🥊 Jim Harrison, boxeur | Arthur Conan Doyle 📖

Découvrez *Jim Harrison, boxeur* 🥊, une nouvelle captivante d’Arthur Conan Doyle, l’illustre créateur de Sherlock Holmes. Dans ce récit palpitant, Doyle explore l’univers des rings, la lutte acharnée pour l’honneur et la force de caractère d’un homme face aux défis de la vie. ⚡

Jim Harrison n’est pas seulement un boxeur : il incarne la persévérance, le courage et la détermination. À travers ses combats, le lecteur est plongé dans un monde de rivalités, de sacrifices et de triomphes où chaque coup porté est une leçon de résilience et d’ambition. 🥇

Ce chef-d’œuvre met en lumière la passion de Doyle pour les récits humains intenses, mêlant psychologie et action. Parfait pour les amateurs de littérature classique et d’histoires qui allient sport, drame et émotion.

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-📖✨ La grande ombre | Arthur Conan Doyle 🌌⚔️ [https://youtu.be/iNpY9p8vR2A]
-🥊 Jim Harrison, boxeur | Arthur Conan Doyle 📖[https://youtu.be/YdFMeX72Whw]

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– Une œuvre rare d’Arthur Conan Doyle 📚
– Un récit plein de suspense et d’émotion 🎭
– Une plongée dans l’univers du sport et de la force morale 🏆
– Idéal pour les passionnés de boxe et de littérature classique 🎧

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**Navigate by Chapters or Titles:**
00:00:33 Chapter 1.
00:24:12 Chapter 2.
00:43:40 Chapter 3.
01:06:12 Chapter 4.
01:25:52 Chapter 5.
01:54:38 Chapter 6.
02:10:46 Chapter 7.
02:42:01 Chapter 8.
03:02:28 Chapter 9.
03:26:11 Chapter 10.
04:03:00 Chapter 11.
04:31:55 Chapter 12.
05:00:07 Chapter 13.
05:18:18 Chapter 14.
05:43:23 Chapter 15.
05:52:55 Chapter 16.
06:12:25 Chapter 17.
06:34:32 Chapter 18.
07:03:27 Chapter 19.
07:19:05 Chapter 20.
07:37:30 Chapter 21.
07:56:48 Chapter 22.

In Arthur Conan Doyle’s “Jim Harrison, Boxer,” we discover a thrilling story that immerses us in the world of sport and courage. Doyle, famous for his captivating plots, presents us with a fiery-tempered hero, ready to face the harsh realities of combat to earn the esteem of his peers and prove his worth. This is not only a portrait of the athlete, but also a reflection on honor, tenacity, and the struggle for recognition. Prepare to enter a world where every punch tells a story of will and destiny. Chapter 1. Friar’s Oak. Today, January 1, 1851, the nineteenth century has reached its midpoint, and among us who were young during its infancy, many have already received warnings that tell us that it has worn us down. We old men put our grizzled heads together and talk of the great times we lived through, but when we talk to our sons, we have great difficulty in making ourselves understood. We and our fathers before us spent our lives in very similar circumstances; but they, with their railways and their steamships, belong to a different century. We can, it is true, put history books into their hands, and they can read of our twenty-two-year struggle against that great, evil man. They can see how Liberty fled from all the wide continent, how Nelson shed his blood, how noble Pitt was broken-hearted in his efforts to prevent him from flying from our country to the other side of the Atlantic. They can read all this, as well as the date of such and such a treaty, of such and such a battle, but I do not know where they will find details about ourselves, where they will learn what sort of people we were, what kind of life we ​​led, and what the world looked like to us when our eyes were young, as theirs do now. If I take up my pen to tell you about this, do not think, however, that I intend to write a history. When these things were happening, I had scarcely reached the beginning of manhood, and although I have seen a little of other people’s lives, I have hardly the right to speak of my own. It is the love of a woman that constitutes the history of a man, and many years were to pass before the day when I looked into the eyes of the one who was to be the mother of my children. It seems like yesterday, and yet these children are old enough to reach the plums in the garden while we fetch a ladder, and those roads we used to walk holding their little hands in ours, we are happy to walk again, leaning on their arms. But I will only speak of a time when a mother’s love was the only love I knew. So if you are looking for something more, you are not one of those for whom I am writing. But if you please to enter with me into this forgotten world, if you please to make the acquaintance of little Jim, of the champion Harrison, if you wish to associate with my father, who was one of Nelson’s faithful followers, if you wish to catch a glimpse of that famous seaman himself, and George who later became the unworthy King of England, if above all you wish to see my famous uncle, Sir Charles Tregellis, the king of the little masters, and the great champions, whose names are still familiar to your ears, then give me a hand, and… let’s go. But I must warn you: if you expect to find under the pen of your guide much that is attractive, you expose yourself to a disappointment. When I cast my eyes on the shelves that support my books, I recognize that only those have ventured to write their adventures, who were wise, witty, and brave. For my part, I would consider myself very satisfied if one could judge that I had only the intelligence and courage of the average. Men of action would perhaps have had some esteem for my intelligence and men of head some esteem for my energy. This is the best I can wish for on my account. Apart from an innate aptitude for music, and such that I arrive most easily, most naturally, at mastering the playing of any instrument, there is no superiority of which I have reason to be proud among my comrades. In all things, I have been a man who stops halfway, for I am of average height, my eyes are neither blue nor gray, and before nature had powdered my hair in its own way, the shade was intermediate between linen white and brown. There is perhaps a claim that I can hazard; is that my admiration for a man superior to me has never been mixed with the slightest jealousy, and that I have always seen each thing and understood it as it was. This is a favorable note to which I am entitled now that I begin to write my memories. So, if you please, we will keep my personality out of the picture as much as possible. If you can manage to look at me as a thin, colorless thread, which would serve to unite my little pearls, you will welcome me in the very conditions in which I desire to be welcomed. Our family, the Stones, had for many generations been devoted to the navy and it was a tradition among us that the eldest son should bear the name of his father’s favorite commander. This is how we could trace our genealogy back to the ancient Vernon Stone, who commanded a ship with a high forecastle, with a spur bow, during the war against the Dutch. Through Hawke Stone and Benbow Stone, we come to my father Anson Stone, who in turn christened me Rodney Stone in the parish church of St. Thomas, Portsmouth, in the year of our Lord 1786. As I write, I look out of my garden window and see my big boy of a son, and if I were to call Nelson!, you would see that I have remained faithful to the family traditions. My good mother, the best that ever was, was the second daughter of the Reverend John Tregellis, vicar of Milton, a small parish on the borders of the marshy Langstone Plain. She belonged to a poor family, but one that enjoyed some consideration, for her elder brother was the famous Sir Charles Tregellis, and he, having inherited from a wealthy East India merchant, eventually became the talk of the town and the particular friend of the Prince of Wales. I shall have to speak of him at greater length later, but you will remember from now on that he was my uncle and my mother’s brother. I can picture her throughout the whole course of her beautiful life, for she was very young when she married. She was hardly older when I see her again in my memory with her active fingers and her sweet voice. She appears to me as a charming woman with sweet turtle-dove eyes, rather small in stature, it is true, but still standing up bravely. In my memories of that time, I see her constantly dressed in some purple fabric with changing reflections, with a white scarf around her long white neck, I see her nimble fingers moving back and forth while she knits. I can still see her in her middle years, gentle, loving, calculating schemes, making arrangements, carrying them through, on a lieutenant’s few shillings a day’s pay, and managing to keep the housekeeping of Friar’s Oak cottage going and keep a good face in society. And now I have only to walk into the drawing-room to see her again, after eighty years of a saintly existence, with her silver-white hair, her placid face, her bonnet coquettishly ribboned, her gold-rimmed glasses, her thick woolen shawl edged with blue. I loved her in her youth, I love her in her old age, and when she leaves me, she will take with her something that the whole world is incapable of making me forget. You who read this may have many friends, you may contract more than one marriage, but your mother is the first and last friend. Cherish her, then, while you can, for the day will come when every unreasoning act, every carelessly spoken word, will come back to stick like a goad in your heart. Such, then, was my mother, and as for my father, the best opportunity to paint his portrait was the time when he returned to us from the Mediterranean. During all my childhood, he had been to me only a name and a figure in a miniature that my mother wore hanging around her neck. In the early days, I am told that he fought against the French. A few years later, the French were less often mentioned and General Bonaparte more often discussed. I remember with what respectful fear I looked at the figure of the Great Corsican in a bookseller’s shop in Portsmouth. Here, then, was the enemy par excellence, the one my father had fought all his life, in a terrible and relentless struggle. To my childish imagination, it was a matter of honor between man and man, and I always pictured my father and this clean-shaven, thin-lipped man, grappling, reeling, and rolling in a furious hand-to-hand combat that lasted for years. It was only after I had entered grammar school that I realized how many little boys there were whose fathers were in the same situation. Only once, during those long years, did my father come home. By that, you see what it was like to be a sailor’s wife in those days. It was immediately after we had left Portsmouth to settle at Friar’s Oak that he came to spend a week before embarking with Admiral Jervis to help him gain his new name of Lord Saint Vincent. I remember that he caused me as much fear as admiration with his tales of battles, and I remember, as if it were yesterday, the terror I felt at seeing a stain of blood on his shirt sleeve, a stain which, I have no doubt, came from an awkward movement made while shaving. At that time I remained convinced that this blood had spurted from the body of a Frenchman or a Spaniard, and I shrank in terror from him, when he laid his calloused hand on my head. My mother wept bitterly after his departure. As for me, I was not sorry to see her blue back and white breeches go away down the garden path, for I felt, in my childish carelessness and selfishness, that we were closer together when we were together, she and I. I was in my eleventh year when we left Portsmouth, for Friar’s Oak, a small village in Sussex, north of Brighton, which was recommended to us by my uncle, Sir Charles Tregellis. An intimate friend of his, Lord Avon, had his residence near it. The reason for our removal was that life was cheaper in the country, and it would be easier for my mother to keep up the appearance of a lady, when she was at a distance from the circle of people whom she could not refuse to receive. It was a time of trial for everyone, except for farmers. They made such a profit that they could, I heard, leave half their land fallow, and still live like gentlemen on what the rest brought in. Wheat sold for 110 shillings a quarter, and a four-pound loaf for 1 shilling nine pence. We would have had great difficulty in living even in the quiet cottage at Friar’s Oak without the share of prizes going to the blockading squadron on which my father served. The line of warships plying off Brest had little but honor to gain. But the frigates that accompanied them captured a good many coasting vessels, and, as according to the rules of service they were considered dependents of the fleet, the proceeds of their prizes were divided by the mark. My father was thus able to send home sufficient sums to keep the cottage going and to pay for my stay at the school run by Mr. Joshua Allen. I remained there for four years and learned all he knew. It was at Allen’s school that I became acquainted with Jim Harrison, Little Jim, as he was always called. He was the nephew of Champion Harrison, of the village blacksmith shop. I still remember him as he was in those days, with his tall, gangly limbs, with clumsy movements like a small Newfoundland, and a face that made every woman who passed turn her head. From that time began a friendship that lasted all our lives. I taught him his letters, for he had a horror of the sight of a book, and for his part, he taught me boxing and wrestling, he taught me how to tickle trout in the Adur, how to trap rabbits on the Ditchling dune, for he had a hand as quick as his brain was slow. But he was two years my senior, so that long before I left school, he had gone to help his uncle at the smithy. Friar’s Oak is situated in a fold of the Downs and the fortieth milestone between London and Brighton stands on the very edge of the village. It is only a hamlet, with an ivy-clad church, a handsome vicarage, and a row of red-brick cottages, each separated by its own little garden. At one end of the village was Champion Harrison’s smithy , at the other Mr. Allen’s school. The yellow cottage, a little back from the road, with its overhanging upper story and its blackened timber cross-bars set in plaster, was the one we lived in. I do not know whether it is still standing. I think it is quite likely, for it is not a place likely to undergo changes. Directly opposite us, on the other side of the broad white road, was the Friar’s Oak inn, kept in my time by John Cummings. This personage enjoyed a very good local reputation, but when he was traveling, he was subject to strange disturbances, as will be seen later. Although there was a steady stream of trade on the road, the coaches coming from Brighton were still too near to stop, and those from London were in too much of a hurry to reach their destination, so that if he had not been fortunate enough to have a broken rim or a loose wheel, the innkeeper would have had nothing to rely on but the thirst of the villagers. It was just the time when the Prince of Wales had just built his bizarre palace near the sea at Brighton. Consequently, from May until September, not a day passed that we did not see one or two hundred phaetons clattering past our doors. Little Jim and I spent many a summer evening lying on the grass, looking out at all these people, shouting to the London coaches, roaring by amidst a cloud of dust, with postilions leaning forward, trumpets blaring, and drivers wearing low hats with very raised brims, their faces as crimson as their clothes. The passengers always laughed when little Jim called out to them aloud, but if they had only known what was meant by his large, ill-jointed limbs, his dislocated shoulders, they might have looked at him more closely and given him their encouragement. Little Jim had known neither his father nor his mother, and his whole life had been spent with his uncle, the champion Harrison. Harrison was the blacksmith of Friar’s Oak. He had received this nickname the day he fought with Tom Johnson, who was then in possession of the belt of England, and he would surely have beaten him but for the appearance of the magistrates of Bedford County who interrupted the fight. For years, Harrison had no equal for ardor in fighting and for his skill in striking a decisive blow, although he was always, it is said, slow on his feet. At last, in a match with the Jew Baruch the Black, he ended the contest with a sweeping blow, which not only threw his adversary over the back rope, but also put him for three long weeks between life and death. Harrison was, during all this time, in a state bordering on madness. He expected every hour to be caught by the collar by a Bow Street policeman and condemned to death. This mishap, added to the prayers of his wife, decided him to renounce forever the enclosed field and to reserve his great muscular strength for the trade where it seemed likely to find profitable employment. Thanks to the passenger traffic and the Sussex farmers, he must have had plenty of work at Friar’s Oak. He was not long in becoming the richest man in the village; and when he went to church on Sundays with his wife and nephew, it was a family of as respectable appearance as could be desired. He was not of great stature, five feet seven inches at most, and it was often said that if he could have extended his range further, he would have been able to hold his own with Jackson or Belcher, in their best days. His chest was a barrel. His forearms were the most powerful I had ever seen, with their deep furrows, between muscles that shone like a block of rock polished by the action of the water. Nevertheless, with all this vigor, he was a slow, steady, gentle man, so that no one was more beloved than he in that country district. His broad-featured, clean-shaven face could assume a very hard expression, as I have seen on occasion, but to me and all the children of the village, he always greeted us with a smile on his lips and welcome in his eyes. In the whole country there was not a beggar who did not know that if he had muscles of steel, his heart was of the most tender. His favorite topic of conversation was his old encounters, but he kept quiet as soon as he saw his little wife coming, because the great worry that weighed on her life was to see him throw away the hammer and the file and return to the enclosed field. And you do not forget that his former profession was in no way affected at that time by the discredit that struck it later. Public opinion became unfavorable, because this profession had ended up becoming the monopoly of rogues and because it encouraged misdeeds committed in the arena. The honest and brave boxer also saw a circle of scoundrels forming around him , just as happens in pure and noble horse races. That is why the Arena is dying in England, and we may assume that when Caunt and Bendigo are gone, there will be no one to succeed