 | CHAPTER IX. The forsaken |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
C'est une grande misere que de n'avoir pas assez d'esprit
pour bien parler, ni assez de jugement pour se taire.
La Bruyere.
We will now return to the visiters. They were
seated over a bottle in 'squire Morton's parlour, and as
in the simplicity of the times, it was not considered indecorous
for females to be present when offering a libation
to the doubly-born, Miss Buckley did not withdraw
on the appearance of the decanter and cigars. Time
has created a revolution in this respect, and the bottle
has become the signal for females to retire; a change
that proves the unclassical tone of the age, for Ovid
tells us that the Ismenian matrons celebrated the sacred
rites of Bacchus, and the daughters of Minyas alone
kept within doors. The race of the former has not
yet become extinct, though it is the fashion of the day to
imitate the example of the daughters of Minyas.
Agatha was absent. M`Druid, from his natural gallantry,
addressed his conversation principally to Miss
Buckley, who, delighted with such unusual attention,
became herself exceedingly loquacious. The 'squire
gave indications of nervous fretfulness whenever she
opened her lips, and his spirits became depressed as
hers were in the ascendant. They resembled the two
buckets of a well, when the one is up, the other must
of necessity be down, and they invariably gave each
that the 'squire was high-toned and proud, and he considered
every remark of his sister-in-law a shaft that
threatened to bring him from his altitude.
The 'squire, having in his youth held a commission
in the army, like most old soldiers was fond of fighting
his battles over again, no matter whether they have
ever pitched a tent, or been within a day's march of an
enemy. He is a rara avis indeed, who, having marched
for a few days to the beat of a drum, does not consider
himself in after-life, entitled to be classed among the
Cæsars and Hannibals of old. The 'squire having recapitulated
his military adventures, with a minuteness
of detail that vouched for his veracity, the major commenced
with his campaigns, to which Miss Rebecca
listened with marked attention. At the first pause in
his narrative, she remarked—
“I have often thought, major, that a military life
must possess charms, that no one but a soldier is permitted
to dream of.”
“True, madam, there are many pleasures in a soldier's
life, but then it is by no means exempt from care.”
“And the greatest is that which springs from ambition,”
replied Miss Buckley. “Military men are too
frequently like Don Quixote, who, having conquered
the world, sat down and sighed that he had no more
worlds to conquer.”
The major bowed, and smiled assent. The 'squire
drew a long breath between his teeth, and rubbed his
leg, as if he felt a twinge of the gout, but the signal,
though perfectly understood by the spinster, was
unregarded. She continued—
“And then to be immortalized, major! To have
your name descend with those of Pygmalion, Thomas
à Kempis, and other Roman heroes, is a temptation
that few can resist.”
“There is something in that, I must confess, madam,”
replied M`Druid.
“Not barely something, but very much, major, I assure
you. Do you remember the words of Julius Cæsar
to the pilot, when crossing the Black Sea? Do you
remember the words of Ossian when he mounted the
walls of Troy?”
“I am ashamed to say they have escaped me,” replied
the major, bowing gravely, and the 'squire seemed
to have another twinge of his old complaint. He did not
relish the display of his sister-in-law's historical knowledge,
which, though not in strict accordance with received
opinions, was possibly quite as accurate as a great
portion of that which is gravely laid down for truth, and
certainly answered her purpose quite as well. She was
about to resume the subject, when the 'squire hastily
interrupted her—
“Fill up, major. Here is a bottle of such wine as
you have not tasted since you set foot on the new
world. I will give you a toast too that would render
even bad wine palatable. Long life to George the
Third, and a speedy death to rebellion.”
The toast went round, and the major pronounced it
the best glass of wine he had tasted since he left Bengal,
and the toast such a one as would justify any loyal subject
in getting tipsy in drinking.
“For shame of you to utter such a sentiment!” exclaimed
Miss Buckley, again opening her battery. “Do
we not read in the works of Cornelius Agrippa that the
ancient Egyptians exposed their slaves in a state of intoxication,
to deter their children from so shocking a
vice. For shame, major! another such sentiment, and
I blot you from my books for ever!”
