Book: Handy Andy, Vol. 2

S >> Samuel Lover >> Handy Andy, Vol. 2




Gusty departed to do the message, somewhat in wonder, for Edward loved a
fine horse. But the truth was, Edward's disposable money, which he had
intended for the purchase of a hunter, had a serious inroad made upon it
by the debts he had discharged for other men, and he was forced to forego
the pleasure he had proposed to himself in the next hunting season; and he
did not like to consume any one's time, or raise false expectations, by
affecting to look at disposable property with the eye of a purchaser, when
he knew it was beyond his reach; and the flimsy common-places of "I'll
think of it," or "If I don't see something better," or any other of the
twenty hackneyed excuses which idle people make, after consuming busy
men's time, Edward held to be unworthy. He could ride a hack and deny
himself hunting for a whole season, but he would not unnecessarily
consume the useful time of any man for ten minutes.

This may be sneered at by the idle and thoughtless; nevertheless, it is a
part of the minor morality which is ever present in the conduct of a true
gentleman.

Edward had promised to join Dick's dinner-party on an impromptu
invitation, and the clock striking the appointed hour warned Edward it was
time to be off; so, jumping up on a jaunting car, he rattled off to Dick's
lodgings, where a jolly party was assembled ripe for fun.

Amongst the guests was a rather remarkable man, a Colonel Crammer, who had
seen a monstrous deal of service--one of Tom Durfy's friends whom he had
asked leave to bring with him to dinner. Of course, Dick's card and a note
of invitation for the gallant colonel were immediately despatched; and he
had but just arrived before Edward, who found a bustling sensation in the
room as the colonel was presented to those already assembled, and Tom
Durfy giving whispers, aside, to each person touching his friend; such as
--"Very remarkable man"--"Seen great service"--"A little odd or so"--"A
fund of most extraordinary anecdote," &c., &c.

Now this Colonel Crammer was no other than Tom Loftus, whose acquaintance
Dick wished to make, and who had been invited to the dinner after a
preliminary visit; but Tom sent an excuse in his own name, and preferred
being present under a fictitious one--this being one of the odd ways in
which his humour broke out, desirous of giving people a "touch of his
quality" before they knew him. He was in the habit of assuming various
characters; a methodist missionary--the patentee of some unheard-of
invention--the director of some new joint-stock company--in short,
anything which would give him an opportunity of telling tremendous
bouncers was equally good for Tom. His reason for assuming a military
guise on this occasion was to bother Moriarty, whom he knew he should
meet, and held a special reason for tormenting; and he knew he could
achieve this, by throwing all the stories Moriarty was fond of telling
about his own service into the shade, by extravagant inventions of
"hair-breadth 'scapes" and feats by "flood and field." Indeed, the dinner
would not be worth mentioning but for the extraordinary capers Tom cut on
the occasion, and the unheard-of lies he squandered.

Dinner was announced by Andy, and with good appetite soup and fish were
soon despatched; sherry followed as a matter of necessity. The second
course appeared, and was not long under discussion when Dick called for
the "champagne."

Andy began to drag the tub towards the table, and Dick, impatient of
delay, again called "champagne."

"I'm bringin' it to you, sir," said Andy, tugging at the tub.

"Hand it round the table," said Dick.

Andy tried to lift the tub, "to hand it round the table;" but, finding he
could not manage it, he whispered to Dick, "I can't get it up, sir."

Dick, fancying Andy meant he had got a flask not in a sufficient state of
effervescence to expel its own cork, whispered in return, "Draw it, then."

"I was dhrawin' it to you, sir, when you stopped me."

"Well, make haste with it," said Dick.

"Mister Dawson, I'll trouble you for a small slice of the turkey," said
the colonel.

"With pleasure, colonel; but first do me the honour to take champagne.
Andy--champagne!"

"Here it is, sir!" said Andy, who had drawn the tub close to Dick's chair.

"Where's the wine, sir?" said Dick, looking first at the tub and then at
Andy. "There, sir," said Andy, pointing down to the ice. "I put the wine
into it, as you towld me."

Dick looked again at the tub, and said, "There is not a single bottle
there--what do you mean, you stupid rascal?"

"To be sure, there's no bottle there, sir. The bottles is all on the
sideboord, but every dhrop o' the wine is in the ice, as you towld me,
sir; if you put your hand down into it, you'll feel it, sir."