them. But it was otherwise at the time I am speaking of. Public opinion was most favorable to the wrestlers, and there were good reasons for this. There was a war at hand. England had an army and a navy composed entirely of volunteers, who enlisted for obey their fighting instinct, and she had before her a country where a despotic law could make a soldier of every citizen. If the people had not had this fighting temper in abundance, it is certain that England would have succumbed. It was therefore thought and still is thought that, things being thus, a struggle between two indomitable rivals, with thirty thousand men as witnesses and which three million men could dispute, must contribute to maintaining an ideal of bravery and endurance. Without doubt, it was a brutal exercise, and brutality itself was its ultimate goal, but it was less brutal than the war which must nevertheless outlive it. Is it logical to inculcate peaceful morals in a people, in a century where its very existence may depend on its warlike temperament ? This is a question which I leave to wiser heads than mine. But that was how we thought in the time of our grandfathers , and that is why we saw statesmen like Wyndham, like Fox, like Althorp, speaking out in favor of the Arena. This simple fact, that considerable people declared themselves for it, was enough in itself to remove the rabble that crept in there afterward. For more than twenty years, in the days of Jackson, Brain, Cribb, the Belchers, Pearce, Gully, and the rest, the masters of the Arena were men whose probity was above all suspicion, and these twenty were precisely, as I have said, at the time when the Arena could serve a national interest. You have heard how Pearce saved a young girl in Bristol from a fire, how Jackson acquired the esteem and friendship of the most distinguished people of his time, and how Gully won a seat in the first Reformed Parliament. These were the men who determined the ideal. Their profession recommended itself by the conditions it demanded, success being forbidden to anyone who was a drunkard or led a debauched life. There were, among the wrestlers of that time, exceptions no doubt, braggarts like Hickmann, brutes like Berks, but I repeat that for the most part, they were honest people, carrying bravery and endurance to an incredible degree and doing honor to the country that had given birth to them. As you will see, fate allowed me to associate with them somewhat and I speak of them with full knowledge of the facts. I can assure you that we were proud to have in our village a man like the champion Harrison, and when travelers stayed at the inn, they did not fail to go and pay a visit to the smithy, just to enjoy the sight of him. He was well worth watching, especially on a May evening, when the red glow of the forge fell on his great muscles and on the proud hawk-like face of little Jim, while they worked, with both hands, a gleaming ploughshare, and outlined themselves with each blow in a frame of sparks. He struck a single blow with a great thirty-pound hammer thrown at full speed, while Jim struck two with his hand hammer. The sound of the clunk! clink clink! clunk! clink clink! was a call that made me run along the village street, and I thought that with both of us busy at the anvil, there was a place for me at the bellows. I remember that only once, during those years spent in the village, did Champion Harrison give me a glimpse of what sort of man he had once been. One summer morning little Jim and I were standing by the forge door, when a private carriage, with its four fresh horses, its brass shining bright, arrived from Brighton with such a merry jingle of bells that the champion ran up with a half-bent horseshoe in his tongs to give it a blow. eye. A gentleman, wearing a white coachman’s coat, a Corinthian, as we would have called it in those days, was driving, and half a dozen of his friends, laughing and making a great noise, were perched behind him. Perhaps the blacksmith’s vast size attracted his attention, perhaps it was just chance, but as he passed, the thong of the twenty-foot whip the driver held whistled , and we heard it snap sharply against the blacksmith’s leather apron. “Hello, master,” cried the blacksmith, following him with his eyes, “you don’t belong on the seat until you know how to handle a whip better. ” “What is it?” said the driver, pulling at the reins. “I bid you watch, master, or there will be one less eye on the road you are driving. ” “Ah!” That’s how you talk, said the driver, placing the whip in the sheath and taking off his riding gloves. We’ll talk a little, my fine fellow. The gentlemen sportsmen of those days were excellent boxers for the most part, for it was the fashion to follow the Mendoza course, just as a few years later there was not a man in the town who had not worn the fencing mask with Jackson. With this memory of their exploits, they never shrank from the chance of an adventure on the highway, and it very seldom happened that the boatman or the sailor had reason to boast after a young handsome man had taken off his coat to box with him.
This one sprang from the seat with the eagerness of a man who has no doubts about the outcome of the quarrel and, after hooking his greatcoat with a collar to the top bar, he coquettishly turned back the pleated cuffs of his cambric shirt. “I’ll pay you for your advice, my man,” he said. ” The friends who were on the carriage knew, I’m sure, who this big blacksmith was and were taking great pleasure in seeing their comrade fall headlong into the trap. They uttered howls of satisfaction and shouted phrases and advice at him. ‘Shake off some of his soot, Lord Frederick,’ they shouted. ‘ Give this Johnnot his lunch raw. Roll him in his pile of ashes. And hurry, or you’ll see his back.
‘ Encouraged by these clamours, the young patrician advanced towards his man.
The blacksmith did not move, but his lips contracted with a fierce expression while his thick eyebrows lowered over his piercing gray eyes. He had dropped the tongs and his free arms were hanging loose. ‘Be careful, my master,’ he said. ‘Otherwise you’ll get peppered.’ There was a tone of assurance in that voice, there was a calm firmness in that attitude, which made the young Lord guess the danger. I saw him examine his antagonist attentively and immediately his hands dropped, his face lengthened. “By Jove!” he cried, “it’s Jack Harrison. ” “Himself, my master. ” “Ah! I thought I was dealing with some bacon-eater from the county of Essex. Hey! hey! my man, I haven’t seen you since the day you nearly killed Baruch the Black, which cost me a good hundred pounds. ” What howls were raised on the carriage! “Kiss! Kiss! By Jove!” they cried, “it’s Jack Harrison the knocker.” Lord Frederick was about to attack the ex-champion. “Give him a blow on the apron, Fred, and let’s see what happens.” But the driver had already climbed back into his seat and was laughing louder than all his comrades. “We’ll let you go this once, Harrison,” he said. “Are these your sons? ” “This one is my nephew, master. ” “Here’s a guinea for him. He can’t say I deprived him of his uncle.” And having thus put the laughers on his side by his cheerful way of taking things, he cracked his whip and they set off at full speed to make the journey to London in less than five hours, while Harrison, his unfinished iron in his hand, went home whistling. Chapter 2. The Walker of the Royal Cliff. Such then was the champion Harrison. I must now say a few words about little Jim, not only because he was my companion in my youth, but because as you read on in this book, you will realize that it is his story even more than mine and that there came a time when his name and reputation were on the lips of all the English people. You will therefore make up your mind to hear me explain his character to you, such as it was at that time, and particularly tell you of a very singular adventure which is not likely to be effaced from the memory of either of us. It was a great surprise to see Jim with his uncle and aunt, for he seemed to belong to a race, to a family quite different from theirs. I often watched them as they walked along the aisles of the church on Sundays, first the man with the square shoulders and the stocky figure, then the little woman with the anxious face and eyes, and finally the handsome youth with the pronounced features and the black curls, whose step was so springy and light that he seemed to hold to the earth only by a thinner bond than the heavy-going villagers by whom he was surrounded. He was not yet six feet tall, but if you knew anything about men, and all women do, it was impossible to see his perfect shoulders, his narrow hips, his proud head set on his neck, like an eagle on its perch, without experiencing that quiet joy which all the beautiful things of nature give us, that sort of self-satisfaction which we feel, in their presence, as if we had contributed to their creation. But we are accustomed to associating beauty in a man with softness. I see no reason for this association of ideas; in any case, softness never appeared in Jim. Of all the men I have known, there is not one whose heart and mind were more reminiscent of the hardness of iron. Was there a single one among us who was capable of keeping pace with him or keeping up with him, either running or swimming? Who in all the country round about would have dared to lean over the escarpment of Wolstonbury and descend to within a hundred feet of the edge, while the female falcon flapped her wings in his ears in vain efforts to drive him away from her nest? He was only sixteen years old, and his cartilages had not yet ossified, when he fought victoriously with Lee the Gypsy, of Burgess Hill, who had given himself the nickname of Cock of the South Downs.
It was after this that the champion Harrison undertook to give him regular boxing lessons. “I wish you would give up boxing, little Jim,” he said, “and the lady agrees with me, but since you insist on biting, it won’t be my fault if you don’t become able to hold your own with any person from the south country.” And he was not long in keeping his promise. I have already said that little Jim did not much like his books, but by that I meant school books, for as soon as they were novels of any subject that touched in any way on adventure or gallantry, it was impossible to tear him away from them until he had finished. When a book of this kind fell into his hands, Friar’s Oak and the forge were nothing more than a dream to him, and his life was spent in crossing the ocean, wandering over the vast continents, in the company of the novelist’s heroes. And he drew me into his enthusiasms, so that I was glad to make myself Crusoe’s Friday, when he decided that Clayton’s little wood was a desert island and that we were thrown there for a week. But when I saw that it meant sleeping in the open air, without shelter, every night, and that he proposed to feed us with dune sheep, wild goats, as he called them, by cooking them over a fire made by rubbing two sticks together, my heart failed me and I went back to my mother. As for Jim, he held out for a whole long and gloomy week, and at the end of that time he came back looking wilder and dirtier than his picture-book hero . Fortunately, he had only spoken of holding out for a week, for if it had been a month, he would have died of cold and hunger before his pride would have allowed him to return home. Pride! That was the very essence of Jim’s nature. To me, it was a mixed attribute, half virtue, half vice. A virtue, in that it keeps a man above the mire; a vice, in that it makes it difficult for him to rise again when once he has fallen. Jim was proud to the marrow of his bones. You remember the guinea the young lord had thrown at him from his seat. Two days later, someone picked it up in the mud by the roadside. Jim alone had seen where it had fallen, and he had not even deigned to point it out to a beggar. Nor would he stoop to give an explanation in such circumstances. He answered every remonstrance with a pout of the lips and a flash of his dark eyes. Even at school, he was just the same. He showed himself so convinced of his dignity that he imposed his conviction on others. He could say, for example, and he did, that a right angle was an angle that had the right character, or he could put Panama in Sicily. But old Joshua Allen would no more have thought of raising his cane against him than of dropping it on me if I had said anything of the sort. That was just the way it was. Although Jim was nobody’s son, and I was the son of an officer of the king, it always seemed to me that he had shown condescension in taking me for a friend. It was this pride of little Jim’s that involved us in an adventure of which I cannot think without a shudder. It happened in August 1799, or perhaps early in September, but I remember we heard the cuckoo in Patcham Wood, and according to Jim, it was probably for the last time. It was my Saturday half-day off, and we spent it on the downs, as we often did. Our favorite retreat was beyond Wolstonbury, where we could wallow on the springy, soft grass of the limestone, among the little Southdown sheep, and talk with the shepherds leaning on their queer crooks of the ancient hook, dating from the time when Sussex had more iron than any other county in England. It was there we had come to lie down on that superb evening. If we pleased to roll on our left side, we had before us the whole Weald, with the northern downs rising in greenish curves and showing here and there a cleft white as snow, indicating a limestone quarry. If we turned on the other side, our view extended over the vast blue surface of the Canal. A convoy, I remember well, was arriving that very day. In front came the timid troop of merchant ships. The frigates, like well-trained dogs, guarded the sides and two high-sided vessels, with massive forms, rolled astern. My imagination hovered over the waters, searching for my father, when a word from Jim brought her back to the grass, like a gull with a broken wing. “Roddy,” he said, “you’ve heard that the Royal Cliff is haunted! Had I heard? Why, yes, of course. Was there a man in all the Downs country who hadn’t heard of the walker on the Royal Cliff? ” “Do you know the story, Roddy?” “Why, certainly,” I said, not without pride. “I should know, since my mother’s father, Sir Charles Tregellis, was Lord Avon’s intimate friend and was at that card game when it happened. I heard the vicar and my mother talking about it last week, and all the details are as fresh in my mind as if I had been there when the murder was committed. ” “It’s a strange story,” said Jim thoughtfully. “But when I asked my aunt about it, she wouldn’t answer me.” As for my uncle, he cut me off at the very first words. “There’s a good reason for that. From what I understand, Lord Avon was your uncle’s best friend, and it’s only natural that he shouldn’t want to talk about his misfortune. ” “Tell me the story, Roddy. ” “It’s very old now. The story goes back fourteen years, and yet the last word hasn’t been heard. There were four of these people who had come from London to spend a few days at Lord Avon’s old house. Among them was his younger brother, Captain Barrington; there was also his cousin, Sir Lothian Hume; Sir Charles Tregellis, my uncle, was the third, and Lord Avon the fourth. They like to gamble for money at cards, these great men, and they gambled and gambled for two days and a night. Lord Avon lost, Sir Lothian lost, my uncle lost, and Captain Barrington won all there was to win. He won their money, but he didn’t stop there, he won his elder brother some papers that were of great importance to him. They stopped gambling very late on Monday night. On Tuesday morning, Captain Barrington was found dead, his throat cut, beside his bed. — And it was Lord Avon who did this? — The remains of his burnt papers were found in the hearth. His cuff had remained caught in the dead man’s convulsively clenched hand and his knife near the corpse. — And then, they hanged him, wasn’t they? — They were too slow in seizing him. He waited until the day he saw that the crime was attributed to him and then he fled . He has never been seen since, but they say he reached America. — And the ghost walks around. — Many people have seen him. — Why did the house remain uninhabited? “Because she is in the custody of the law. Lord Avon has no children, and Sir Lothian Hume, the same man who was his gambling partner, is his nephew and heir. But he cannot touch anything until he has proved that Lord Avon is dead.” Jim was silent for a moment. He twisted a blade of grass between his fingers. “Roddy,” he said at last, “will you come with me tonight? We shall go and see the ghost. ” It made me shiver just thinking about it. “My mother will not let me go. ” “Sneak away when she is in bed. I will wait for you at the forge. ” “The Royal Cliff is closed. ” “I shall have no trouble opening one of the windows. ” “I am afraid, Jim. ” “You will not be afraid if you are with me, Roddy. I tell you, no ghost will harm you.” In short, I gave him my word that I would come, and spent the rest of the day with the saddest face that could be seen on a young boy in all Sussex. This was little Jim’s idea. It was his pride that led him on this expedition. He went because there was no other boy in the whole country to tempt her. But I had no such pride . I thought exactly like the rest of them, and would sooner have thought of spending the night under Jacob’s gallows on the Ditchling Canal than in the haunted house on the Royal Cliff. Nevertheless, I could not bring myself to let Jim go alone. So, as I have just said, I prowled about the house, my face so pale and so haggard that my mother thought I was ill with indigestion from green apples, and sent me to bed with no supper but an infusion of camomile tea. All England had gone to bed, for very few people could afford the luxury of burning a candle. When the clock struck ten and I looked out of my window, there was no light to be seen except at the inn. The window was only a few feet from the ground. So I slipped out. Jim was at the corner of the smithy, waiting for me. We crossed John’s meadow together, passed Ridden’s farm , and met only one or two mounted officers on the way. The wind was blowing rather hard, and the moon only appeared occasionally through the chinks of the moving clouds, so that our road was sometimes illuminated by a silvery light and sometimes enveloped in such darkness that we were lost among the brambles and brushwood that bordered it. We finally arrived at the open gate, flanked by two large pillars, which opened onto the road. Peering through the bars, we saw the long avenue of oaks, and at the end of this ominous tunnel, the house, whose front appeared pale white in the moonlight .