“Under so severe a penalty, I must remain as dumb
as an oyster,” replied the major.
“I wish to the Lord she would imitate your example,”
mumured the 'squire. “But what ails Balcarras?
His wine remains untouched, and he is as silent as one
of the brotherhood of La Trappe.”
The earl had not opened his lips since he entered
Young Morton had also been unusually sparing
of his words.
“His thoughts are on the other side of the water, no
doubt,” replied Miss Rebecca, “for we are told that
even the pious Nero in his exile”—
“Curse the pious Nero!” ejaculated the 'squire to
himself. “Come, Lindsay, take your glass. I'll drink
to the subject of your meditations. You will join us,
Edward.”
The young men exchanged significant glances, that
betrayed that the toast had turned the wine to worm-wood.
They however touched the glasses with their
lips.
“Have you seen your sister since your arrival, Edward?”
“But for a moment, sir, at distance.”
“Where can the little puss be? It is strange that
she should be absent at such a time. She is a wild
girl, major, but such as she is, I have reason to be
proud of her. If she had received the advantage of
an European education, she would have been fit for the
office of first lady of the bed-chamber.”
“Can you inform me, major, what are the exact duties
attached to that office?” demanded the spinster.
“I must protest my ignorance,” replied the major,
“but if they are within the compass of an Irish gentleman
to perform, I should be proud to hold the office,
after throwing up my present commission. There is
no post in the gift of his majesty that so forcibly strikes
my fancy.”
“You, major!” exclaimed the spinster, “it would be
altogether out of character.”
“Pardon me, madam, perfectly in character, and the
very post for an Irish gentleman.”
Though the young men had scarcely tasted their
wine, M`Druid had not been idle, and his fancy was
and continued—
“There was an office among the Chaldeans of old”—
“Becky, my dear,” cried the 'squire, “I really think
this wine cannot be from the anno domini '65.”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“I cannot taste the nut,” continued the 'squire, sipping
at his glass. “I fear Tom has made some mistake.
The wine is hardly mellow, and the flavour of
the nut scarcely perceptible.”
“There is no mistake, I assure you, sir. I selected
the wine with my own hands.”
“Your palate is certainly treacherous,” said M`Druid,
“for king David himself never drank better liquor than
this.”
“There was an office, major, among the ancient
Chaldeans”—
“That woman would talk to the end of Plato's year,
and still have something to say!” muttered the 'squire.
“Becky, do, pray, see whether Agatha has returned.
She will be sadly disappointed if Edward is obliged to
depart without seeing her.”
The spinster rose, and dropping a deep curtsey to
the major, withdrew. The 'squire appeared to breathe
a freer air in her absence.
“The severe rebuff that the rebels have met with at
the Brandywine,” he continued, “will doubtless, major,
put a speedy close to this unrighteous rebellion.”
“Therein we differ in opinion,” replied M`Druid,
“there is but one way to put a close to it, that occurs
to me from present appearances.”
“And that way is”—
“For his majesty's troops to embark again for England,
for by my faith it is clear that as long as we remain
the rebellion will continue.”
“How can that be if you have sufficient force to
conquer the malcontents?”
“Och! by St. Patrick, that business of conquering
affair. It is nothing more than the beginning of the
work.”
“Why, what more is to be done when they are once
conquered?”
“We must make them stay conquered,” replied the
major.
“You certainly magnify the difficulty, major. What
can a handful of undisciplined yeomen do, badly armed,
poorly clad, and worse fed, against professional soldiers
and scientific commanders?”
“More than we shall find stomachs to digest, and
the reason is a plain one. You call us professional
soldiers, and of course we fight for pay;—our enemies
fight for their homes, and in such a cause, we are told,
`even the dove will peck the estridge.' We may
scoff at them and call them ragged rascals, but I have
seen some service in my time, and by the powers I
have never yet discovered that a man fights the worse
for having an old coat upon his back.”
