angrily about the room.
+
+“A very pretty conspiracy this,” he cried, “with a criminal, an actress,
+and a prize-fighter all playing their parts.  Sir Charles Tregellis, you
+shall hear from me again!  And you also, my lord!”  He turned upon his
+heel and strode from the room.
+
+“He has gone to denounce me,” said Lord Avon, a spasm of wounded pride
+distorting his features.
+
+“Shall I bring him back?” cried Boy Jim.
+
+“No, no, let him go.  It is as well, for I have already made up my mind
+that my duty to you, my son, outweighs that which I owe, and have at such
+bitter cost fulfilled, to my brother and my family.”
+
+“You did me an injustice, Ned,” said my uncle, “if you thought that I had
+forgotten you, or that I had judged you unkindly.  If ever I have thought
+that you had done this deed—and how could I doubt the evidence of my own
+eyes—I have always believed that it was at a time when your mind was
+unhinged, and when you knew no more of what you were about than the man
+who is walking in his sleep.”
+
+“What do you mean when you talk about the evidence of your own eyes?”
+asked Lord Avon, looking hard at my uncle.
+
+“I saw you, Ned, upon that accursed night.”
+
+“Saw me?  Where?”
+
+“In the passage.”
+
+“And doing what?”
+
+“You were coming from your brother’s room.  I had heard his voice raised
+in anger and pain only an instant before.  You carried in your hand a bag
+full of money, and your face betrayed the utmost agitation.  If you can
+but explain to me, Ned, how you came to be there, you will take from my
+heart a weight which has pressed upon it for all these years.”
+
+No one now would have recognized in my uncle the man who was the leader
+of all the fops of London.  In the presence of this old friend and of the
+tragedy which girt him round, the veil of triviality and affectation had
+been rent, and I felt all my gratitude towards him deepening for the
+first time into affection whilst I watched his pale, anxious face, and
+the eager hope which shone in his eyes as he awaited his friend’s
+explanation.  Lord Avon sank his face in his hands, and for a few moments
+there was silence in the dim grey room.
+
+“I do not wonder now that you were shaken,” said he at last.  “My God,
+what a net was cast round me!  Had this vile charge been brought against
+me, you, my dearest friend, would have been compelled to tear away the
+last doubt as to my guilt.  And yet, in spite of what you have seen,
+Charles, I am as innocent in the matter as you are.”
+
+“I thank God that I hear you say so.”
+
+“But you are not satisfied, Charles.  I can read it on your face.  You
+wish to know why an innocent man should conceal himself for all these
+years.”
+
+“Your word is enough for me, Ned; but the world will wish this other
+question answered also.”
+
+“It was to save the family honour, Charles.  You know how dear it was to
+me.  I could not clear myself without proving my brother to have been
+guilty of the foulest crime which a gentleman could commit.  For eighteen
+years I have screened him at the expense of everything which a man could
+sacrifice.  I have lived a living death which has left me an old and
+shattered man when I am but in my fortieth year.  But now when I am faced
+with the alternative of telling the facts about my brother, or of
+wronging my son, I can only act in one fashion, and the more so since I
+have reason to hope that a way may be found by which what I am now about
+to disclose to you need never come to the public ear.”
+
+He rose from his chair, and leaning heavily upon his two supporters, he
+tottered across the room to the dust-covered sideboard.  There, in the
+centre of it, was lying that ill-boding pile of time-stained, mildewed
+cards, just as Boy Jim and I had seen them years before.  Lord Avon
+turned them over with trembling fingers, and then picking up half a
+dozen, he brought them to my uncle.
+
+“Place your finger and thumb upon the left-hand bottom corner of this
+card, Charles,” said he.  “Pass them lightly backwards and forwards, and
+tell me what you feel.”
+
+“It has been pricked with a pin.”
+
+“Precisely.  What is the card?”
+
+My uncle turned it over.
+
+“It is the king of clubs.”
+
+“Try the bottom corner of this one.”
+
+“It is quite smooth.”
+
+“And the card is?”
+
+“The three of spades.”
+
+“And this one?”
+
+“It has been pricked.  It is the ace of hearts.”  Lord Avon hurled them
+down upon the floor.
+
+“There you have the whole accursed story!” he cried.  “Need I go further
+where every word is an agony?”
+
+“I see something, but not all.  You must continue, Ned.”
+
+The frail figure stiffened itself, as though he were visibly bracing
+himself for an effort.
+
+“I will tell it you, then, once and for ever.  Never again, I trust, will
+it be necessary for me to open my lips about the miserable business.  You
+remember our game.  You remember how we lost.  You remember how you all
+retired, and left me sitting in this very room, and at that very table.
+Far from being tired, I was exceedingly wakeful, and I remained here for
+an hour or more thinking over the incidents of the game and the changes
+which it promised to bring about in my fortunes.  I had, as you will
+recollect, lost heavily, and my only consolation was that my own brother
+had won.  I knew that, owing to his reckless mode of life, he was firmly
+in the clutches of the Jews, and I hoped that that which had shaken my
+position might have the effect of restoring his.  As I sat there,
+fingering the cards in an abstracted way, some chance led me to observe
+the small needle-pricks which you have just felt.  I went over the packs,
+and found, to my unspeakable horror, that any one who was in the secret
+could hold them in dealing in such a way as to be able to count the exact
+number of high cards which fell to each of his opponents.  And then, with
+such a flush of shame and disgust as I had never known, I remembered how
+my attention had been drawn to my brother’s mode of dealing, its
+slowness, and the way in which he held each card by the lower corner.