For my part, I would have gladly confined myself to that glance, as well as to the complaint of the night wind sighing and moaning in the branches. But Jim pushed the door open and opened it. We advanced, making the gravel crunch under our feet. It towered above us, the old house, with its many small windows sparkling in the moonlight and its trickle of water surrounding it on three sides. The arched doorway was right in front of us, and on one side a shutter hung from one of the hinges. “We’re in luck,” whispered Jim. “Here’s one of the windows that’s open. ” “Don’t you think we’ve gone far enough, Jim?” I said, my teeth chattering. “I’ll give you a ladder to get in. ” “No, no, I don’t want to go in first. ” “Then I’ll have to.” He grasped the window sill tightly and soon put his knee on it. “Now, Roddy, hold out your hands.” And with a pull, he hoisted me up beside him. Soon after, we were in the haunted house. What a hollow sound was heard as we jumped onto the floorboards. There was a sudden crash, followed by such a prolonged echo that we were silent for a moment. Then Jim burst out laughing: “What an old drum this place is,” he cried. “Let’s light a light , Roddy, and see where we are. ” He had brought a candle and a lighter in his pocket. When the flame shone, we saw an arched vault above our heads. All around us, large wooden shelves supported dusty dishes. This was the pantry. “I’ll show you around,” said Jim, cheerfully. Then, pushing open the door, he preceded me into the hall. I remember the high oak-paneled walls, adorned with deer heads, which projected forward, and a single white bust in a corner, which terrified me. A great many rooms opened on this vestibule. We went from one to the other. The kitchens, the distillery, the parlor, the dining room, all were full of this stifling atmosphere of dust and mold. “This one, Jim,” I said in a muffled voice, “is the one where they played cards, on this very table. ” “Why, yes, and here are the cards,” he cried, flinging aside a piece of brown cloth that was covering something in the center of the table. ” And indeed, there was a pile of playing cards. At least forty packets, I think, that had been lying there since the game that ended tragically, before I was born. ” “I wonder where those stairs lead,” said Jim. “Don’t go up them, Jim,” I cried, grabbing his arm. ” They must lead to the murder chamber. ” “How do you know? ” “The priest said you could see on the ceiling… Oh, Jim, you can see it even now.” He held up the candle, and indeed, in the white of the ceiling, there was a large patch of dark color. “I think you’re right,” he said. “In any case, I want to go and see. ” “Don’t, Jim,” I cried. “Ta! ta! ta! Roddy, you can stay here if you’re afraid. I won’t be gone more than a minute. There’s no point in going ghost hunting… unless… Good heavens! There ‘s someone coming down the stairs. ” I heard it too, that shuffling step from the room above, followed by a creaking on the steps, then another step, another creaking. I saw Jim’s face. It looked as if it were carved in ivory. His lips were half-open, his eyes fixed on the black rectangle that formed the entrance to the stairs. He was still holding the candle, but his fingers were twitching . Shadows were leaping from the walls to the ceiling. As for me, my knees gave way and I found myself crouching behind Jim. A cry had frozen in my throat. And the footsteps continued to be heard from step to step. Then, hardly daring to look in that direction and yet unable to take my eyes off it, I saw a figure vaguely outlined in the corner where the stairs opened. There was a moment of silence during which I could hear the beating of my poor heart. Then, when I looked again , the ghost had disappeared and the slow succession of cracks, cracks, began again on the steps of the stairs. Jim darted after him and left me alone, half-fainting, in the moonlight. But it was not for long. A minute later, he returned, put his hand under my arm and now carrying me, now dragging me, he led me out of the house. It was not until we were out in the open air in the cool of the night that he opened his mouth. “Can you stand, Roddy? ” “Yes, but I’m trembling. ” “And so am I,” he said, passing his hand over his forehead. “I beg your pardon, Roddy. I did a foolish thing in dragging you into such an undertaking. I never believed in things of this sort… but now I’m convinced. ” “Could it have been a man, Jim?” I asked , taking courage now that I could hear the barking of dogs in the farms. “It was a spirit, Roddy. ” “How do you know? ” “I followed it and saw it disappear into the wall as easily as an eel into the sand. Hey, Roddy, what’s the matter with you now? ” All my terrors had returned; every nerve was quivering with fear. “Take me away, Jim, take me away,” I cried. My eyes were fixed on the avenue. Jim’s gaze followed their direction. Under the thick shade of the oaks, someone was coming towards us. “Calm down, Roddy,” Jim whispered. ” This time, by heaven, come what may, I’m going to take him in the body.” We crouched down and remained as still as the trees . neighbors. Heavy footsteps plowed the shifting gravel, and a large figure loomed before us in the darkness. Jim sprang upon it, like a tiger. “You, in any case, are not a spirit,” he shouted. The individual uttered a cry of surprise, soon followed by a growl of rage. “Who the devil?” he yelled. Then he added: “I’ll wring your neck if you don’t let go.” The threat might not have persuaded Jim to loosen his grip, but the sound of the voice did. “What! You, uncle?” he cried. “Hey! But I want to be blessed, if it isn’t little Jim! And this one, who is it? Why, it’s young Mr. Rodney Stone, as sure as I am a living fisherman. What the devil are you two doing at the Royal Cliff at this time of night?” We had gained the moonlight together. It was Champion Harrison, with a large bundle under his arm, and looking so stunned that I would have smiled if my heart had not been still convulsed with fear. “We were exploring,” said Jim. “Exploring, you say. Well! I don’t think either of you are capable of becoming Captain Cooks, for I never saw faces so like peeled turnips. Well, Jim, what are you afraid of? ” “I’m not afraid, uncle, I never was, but spirits are a new thing to me and— ” “Spirits?” “I went into the Royal Cliff and we saw the ghost. ” The champion began to whistle. “Ah! that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” he said. “Did you speak to him? ” “He disappeared before I caught him.” The champion began to whistle again. “I heard there was something of the sort up there,” he said, “but it’s a matter I advise you not to meddle in. We have enough trouble with people in this world, little Jim, without going out of our way to get into trouble with those in the next world. And as for young Mr. Rodney, if his good mother saw that white face of his, she wouldn’t let him come back to the smithy. Walk very slowly… I’ll see you back to Friar’s Oak.” We had gone about half a mile when the champion joined us, and I couldn’t help noticing that he no longer had his bundle under his arm. We were quite close to the smithy when Jim asked him the question that had already occurred to me. “What brought you to the Royal Cliff, uncle? ” “Well, as one gets older,” said the champion, ” many duties present themselves of which your kind have no idea.” When you too are forty, you will perhaps recognize the truth of what I tell you. This was all we could get from him, but despite my youth, I had heard of the smuggling that was carried on on the coast, of the bales that were transported at night to deserted places. So that since that time, when I heard of a capture made by the coastguard, I was never at peace until I had seen again on the door of his forge the cheerful and smiling face of the champion. Chapter 3. The Actress D’anstey Cross. I have told you a few words about Friar’s Oak and the life we ​​led there. Now that my memory carries me back to my former stay, it would willingly linger there, for each thread, which I pull from the skein of the past, draws with it half a dozen others, with which it had become entangled. I was torn between two sides when I began, wondering if I had enough in me to write a book, and now I think I can write one, just about Friar’s Oak and the people I knew in my childhood. Some of them were rough and clumsy, I have no doubt: and yet, seen through the mist of time, they appear tender and amiable. It was our good curate Mr. Jefferson who loved the whole world except Mr. Slack, the Baptist minister of Clayton, and it was the excellent Mr. Slack who was a father to everyone except Mr. Jefferson, the curate of Friar’s Oak. It was Mr. Rudin, the French royalist refugee who lived further up the Pangdean road, and who, on hearing the news of a victory, had convulsions of joy because we had beaten Bonaparte and fits of rage because we had beaten the French, so that after the Battle of the Nile, he spent a whole day outside indulging his pleasure, and a whole day inside, venting his fury at his leisure, sometimes clapping his hands, sometimes stamping his feet. I remember very well his slender, erect figure, the deliberate way in which he twirled his little cane. Neither cold nor hunger were strong enough to bring him down, and yet we knew he had become acquainted with both. But he was so proud, so grandiloquent in his speeches, that no one would have dared offer him either a meal or a coat. I can still see his face covered with a patch of red on each of his bony cheekbones, when the butcher presented him with a few ribs of beef. He could not help but accept. And yet, as he waddled and glanced over his shoulder at the butcher, he said: “Sir, I have a dog.” This did not prevent the fact that during the following week, it was Mr. Rudin and not his dog who seemed to have rounded out. I then remember Mr. Paterson, the farmer. Wasn’t he what you would call a radical today? but at that time some called him a Priestleyist, others a Foxist, and almost everyone a traitor. Certainly, I thought it very reprehensible at that time to assume a grumpy air, at every news of an English victory, and when he was burned in effigy in the form of a straw dummy at the gate of his farm, little Jim and I were part of the celebration. But we had to admit that he cut a good figure when he walked towards us in a brown coat, in buckled shoes, anger reddening his austere schoolmaster face. My word, how he suited us and how eager we were to slip away without noise! ​​”You who lead a life of lies,” he said, “you and your kind who have preached peace for nearly two thousand years and have spent all that time massacring people!” If all the money spent killing French people were used to save English lives, then you would have the right to burn candles at your windows. Who are you to come here and insult a man who observes the law? “We are the people of England,” shouted young Mr. Ovington, son of the Tory squire. “You, idler, who are only good for playing at races, for making cocks beat? Do you presume to speak for the people of England? It is a deep, powerful, silent river; you are only its scum, the poor, stupid foam that floats on its surface.” We found it very blameworthy at the time, but looking back , I wonder if we were not ourselves very much in the wrong. And then there were the smugglers. They swarmed in the dunes, for since regular trade had become impossible between France and England, all trade was contraband. One night I went to the meadow of Saint John and, having hidden myself in the grass, I counted, in the darkness, at least seventy mules, each led by a man, while they filed past me, without more noise than a trout in a stream. Not one of these animals that did not carry its two quarterauts of genuine French cognac, or his bale of Lyon silk or Valenciennes lace. I knew their leader, Dan Scales. I also knew Tom Kislop, the mounted officer, and I remember their meeting at night. “Are you fighting, Dan?” asked Tom. “Yes, Tom. We’ll have to fight.” Whereupon Tom drew his pistol and shot Dan’s brains out. “It was unfortunate I did it,” he said later, “but I knew Dan was too strong for me, for we had measured each other before. ” It was Tom who paid a poet from Brighton to compose the epitaph in verse that was placed on the tombstone, an epitaph that we all thought very true and very good, and which began thus: “Alas! with what speed flew the fatal lead That pierced the young man’s head. He fell at once, he gave up the ghost. And death closed his languid eyes!” There were others, and I think I may safely say they may still be read in the churchyard at Patcham. One day, a little after the time of our adventure at the Royal Cliff, I was sitting in the cottage, examining the curiosities my father had fixed on the walls, and wishing, like the lazy man that I was, that Mr. Lilly had died before he wrote his Latin grammar, when my mother, who was sitting at the window, knitting in her hand, gave a little cry of surprise. “Good heavens!” she said, “how common that woman looks! It was so rare to hear my mother express an unfavorable opinion of anyone unless it was Bonaparte, that in one bound I crossed the room and was at the window. A chaise, drawn by a pony, was slowly coming down the village street, and in the chaise sat the most singularly made person I had ever seen. She was of heavy build, and her face was so dark red that her nose and cheeks took on a real shade of purple. She wore a large hat with a white plume swinging from it. From beneath the brim, two brazen black eyes peered out with an expression of anger and defiance, as if to tell people that she cared less for them than they cared for her. Her costume consisted of a sort of scarlet pelisse, trimmed at the neck with swan’s down. Her hand let loose on the reins, while the pony wandered from one side of the road to the other at the will of her caprice. Every swing of the chaise corresponded with a swing of the large hat, so that we saw now the headdress and now the brim. “What a terrible sight!” cried my mother. “What is it that shocks you about her?” “Heaven forgive me if I judge her rashly, Rodney, but I think that woman is drunk. ” “Here!” I said. “She stopped her chair up there at the forge. I