“Why, major, you would lead one to suppose that the
atmosphere of America has already tainted your politics.”
“It is a bracing atmosphere, I confess, and suits my
constitution,” replied the major, “but as to my politics,
I always leave them in the keeping of the ministry,
though I cannot help having a little bit of an opinion of
my own.”
Agatha now entered the room, accompanied by her
aunt, and Balcarras, who had for some time preferred
his own reflections to conversation, assumed a more
cheerful aspect on her appearance.
“Agatha, my girl,” cried the 'squire as she entered,
“we have been expecting you impatiently. Make the
king's soldiers welcome, and show your loyalty.”
She embraced her brother, and coldly acknowledged
the presence of Balcarras. The earl belonged to that
numerous class who believe that in love affairs they
Cæsar did in his victories. Three words and the business
is settled. He was a libertine in his principles,
and such men are too prone to suppose that the women
of all foreign climes must, on the first attack, surrender
at discretion. It is but to shake the tree and the fruit
must fall. Women are quick at reading characters of
this description, and Agatha already knew the earl as
thoroughly as if she had been acquainted with him for
years. M`Druid was formally introduced to her, and
his good natured countenance brightened in a manner
that proved he was more than repaid for the drudgery
he had undergone for an hour past in entertaining Miss
Buckley.
“Where have you been, my little fawn?” said the
'squire, addressing his daughter.
“Walking, sir,” replied Agatha.
“You have become fond of that recreation of late,”
continued the other, “but curiosity to see the victorious
army of the king as it approached the village, I suppose
attracted you abroad. It was a glorious and gratifying
sight, and curiosity in this instance is perfectly excusable.”
“When Orestes took his triumph, the people of
Rome”— Miss Rebecca had proceeded thus far when
the 'squire interrupted her—
“But, my little fawn, lightfooted as you are, you
should not have ventured out alone.”
“I am astonished that Miss Morton could have committed
an act of such imprudence at a time when stragglers
are abroad,” observed Balcarras, in a tone that
conveyed more meaning to Agatha than to the rest of
the company.
“The caution is well-timed,” replied Agatha, “and
comes with a good grace from one who has experienced
the danger of venturing abroad unprotected.”
The latter part of this speech was intended for the ear
of Balcarras alone. He bit his lips and made no reply.
“I am glad you have come, Agatha,” said the 'squire,
“for the colonel appears to have found the use of his
tongue again. Pray, have you had it in your keeping?”
“O no, sir; a single tongue is enough for any woman
to take care of, and sometimes more than she can well
manage,” replied Agatha. “Do you not think so,
colonel?”
“I will not presume to contradict the opinion.”
“Civil creature!”
Miss Buckley had reseated herself near M`Druid,
and again commenced—
“The barbarous custom among the Goths and the
Vandals, of prohibiting women the use of speech”—The
'squire became quite nervous at the sound of her voice,
and for the purpose of checking the stream of erudition,
said to Agatha—
“Come, my little humming-bird, rally his grace into
a good humour, for he has been as silent as an unfeed
advocate for this hour past.”
“I must know the cause of his disease, sir, before I
attempt a cure.”
“You are a timid practitioner;” replied the 'squire.
“Possibly he has been struck by the wand of some
magician. There was a time when they abounded in
this neighbourhood, and a few are still remaining.”
“Then I will lay my life he has been struck with the
wand of a magician,” replied Agatha, archly.
“Captain Morton, it is time for us to take our leave,”
exclaimed Balcarras, “I hear the bugle.”
“Talking of magicians, major, there was a custom
among the ancient Chaldeans”—
Miss Buckley was again interrupted by the sound of
martial instruments which announced to the visitors
that the army was preparing to march. The officers
made a hasty obeisance and left the room, but it was
not without regret that M`Druid took leave of the anno
domini '65. When they had closed the door the 'squire
began—
“My dear Becky, you talk too much. I will allow
that you talk very well, but then you talk too much.”