+
+“I did not condemn him precipitately.  I sat for a long time calling to
+mind every incident which could tell one way or the other.  Alas! it all
+went to confirm me in my first horrible suspicion, and to turn it into a
+certainty.  My brother had ordered the packs from Ledbury’s, in Bond
+Street.  They had been for some hours in his chambers.  He had played
+throughout with a decision which had surprised us at the time.  Above
+all, I could not conceal from myself that his past life was not such as
+to make even so abominable a crime as this impossible to him.  Tingling
+with anger and shame, I went straight up that stair, the cards in my
+hand, and I taxed him with this lowest and meanest of all the crimes to
+which a villain could descend.
+
+“He had not retired to rest, and his ill-gotten gains were spread out
+upon the dressing-table.  I hardly know what I said to him, but the facts
+were so deadly that he did not attempt to deny his guilt.  You will
+remember, as the only mitigation of his crime, that he was not yet one
+and twenty years of age.  My words overwhelmed him.  He went on his knees
+to me, imploring me to spare him.  I told him that out of consideration
+for our family I should make no public exposure of him, but that he must
+never again in his life lay his hand upon a card, and that the money
+which he had won must be returned next morning with an explanation.  It
+would be social ruin, he protested.  I answered that he must take the
+consequence of his own deed.  Then and there I burned the papers which he
+had won from me, and I replaced in a canvas bag which lay upon the table
+all the gold pieces.  I would have left the room without another word,
+but he clung to me, and tore the ruffle from my wrist in his attempt to
+hold me back, and to prevail upon me to promise to say nothing to you or
+Sir Lothian Hume.  It was his despairing cry, when he found that I was
+proof against all his entreaties, which reached your ears, Charles, and
+caused you to open your chamber door and to see me as I returned to my
+room.”
+
+My uncle drew a long sigh of relief.
+
+“Nothing could be clearer!” he murmured.
+
+“In the morning I came, as you remember, to your room, and I returned
+your money.  I did the same to Sir Lothian Hume.  I said nothing of my
+reasons for doing so, for I found that I could not bring myself to
+confess our disgrace to you.  Then came the horrible discovery which has
+darkened my life, and which was as great a mystery to me as it has been
+to you.  I saw that I was suspected, and I saw, also, that even if I were
+to clear myself, it could only be done by a public confession of the
+infamy of my brother.  I shrank from it, Charles.  Any personal suffering
+seemed to me to be better than to bring public shame upon a family which
+has held an untarnished record through so many centuries.  I fled from my
+trial, therefore, and disappeared from the world.
+
+“But, first of all, it was necessary that I should make arrangements for
+the wife and the son, of whose existence you and my other friends were
+ignorant.  It is with shame, Mary, that I confess it, and I acknowledge
+to you that the blame of all the consequences rests with me rather than
+with you.  At the time there were reasons, now happily long gone past,
+which made me determine that the son was better apart from the mother,
+whose absence at that age he would not miss.  I would have taken you into
+my confidence, Charles, had it not been that your suspicions had wounded
+me deeply—for I did not at that time understand how strong the reasons
+were which had prejudiced you against me.
+
+“On the evening after the tragedy I fled to London, and arranged that my
+wife should have a fitting allowance on condition that she did not
+interfere with the child.  I had, as you remember, had much to do with
+Harrison, the prize-fighter, and I had often had occasion to admire his
+simple and honest nature.  I took my boy to him now, and I found him, as
+I expected, incredulous as to my guilt, and ready to assist me in any
+way.  At his wife’s entreaty he had just retired from the ring, and was
+uncertain how he should employ himself.  I was able to fit him up as a
+smith, on condition that he should ply his trade at the village of
+Friar’s Oak.  My agreement was that James was to be brought up as their
+nephew, and that he should know nothing of his unhappy parents.
+
+“You will ask me why I selected Friar’s Oak.  It was because I had
+already chosen my place of concealment; and if I could not see my boy, it
+was, at least, some consolation to know that he was near me.  You are
+aware that this mansion is one of the oldest in England; but you are not
+aware that it has been built with a very special eye to concealment, that
+there are no less than two habitable secret chambers, and that the outer
+or thicker walls are tunnelled into passages.  The existence of these
+rooms has always been a family secret, though it was one which I valued
+so little that it was only the chance of my seldom using the house which
+had prevented me from pointing them out to some friend.  Now I found that
+a secure retreat was provided for me in my extremity.  I stole down to my
+own mansion, entered it at night, and, leaving all that was dear to me
+behind, I crept like a rat behind the wainscot, to live out the remainder
+of my weary life in solitude and misery.  In this worn face, Charles, and
+in this grizzled hair, you may read the diary of my most miserable
+existence.
+
+“Once a week Harrison used to bring me up provisions, passing them
+through the pantry window, which I left open for the purpose.  Sometimes
+I would steal out at night and walk under the stars once more, with the
+cool breeze upon my forehead; but this I had at last to stop, for I was
+seen by the rustics, and rumours of a spirit at Cliffe Royal began to get
+about.  One night two ghost-hunters—”
+
+“It was I, father,” cried Boy Jim; “I and my friend, Rodney Stone.”
+
+“I know it was.  Harrison told me so the same night.  I was proud, James,
+to see that you had the spirit of the Barringtons, and that I had an heir
+whose gallantry might redeem the family blot which I have striven so hard
+to cover over.  Then came the day when your mother’s kindness—her
+mistaken kindness—gave you the means of escaping to London.”
+
+“Ah, Edward,” cried his wife, “if you had seen our boy, like a caged
+eagle, beating against the bars, you would have helped to give him even
+so short a flight as this.”
+
+“I do not blame you, Mary.  It is possible that I should have done so.