‘ll get you some news.” And grabbing my cap, I slipped away. Champion Harrison had just shoed a horse at the forge door, and when I reached the street, I could see him with the animal’s hoof under his arm, his rasp in his hand, and kneeling among the white shavings. From the chair, the woman was making signs, and he looked at her with an air of comical astonishment. Presently he threw down his rasp and came to her, stood by the wheel, and nodded as he spoke to her. For my part, I slipped into the forge where little Jim was finishing the iron, I watched with admiration his skill at work and the dexterity with which he turned the spikes. When he had finished, he went out with his iron and found the stranger talking with her uncle. “Is it him?” she asked so that I could hear her. Champion Harrison nodded. She looked at Jim. ” Never have I seen such large eyes in a human face, so black, so remarkable. Although I was only a child, I guessed that in spite of her face swollen with blood, that woman had once been very beautiful. She stretched out a hand, all the fingers of which were moving, as if she had been playing a harp, and she touched Jim on the shoulder. “I hope… I hope you are well…” she stammered. “Very well, madam,” said Jim, looking from her to his uncle in astonishment. “And you are happy too? ” “Yes, madam, I thank you. ” “And you aspire to nothing more? ” “Why, no, madam. I have all I need. ” “That is enough, Jim,” said his uncle in a stern voice. “Blow the forge, for the iron needs another shot.” But it seemed as if the woman had something more to say, for she showed some annoyance at being sent away. Her eyes sparkled, her head tossed, while the blacksmith, holding out his two large hands, seemed to be doing his best to soothe her. For a long time they talked in low voices, and at last she seemed satisfied. “See you tomorrow then,” she cried aloud. “See you tomorrow,” he replied. “You will keep your word, and I will keep mine,” she said , lashing the pony’s back. The blacksmith remained motionless, rasp in hand, following her with his eyes until she was nothing more than a small red dot on the white road. Then he turned around. I have never seen him look so grave. “Jim,” he said, “this is Miss Hinton, who has come to settle at the Maples, beyond the Anstey crossroads. She has taken a fancy to you, Jim, and perhaps she can be of use to you .” I promised her you’d go that way and see her tomorrow. “I don’t need her help, uncle, and I don’t want to visit her. ” “But I promised, Jim, and you won’t want me to be taken for a liar. She only wants to talk to you, for she leads a very solitary life. ” “What does she want to talk about with people like me? ” “Ah! for that, I can’t say, but she seems to be very keen on it, and women have their whims. Look, here ‘s young Master Stone. He wouldn’t refuse to go and see a good lady, I warrant you, if he thought he could improve his lot by doing so. ” “Well, uncle, I’ll go if Roddy Stone will come with me,” said Jim. “Of course he’ll go, won’t he, Master Rodney?” I finally gave my consent and went back to the house to report all my news to my mother, who was delighted at any opportunity for gossip. She nodded when she heard I was going, but she didn’t say no, and the thing was understood. It was a good four miles of running, but when you arrived, you couldn’t have wished for a prettier cottage. Honeysuckle and creepers everywhere, with a wooden porch and barred windows. A plain-looking woman opened the door. “Miss Hinton can’t see you,” she said. “But she told us to come,” said Jim. “I can’t help it,” cried the woman gruffly. “I tell you she can’t see you. ” We stood undecided for a moment. “Perhaps you could inform her that I am here,” said Jim at last.
–Tell her, how can I tell her, she who wouldn’t even hear a pistol shot in her ears. Try telling her yourself, if you insist. While speaking, she opened a door. At the other end of the room lay, collapsed on an armchair, a shapeless mass of flesh with waves of black hair scattered in all directions. As for me, I was so young that I didn’t know if it was pleasant . or awful, but when I looked at Jim to see how he was taking it, his face was quite pale, and he looked sick. “You won’t mention it to anyone, Roddy,” he said. “No, except my mother. ” “I won’t say a word about it, not even to my uncle. I’ll pretend she was ill, the poor lady. It’s enough that we saw her in this degraded state, without making a talk about it in the village. It weighs heavily on my heart. ” “She was like that yesterday, Jim. ” “Oh! really? I didn’t notice. But I know there’s kindness in her eyes and in her heart, for I saw it when she looked at me. Perhaps it was the lack of friends that reduced her to this state! Her spirits were extinguished for several days, and when the impression made on me had dissipated, her manner revived it . But this was not to be the last time that the lady in the red pelisse would return to our memory. Before the end of the week, Jim again asked me if I would consent to return to her house with him. “My uncle has received a letter,” he said. “She would like to talk with me, and I shall be more at ease if you accompany me, Rod.” To me, any opportunity of going out was welcome, but as we approached the house, I could see very well that Jim was beginning to wonder if something might not go wrong again. However, fears were soon allayed, for we had scarcely creaked the garden gate when the woman appeared on the threshold of the cottage and ran to meet us along the drive. She cut such a strange figure, with her inflamed, smiling face, wrapped in a kind of red handkerchief, that if I had been alone, the sight would have made me run for my life. Jim himself paused for a moment, as if he were not very sure of himself, but she soon put us at ease by the cordiality of her manner . “You are really very kind to come to see a lonely old woman ,” she said, “and I owe you an apology for the needless inconvenience I caused you on Tuesday. But you yourselves have been in some measure the cause of my agitation, for the thought of your coming had excited me, and the slightest emotion throws me into a nervous fever. My poor nerves! You can see for yourselves what they do to me. ” As she spoke, she held out her shaking hands to us. Then she put one under Jim’s arm and took a few steps up the walk. “You must make yourselves known to me, and that I may know you well. Your uncle and aunt are very old friends of mine, and though you have forgotten it, I held you in my arms when you were very small.” Tell me, my little man, she added, addressing me, what do you call your friend? “Little Jim, madam. ” “Then, should you think me impudent, I will call you Little Jim too. We old people have our privileges, you know? Now you will come in with me, and we will have a cup of tea together. ” She preceded us into a very pretty room, the same one where we had seen her on our first visit. In the middle of the room was a table covered with a white cloth, brilliant crystals, and dazzling china. Red-cheeked apples were piled on a platter that occupied the center. A large plate, laden with steaming rolls, was immediately brought in by the surly-faced maid. I leave you to imagine whether we did justice to all these excellent things. Miss Hinton kept hurrying us, asking for more cups, and refilling our plates. Twice during the meal she got up from the table and disappeared into a cupboard at the end of the room and each Once I saw Jim’s face darken, for we heard a slight clinking of glass against glass. “Well, come now, my dear,” she said to me, when the table had been cleared, “what are you looking at all around you like that? ” “There are so many pretty things against the walls. ” “And which of these do you find the prettiest? ” “Ah! that one,” I said, pointing to a portrait hanging opposite me. It represented a tall, slim young girl, with very rosy cheeks, very tender eyes, and such a coquettish dress that I had never seen anything so perfect. She was holding a bouquet of flowers in both hands , and there was a second on the floorboards where she was standing. ” “Ah! That’s the prettiest?” she said, laughing. “Well, come forward , we’ll read what’s written at the bottom.” I did as she asked and read: Miss Hinton, in her part as Peggy in The Country Bride, performed for her benefit at the Haymarket Theatre on the 14th of September, 1782. “Is she an actress?” I said. “Oh! the nasty little insolent fellow, and in what a tone he says it!” she said. “As if an actress were not worth another woman! Not long ago—it was just the other day—the Duke of Clarence, who might well be called the King of England, married Mrs. Jordan, who is also only an actress. And this person here, who do you think she is?” She placed herself under the portrait, her arms folded over her broad bosom, looking from one to the other with her large black eyes. “Well! where are your eyes?” she said at last. “It was I who was Miss Polly Hinton of the Haymarket Theatre, and perhaps you have never heard of that name?” We were obliged to confess that, indeed, we did not know. And the very word actress had excited in us a feeling of vague horror, quite natural in boys brought up in the country. For us, actors formed a class apart, to be designated by allusion without naming it, and the wrath of the Almighty hung over their heads like a cloud laden with lightning. And indeed this judgment seemed to have been executed before us, when we considered this woman and what she had been. “Well,” she said, laughing, “like a woman who has been wounded, you have no reason to say anything, for I read in your face what you have been taught to think of me. Such is the result of the education you have received, Jim: to think badly of what you do not understand!” I wish you had been at the theatre that evening, with Prince Florizel and four dukes in the boxes, all the wits, all the macaronis of London rising in the pit at my entrance on stage. If Lord Avon hadn’t made room for me in his carriage, I wouldn’t have managed to carry my bouquets back to my lodgings on York Street in Westminster. And now two little peasants are about to misjudge me! Jim’s pride made the blood rise to his cheeks, for he didn’t like to be called a young peasant or even to be suggested that he was so far behind the great people of London. “I’ve never been in a theatre,” he said, “and I don’t know anything about those people. ” “Nor I. ” “Hey!” she said, I am not in voice, and besides, one does not have the advantages to play in a small room, with two young boys for an audience, but you must see me as queen of the Peruvians, exhorting her compatriots to rise up against the Spaniards, their oppressors. And at that very moment, this coarsely turned and bloated woman became a queen again, the grandest, the most haughty that you could ever dream of. She addressed us in such ardent language, with such eyes full of flashes, such imperious gestures of her white hand that she held us fascinated, motionless on our chairs. Her voice, at first, was tender, gentle and persuasive, but it grew in breadth, in volume, as she spoke of injustice, of independence, of the joy there was in dying for a good cause, so that finally, all my nerves quivered, I felt quite ready to leave the cottage and give my life at once for my country. Then, a change came over her. She was now a poor woman who had lost her only son and was lamenting this loss. Her voice was full of tears. Her language was so simple, so true that we both imagined seeing the poor little one lying before us on the carpet and we were on the point of joining our words of pity and suffering to hers. And then, before our cheeks were even dry, she became what she had been again. “Well!” she cried, “what do you say to that? That’s how I was when Sally Siddons turned green with jealousy at the mere name of Polly Hinton. It’s in a fine play, in Pizarro. ” “And who wrote it? ” “Who wrote it? I never knew. What does it matter whether it was written by this one or that one? But there are some tirades in there for one who knows how to deliver them. ” “And you don’t act anymore, madam? ” “No, Jim, I left the stage when—when I had enough. But my heart returns to it sometimes. It seems to me there is no smell comparable to that of the oil lamps in the footlights and the oranges in the pit. But you are sad, Jim. ” “It’s because I was thinking of that poor woman and her child. ” “Tut!” Don’t think about it anymore. I’ll soon erase it from your mind. Here is Miss Priscilla Boute in action in the Leapfrog Game. You must imagine that the mother is speaking and that it is this cheeky little turkey who replies to her. And she began to play a part with two characters, alternating so exactly the two intonations and attitudes, that we really imagined that we had two distinct beings before us, the mother, an austere old lady, who held her hand like an ear trumpet, and her evaporated daughter always in the air. Her vast person moved with surprising agility. She shook her head and pouted as she threw her replies at the bent old person who received them. Jim and I hardly thought about our tears and were holding our sides with laughter before she had finished. “That’s better,” she said, smiling at our bursts of laughter. I didn’t want to send you back to Friar’s Oak with long faces, because perhaps you wouldn’t be allowed back. She disappeared into her cupboard and came back with a bottle and a glass, which she placed on the table. “You’re too young for strong liquors,” she said, “but it makes my mouth dry to talk…” It was then that Jim did an extraordinary thing. He rose from his chair and put his hand on the bottle, saying, “Don’t touch it.” She looked him in the face, and I think I can still see her dark eyes taking on a softer expression under Jim’s gaze: “Shall I not taste a little? ” “Please don’t touch it.” With a quick movement, she snatched the bottle from his hand and held it up in such a way that it occurred to me that she was going to down it at one gulp. But she threw it out of the open window, and we heard the sound of the bottle breaking on the walk. “Come now, Jim,” she said, “does that satisfy you? It’s been a long time since anyone has cared whether I drink or not. ” “You are too kind, too generous to drink,” he said. “Very well!” she cried, “I am delighted that you have this opinion of me. And would that make you happier, Jim, that I abstain from brandy? Well! I’ll make you a promise, if you make me one of your own. “What is it, Miss? ” “Not a drop shall touch my lips, Jim, if you promise to come here twice a week, whatever the weather , rain or shine, wind or snow, that I may see you and talk with you, for truly there are times when I am very lonely.” So the promise was made, and Jim kept it very faithfully, for many times, when I would have liked to have him as a companion in fishing or in setting rabbit traps, he would remember that it was the day appointed and set off for Anstey Cross. At first, I think she found her engagement difficult to keep, and I have seen Jim come back with a gloomy face as if the thing had gone wrong. But after a while, the victory was won. One always wins in the end. One only has to fight for it long enough, and in the year before my father’s return, Miss Hinton had become quite a different woman. It was not only her habits that had changed, she had changed herself; she was no longer the person I have described. At the end of twelve months, she was as fine-looking a lady as could be seen in the country. Jim was prouder of this work than of any other undertaking in his life, but I was the only one he spoke to about it. He felt for her that affection one feels for people whom one has done a service, and she was very useful to him , for, by talking to him, by describing to him what she had seen, she made him lose his Sussex peasant appearance and prepared him for the larger life that awaited him. Such were their relations at the time when peace was concluded and my father returned from the sea. Chapter 4. The Peace of Amiens. Many women fell on their knees, many women’s souls were filled with feelings of joy and gratitude, when, at the fall of the leaves, in 1801, the news arrived of the conclusion of the preliminaries of peace. All England testified its joy by day with flags, by night with illuminations. Even in our hamlet of Friar’s Oak, we enthusiastically unfurled our flags, we placed a candle in each of our windows and a transparent lantern, adorned with a Great George King, dropped its wax above the door of the inn. We were weary of war, for for eight years we had had to deal with Spain, France, Holland, alternately or together.