The conversation between master and man growing louder as it proceeded
attracted the attention of the whole company, and those near the head of
the table became acquainted as soon as Dick with the mistake Andy had
made, and could not resist laughter; and as the cause of their merriment
was told from man to man, and passed round the board, a roar of laughter
uprose, not a little increased by Dick's look of vexation, which at length
was forced to yield to the infectious merriment around him, and he laughed
with the rest, and making a joke of the disappointment, which is the very
best way of passing one off, he said that he had the honour of originating
at his table a magnificent scale of hospitality; for though he had heard
of company being entertained with a whole hogshead of claret, he was not
aware of champagne being ever served in a tub before. The company were too
determined to be merry to have their pleasantry put out of tune by so
trifling a mishap, and it was generally voted that the joke was worth
twice as much as the wine. Nevertheless, Dick could not help casting a
reproachful look now and then at Andy, who had to run the gauntlet of many
a joke cut at his expense, while he waited upon the wags at dinner, and
caught a lowly muttered anathema whenever he passed near Dick's chair. In
short, master and man were both glad when the cloth was drawn, and the
party could be left to themselves.

Then, as a matter of course, Dick called on the gentlemen to charge
their glasses and fill high to a toast he had to propose--they would
anticipate to whom he referred--a gentleman who was going to change
his state of freedom for one of a happier bondage, &c., &c. Dick
dashed off his speech with several mirth-moving allusions to the
change that was coming over his friend Tom, and, having festooned his
composition with the proper quantity of "rosy wreaths," &c., &c., &c.,
naturally belonging to such speeches, he wound up with some hearty words--
free from _badinage_, and meaning all they conveyed, and finished
with the rhyming benediction of a "long life and a good wife" to him.

Tom having returned thanks in the same laughing style that Dick proposed
his health, and bade farewell to the lighter follies of bachelorship for
the more serious ones of wedlock, the road was now open for any one who
was vocally inclined. Dick asked one or two, who said they were not within
a bottle of their singing-point yet, but Tom Durfy was sure his friend the
colonel would favour them.

"With pleasure," said the colonel; "and I'll sing something appropriate to
the blissful situation of philandering in which you have been indulging of
late, my friend. I wish I could give you any idea of the song as I heard
it warbled by the voice of an Indian princess, who was attached to me
once, and for whom I ran enormous risks--but no matter--that's past and
gone, but the soft tones of Zulima's voice will ever haunt my heart! The
song is a favourite where I heard it--on the borders of Cashmere, and is
supposed to be sung by a fond woman in the valley of the nightingales--
'tis so in the original, but as we have no nightingales in Ireland, I have
substituted the dove in the little translation I have made, which, if you
will allow me, I'll attempt."

Loud cries of "Hear, hear!" and tapping of applauding hands on the table
followed, while the colonel gave a few preliminary hems; and after some
little pilot tones from his throat, to show the way, his voice ascended
in all the glory of song.

THE DOVE-SONG

I

"_Coo! Coo! Coo! Coo!_
Thus did I hear the turtle-dove,
_Coo! Coo! Coo!_
Murmuring forth her love;
And as she flew from tree to tree,
How melting seemed the notes to me--
_Coo! Coo! Coo!_
So like the voice of lovers,
'T was passing sweet to hear
The birds within the covers,
In the spring-time of the year.

II

"_Coo! Coo! Coo! Coo!_
Thus the song's returned again--
_Coo! Coo! Coo!_
Through the shady glen;
But there I wandered lone and sad,
While every bird around was glad.
_Coo! Coo! Coo!_
Thus so fondly murmured they,
_Coo! Coo! Coo!_
While _my_ love was away.
And yet the song to lovers,
Though sad, is sweet to hear,
From birds within the covers,
In the spring-time of the year."

The colonel's song, given with Tom Loftus' good voice, was received with
great applause, and the fellows all voted it catching, and began "cooing"
round the table like a parcel of pigeons.

"A translation from an eastern poet, you say?"

"Yes," said Tom.

"'T is not very eastern in its character," said Moriarty. "I mean a
_free_ translation, of course," added the mock colonel.

"Would you favour us with the song again, in the original?" added
Moriarty.

Tom Loftus did not know one syllable of any other language than his own,
and it would not have been convenient to talk gibberish to Moriarty, who
had a smattering of some of the eastern tongues; so he declined giving his
Cashmerian song in its native purity, because, as he said, he never could
manage to speak their dialect, though he understood it reasonably well.

"But _there's_ a gentleman, I am sure, will sing some other song--and
a better one, I have no doubt," said Tom, with a very humble prostration
of his head on the table, and anxious by a fresh song to get out of the
dilemma in which Moriarty's question was near placing him.