+He went to London, and he tried to open a career for himself by his own
+strength and courage.  How many of our ancestors have done the same, save
+only that a sword-hilt lay in their closed hands; but of them all I do
+not know that any have carried themselves more gallantly!”
+
+“That I dare swear,” said my uncle, heartily.
+
+“And then, when Harrison at last returned, I learned that my son was
+actually matched to fight in a public prize-battle.  That would not do,
+Charles!  It was one thing to fight as you and I have fought in our
+youth, and it was another to compete for a purse of gold.”
+
+“My dear friend, I would not for the world—”
+
+“Of course you would not, Charles.  You chose the best man, and how could
+you do otherwise?  But it would not do!  I determined that the time had
+come when I should reveal myself to my son, the more so as there were
+many signs that my most unnatural existence had seriously weakened my
+health.  Chance, or shall I not rather say Providence, had at last made
+clear all that had been dark, and given me the means of establishing my
+innocence.  My wife went yesterday to bring my boy at last to the side of
+his unfortunate father.”
+
+There was silence for some time, and then it was my uncle’s voice which
+broke it.
+
+“You’ve been the most ill-used man in the world, Ned,” said he.  “Please
+God we shall have many years yet in which to make up to you for it.  But,
+after all, it seems to me that we are as far as ever from learning how
+your unfortunate brother met his death.”
+
+“For eighteen years it was as much a mystery to me as to you, Charles.
+But now at last the guilt is manifest.  Stand forward, Ambrose, and tell
+your story as frankly and as fully as you have told it to me.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+THE VALET’S STORY.
+
+
+THE valet had shrunk into the dark corner of the room, and had remained
+so motionless that we had forgotten his presence until, upon this appeal
+from his former master, he took a step forward into the light, turning
+his sallow face in our direction.  His usually impassive features were in
+a state of painful agitation, and he spoke slowly and with hesitation, as
+though his trembling lips could hardly frame the words.  And yet, so
+strong is habit, that, even in this extremity of emotion he assumed the
+deferential air of the high-class valet, and his sentences formed
+themselves in the sonorous fashion which had struck my attention upon
+that first day when the curricle of my uncle had stopped outside my
+father’s door.
+
+“My Lady Avon and gentlemen,” said he, “if I have sinned in this matter,
+and I freely confess that I have done so, I only know one way in which I
+can atone for it, and that is by making the full and complete confession
+which my noble master, Lord Avon, has demanded.  I assure you, then, that
+what I am about to tell you, surprising as it may seem, is the absolute
+and undeniable truth concerning the mysterious death of Captain
+Barrington.
+
+“It may seem impossible to you that one in my humble walk of life should
+bear a deadly and implacable hatred against a man in the position of
+Captain Barrington.  You think that the gulf between is too wide.  I can
+tell you, gentlemen, that the gulf which can be bridged by unlawful love
+can be spanned also by an unlawful hatred, and that upon the day when
+this young man stole from me all that made my life worth living, I vowed
+to Heaven that I should take from him that foul life of his, though the
+deed would cover but the tiniest fraction of the debt which he owed me.
+I see that you look askance at me, Sir Charles Tregellis, but you should
+pray to God, sir, that you may never have the chance of finding out what
+you would yourself be capable of in the same position.”
+
+It was a wonder to all of us to see this man’s fiery nature breaking
+suddenly through the artificial constraints with which he held it in
+check.  His short dark hair seemed to bristle upwards, his eyes glowed
+with the intensity of his passion, and his face expressed a malignity of
+hatred which neither the death of his enemy nor the lapse of years could
+mitigate.  The demure servant was gone, and there stood in his place a
+deep and dangerous man, one who might be an ardent lover or a most
+vindictive foe.
+
+“We were about to be married, she and I, when some black chance threw him
+across our path.  I do not know by what base deceptions he lured her away
+from me.  I have heard that she was only one of many, and that he was an
+adept at the art.  It was done before ever I knew the danger, and she was
+left with her broken heart and her ruined life to return to that home
+into which she had brought disgrace and misery.  I only saw her once.
+She told me that her seducer had burst out a-laughing when she had
+reproached him for his perfidy, and I swore to her that his heart’s blood
+should pay me for that laugh.
+
+“I was a valet at the time, but I was not yet in the service of Lord
+Avon.  I applied for and gained that position with the one idea that it
+might give me an opportunity of settling my accounts with his younger
+brother.  And yet my chance was a terribly long time coming, for many
+months had passed before the visit to Cliffe Royal gave me the
+opportunity which I longed for by day and dreamed of by night.  When it
+did come, however, it came in a fashion which was more favourable to my
+plans than anything that I had ever ventured to hope for.
+
+“Lord Avon was of opinion that no one but himself knew of the secret
+passages in Cliffe Royal.  In this he was mistaken.  I knew of them—or,
+at least, I knew enough of them to serve my purpose.  I need not tell you
+how, one day, when preparing the chambers for the guests, an accidental
+pressure upon part of the fittings caused a panel to gape in the
+woodwork, and showed me a narrow opening in the wall.  Making my way down
+this, I found that another panel led into a larger bedroom beyond.  That
+was all I knew, but it was all that was needed for my purpose.  The
+disposal of the rooms had been left in my hands, and I arranged that
+Captain Barrington should sleep in the larger and I in the smaller.  I
+could come upon him when I wished, and no one would be the wiser.
+
+“And then he arrived.  How can I describe to you the fever of impatience
+in which I lived until the moment should come for which I had waited and
+planned.  For a night and a day they gambled, and for a night and a day I
+counted the minutes which brought me nearer to my man.  They might ring
+for fresh wine at what hour they liked, they always found me waiting and
+ready, so that this young captain hiccoughed out that I was the model of
+all valets.  My master advised me to go to bed.  He had noticed my
+flushed cheek and my bright eyes, and he set me down as being in a fever.