All we had learned during this time was that our small army was no match for the French on land, but that our strong navy was more than sufficient to defeat them at sea. We had acquired a little consideration, which we greatly needed after the war with America, and, besides, a few colonies which were welcome for the same reason, but our debt had continued to swell, our consolidated debts to fall, and Pitt himself did not know which way to turn. However, if we had known that peace was impossible between Napoleon and us, that this was only an intermission between the first engagement and the next, we would have acted more sensibly and gone through without interruption. However, the French saw twenty thousand good sailors whom we had taken prisoner return and they gave us a fine dance with their Boulogne flotilla and their landing fleets before we could relocate them to our pontoons. My father, as I remember him, was a small man full of stamina and vigor, not very broad, but still very solid and well-built. His face was so tanned that it had a hue bordering on the red of flowerpots, and despite his age, for he was not more than forty, at the time of which I speak it was all furrowed with wrinkles, deeper the less he was moved, so that I saw him take on the face of a rather young man, then an old-fashioned air. There was especially around his eyes a network of fine wrinkles, quite natural in a man who had spent his life keeping them half-closed, to resist the fury of the wind and bad weather. Those eyes were perhaps the most remarkable thing in his physiognomy. They had a very beautiful light blue color which made this rust-colored frame even more brilliant . Nature must have given him a very white complexion, for when he threw back his cap, the top of his forehead was as white as mine, and his very close-cropped hair was the color of tan. As he proudly said, he had served on the last of our ships driven out of the Mediterranean in 1797 and on the first to return in 1798. He was under Miller, as third mate of the Theseus, when our fleet, like a pack of ardent foxhounds driven into the woods, flew from Sicily to Syria, and from there back to Naples, in its efforts to recover the lost trail . He had served with this same brave seaman on the Nile, where the men he commanded never ceased swabbing, loading, and lighting until the last tricolor had fallen. Then they weighed the main anchor and fell asleep, one on top of the other, under the capstan bars. Then, having become second lieutenant, he went on board one of those fierce three-deckers with a hull blackened by powder, with deck eyes smeared scarlet, but whose spare cables, passed under the keel and joined over the rails, served to hold the frames and which were used to carry news in the Bay of Naples. From there, to reward his services, he was promoted to first lieutenant on the frigate Aurore which was charged with cutting off supplies to the city of Genoa and he remained there until the peace which was not concluded until a long time later. How well I have kept the memory of his return home! Although it is forty-eight years ago today, I see it more distinctly than the incidents of last week, for the old man’s memory is like glasses, in which one sees distant objects clearly and those which are very close only dimly. My mother had been seized with trembling as soon as the sound of the preliminaries reached our ears, for she knew that he could come as quickly as his letter. She spoke little, but she made my life very sad with her continual exhortations to keep myself very clean and well dressed. And at the slightest noise of wheels, her eyes turned towards the door, and her hands went to smooth her pretty black hair. She had embroidered a Be Welcome in white letters on a blue background, between two red anchors; she intended it to hang between the two clumps of laurels that flanked the door of the cottage. He had not yet left the Mediterranean when this work was finished. Every morning, she went to see if it was mounted and ready to be hung. But a painful delay passed before the ratification of peace and it was not until April of the following year that the great day arrived. It had rained all morning, I remember. A light spring rain had brought a rich fragrance from the brown earth and had whipped its sweet song through the budding walnut trees behind our cottage. The sun had come out in the afternoon. I had gone down with my fishing line, for I had promised Jim to accompany him to the mill stream, when suddenly I saw a post-chaise and two steaming horses outside the door. The door was open, and I saw my mother’s black petticoat and her little feet sticking out. She had two arms dressed in blue for a girdle, and the rest of her body disappeared into the interior. So I ran to find the motto. I pinned it to the bushes, as we had agreed, and when it was finished, I saw the petticoats and the blue feet and arms still in the same position. “This is Rod,” said my mother at last, freeing herself and dismounting . “Roddy, my darling, this is your father.” I saw the red face and the kind blue eyes looking at me. “Ah! Roddy, my boy, you were only a child when we exchanged the last kiss of farewell, but I think we shall have to treat you quite differently from now on.” I am very happy, happy from the bottom of my heart to see you again, my boy, and as for you, my darling… And the arms dressed in blue came out a second time while the petticoat and the two feet blocked the door again. “Here are people coming, Anson,” said my mother, blushing. ” Come downstairs and come in with us. ” Then and suddenly, we both remarked that during all that time, he had only moved his arms and that one of his legs had remained resting on the seat opposite the chair. “Oh! Anson! Anson!” she cried. “Puh!” he said, taking his knee in his hands and lifting it, “it’s only the bone of my leg. They broke it in the bay, but the surgeon fished it out, put it between splints, it remained a little crooked all the same. Ah! what a tender heart she has! God bless me, she has gone from red to pale!” You can see for yourself that it is nothing. While speaking, he went out quickly, hopping on one leg and helping himself with a cane, he ran down the path, passed under the motto that adorned the laurels and from there crossed the threshold of his home for the first time in five years. When the postilion and I had carried inside the sea chest and the two canvas travelling bags, I found him sitting in his chair by the window, dressed in his old blue coat, faded by the weather. My mother wept as she looked at his poor leg, and he stroked her hair with his browned hand. He put his other hand around my waist and drew me close to his seat. “Now that we have peace, I can rest and recover until King George needs me again,” he said. There was a carronade drifting on deck as a halyard breeze blew in a heavy sea. Before it could be made fast, it had pressed me against the mast. “Ah! ah!” he said, glancing around at the walls, ” here are all my old curiosities, the same as before, the narwhal’s horn from the Arctic Ocean, and the bellows fish from the Moluccas, and the oars from the Fiji Islands, and the engraving of Lord Hotham’s Ça ira. And here you are too, Mary, and you, Roddy, and good luck to the carronade, to which I owe my return to such a comfortable port, without having to fear an order to embark. ” My mother put his long pipe and tobacco within reach of his hand, so that he could light it easily, and remain seated, looking first at her, then at me, and then starting again as if he could not get enough of seeing us. Young as I was, I understood that this was the moment he had dreamed of during many hours of solitary watch, and that the hope of tasting such joy had sustained him in many painful moments. Sometimes he would touch one of us with his hand, then the other. He remained thus motionless, his soul too full to be able to speak, while the little room gradually grew dark, and light was seen to appear at the inn windows through the darkness. Then, when my mother had lit our lamps, she suddenly fell upon her knees, and he, too, putting one knee on his side, joined in common prayer to thank God for his many favors. When I remember my parents as they were at that time , it is this moment of their lives that presents itself most clearly to my mind, it is the sweet face of my mother all shining with tears, with her blue eyes directed towards the smoke-blackened ceiling. I remember how, in the fervor of his prayer, my father would swing his smoking pipe, which made me smile, with a tear in my eye. “Roddy, my boy,” he said after supper, “you are beginning to become a man now. I hope you will go to sea, as all your kind have done.” You’re old enough to put a dagger in your belt. “And leave me childless as I was husbandless? ” “Bah!” he said, “we still have time, for there is more desire to eliminate posts than to fill vacant ones, now that peace has come. But I have never seen, until now, what use your time at school has been to you, Roddy. You have spent much more time there than I, but I still believe I am able to put you to the test. Have you learned history? ” “Yes, Father,” I said with some confidence. “Then how many ships of the line were there at the Battle of Camperdown?” He nodded gravely, noticing that I was in no condition to answer him. “Well! There are men in the fleet who have never set foot in school and who will tell you that we had seven 74-pounders, seven 64-pounders, and two 50-pounders in action.” There’s an engraving on the wall depicting the pursuit of the Ça ira. Which ships boarded it? I was once again forced to admit defeat. “Well! Your papa can still give you a few history lessons,” he cried, casting a triumphant glance at my mother. “Have you learned geography? ” “Yes, father,” I said, less confidently than before. “Well, how far is it from Port Mahon to Algeciras?” I could only shake my head. “And if you had Wissant three leagues to starboard, what would be your nearest port in England?” I was once again forced to admit defeat. “Ah! I find your geography is hardly better than your history,” he said. “On that score, you’ll never get your certificate. Can you do addition? Good! Then we ‘ll see if you can add up his share of the prize.” As he spoke, he cast a malicious glance my mother’s way. She laid down her knitting and glanced closely at him. “You never questioned me about it, Mary?” he said. “The Mediterranean is not a station of importance in that respect, Anson. I heard you say that the Atlantic is where prizes are won and the Mediterranean where honor is won. ” “On my last cruise, I had my share of both , thanks to my passage from a warship to a frigate. Well, Rodney, there are two pounds per cent coming to me, when the prize courts have given their verdict. While we held Massena blockaded in Genoa, we captured about seventy schooners, brigs, tartanes, laden with wine, provisions, and powder.” Lord Keith will do his best to get a piece of the pie, but the prize courts will decide the matter. Let’s say I get, on average, about four pounds per unit. What will the sixty Ten prizes? “Two hundred and eighty pounds,” I replied. “Well, Anson, that’s a fortune,” cried my mother, clapping her hands. “Another trial, Roddy,” he said, brandishing his pipe in my direction. “There was the frigate Xébec off Barcelona, ​​with twenty thousand Spanish dollars on board, which makes four thousand two hundred pounds. Her carcass could be worth that much, what do I get for that? ” “One hundred pounds. ” “Ah! the accountant himself couldn’t have calculated it any faster,” he cried, delighted. “Here’s another calculation for you. We passed the straits and sailed towards the Azores, where we met the Sabina returning from Mauritius with sugar and spices. Twelve hundred pounds for me, that’s what she earned me, Mary, my darling. So you won’t dirty your pretty fingers anymore , and you won’t have to live in privation on my miserable pay.” My mother had endured these long years of exertion without a sigh , but now that she was free of them, she threw herself sobbing on my father’s neck. It was quite a long time before he could think of resuming my arithmetic examination. “All this is at your feet, Mary,” he said, quickly passing his hand over his eyes. “By George! my daughter, when my leg is well , we can treat ourselves to a little stay at Brighton, and if a more elegant dress than yours is seen on the Steyne, may I never set foot on a deck again. But, how is it, Rodney, that you are so good at arithmetic, when you do not know a word of history or geography?” I endeavored to explain to him that addition is done in the same way on land as on board, but that it is not the same with history or geography. “Well,” he said, “you only need numbers to do a calculation, and with that your natural intelligence can suffice to learn the rest. There is not one of us who would not have run to the salt water like a little seagull. Lord Nelson promised me a job for you, and he is a man of his word.” This was how my father made his return among us; never did a boy of my age have a more tender and affectionate one. Although my parents had been married for a very long time, they had, in reality, spent very little time together, and their mutual affection was as ardent and as fresh as that of two married lovers of yesterday. I have since learned that the seaman can be coarse, repulsive, but it is not from my father that I know it, for although he had passed through trials as severe as any of them, he remained the same man, patient, with a kind smile and a good joke for all the people of the village. He knew how to get into harmony with any company, for, on the one hand, he was always ready to drink with the curate or with Sir James Ovington, squire of the parish, and on the other, he would spend hours without ceremony with my humble friends from the forge, Champion Harrison, Little Jim, and the others. He would tell them stories about Nelson and his sailors such that I saw the champion clasp his big hands together, while Little Jim’s eyes sparkled like fire under ashes, as he listened. My father had been put on half pay, like most of the officers who had served during the war, and was thus able to spend nearly two years with us. I do not remember there being the slightest disagreement between him and my mother, except once. As chance would have it, I was the cause of it, and as important events resulted from it , I must tell you how it happened. This was, in short, the starting point of a series of events which influenced not only my destiny, but that of much more important people. The spring of 1803 came very early. By the middle of April, the chestnut trees were already covered with leaves. One evening, we were all having tea, when we heard a heavy step at our door. It was the postman bringing a letter for us. “I think it’s for me,” said my mother. Indeed, the address in very beautiful handwriting was: Mistress Mary Stone at Friar’s Oak, and in the middle was the impression of a seal representing a winged dragon on red wax, the size of a half crown . “Who do you think it’s from, Anson?” she asked. “I had hoped it would come from Lord Nelson,” replied my father. “It’s about time the boy received his commission, but if it’s addressed to you, it can’t come from some personage of great importance. ” “From some personage of no importance!” she cried, feigning offense. You will have to apologize for that word , sir, for this letter is sent to me by a personage who is none other than Sir Charles Tregellis, my own brother. My mother seemed to lower her voice whenever she came to speak of this astonishing personage, her brother. She always did so, as far as I can remember, so that it was always with a feeling of profound reverence that I heard that name mentioned. And it was not without reason, for that name never appeared except surrounded by brilliant circumstances, by extraordinary details. Sometimes we learned that he was at Windsor with the King, other times that he was at Brighton with the Prince. Sometimes it was in the guise of a sportsman that his reputation reached us, as when his Meteor beat Egham to the Duke of Queensberry at Newmarket or when he brought Jim Belcher from Bristol and made him fashionable in London. But more commonly, we heard him referred to as the friend of the great, the arbiter of fashion, the king of dandies, the man who dressed to perfection. My father, however, did not seem overjoyed by my mother’s triumphant reply. “Well, what does he want?” he asked in an unkind tone. ” I wrote to him, Anson. I told him Rodney was growing into a man. I thought that, having neither wife nor children, he might be disposed to push him. ” “We can do very well without him. He steered clear of us when the weather was stormy, and we have no need of him now that the sun is shining. ” “No, you misjudge him, Anson,” my mother said warmly. ” No one has a better heart than Charles, but his life flows so smoothly that he cannot understand other people getting into trouble.” All these years I was sure that I had only to say the word to get what I wanted at once. “Thank God you have not been reduced to such abasement, Mary. I do not want his help at all. ” “But we must think of Rodney. ” “Rodney has enough to fill his sea chest and provide for his equipment. He needs nothing more. ” “But Charles has a great deal of power and influence in London. He could introduce Rodney to all the great people. Surely you do not want to hinder his advancement? ” “Then let us see what he says,” replied my father. And here is the letter she read to him: 14 Jermyn Street, Saint James, April 15, 1803. My dear sister Mary, In answer to your letter, I can assure you that you must not look upon me as destitute of those fine sentiments which are the ornament of humanity. It is true that for some years now, absorbed as I have been in matters of the highest importance, I have rarely taken the pen, which has earned me, I assure you, much reproach from the most charming of your charming sex. At present, I am in bed, having stayed up very late last night to pay my respects to the Marchioness of Dover at her ball, and this letter is written to you at my dictation by Ambrose, my clever rogue of a valet. I am delighted to hear from my nephew Rodney, my God! what a name!, and as I shall be setting out next week to visit the Prince of Wales, I shall cut my journey in two by calling at Friar’s Oak, in order to see you and him. Present my compliments to your husband. I am still, my dear sister Mary, Your brother. CHARLES TREGELLIS. “What do you think of that?” cried my triumphant mother when she had finished. “I think it is the style of a fop,” said my father bluntly. “You’re too hard on him, Anson. You’ll think better of him when you know him. But he says he’ll be here next week, now it’s Thursday. Our best curtains aren’t hung. There’s no lavender in the sheets. ” And she ran and stirred and fussed, while my father stood sulking with his hand on his chin, and I lost myself in wonder at this unknown relative from London, this great personage, and all that his coming might mean to us.