"Not a better, colonel," said the gentleman who was addressed, "but I
cannot refuse your call, and I will do my best; hand me the port wine,
pray; I always take a glass of port before I sing--I think 't is good for
the throat--what do you say, colonel?"

"When I want to sing particularly well," said Tom, "I drink
_canary_."

The gentleman smiled at the whimsical answer, tossed off his glass of
port, and began.

LADY MINE

"Lady mine! lady mine!
Take the rosy wreath I twine,
All its sweets are less than thine,
Lady, lady mine!
The blush that on thy cheek is found
Bloometh fresh the _whole_ year round;
_Thy_ sweet _breath_ as sweet gives _sound_,
Lady, lady mine!

II

"Lady mine! lady mine!
How I love the graceful vine,
Whose tendrils mock thy ringlets' twine,
Lady, lady mine!
How I love that generous tree,
Whose ripe clusters promise me
Bumpers bright,--to pledge to _thee_,
Lady, lady mine!

III

"Lady mine! lady mine!
Like the stars that nightly shine,
Thy sweet eyes shed light divine,
Lady, lady mine!
And as sages wise, of old,
From the stars could fate unfold,
Thy bright eyes _my_ fortune told,
Lady, lady mine!"

The song was just in the style to catch gentlemen after dinner--the second
verse particularly, and many a glass was emptied of a "bumper bright," and
pledged to the particular "_thee_," which each individual had
selected for his devotion. Edward, at that moment, certainly thought of
Fanny Dawson.

Let teetotallers say what they please, there is a genial influence
inspired by wine and song--not in excess, but in that wholesome degree
which stirs the blood and warms the fancy; and as one raises the glass to
the lip, over which some sweet name is just breathed from the depth of the
heart, what libation so fit to pour to absent friends as wine? What
_is_ wine? It is the grape present in another form; its essence is
there, though the fruit which produced it grew thousands of miles away,
and perished years ago. So the object of many a tender thought may be
spiritually present, in defiance of space--and fond recollections
cherished in defiance of time.

As the party became more convivial, the mirth began to assume a broader
form. Tom Durfy drew out Moriarty on the subject of his services,
that the mock colonel might throw every new achievement into the
shade; and this he did in the most barefaced manner, but mixing so
much of probability with his audacious fiction, that those who were
not up to the joke only supposed him to be _a very great romancer_;
while those friends who were in Loftus' confidence exhibited a most
capacious stomach for the marvellous, and backed up his lies with
a ready credence. If Moriarty told some fearful incident of a tiger
hunt, the colonel capped it with something more wonderful, of slaughtering
lions in a wholesale way, like rabbits. When Moriarty expatiated on the
intensity of tropical heat, the colonel would upset him with something
more appalling.

"Now, sir," said Loftus, "let me ask you what is the greatest amount of
heat you have ever experienced--I say _experienced_, not _heard_ of--for
that goes for nothing. I always speak from experience."

"Well, sir," said Moriarty, "I have known it to be so hot in India, that I
have had a hole dug in the ground under my tent, and sat in it, and put a
table standing over the hole, to try and guard me from the intolerable
fervour of the eastern sun, and even _then_ I was hot. What do you
say to that, colonel?" asked Moriarty, triumphantly.

"Have you ever been in the West Indies?" inquired Loftus.

"Never," said Moriarty, who, once entrapped into this admission, was
directly at the colonel's mercy,--and the colonel launched out
fearlessly.

"Then, my good sir, you know nothing of heat. I have seen in the West
Indies an umbrella burned over a man's head."

"Wonderful!" cried Loftus' backers.

"'T is strange, sir," said Moriarty, "that we have never seen that
mentioned by any writer."

"Easily accounted for, sir," said Loftus. "'T is so common a circumstance,
that it ceases to be worthy of observation. An author writing of this
country might as well remark that the apple-women are to be seen sitting
at the corners of the streets. That's nothing, sir; but there are two
things of which I have personal knowledge, _rather_ remarkable.
One day of intense heat (even for that climate) I was on a visit at the
plantation of a friend of mine, and it was so out-o'-the-way scorching,
that our lips were like cinders, and we were obliged to have black
slaves pouring sangaree down our throats by gallons--I don't hesitate
to say gallons--and we thought we could not have survived through
the day; but what could _we_ think of _our_ sufferings, when we
heard that several negroes, who had gone to sleep under the shade of some
cocoa-nut trees, had been scalded to death?"