+So I was, but it was a fever which only one medicine could assuage.
+
+“Then at last, very early in the morning, I heard them push back their
+chairs, and I knew that their game had at last come to an end.  When I
+entered the room to receive my orders, I found that Captain Barrington
+had already stumbled off to bed.  The others had also retired, and my
+master was sitting alone at the table, with his empty bottle and the
+scattered cards in front of him.  He ordered me angrily to my room, and
+this time I obeyed him.
+
+“My first care was to provide myself with a weapon.  I knew that if I
+were face to face with him I could tear his throat out, but I must so
+arrange that the fashion of his death should be a noiseless one.  There
+was a hunting trophy in the hall, and from it I took a straight heavy
+knife which I sharpened upon my boot.  Then I stole to my room, and sat
+waiting upon the side of my bed.  I had made up my mind what I should do.
+There would be little satisfaction in killing him if he was not to know
+whose hand had struck the blow, or which of his sins it came to avenge.
+Could I but bind him and gag him in his drunken sleep, then a prick or
+two of my dagger would arouse him to listen to what I had to say to him.
+I pictured the look in his eyes as the haze of sleep cleared slowly away
+from them, the look of anger turning suddenly to stark horror as he
+understood who I was and what I had come for.  It would be the supreme
+moment of my life.
+
+“I waited as it seemed to me for at least an hour; but I had no watch,
+and my impatience was such that I dare say it really was little more than
+a quarter of that time.  Then I rose, removed my shoes, took my knife,
+and having opened the panel, slipped silently through.  It was not more
+than thirty feet that I had to go, but I went inch by inch, for the old
+rotten boards snapped like breaking twigs if a sudden weight was placed
+upon them.  It was, of course, pitch dark, and very, very slowly I felt
+my way along.  At last I saw a yellow seam of light glimmering in front
+of me, and I knew that it came from the other panel.  I was too soon,
+then, since he had not extinguished his candles.  I had waited many
+months, and I could afford to wait another hour, for I did not wish to do
+anything precipitately or in a hurry.
+
+“It was very necessary to move silently now, since I was within a few
+feet of my man, with only the thin wooden partition between.  Age had
+warped and cracked the boards, so that when I had at last very stealthily
+crept my way as far as the sliding-panel, I found that I could, without
+any difficulty, see into the room.  Captain Barrington was standing by
+the dressing-table with his coat and vest off.  A large pile of
+sovereigns, and several slips of paper were lying before him, and he was
+counting over his gambling gains.  His face was flushed, and he was heavy
+from want of sleep and from wine.  It rejoiced me to see it, for it meant
+that his slumber would be deep, and that all would be made easy for me.
+
+“I was still watching him, when of a sudden I saw him start, and a
+terrible expression come upon his face.  For an instant my heart stood
+still, for I feared that he had in some way divined my presence.  And
+then I heard the voice of my master within.  I could not see the door by
+which he had entered, nor could I see him where he stood, but I heard all
+that he had to say.  As I watched the captain’s face flush fiery-red, and
+then turn to a livid white as he listened to those bitter words which
+told him of his infamy, my revenge was sweeter—far sweeter—than my most
+pleasant dreams had ever pictured it.  I saw my master approach the
+dressing-table, hold the papers in the flame of the candle, throw their
+charred ashes into the grate, and sweep the golden pieces into a small
+brown canvas bag.  Then, as he turned to leave the room, the captain
+seized him by the wrist, imploring him, by the memory of their mother, to
+have mercy upon him; and I loved my master as I saw him drag his sleeve
+from the grasp of the clutching fingers, and leave the stricken wretch
+grovelling upon the floor.
+
+“And now I was left with a difficult point to settle, for it was hard for
+me to say whether it was better that I should do that which I had come
+for, or whether, by holding this man’s guilty secret, I might not have in
+my hand a keener and more deadly weapon than my master’s hunting-knife.
+I was sure that Lord Avon could not and would not expose him.  I knew
+your sense of family pride too well, my lord, and I was certain that his
+secret was safe in your hands.  But I both could and would; and then,
+when his life had been blasted, and he had been hounded from his regiment
+and from his clubs, it would be time, perhaps, for me to deal in some
+other way with him.”
+
+“Ambrose, you are a black villain,” said my uncle.
+
+“We all have our own feelings, Sir Charles; and you will permit me to say
+that a serving-man may resent an injury as much as a gentleman, though
+the redress of the duel is denied to him.  But I am telling you frankly,
+at Lord Avon’s request, all that I thought and did upon that night, and I
+shall continue to do so, even if I am not fortunate enough to win your
+approval.
+
+“When Lord Avon had left him, the captain remained for some time in a
+kneeling attitude, with his face sunk upon a chair.  Then he rose, and
+paced slowly up and down the room, his chin sunk upon his breast.  Every
+now and then he would pluck at his hair, or shake his clenched hands in
+the air; and I saw the moisture glisten upon his brow.  For a time I lost
+sight of him, and I heard him opening drawer after drawer, as though he
+were in search of something.  Then he stood over by his dressing-table
+again, with his back turned to me.  His head was thrown a little back,
+and he had both hands up to the collar of his shirt, as though he were
+striving to undo it.  And then there was a gush as if a ewer had been
+upset, and down he sank upon the ground, with his head in the corner,
+twisted round at so strange an angle to his shoulders that one glimpse of
+it told me that my man was slipping swiftly from the clutch in which I
+had fancied that I held him.  I slid my panel, and was in the room in an
+instant.  His eyelids still quivered, and it seemed to me, as my gaze met
+his glazing eyes, that I could read both recognition and surprise in
+them.  I laid my knife upon the floor, and I stretched myself out beside
+him, that I might whisper in his ear one or two little things of which I
+wished to remind him; but even as I did so, he gave a gasp and was gone.