Chapter 5. Handsome Tregellis. I was in my seventeenth year and already dependent on the razor. I had begun to find the horizonless village life somewhat monotonous and longed to see something of the vast universe beyond. This longing, which I dared not speak of to anyone, was only the stronger, for the slightest allusion to it brought tears to my mother’s eyes. But now there was not the slightest reason for me to stay at home, since my father was with her. So my mind was entirely occupied with the prospect offered me by my uncle’s visit, and the chances there were of him making me, at last, take my first steps on the road of life. As you can imagine, it was towards my father’s profession that my ideas and hopes were directed. Never had I seen the sea swell, never had I felt the taste of salt on my lips without experiencing within me the thrill that five generations of sailors gave to my blood. And then think of the provocations that were constantly being agitated in those days before the eyes of a young boy living on the coast. In wartime, I had only to go as far as Wolstonbury to see the sails of the chasse marées and the French privateers. More than once I had heard the roar of cannons coming towards me from a great distance. Then there were seafarers telling us how they had left London and fought before nightfall, or , having barely left Portsmouth, had found themselves side by side with the enemy, before even losing sight of the lighthouse of Saint Helena. It was the imminence of danger that warmed our hearts in favor of our sailors, that inspired our conversations around the winter fires, where we spoke of our little Nelson, of Cuddie Collingwood, of Johnnie Jarvis, of many others. For us, they were not great admirals, with titles, dignities, but good friends to whom we gave our affection and our esteem in preference. Had you traveled the length and breadth of Great Britain, you would not have found a single young boy who did not burn with the desire to sail with them under the red cross flag. But now peace had come, and the fleets, which had swept the Mediterranean channel, were motionless and unarmed in our ports. There were fewer opportunities to attract our imaginations to the sea. From now on, it was of London that I thought by day, of London that I dreamed by night, the immense city, abode of the learned and the powerful, from which came this incessant stream of carriages, these crowds of dusty pedestrians who filed without interruption before our window. It was only this aspect of life that first presented itself to me.
Also, as a very young boy, I usually pictured the city as a gigantic stable swarming with carriages, and from which they set off in an uninterrupted stream on the country roads . But then, the champion Harrison told me that the people of athletic sports lived there. My father told me that the chiefs of the navy lived there ; my mother that it was there that her brother and the friends of the great personages lived . So I came to be consumed with impatience to see the wonders of this heart of England. This coming of my uncle was, then, the light breaking through the darkness, and yet I hardly dared hope that he would consent to introduce me, with him, into those higher spheres where he lived. However, my mother had so much confidence in my uncle’s natural goodness, or in his own eloquence, that she had already begun to make secret preparations for my departure. But if the mean life I led in the village weighed on my light mind, it was a real torture for the lively and ardent character of little Jim. Only a few days after the arrival of my uncle’s letter , we went for a walk on the dunes, and it was then that I could glimpse the bitterness in his heart. “What can I do here, Rodney?” I forge a horseshoe , I bend it, I trim it, I raise the ends, I pierce five holes in it, and then it’s finished. Then it begins again and again. I draw the bellows, I tend the fire; I file a hoof or two, and that’s the day’s work done, and day follows day, without the slightest change. Is it only for this, tell me, that I came into the world? I looked at him, I considered his proud eagle face, his tall stature, his muscular limbs, and I wondered if there was a more handsome man, a better-built man in all the country. “The army or the navy, that’s where you belong, Jim. ” “That’s very good,” he cried. “If you go into the navy, as you probably will, it will be with the rank of officer and you will only have to command. Whereas I, if I go into it, it will be as one born to obey.” “An officer takes orders from those above him.
” “But an officer doesn’t have the whip hanging over his head. I saw a poor fellow here at the inn a few years ago. He showed us, in the common room, his back all cut up by the foreman’s whip. ” “Who ordered him?” I asked. “The captain,” he replied. “And what would you have had if you had killed him outright? ” “The yardarm,” he said. “Well, if I had been in your place, I would have preferred that,” I said. And it was the truth. “It’s not my fault, Rod; I have something in my heart that is as much a part of me as my hand, and that obliges me to speak frankly. ” “I know it; you are as proud as Lucifer. ” “I was born that way, Roddy, and I can’t be otherwise. Life would be easier for me if I could. ” I was made to be my own master, and there’s only one place in the world I can hope to be. — What is it, Jim? — It’s London. Miss Hinton has told me so much about it that I feel able to find my way from one end to the other. She likes to talk about it, as much as I like to listen to her. I have the whole plan in my head. I see, as it were, where the theaters are, which way the river runs, where the King’s house is, where the Prince’s house is, and the quarter where the fighters live. I could make a name for myself in London. — How? — Never mind, Rod. I could do that, and I will do it too. Wait, my uncle said to me, wait, and everything will be all right for you. That’s what he’s always saying, and what my uncle says again and again. But why wait? My Roddy, I won’t stay in this little village any longer, fretting at my heart. I’ll leave my apron behind me. I’ll go and seek my fortune in London, and when I come back to Friar’s Oak, it will be in this gentleman’s equipage . As he spoke, he stretched out his hand toward a crimson carriage that was coming along the London road, drawn by two bay mares harnessed in tandem. The reins and harness were a light fawn. The gentleman who drove wore a suit to match that shade , and behind him stood a footman in dark livery. The carriage sped past us, raising a cloud of dust, and I could only catch a glimpse of the master’s handsome, pale face and the brown, crooked features of the servant. I should not have thought of them for a minute longer, if, as we were returning to the village, we had not seen the carriage again . It was stopped in front of the inn, and the grooms were busy unharnessing the horses. “Jim,” I cried, “I think that’s my uncle.” And I sprang, as fast as I could, in the direction of the house. The brown-faced servant was standing at the door. He held a cushion on which lay a small, silky-furred muff-dog. “You will excuse me, young man,” he said in his sweetest , most engaging voice, “but I was mistaken in supposing this to be Lieutenant Stone’s dwelling. In that case, you will oblige me greatly by conveying to Mrs. Stone this note which her brother, Sir Charles Tregellis, has just entrusted to my care. ” I was completely astounded by the flourishes of this man’s language; it was so unlike anything I had ever heard! He had a shrunken face, and small, very searching black eyes, which he used in an instant to take measure of me, of the house, and of my mother, whose astonished face was visible at the window. My parents were gathered in the drawing-room; My mother read us the note , which ran thus: My dear Mary, I have stopped at the inn, being somewhat worn out by the dust of your Sussex roads. A lavender bath will doubtless restore me to a fit state to present my compliments to a lady. In the meantime, I am sending Fidelio to you as a hostage. I beg you to give him half a pint of slightly warmed milk, to which you have put six drops of good brandy. Never was there a more loving or faithful creature. Always yours. CHARLES — Come in, come in! cried my father, with cordial eagerness , and running to the door. Come in, Mr. Fidelio. Every one has his own taste. Six drops to the half pint is to me like guiltily moistening a grog. But since you like it so, you shall have it so. A smile crossed the servant’s brown face, but his features immediately resumed the impassive mask of the attentive and respectful servant. — Sir, you are making a slight mistake, if you will allow me to put it this way. My name is Ambrose, and I have the honor of being Sir Charles Tregellis’s servant. As for Fidelio, he is there on this cushion. “Ah! It’s the dog,” cried my father, disgusted. “Put it on the floor by the fire. Why does he need brandy when so many Christians have to go without it? ” “Hush! Anson,” said my mother, taking the cushion. “You will tell Sir Charles that his wishes will be complied with and that we are ready to receive him as soon as he thinks fit to come.” The man walked away with silent, quick steps, but soon returned carrying a flat brown basket. “This is the meal, madam. Will you allow me to set the table? Sir Charles is in the habit of tasting certain dishes and drinking certain wines, so we never fail to bring them when we go on visits.” He opened the basket, and in a minute the table was covered with dazzling glass and silver and garnished with appetizing dishes. He arranged all this so quickly, so skillfully, that my father was as charmed as I was to see him do it. “You would have made a famous topsail sailor, if you have a heart as strong as your fingers,” said my father. “Have you never desired the honor of serving your country?” “My honor, sir, is to serve Sir Charles Tregellis, and I desire no other master,” he replied. “But I am going to the inn to fetch his toilet-kit, and then everything will be ready.” He returned carrying a large silver-mounted chest under his arm, and he was followed at some distance by the gentleman whose arrival had produced all this embarrassment. The first impression my uncle made on me when he entered the room was that one of his eyes was swollen to the size of an apple. I lost my breath at the sight of that monstrous, sparkling eye. But soon I perceived that he had placed a round glass in front of it, which magnified him in this way. He looked at us one after the other, then bowed very graciously to my mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You will allow me to pay you my compliments, my dear Mary,” he said in the sweetest, most melting voice I have ever heard. “I can assure you that the country air has treated you in a wonderfully favorable way, and that I should be proud to see my pretty sister on the Mall… I am your servant, sir,” he said, holding out his hand to my father. “Only last week I had the honor of dining with my friend Lord Saint Vincent, and I took the opportunity of mentioning your name.” I can tell you that he has been remembered at the Admiralty, sir, and I hope that it won’t be long before they see you again on the stern of a seventy-four-man ship where you will be the master… So, this is my nephew? He put his hands on my shoulders with a gesture full of kindness, and looked me over from head to foot. “How old are you, nephew?” he asked. “Seventeen. ” “You look older. You’d think you were eighteen, at least. I think he’s very passable, Mary, quite passable. He lacks the fine air, the figure—we haven’t the proper word for it in our rough English—but he’s as healthy as a flowering hedge in May.” Thus, less than a minute after his entrance, he had established himself on good terms with each of us, and with such grace, such ease, that one would have said that he had been familiar with all of us for years. I was able to examine him at leisure, while he remained standing on the hearth rug, between my mother and my father. He was very tall, with well-shaped shoulders, a slim waist, broad hips, beautiful legs, and the smallest hands and feet in the world. He had a pale face, handsome features, a prominent chin, a very aquiline nose, large blue eyes with a fixed gaze, in which one could constantly see a flash of mischief. He wore a dark brown coat with a collar that reached up to his ears and tails that reached down to his knees. His black breeches and silk stockings ended in small pointed shoes, so well polished that they shone with every movement. His waistcoat was of black velvet, open at the top so as to reveal an embroidered shirt-front surmounted by a wide, white, flat cravat, which forced him to constantly hold his neck outstretched. He had a relaxed demeanor, with one thumb in the armhole and two fingers of the other hand in another waistcoat pocket. As I examined him, I felt a surge of pride at the thought that this man, with such easy and domineering manners, was my close relative, and I could read the same thought in the expression of my mother’s eyes as she turned them towards him. All this time, Ambrose had remained near the door, motionless as a statue, in a dark costume, with a bronze face, still holding the silver-mounted box under his arm. He then took a few steps into the room. “Shall I show you to your bedroom, Sir Charles?” he asked. “Ah! excuse me, my dear Mary,” cried my uncle, “I am old-fashioned enough to have principles… which is, I confess, an anachronism in this age of laissez-faire. One of them is never to lose sight of my toilet set when I am traveling. I would have great difficulty forgetting the torture I endured a few years ago for neglecting this precaution. I will do Ambrose justice by acknowledging that it was before he took charge of my affairs. I was forced to wear the same cuffs for two days running.” The