"Scalded?" said his friends; "burnt, you mean."

"No, scalded; and _how_ do you think? The intensity of the heat had
cracked the cocoa-nuts, and the boiling milk inside dropped down and
produced the fatal result. The same day a remarkable accident occurred at
the battery; the French were hovering round the island at the time, and
the governor, being a timid man, ordered the guns to be always kept
loaded."

"I never heard of such a thing in a battery in my life, sir," said
Moriarty.

"Nor I either," said Loftus, "till then."

"What was the governor's name, sir?" inquired Moriarty, pursuing his train
of doubt.

"You must excuse me, captain, from naming him," said Loftus, with
readiness, "after _incautiously_ saying he was _timid_."

"Hear, hear!" said all the friends.

"But to pursue my story, sir:--the guns were loaded, and with the
intensity of the heat went off, one after another, and quite riddled one
of his Majesty's frigates that was lying in the harbour."

"That's one of the most difficult riddles to comprehend I ever heard,"
said Moriarty.

"The frigate answered the riddle with her guns, sir, I promise you."

"What!" exclaimed Moriarty, "fire on the fort of her own king?"

"There is an honest principle exists among sailors, sir, to return fire
under all circumstances, wherever it comes from, friend or foe. Fire, of
which they know the value so well, they won't take from anybody."

"And what was the consequence?" said Moriarty.

"Sir, it was the most harmless broadside ever delivered from the ports of
a British frigate; not a single house or human being was injured--the day
was so hot that every sentinel had sunk on the ground in utter exhaustion
--the whole population were asleep; the only loss of life which occurred
was that of a blue macaw, which belonged to the commandant's daughter."

"Where was the macaw, may I beg to know?" said Moriarty, cross-questioning
the colonel in the spirit of a counsel for the defence on a capital
indictment.

"In the drawing-room window, sir."

"Then surely the ball must have done some damage in the house?"

"Not the least, sir," said Loftus, sipping his wine.

"Surely, colonel!" returned Moriarty, warming, "the ball could not have
killed the macaw without injuring the house?"

"My dear sir," said Tom, "I did not say the _ball_ killed the macaw,
I said the macaw was killed; but _that_ was in consequence of a
splinter from an _epaulement_ of the south-east angle of the fort
which the shot struck and glanced off harmlessly--except for the casualty
of the macaw."

Moriarty returned a kind of grunt, which implied that, though he could not
further _question_, he did not _believe_. Under such circumstances, taking
snuff is a great relief to a man; and, as it happened, Moriarty, in taking
snuff, could gratify his nose and his vanity at the same time, for he
sported a silver-gilt snuff-box which was presented to him in some
extraordinary way, and bore a grand inscription.

On this "piece of plate" being produced, of course it went round the
table, and Moriarty could scarcely conceal the satisfaction he felt as
each person read the engraven testimonial of his worth. When it had gone
the circuit of the board, Tom Loftus put his hand into his pocket and
pulled out the butt-end of a rifle, which is always furnished with a small
box, cut out of the solid part of the wood and covered with a plate of
brass acting on a hinge. This box, intended to carry small implements for
the use of the rifleman, to keep his piece in order, was filled with
snuff, and Tom said, as he laid it down on the table, "This is _my_
snuff-box, gentlemen; not as handsome as my gallant friend's at the
opposite side of the table, but extremely interesting to me. It was
previous to one of our dashing affairs in Spain that our riflemen were
thrown out in front and on the flanks. The rifles were supported by the
light companies of the regiments in advance, and it was in the latter duty
I was engaged. We had to feel our way through a wood, and had cleared it
of the enemy, when, as we debouched from the wood on the opposite side, we
were charged by an overwhelming force of Polish lancers and cuirassiers.
Retreat was impossible--resistance almost hopeless. 'My lads,' said I, 'we
must do something _novel_ here, or we are lost--startle them by fresh
practice--the bayonet will no longer avail you--club your muskets, and hit
the horses over the noses, and they'll smell danger.' They took my advice;
of course we first delivered a withering volley, and then to it we went in
flail-fashion, thrashing away with the butt-ends of our muskets; and sure
enough the French were astonished and driven back in amazement. So
tremendous, sir, was the hitting on our side, that in many instances
the butt-ends of the muskets snapped off like tobacco-pipes, and
the field was quite strewn with them after the affair: I picked one
of them up as a little memento of the day, and have used it ever
since as a snuff-box."