+
+“It is singular that I, who had never feared him in life, should be
+frightened at him now, and yet when I looked at him, and saw that all was
+motionless save the creeping stain upon the carpet, I was seized with a
+sudden foolish spasm of terror, and, catching up my knife, I fled swiftly
+and silently back to my own room, closing the panels behind me.  It was
+only when I had reached it that I found that in my mad haste I had
+carried away, not the hunting-knife which I had taken with me, but the
+bloody razor which had dropped from the dead man’s hand.  This I
+concealed where no one has ever discovered it; but my fears would not
+allow me to go back for the other, as I might perhaps have done, had I
+foreseen how terribly its presence might tell against my master.  And
+that, Lady Avon and gentlemen, is an exact and honest account of how
+Captain Barrington came by his end.”
+
+“And how was it,” asked my uncle, angrily, “that you have allowed an
+innocent man to be persecuted all these years, when a word from you might
+have saved him?”
+
+“Because I had every reason to believe, Sir Charles, that that would be
+most unwelcome to Lord Avon.  How could I tell all this without revealing
+the family scandal which he was so anxious to conceal?  I confess that at
+the beginning I did not tell him what I had seen, and my excuse must be
+that he disappeared before I had time to determine what I should do.  For
+many a year, however—ever since I have been in your service, Sir
+Charles—my conscience tormented me, and I swore that if ever I should
+find my old master, I should reveal everything to him.  The chance of my
+overhearing a story told by young Mr. Stone here, which showed me that
+some one was using the secret chambers of Cliffe Royal, convinced me that
+Lord Avon was in hiding there, and I lost no time in seeking him out and
+offering to do him all the justice in my power.”
+
+“What he says is true,” said his master; “but it would have been strange
+indeed if I had hesitated to sacrifice a frail life and failing health in
+a cause for which I freely surrendered all that youth had to offer.  But
+new considerations have at last compelled me to alter my resolution.  My
+son, through ignorance of his true position, was drifting into a course
+of life which accorded with his strength and spirit, but not with the
+traditions of his house.  Again, I reflected that many of those who knew
+my brother had passed away, that all the facts need not come out, and
+that my death whilst under the suspicion of such a crime would cast a
+deeper stain upon our name than the sin which he had so terribly
+expiated.  For these reasons—”
+
+The tramp of several heavy footsteps reverberating through the old house
+broke in suddenly upon Lord Avon’s words.  His wan face turned even a
+shade greyer as he heard it, and he looked piteously to his wife and son.
+
+“They will arrest me!” he cried.  “I must submit to the degradation of an
+arrest.”
+
+“This way, Sir James; this way,” said the harsh tones of Sir Lothian Hume
+from without.
+
+“I do not need to be shown the way in a house where I have drunk many a
+bottle of good claret,” cried a deep voice in reply; and there in the
+doorway stood the broad figure of Squire Ovington in his buckskins and
+top-boots, a riding-crop in his hand.  Sir Lothian Hume was at his elbow,
+and I saw the faces of two country constables peeping over his shoulders.
+
+“Lord Avon,” said the squire, “as a magistrate of the county of Sussex,
+it is my duty to tell you that a warrant is held against you for the
+wilful murder of your brother, Captain Barrington, in the year 1786.”
+
+“I am ready to answer the charge.”
+
+“This I tell you as a magistrate.  But as a man, and the Squire of
+Rougham Grange, I’m right glad to see you, Ned, and here’s my hand on it,
+and never will I believe that a good Tory like yourself, and a man who
+could show his horse’s tail to any field in the whole Down county, would
+ever be capable of so vile an act.”
+
+“You do me justice, James,” said Lord Avon, clasping the broad, brown
+hand which the country squire had held out to him.  “I am as innocent as
+you are; and I can prove it.”
+
+“Damned glad I am to hear it, Ned!  That is to say, Lord Avon, that any
+defence which you may have to make will be decided upon by your peers and
+by the laws of your country.”
+
+“Until which time,” added Sir Lothian Hume, “a stout door and a good lock
+will be the best guarantee that Lord Avon will be there when called for.”
+
+The squire’s weather-stained face flushed to a deeper red as he turned
+upon the Londoner.
+
+“Are you the magistrate of a county, sir?”
+
+“I have not the honour, Sir James.”
+
+“Then how dare you advise a man who has sat on the bench for nigh twenty
+years!  When I am in doubt, sir, the law provides me with a clerk with
+whom I may confer, and I ask no other assistance.”
+
+“You take too high a tone in this matter, Sir James.  I am not accustomed
+to be taken to task so sharply.”
+
+“Nor am I accustomed, sir, to be interfered with in my official duties.
+I speak as a magistrate, Sir Lothian, but I am always ready to sustain my
+opinions as a man.”
+
+Sir Lothian bowed.
+
+“You will allow me to observe, sir, that I have personal interests of the
+highest importance involved in this matter, I have every reason to
+believe that there is a conspiracy afoot which will affect my position as
+heir to Lord Avon’s titles and estates.  I desire his safe custody in
+order that this matter may be cleared up, and I call upon you, as a
+magistrate, to execute your warrant.”
+
+“Plague take it, Ned!” cried the squire, “I would that my clerk Johnson
+were here, for I would deal as kindly by you as the law allows; and yet I
+am, as you hear, called upon to secure your person.”