third, my fellow was so moved by my situation that he burst into tears and produced a pair he had stolen from me. He looked very grave as he said this, but the light shone sparklingly in his eyes. He held out his open snuff-box to my father, while Ambrose followed my mother out of the room. “You are taking your place in illustrious society, by dipping your thumb and forefinger into it,” he said. “Really, sir?” my father said briefly. “My snuff-box is at your service since we are related by marriage. You will also have free use of it, nephew, and I beg you to take a pinch; it is the most convincing proof I can give of my good will. Besides ourselves, there are, I believe, only four people who have had access to it: the Prince, of course, Mr. Pitt, Mr. Otto the French ambassador, and Lord Hawkesbury.” I have sometimes thought that I had been a little too eager for Lord Hawkesbury. “I am immensely touched by this honor, sir,” said my father, looking suspiciously from under his bushy eyebrows, for before that grave countenance and those eyes sparkling with mischief one did not quite know what to think. “A woman may offer her love, sir,” said my uncle, “a man has his snuffbox to offer; neither one nor the other should offer themselves lightly. It is a fault against taste, I would even go so far as to say against good morals. The other day, no later than this, as I was sitting at Wattier’s, having my snuffbox of first-rate macouba lying wide open near me on my table, an Irish bishop poked his impudent fingers into it: “Waiter, ” I cried, “my snuffbox has been soiled. Make it disappear.” The individual had no intention of offending me, as you can well imagine, but this class of society must be kept at a proper distance. “A bishop!” cried my father, “you mark your line of demarcation very high. ” “Yes, sir,” said my uncle, “I could not wish for a better epitaph on my tomb.” Meanwhile, my mother had gone downstairs and they sat down to eat. “You will excuse, Mary, the impoliteness I seem to be committing in bringing my provisions with me. Abernethy has taken me under his direction, and I am obliged to avoid your excellent field kitchens. A little white wine and a cold chicken is all the scanty food this Scotsman allows me. ” “It would be good to have you in the blockade service when the Levantine winds are blowing strong,” said my father. “Salt pork and wormy biscuits with a tough Barbary mutton chop when the transports arrive. You would then be on your fasting diet. ” At once my uncle began to ask questions about sea service. Throughout the meal, my father gave him details of the Nile, the blockade of Toulon, the siege of Genoa, everything he had seen and done. But if he hesitated over the choice of a word, my uncle would immediately suggest it to him, and it was not easy to see which of the two understood the matter best. “No, I don’t read, or I read very little,” he said when my father expressed his astonishment at seeing him so well informed. “The truth is, I could not pick up a printed matter without finding in it an allusion to myself: Sir Ch. T. does this or Sir Ch. T. says that. So I have ceased to concern myself with it. But, when one is in my situation, knowledge comes to you of itself. In the morning, it is the Duke of York who speaks to me about the army. In the afternoon, it is Lord Spencer who talks with me about the navy, or else Dundas tells me in a low voice what is happening in the study, so that I have little need of the Times or the Morning Chronicle. ” This led him to talk about the great world of London, to give my father details about the men who were his superiors at the Admiralty, to my mother, details about the belles of the city, about the great ladies of Almack’s. He always expressed himself in the same fanciful language, so well that we did not know whether to laugh or take him seriously. I believe he was flattered by the impression he made on us by keeping us hanging on his every word. He had a favorable opinion of some, an unfavorable one of others, but he did not hide the fact that the personage highest in his esteem, the one who was to serve as a measure for all, was none other than Sir Charles Tregellis himself . “As for the king,” he said, “I am a friend of the family, that is understood, and even with you, I cannot speak in complete frankness, being with him on the basis of confidential intimacy . ” “May God bless him and keep him from all harm!” cried my father. “People are delighted to hear you speak thus,” said my uncle. “One must come to the country to find sincere loyalty, for in the city, what is most in favor is mocking and malicious mockery. The King is grateful to me for the care I have always taken for his son. He likes to think that the Prince has a man of taste in his entourage. ” “And the Prince,” asked my mother, “is he well-built? ” “He is a very well-made man. From a distance, people took him for me. And he is not without taste in dress, although he soon falls into negligence if I stay away from him for long. I bet that tomorrow he will have a grease stain on his coat. ” At that moment, we were all sitting before the fire, for the evening had become bitterly cold. The lamp was lit, as was my father’s pipe. “I suppose,” he said, “this is your first visit to Friar’s Oak? ” My uncle’s countenance at once assumed an expression of severe gravity. “It is my first visit for many years,” he said. “The last time I was there I was only twenty-one. It is not likely that I shall lose the memory of it. I knew that he spoke of his visit to the Royal Cliff at the time of the murder, and I saw from my mother’s face that she also knew what it was about. But my father had never heard of the affair, or he had forgotten it. “Did you stay at the inn? ” “I stayed with the unfortunate Lord Avon. It was at the time when he was accused of having slit the throat of his younger brother and fled the country. We all remained silent. My uncle remained with his chin resting on his hand, looking thoughtfully into the fire. Even today, I only have to close my eyes to see him again, his proud and handsome face illuminated by the flame, to see my good father too , very angry at having awakened such a terrible memory and glancing at him between puffs of his pipe. “I think I can say,” my uncle finally resumed, “that it has certainly happened to you to lose, in a battle, in a shipwreck, a dear comrade and to remain for a long time without thinking of him, under the daily influence of life, and then to see his memory suddenly awaken, by a word, by a detail which takes you back to the past, and then you find your grief just as sharp as on the first day of your loss. ” My father nodded. “It is so with me tonight. I have never made a complete friendship with any man—I do not speak of women— except on this occasion. Lord Avon and I were about the same age. He may have been a few years my senior, but our tastes, our ideas, our characters were similar, except that he had a certain air of pride which I have never found in any other.” Leaving aside the little foibles of a rich and fashionable young man, the indiscretions of a gilded youth, I could have sworn that he was as honest as any man I have ever known. “Then how did he come to commit such a crime?” asked my father. My uncle nodded. “Many times I have asked myself this question, and tonight it presents itself more clearly than ever to my mind. All lightness had disappeared from his manner, and he had suddenly become a melancholy and serious man. ” “Is it certain that he did it, Charles?” asked my mother. My uncle shrugged his shoulders. “I sometimes wish I thought it was not so. I sometimes believed that it was his very pride, exasperated to the point of rage, that drove him to it. You have heard how he sent back the sum we had lost. ” “No,” replied my father, “I never heard of it.” –Now, that’s a very old story, though we never knew how it ended. The four of us had been gambling for two days, Lord Avon, his brother, Captain Barrington, Sir Lothian Hume, and I. I knew little of the captain, except that he did n’t enjoy the best reputation, and was almost entirely in the hands of the Jewish moneylenders. Sir Lothian has since acquired a disgraceful reputation—it was even Sir Lothian who shot Lord Carton dead, in the Chalk Farm affair—but at that time there was nothing to reproach him for. The oldest of us was only twenty-four, and we gambled without a break, as I have said, until the captain had won all the money on the table. We were all depleted, but our host was much worse off than we. That night, I will tell you things that it would be painful for me to repeat in court, I felt restless and unable to sleep, as sometimes happens. My mind was wandering back to the chance of the cards. I was just tossing and turning when suddenly a loud cry reached my ear, followed by a second cry, even louder, and which came from the direction of the room occupied by Captain Barrington. Five minutes later, I heard footsteps in the corridor. Without turning on a light, I opened my door and looked outside, thinking that someone had become ill. It was Lord Avon coming towards me. In one hand, he held a disgusting candle. In the other, he carried a travelling bag, the contents of which made a metallic sound. His face was contorted, so distraught that my question froze on my lips. Before I could formulate it, he returned to his room and closed his door silently. The next day, when I awoke, I found him near my bed. “Charles,” he said, “I cannot bear the thought of you having lost that money in my house. You will find it on this table.” In vain I responded with peals of laughter to his exaggerated delicacy. In vain I told him that if I had won, I would have collected my money, so that it might be considered strange that I had no right to pay after having lost. “Neither I nor my brother will touch it,” he said. “The money is there. You can do what you like with it.” He would not listen to any reason and rushed like a madman from the room. But perhaps these details are known to you, and God knows how painful they are for me to recall. My father remained motionless, his eyes fixed, forgetting the smoking pipe in his hand. “I beg you, sir,” he said, “tell us the rest. ” “Well! So be it. I had finished my toilette in about an hour, for in those days I was less demanding than today, and I found myself with Sir Lothian Hume at lunch. He had witnessed the same scene as me. He was eager to see Captain Barrington and inquire why he had instructed his brother to return the money to us. We were discussing the matter when suddenly I looked up at the ceiling and saw, saw … My uncle had grown very pale, so distinct was the memory. He passed his hand over his eyes. The ceiling was a crimson red, he said, shuddering, and here and there were black cracks, and from each of these cracks… But that would give you dreams, Mary. I will only say that I rushed up the stairs which led directly to the captain’s room. We found him lying there, his throat cut so wide that the whiteness of the bone could be seen. A hunting knife was in the room. It belonged to Lord Avon. In the dead man’s clenched fingers an embroidered cuff was found. It belonged to Lord Avon. In the fireplace were some charcoal-covered papers. These papers belonged to Lord Avon. Oh, my poor friend! How mad must you have been to commit such an action? “And what did Lord Avon say?” cried my father. “He said nothing. He paced about like a sleepwalker, his eyes full of horror. No one dared to arrest him until a proper inquest was held. But when the Coroner’s Court had returned a verdict of murder, the constable came to notify him of his arrest. He was not found. He had fled. It was rumored that he had been seen the following week at Westminster, and then that he might have reached America, but nothing more is known, and it will be a fine day for Sir Lothian Hume when his death can be proven, for he is his next of kin, and until that day he can enjoy neither the title nor the estate. The story of this dark story had cast a chill over us . My uncle stretched out his hands toward the flame of the hearth, and I noticed that they were as white as his cuffs. “I don’t know what the Royal Cliff is now,” he said thoughtfully . “It was not a happy place, even before This affair made it even darker. Never was a scene better prepared for such a tragedy. But seventeen years have passed and perhaps even that terrible ceiling… “It still bears the stain,” I said. I cannot say which of us three was the most astonished, for my mother had never known anything of our adventures of that famous night. They remained looking at me, their eyes fixed in amazement, as I told my story and my heart swelled with pride when my uncle said that we had behaved valiantly and that he did not believe there were many people our age capable of such a firm attitude. “But as for this ghost,” he said, “it must have been a product of your imagination.” It is a faculty that plays strange tricks on us , and although my nerves are as strong as one could wish for, I could not answer for what would happen to me if I had to remain at midnight under this blood-stained ceiling. “Uncle,” I said, “I saw a man as distinctly as I see this fire, and I heard the snapping as distinctly as I hear the crackling of the logs. Besides, we could not both have been deceived. ” “There is some truth in all this,” he said thoughtfully. “You did not discern the features? ” “It was too dark. ” “Just one individual? ” “The black silhouette of one. ” “And he retreated up the stairs? ” “Yes. ” “And he disappeared into the wall? ” “Yes.
” “Into what part of the wall?” a voice said loudly behind us. My mother gave a cry. My father dropped his pipe on the hearth rug. I turned around, breathless. It was the servant Ambrose, whose body disappeared into the shadow of the door, but whose brown face projected forward into the full light, fixing his blazing eyes on mine.