Every one was amused by the outrageous romancing of the colonel but
Moriarty, who looked rather disgusted, because he could not edge in a word
of his own at all; he gave up the thing now in despair, for the colonel
had it all his own way, like the bull in a china-shop; the more startling
the bouncers he told, the more successful were his anecdotes, and he kept
pouring them out with the most astounding rapidity; and though all voted
him the greatest liar they ever met, none suspected he was not a military
man.

Dick wanted Edward O'Connor, who sat beside him, to sing; but Edward
whispered, "For Heaven's sake don't stop the flow of the lava from that
mighty eruption of lies!--he's a perfect Vesuvius of mendacity. You'll
never meet his like again, so make the most of him while you have him.
Pray, sir," said Edward to the colonel, "have you ever been in any of the
cold climates? I am induced to ask you, from the very wonderful anecdotes
you have told of the hot ones."

"Bless you, sir, I know every corner about the north pole."

"In which of the expeditions, may I ask, were you engaged?" inquired
Moriarty.

"In none of them, sir. We knocked up a _little amateur party_, I and
a few curious friends, and certainly we witnessed wonders. You talk here
of a sharp wind; but the wind is so sharp there that it cut off our beard
and whiskers. Boreas is a great barber, sir, with his north pole for a
sign. Then as for frost!--I could tell you such incredible things of its
intensity; our butter, for instance, was as hard as a rock; we were
obliged to knock it off with a chisel and hammer, like a mason at a piece
of granite, and it was necessary to be careful of your eyes at breakfast,
the splinters used to fly about so; indeed, one of the party _did_
lose the use of his eye from a butter-splinter. But the oddest thing of
all was to watch two men talking to each other: you could observe the
words, as they came out of their mouths, suddenly frozen and dropping down
in little pellets of ice at their feet, so that, after a long
conversation, you might see a man standing up to his knees in his own
eloquence."

They all roared with laughter at this last touch of the marvellous, but
Loftus preserved his gravity.

"I don't wonder, gentlemen, at your not receiving that as truth--I told
you it was incredible--in short, that is the reason I have resisted all
temptations to publish. Murray, Longmans, Colburn, Bentley, ALL the
publishers have offered me unlimited terms, but I have always refused--not
that I am a rich man, which makes the temptation of the thousands I might
realise the harder to withstand; 't is not that the gold is not precious
to me, but there is something dearer to me than gold--_it is my
character for veracity!_ and therefore, as I am convinced the public
would not believe the wonders I have witnessed, I confine the recital of
my adventures to the social circle. But what profession affords such scope
for varied incident as that of the soldier? Change of clime, danger,
vicissitude, love, war, privation one day, profusion the next, darkling
dangers, and sparkling joys! Zounds! there's nothing like the life of a
soldier! and, by the powers! I'll give you a song in its praise."

The proposition was received with cheers, and Tom rattled away these
ringing rhymes--

THE BOWLD SOJER BOY

"Oh there's not a trade that's going
Worth showing,
Or knowing,
Like that from glory growing,
For a bowld sojer boy;
Where right or left we go,
Sure you know,
Friend or foe
Will have the hand or toe
From a bowld sojer boy!
There's not a town we march thro',
But the ladies, looking arch thro'
The window-panes, will search thro'
The ranks to find their joy;
While up the street,
Each girl you meet,
Will look so sly,
Will cry
'My eye!
Oh, isn't he a darling, the bowld sojer boy!'

II

"But when we get the route,
How they pout
And they shout
While to the right about
Goes the bowld sojer boy.
Oh, 'tis then that ladies fair
In despair
Tear their hair,
But 'the divil-a-one I care,'
Says the bowld sojer boy.
For the world is all before us,
Where the landladies adore us,
And ne'er refuse to score us,
But chalk us up with joy;
We taste her tap,
We tear her cap'--
'Oh, that's the chap
For me!'
Says she;
'Oh, isn't he a darling, the bowld sojer boy.'

III

"'Then come along with me,
Gramachree,
And you'll see
How happy you will be
With your bowld sojer boy;
'Faith! if you're up to fun,
With me run;
'T will be done
In the snapping of a gun,'
Says the bowld sojer boy;
'And 't is then that, without scandal,
Myself will proudly dandle
The little farthing candle
Of our mutual flame, my joy!
May his light shine
As bright as mine,
Till in the line
He'll blaze,
And raise
The glory of his corps, like a bowld sojer boy!'"

Andy entered the room while the song was in progress, and handed a letter
to Dick, which, after the song was over, and he had asked pardon of his
guests, he opened.

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