+
+“Permit me to suggest, sir,” said my uncle, “that so long as he is under
+the personal supervision of the magistrate, he may be said to be under
+the care of the law, and that this condition will be fulfilled if he is
+under the roof of Rougham Grange.”
+
+“Nothing could be better,” cried the squire, heartily.  “You will stay
+with me, Ned, until this matter blows over.  In other words, Lord Avon, I
+make myself responsible, as the representative of the law, that you are
+held in safe custody until your person may be required of me.”
+
+“Yours is a true heart, James.”
+
+“Tut, tut! it is the due process of the law.  I trust, Sir Lothian Hume,
+that you find nothing to object to in it?”
+
+Sir Lothian shrugged his shoulders, and looked blackly at the magistrate.
+Then he turned to my uncle.
+
+“There is a small matter still open between us,” said he.  “Would you
+kindly give me the name of a friend?  Mr. Corcoran, who is outside in my
+barouche, would act for me, and we might meet to-morrow morning.”
+
+“With pleasure,” answered my uncle.  “I dare say your father would act
+for me, nephew?  Your friend may call upon Lieutenant Stone, of Friar’s
+Oak, and the sooner the better.”
+
+And so this strange conference ended.  As for me, I had sprung to the
+side of the old friend of my boyhood, and was trying to tell him my joy
+at his good fortune, and listening to his assurance that nothing that
+could ever befall him could weaken the love that he bore me.  My uncle
+touched me on the shoulder, and we were about to leave, when Ambrose,
+whose bronze mask had been drawn down once more over his fiery passions,
+came demurely towards him.
+
+“Beg your pardon, Sir Charles,” said he; “but it shocks me very much to
+see your cravat.”
+
+“You are right, Ambrose,” my uncle answered.  “Lorimer does his best, but
+I have never been able to fill your place.”
+
+“I should be proud to serve you, sir; but you must acknowledge that Lord
+Avon has the prior claim.  If he will release me—”
+
+“You may go, Ambrose; you may go!” cried Lord Avon.  “You are an
+excellent servant, but your presence has become painful to me.”
+
+“Thank you, Ned,” said my uncle.  “But you must not leave me so suddenly
+again, Ambrose.”
+
+“Permit me to explain the reason, sir.  I had determined to give you
+notice when we reached Brighton; but as we drove from the village that
+day, I caught a glimpse of a lady passing in a phaeton between whom and
+Lord Avon I was well aware there was a close intimacy, although I was not
+certain that she was actually his wife.  Her presence there confirmed me
+in my opinion that he was in hiding at Cliffe Royal, and I dropped from
+your curricle and followed her at once, in order to lay the matter before
+her, and explain how very necessary it was that Lord Avon should see me.”
+
+“Well, I forgive you for your desertion, Ambrose,” said my uncle; “and,”
+he added, “I should be vastly obliged to you if you would re-arrange my
+tie.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+THE END.
+
+
+SIR JAMES OVINGTON’S carriage was waiting without, and in it the Avon
+family, so tragically separated and so strangely re-united, were borne
+away to the squire’s hospitable home.  When they had gone, my uncle
+mounted his curricle, and drove Ambrose and myself to the village.
+
+“We had best see your father at once, nephew,” said he.  “Sir Lothian and
+his man started some time ago.  I should be sorry if there should be any
+hitch in our meeting.”
+
+For my part, I was thinking of our opponent’s deadly reputation as a
+duellist, and I suppose that my features must have betrayed my feelings,
+for my uncle began to laugh.
+
+“Why, nephew,” said he, “you look as if you were walking behind my
+coffin.  It is not my first affair, and I dare bet that it will not be my
+last.  When I fight near town I usually fire a hundred or so in Manton’s
+back shop, but I dare say I can find my way to his waistcoat.  But I
+confess that I am somewhat _accablé_, by all that has befallen us.  To
+think of my dear old friend being not only alive, but innocent as well!
+And that he should have such a strapping son and heir to carry on the
+race of Avon!  This will be the last blow to Hume, for I know that the
+Jews have given him rope on the score of his expectations.  And you,
+Ambrose, that you should break out in such a way!”
+
+Of all the amazing things which had happened, this seemed to have
+impressed my uncle most, and he recurred to it again and again.  That a
+man whom he had come to regard as a machine for tying cravats and brewing
+chocolate should suddenly develop fiery human passions was indeed a
+prodigy.  If his silver razor-heater had taken to evil ways he could not
+have been more astounded.
+
+We were still a hundred yards from the cottage when I saw the tall,
+green-coated Mr. Corcoran striding down the garden path.  My father was
+waiting for us at the door with an expression of subdued delight upon his
+face.
+
+“Happy to serve you in any way, Sir Charles,” said he.  “We’ve arranged
+it for to-morrow at seven on Ditching Common.”
+
+“I wish these things could be brought off a little later in the day,”
+said my uncle.  “One has either to rise at a perfectly absurd hour, or
+else to neglect one’s toilet.”
+
+“They are stopping across the road at the Friar’s Oak inn, and if you
+would wish it later—”
+
+“No, no; I shall make the effort.  Ambrose, you will bring up the
+_batteris de toilette_ at five.”
+
+“I don’t know whether you would care to use my barkers,” said my father.
+“I’ve had ’em in fourteen actions, and up to thirty yards you couldn’t
+wish a better tool.”
+
+“Thank you, I have my duelling pistols under the seat.  See that the
+triggers are oiled, Ambrose, for I love a light pull.  Ah, sister Mary, I
+have brought your boy back to you, none the worse, I hope, for the
+dissipations of town.”