“Bless me, brother, you will allow me to entertain
your guests?”
“Certainly, but in doing it you should not depart from
the rule of your favourite ancients. They were satisfied
to instil wisdom drop by drop, but you are for
plunging us head over heels into the ocean at once.
No man can stand that, Becky, and it is unreasonable
to expect it.”
“A man of sense, brother, will avail himself of every
opportunity of improvement.”
“Improvement!—Now, Becky, though you have a
vast fund of erudition, you must be conscious that it is
as ill assorted as the lumber-room in our garret, and
that you could as readily find an article there at midnight,
as an appropriate subject in your upper-story.
You have disposed of nothing in its proper place, but
have continued heaping one thing upon another until all
is in a state of utter confusion.”
“I never expect that you will do me justice, brother.”
“I am disposed to do you every justice. If you
were only half as learned, you would be twice as wise.
But, Becky, how can you expect me to keep my patience
when I hear you begin that infernal story of the
ancient Chaldeans. You know I attributed my last fit
of gout to that story, and yet you still persist. It always
makes me as nervous as an aspen-tree. If you
have any bowels, Becky”—
“O, brother!”
“Then for the love of heaven let this be the last I
shall hear of the ancient Chaldeans. By the agony
that I have endured I conjure you to forget that there
ever was such a race of people. They have for centuries
been buried, and I beseech you not to disturb
their ashes.”
“Your wishes shall certainly be obeyed, brother, but
upon without offence.”
“You may talk of the Romans, the Spartans, Lilliputians,
and the Brobdingnags,—I care not what, so I
hear nothing more of the customs of the ancient Chaldeans.”
“And yet, brother, you appeared a little irritable
when I alluded to the triumphal entry of Orestes into
Rome.”
“Why that story also, Becky, has a tendency to discompose
my nerves. You would particularly oblige
me if you would drop Orestes also.”
“I perceived the same irritability when I mentioned
Don Quixote and Thomas à Kempis. What objection
pray, have you to them.”
“None in the world. They were both very clever
fellows in their way, but then you are forever bringing
them into such damned strange company, that I should
esteem it an especial favour if you would drop their
acquaintance also, and let them rest with the ancient
Chaldeans.”
“I cannot give up that point, brother, for I perceive
you would not leave me a single topic to converse
about.”
Jones now brought the horses belonging to the officers
to the front of the house. When mounting, a
brief dialogue passed between young Morton and the
rustic:
“Have you delivered my letter to Mr. Hartfield?”
“I have, sir.”
“Any answer?”
“None.”
“Well; no matter.” He remained absorbed in
thought for a few moments. His companions were already
mounted. “Jones!”
“Sir!” Young Morton still appeared to be revolving
some subject in his mind, and evidently became
more perplexed the longer he reflected.
“The van of the army is in motion,” cried M`Druid;
and as he spoke the flags and forest of bayonets might
be seen bristling above the hill, and full bands of various
instruments, filled the air with spirit-stirring notes.
“We shall overstay our time,” exclaimed Balcarras.
“One moment, and I am at your service, gentlemen,”
said Morton. He then muttered to himself—
“It is useless to hesitate; I have pledged myself to
accomplish it, and it shall be done. The time may arrive
when he will thank me for it.” Then addressing
the rustic, he continued—“Jones, I am fully aware
that you are possessed of considerable address, and I
now find it necessary to put it to the trial.”
“You are disposed to flatter, sir,” replied the other,
“but command me, and if I fail it shall not be for the
want of inclination to do my duty.”
“The matter is of some moment,” said Morton,
“and if you are successful you may depend upon being
amply rewarded for your services. Let me see you
to-morrow. Do not fail. Diligence and secrecy are
all I exact of you.” He turned his horse, and dashed
his spurs into his flank, and as the spirited animal
darted off, Morton cried aloud to Jones, “Remember.”
M`Druid and the earl followed, and they arrived
at the village before the rear of the army had taken
up its line of march.
| CHAPTER IX. The forsaken | |