+
+I need not tell you how my dear mother wept over me and fondled me, for
+you who have mothers will know for yourselves, and you who have not will
+never understand how warm and snug the home nest can be.  How I had
+chafed and longed for the wonders of town, and yet, now that I had seen
+more than my wildest dreams had ever deemed possible, my eyes had rested
+upon nothing which was so sweet and so restful as our own little
+sitting-room, with its terra-cotta-coloured walls, and those trifles
+which are so insignificant in themselves, and yet so rich in memories—the
+blow-fish from the Moluccas, the narwhal’s horn from the Arctic, and the
+picture of the _Ca Ira_, with Lord Hotham in chase!  How cheery, too, to
+see at one side of the shining grate my father with his pipe and his
+merry red face, and on the other my mother with her fingers ever turning
+and darting with her knitting-needles!  As I looked at them I marvelled
+that I could ever have longed to leave them, or that I could bring myself
+to leave them again.
+
+But leave them I must, and that speedily, as I learned amidst the
+boisterous congratulations of my father and the tears of my mother.  He
+had himself been appointed to the _Cato_, 64, with post rank, whilst a
+note had come from Lord Nelson at Portsmouth to say that a vacancy was
+open for me if I should present myself at once.
+
+“And your mother has your sea-chest all ready, my lad, and you can travel
+down with me to-morrow; for if you are to be one of Nelson’s men, you
+must show him that you are worthy of it.”
+
+“All the Stones have been in the sea-service,” said my mother,
+apologetically to my uncle, “and it is a great chance that he should
+enter under Lord Nelson’s own patronage.  But we can never forget your
+kindness, Charles, in showing our dear Rodney something of the world.”
+
+“On the contrary, sister Mary,” said my uncle, graciously, “your son has
+been an excellent companion to me—so much so that I fear that I am open
+to the charge of having neglected my dear Fidelio.  I trust that I bring
+him back somewhat more polished than I found him.  It would be folly to
+call him _distingué_, but he is at least unobjectionable.  Nature has
+denied him the highest gifts, and I find him adverse to employing the
+compensating advantages of art; but, at least, I have shown him something
+of life, and I have taught him a few lessons in finesse and deportment
+which may appear to be wasted upon him at present, but which, none the
+less, may come back to him in his more mature years.  If his career in
+town has been a disappointment to me, the reason lies mainly in the fact
+that I am foolish enough to measure others by the standard which I have
+myself set.  I am well disposed towards him, however, and I consider him
+eminently adapted for the profession which he is about to adopt.”
+
+He held out his sacred snuff-box to me as he spoke, as a solemn pledge of
+his goodwill, and, as I look back at him, there is no moment at which I
+see him more plainly than that with the old mischievous light dancing
+once more in his large intolerant eyes, one thumb in the armpit of his
+vest, and the little shining box held out upon his snow-white palm.  He
+was a type and leader of a strange breed of men which has vanished away
+from England—the full-blooded, virile buck, exquisite in his dress,
+narrow in his thoughts, coarse in his amusements, and eccentric in his
+habits.  They walk across the bright stage of English history with their
+finicky step, their preposterous cravats, their high collars, their
+dangling seals, and they vanish into those dark wings from which there is
+no return.  The world has outgrown them, and there is no place now for
+their strange fashions, their practical jokes, and carefully cultivated
+eccentricities.  And yet behind this outer veiling of folly, with which
+they so carefully draped themselves, they were often men of strong
+character and robust personality.  The languid loungers of St. James’s
+were also the yachtsmen of the Solent, the fine riders of the shires, and
+the hardy fighters in many a wayside battle and many a morning frolic.
+Wellington picked his best officers from amongst them.  They condescended
+occasionally to poetry or oratory; and Byron, Charles James Fox,
+Sheridan, and Castlereagh, preserved some reputation amongst them, in
+spite of their publicity.  I cannot think how the historian of the future
+can hope to understand them, when I, who knew one of them so well, and
+bore his blood in my veins, could never quite tell how much of him was
+real, and how much was due to the affectations which he had cultivated so
+long that they had ceased to deserve the name.  Through the chinks of
+that armour of folly I have sometimes thought that I had caught a glimpse
+of a good and true man within, and it pleases me to hope that I was
+right.
+
+It was destined that the exciting incidents of that day were even now not
+at an end.  I had retired early to rest, but it was impossible for me to
+sleep, for my mind would turn to Boy Jim and to the extraordinary change
+in his position and prospects.  I was still turning and tossing when I
+heard the sound of flying hoofs coming down the London Road, and
+immediately afterwards the grating of wheels as they pulled up in front
+of the inn.  My window chanced to be open, for it was a fresh spring
+night, and I heard the creak of the inn door, and a voice asking whether
+Sir Lothian Hume was within.  At the name I sprang from my bed, and I was
+in time to see three men, who had alighted from the carriage, file into
+the lighted hall.  The two horses were left standing, with the glare of
+the open door falling upon their brown shoulders and patient heads.
+
+Ten minutes may have passed, and then I heard the clatter of many steps,
+and a knot of men came clustering through the door.
+
+“You need not employ violence,” said a harsh, clear voice.  “On whose
+suit is it?”
+
+“Several suits, sir.  They ’eld over in the ’opes that you’d pull off the
+fight this mornin’.  Total amounts is twelve thousand pound.”
+
+“Look here, my man, I have a very important appointment for seven o’clock
+to-morrow.  I’ll give you fifty pounds if you will leave me until then.”
+
+“Couldn’t do it, sir, really.  It’s more than our places as sheriff’s
+officers is worth.”
+
+In the yellow glare of the carriage-lamp I saw the baronet look up at our
+windows, and if hatred could have killed, his eyes would have been as
+deadly as his pistol.
+
+“I can’t mount the carriage unless you free my hands,” said he.
+
+“’Old ’ard, Bill, for ’e looks vicious.  Let go o’ one arm at a time!
+Ah, would you then?”
+
+“Corcoran!  Corcoran!” screamed a voice, and I saw a plunge, a struggle,
+and one frantic figure breaking its way from the rest.  Then came a heavy
+blow, and down he fell in the middle of the moonlit road, flapping and
+jumping among the dust like a trout new landed.
+
+“He’s napped it this time!  Get ’im by the wrists, Jim!  Now, all
+together!”
+
+He was hoisted up like a bag of flour, and fell with a brutal thud into
+the bottom of the carriage.  The three men sprang in after him, a whip
+whistled in the darkness, and I had seen the last that I or any one else,
+save some charitable visitor to a debtors’ gaol, was ever again destined
+to see of Sir Lothian Hume, the once fashionable Corinthian.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+Lord Avon lived for two years longer—long enough, with the help of
+Ambrose, to fully establish his innocence of the horrible crime, in the
+shadow of which he had lived so long.  What he could not clear away,
+however, was the effect of those years of morbid and unnatural life spent
+in the hidden chambers of the old house; and it was only the devotion of
+his wife and of his son which kept the thin and flickering flame of his
+life alight.  She whom I had known as the play actress of Anstey Cross
+became the dowager Lady Avon; whilst Boy Jim, as dear to me now as when
+we harried birds’ nests and tickled trout together, is now Lord Avon,
+beloved by his tenantry, the finest sportsman and the most popular man
+from the north of the Weald to the Channel.  He was married to the second
+daughter of Sir James Ovington; and as I have seen three of his
+grandchildren within the week, I fancy that if any of Sir Lothian’s
+descendants have their eye upon the property, they are likely to be as
+disappointed as their ancestor was before them.  The old house of Cliffe
+Royal has been pulled down, owing to the terrible family associations
+which hung round it, and a beautiful modern building sprang up in its
+place.  The lodge which stood by the Brighton Road was so dainty with its
+trellis-work and its rose bushes that I was not the only visitor who
+declared that I had rather be the owner of it than of the great house
+amongst the trees.  There for many years in a happy and peaceful old age
+lived Jack Harrison and his wife, receiving back in the sunset of their
+lives the loving care which they had themselves bestowed.  Never again
+did Champion Harrison throw his leg over the ropes of a twenty-four-foot
+ring; but the story of the great battle between the smith and the West
+Countryman is still familiar to old ring-goers, and nothing pleased him
+better than to re-fight it all, round by round, as he sat in the sunshine
+under his rose-girt porch.  But if he heard the tap of his wife’s stick
+approaching him, his talk would break off at once into the garden and its
+prospects, for she was still haunted by the fear that he would some day
+go back to the ring, and she never missed the old man for an hour without
+being convinced that he had hobbled off to wrest the belt from the latest
+upstart champion.  It was at his own very earnest request that they
+inscribed “He fought the good fight” upon his tombstone, and though I
+cannot doubt that he had Black Bank and Crab Wilson in his mind when he
+asked it, yet none who knew him would grudge its spiritual meaning as a
+summing up of his clean and manly life.
+
+Sir Charles Tregellis continued for some years to show his scarlet and
+gold at Newmarket, and his inimitable coats in St. James’s.  It was he
+who invented buttons and loops at the ends of dress pantaloons, and who
+broke fresh ground by his investigation of the comparative merits of
+isinglass and of starch in the preparation of shirt-fronts.  There are
+old fops still lurking in the corners of Arthur’s or of White’s who can
+remember Tregellis’s dictum, that a cravat should be so stiffened that
+three parts of the length could be raised by one corner, and the painful
+schism which followed when Lord Alvanley and his school contended that a
+half was sufficient.  Then came the supremacy of Brummell, and the open
+breach upon the subject of velvet collars, in which the town followed the
+lead of the younger man.  My uncle, who was not born to be second to any
+one, retired instantly to St. Albans, and announced that he would make it
+the centre of fashion and of society, instead of degenerate London.  It
+chanced, however, that the mayor and corporation waited upon him with an
+address of thanks for his good intentions towards the town, and that the
+burgesses, having ordered new coats from London for the occasion, were
+all arrayed in velvet collars, which so preyed upon my uncle’s spirits
+that he took to his bed, and never showed his face in public again.  His
+money, which had ruined what might have been a great life, was divided
+amongst many bequests, an annuity to his valet, Ambrose, being amongst
+them; but enough has come to his sister, my dear mother, to help to make
+her old age as sunny and as pleasant as even I could wish.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+And as for me—the poor string upon which these beads are strung—I dare
+scarce say another word about myself, lest this, which I had meant to be
+the last word of a chapter, should grow into the first words of a new
+one.  Had I not taken up my pen to tell you a story of the land, I might,
+perchance, have made a better one of the sea; but the one frame cannot
+hold two opposite pictures.  The day may come when I shall write down all
+that I remember of the greatest battle ever fought upon salt water, and
+how my father’s gallant life was brought to an end as, with his paint
+rubbing against a French eighty-gun ship on one side and a Spanish
+seventy-four upon the other he stood eating an apple in the break of his
+poop.  I saw the smoke banks on that October evening swirl slowly up over
+the Atlantic swell, and rise, and rise, until they had shredded into
+thinnest air, and lost themselves in the infinite blue of heaven.  And
+with them rose the cloud which had hung over the country; and it also
+thinned and thinned, until God’s own sun of peace and security was
+shining once more upon us, never more, we hope, to be bedimmed.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                 THE END.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+            PRINTED BY GARDEN CITY PRESS, LETCHWORTH, ENGLAND.
+
+
+
+
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