“What the devil does that mean?” cried my uncle. It was strange to see that flash of passion fade from Ambrose’s face. The reserved expression of the valet replaced it. His eyes still sparkled, but, one after the other, each of his features resumed in an instant its usual coldness. “I beg your pardon, Sir Charles, I came to see if you had any orders for me and I did not want to interrupt this young gentleman’s story, but I fear I have allowed myself to be drawn into it in spite of myself. ” “I have never known you to lack self-control,” said my uncle. “You will certainly forgive me, Sir Charles, if you remember my position with Lord Avon.” There was a certain note of dignity in his language. Ambrose left after bowing. “We must show some condescension,” said my uncle, suddenly resuming his light tone. “When a man knows how to prepare a cup of hot chocolate, how to tie a tie, as Ambrose knows how to do, he is entitled to some consideration. The fact is that the poor fellow was Lord Avon’s servant, that he was at the Royal Cliff on the fatal night I spoke of, and that he is very devoted to his former master. But now my talk is turning to the sad kind, Mary, my sister, and now, if you prefer, we will return to the Countess Liéven’s toilet and the gossip of Saint James.” Chapter 6. On the Threshold. That evening, my father sent me to bed early, despite my strong desire to stay, because the slightest word from this man attracted my attention. His face, his manner, the grandiose and imposing way in which he moved his white hands back and forth, his air of easy superiority , the whimsical allure of his words, all this astonished me, amazed me. But, as I learned later, the The conversation was to turn on myself, on my future. This was the reason why I was sent to my room, where I heard sometimes the deep bass of my father’s voice, sometimes the richly timbred voice of my uncle, and also, from time to time, the soft murmur of my mother’s voice. I had finally fallen asleep, when I was suddenly awakened by the touch of something wet on my face and by the embrace of two warm arms. My mother’s cheek was against mine. I could hear very clearly the relaxation of her sobs and in the darkness I felt the shiver and the trembling that agitated her. A faint light filtered through the blades of the blind and allowed me to see that she was dressed in white and that her black hair was spread over her shoulders. “You won’t forget us, Roddy? You won’t forget us?” “Why, Mother? What is it?” “Your uncle, Roddy… He’s going to take you away, take you away from us. ” “When, Mother? ” “Tomorrow. ” May God forgive me, but my heart leaped for joy, while hers, which was right next to it, broke with grief. “Oh! Mother,” I cried. “To London? ” “To Brighton, first, so that he can present you to the Prince of Wales. The next day, to London, where you will be in the presence of these great personages, where you will have to learn to look down on these poor people, these simple creatures with old-fashioned ways, your father and mother.” I clasped her in my arms to console her, but she was crying so hard that despite the self-esteem and energy of my seventeen years, and since we don’t have the trick women have of crying without noise, I wept with such noisy sobs that our grief finally gave way to laughter. “Charles would be flattered if he saw what a gracious reception we give to his kindness,” she said. Calm yourself, Roddy. Otherwise, you will certainly wake him. “I will not go, if it will pain you,” I said. “No, my dear child, you must go, for it may turn out to be your only and greatest chance in life. And then, think how proud it will make us all to hear your name mentioned among those of Charles’s powerful friends. But you will promise me not to gamble, Roddy. You have heard this evening of the terrible consequences to which that can lead. ” “I promise you, mother. ” “And you will be on your guard against wine, Roddy? You are young and not used to it. ” “Yes, mother. ” “And actresses too, Roddy? And then, you will not take off your flannel until June. It is for having done so that young Mr. Overton died.” Take care of your dress, Roddy, in such a way as to do honor to your uncle, for it is one of the things that has most contributed to his reputation. You will only have to comply with his advice. But, if there are times when you are not in communication with important people, you can finish wearing out your country clothes, for your brown coat is quite new, so to speak. As for your blue coat, it would do your summer ironed and edged. I have brought out your Sunday clothes with the nankeen waistcoat, since you are to see the prince tomorrow. You will wear your brown silk stockings with the buckled shoes. Take great care when walking in the streets of London, for I am told that the hired sails are in infinite number. Fold your clothes before going to bed, Roddy, and do not forget your evening prayers, oh! my dear boy, for the time of temptation is approaching and I shall no longer be with you to encourage you. It was thus that my mother, holding me in her very soft and very warm arms, provided me with advice for this world and the next, in order to prepare me for the important test which was waiting for me. My uncle did not appear the next day at lunch, but Ambrose prepared him a cup of frothy hot chocolate and brought it to his room. When he finally came downstairs, around noon, he was so handsome with his curly hair, his very white teeth, his odd-looking monocle, his snow-white cuffs, and his laughing eyes, that I could not take my eyes off him. “Well! my nephew,” he cried, “what do you say to the prospect of coming to town with me? ” “I thank you, sir,” I said, “for the kindness and interest you have shown me. ” “But you must do me honor. My nephew must be most distinguished to be in harmony with everything around me. ” “It is a log of the best wood, you will see, sir,” said my father. “We will begin by making it a polished log and then we will not have finished with him.” My dear nephew, you must constantly aim to be in good taste. It is not a matter of wealth, you understand. Wealth alone is not enough . Golden Price has forty thousand pounds a year, but he dresses in a deplorable way, and I assure you that when I saw him arrive the other day in Saint James Street, his appearance shocked me so much that I was obliged to go into Vernet’s for an orange brandy. No, it is a matter of natural taste, which one arrives at by following the example and advice of people more experienced than yourself. “I fear, Charles,” said my mother, “that Roddy’s wardrobe is that of a countryman. ” “We shall soon have that provided for, as soon as we get to town. We will see what Stultz and Weston are able to do for him,” replied my uncle. “We will keep him out of the way until he has some clothes to wear.” This treatment of my best Sunday clothes brought a flush to my mother’s cheeks, but my uncle noticed it instantly, for he had the quickest eye for the slightest trifles. “These clothes are very proper at Friar’s Oak, my sister Mary,” he said. “Nevertheless, you must understand that at the Mall they might look rococo. If you leave it in my hands, I will see to it. ” “How much does a young man need a year,” my father asked, “to dress himself? ” “With prudence and care, of course, a fashionable young man can manage on eight hundred pounds a year,” my uncle replied. I saw my poor father’s face lengthen. “I fear, sir,” he said, “that Roddy will be obliged to keep his country clothes. Even with my prize money— ” “Bah! bah!” cried my uncle, I already owe Weston a little over a thousand pounds. What good will a few hundred more do? If my nephew comes with me, it is for me to look after him. It is a settled matter, and I must decline all discussion on the point. And he waved his white hands, as if to dispel all opposition. My parents wanted to offer him some thanks, but he cut them short. “By the way, since I am here at Friar’s Oak, there is another little matter I have to finish,” he said. “There is here, I believe, a wrestler named Harrison, who, at one time, would have been capable of holding the championship. In those days, poor Avon and I were his usual supporters. I should be delighted to have a word with him.” You can imagine how proud I was to cross the village street with my superb relative and to notice out of the corner of my eye how people stood at the doors and windows to look at us.
Champion Harrison was standing at his forge and he took off his cap when he saw my uncle come in. “God bless me, sir! Who would have expected to see you at Friar’s Oak? Ah! Sir Charles, how many past memories the sight of you brings back! ” “I am glad to see you in good shape, Harrison,” said my uncle, examining him from head to foot. “Hey! With a week ‘s training you would be as good as before. I suppose you weigh no more than two hundred or two hundred and twenty pounds? ” “Two hundred and ten, Sir Charles. I am in my forties; but my lungs and limbs are in perfect condition, and if my good wife would release me from my promise, I should not be long in competing with the youngsters. It seems that some wonderful specimens have been brought in from Bristol lately. ” “Yes, Bristol yellow has been the winning color of late. How are you, Mrs. Harrison? You don’t remember me, I think?” She had left the house, and I noticed that her withered face—on which some terrifying scene of long ago must have left its mark—assumed a hard, fierce expression as she looked at my uncle. “I remember you only too well, Sir Charles Tregellis,” she said. “You have not come, I hope, today to attempt to bring my husband back to the path he has abandoned. ” “That is how she is, Sir Charles,” said Harrison, laying his large hand on the woman’s shoulder. “She has obtained my promise and she keeps it. Never was there a better and more industrious wife , but she is not, as you would say, a person to encourage sports. That is a fact. ” “Sport!” cried the woman bitterly. It is a charming sport for you, Sir Charles, pleasantly driving your twenty miles across the fields with your breakfast basket and wines, to return gaily to London in the cool of the evening, with a skillfully fought battle for a subject of conversation. Think what sport it was for me, when I sat motionless for long hours, listening to the rattle of the wheels of the chaise that would bring my husband back to me. Some days he came home of his own accord. Other days he was helped in, or carried in, and it was only by his clothes that I knew him. “Come now, wife,” said Harrison, patting her friendly on the shoulder. “I have been in bad shape sometimes in my time, but it was never so bad as this. ” “And then to spend weeks and weeks with the fear that the first knock at the door would be to announce that the other is dead, that my husband will be brought to the bar and tried for murder.”
“No, she hasn’t a drop of sportsman in her veins,” said Harrison. “She’ll never be a patron of sport. It was the black Baruch thing that made her so, when we thought he’d been given one too many. Yes, but she has my word, and I’ll never throw my hat over the ropes until she lets me. ” “You’ll keep your hat on, like an honest, God-fearing man, John,” said his wife, as she came into the house.
“I wouldn’t change your mind for the world,” said my uncle. “And yet, if you had felt any desire to taste the old-fashioned sport,” said my uncle, ” I had a good thing to put under your hand. ” “Bah! sir, it’s no good,” said Harrison, “but all the same , I should be glad to know a little about it. ” “A fine fellow has been discovered, about two hundred pounds, down there, by Gloucester.” His name is Wilson, and he’s been nicknamed the Crab because of his fighting style. Harrison nodded. “I’ve never heard of him, sir. ” “That’s extremely likely, as he’s never appeared in the Prize Ring. But he’s thought highly of in the West, and he can hold his own against any of the Belchers with the gloves on.” boxing. “That’s boxing for a living,” said the blacksmith. “I’m told he got the better of Noah James of Cheshire in a private fight. ” “There isn’t a stronger man, sir, than Noah James the bodyguard,” said Harrison. “I myself have seen him come back fifty times, after having his jaw broken in three places. If Wilson can beat him, he’ll go far. ” “They think so in the West, and they intend to throw him at the champion of London. Sir Lothian Hume is his champion, and to finish the story in a few words, I’ll tell you that he challenges me to find a young boxer of his weight who can match him.” I told him I didn’t know any young ones, but I had an old one who hadn’t set foot in a ring for years and who was capable of making his man regret having come all the way from London. “Young or old, or over thirty-five,” he answered, ” you may bring me whoever you like who has the clout, and I will bet Wilson two to one. I took him for thousands of pounds, just as I am. ” “It’s no use, Sir Charles,” said the blacksmith, nodding his head. “Nothing would please me more, but you heard what she said yourself . ” “Well, Harrison, if you don’t want to fight, you must try to find a promising colt. I shall be glad to have your opinion on the subject. By the way, I shall be president at a Fancy Supper, which is to be held at the Carriage and Horse Inn in Saint Martin’s Lane, next Friday. I shall be very glad to have you among the guests. Whoa! Who is this?” And at once he put his lorgnette to his eye. Little Jim had come out of the forge, hammer in hand. He had, I remember, a gray flannel shirt, with an open collar and rolled-up sleeves. My uncle looked over the fine lines of this superb body with a connoisseur’s eye. “That’s my nephew, Sir Charles. ” “Does he live with you? ” “His parents are dead. ” “Has he ever been to London? ” “No, Sir Charles, he’s been with me, ever since he was no taller than this hammer. ” My uncle addressed little Jim. “I just heard you’ve never been to London,” he said. “Your uncle is coming to a supper I’m giving at the Fantasia next Friday. Would you be pleased to join us?” Little Jim’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I’d be delighted to go, sir. ” “No, no, Jim,” said the blacksmith, intervening abruptly. I’m sorry to upset you, my boy, but there are reasons why I prefer you to stay here with your aunt. “Bah! Harrison, let the young man come. ” “No, no, Sir Charles, it’s dangerous company for a fellow of his sort. There’s plenty of work for him to do while I ‘m away.” Poor Jim turned around, his brow darkening, and went back into the smithy. For my part, I slipped in to try to console him and acquaint him with the extraordinary changes that had taken place in my life. But I was not halfway through my story when Jim, that brave heart, had already begun to forget his own grief, to participate in the joy that this good fortune caused me. My uncle called me outside. The carriage, with its two mares harnessed in tandem, was waiting for us in front of the cottage. Ambrose had put the food basket, the muff dog, and the precious toiletry kit in their places . He had climbed in from behind. For me, after a cordial handshake from my father, after my mother had kissed me one last time while sobbing, I took my place at the front next to my uncle. “Let her go,” he said to the groom. And with a gentle shake, a crack of the whip, and a jingle of bells, we began our journey. Through the years, how clearly I see that spring day again, with its English green fields, its sky refreshed by the English air, and that yellow cottage with the pointed gable in which I had passed from boyhood to manhood. I see also at the garden gate a few people, my mother turning her head outward and waving a handkerchief, my father in a blue coat and white breeches, leaning with one hand on his cane and with the other shading his eyes to follow us. The whole village had come out to see young Roddy Stone leave with his kinsman, the great personage who had come from London, and to visit the prince in his own palace. The Harrisons in front of the smithy were waving to me, as was John Cummings standing on the threshold of the inn. I also saw Joshua Allen, my old schoolmaster. He was showing me around to people as if to say: this is what you become when you pass through my school. To complete the picture, would you believe that just as we were leaving the village, we passed very close to Miss Hinton the actress, in the same phaeton drawn by the same pony as when I first saw her , and so different from what she had been that day! I told myself that even if little Jim had done nothing but that, he must not think that his youth had been wasted away in the country. She had set out to see him, that was certain, for they got on better than ever. She did not even raise her eyes. She did not see the gesture I made to her with my hand. So, as soon as we had turned the curve of the road, the little village disappeared from our sight; then beyond the hollow of the downs, beyond the spires of Patcham and Preston, stretched the wide blue sea and the gray masses of Brighton, in the center of which the strange domes and oriental minarets of the Prince’s Pavilion. The first stranger who came would have found beauty in this picture, but to me it represented the world, the wide and free universe. My heart beat, stirred, as the young bird’s does, when it hears the rustle of its own wings and glides under the vault of heaven above the verdure of the field. There may come a day when it will cast a longing glance on the comfortable nest in the thorn bay, but does it think of this, when spring is in the air, when youth is in its blood, when the hawk of misfortune cannot yet obscure the brightness of the sun with the unfortunate shadow of its wings. Chapter 7. The Hope of England. My uncle continued his journey for some time without saying a word, but I felt that every moment he turned his eyes in my direction, and I said to myself with a certain unease that he was already beginning to wonder if he would ever be able to do anything with me, or if he had allowed himself to be led into an involuntary fault when he had yielded to his sister’s solicitations and had agreed to show her son something of the high society in which he lived. “You sing, don’t you, nephew?” he asked suddenly. “Yes, sir, a little. ” “Baritone voice, I should think? ” “Yes, sir. ” “Your mother tells me that you play the violin. These are talents that will be of use to you with the Prince. Music runs in the family. Your education was what it might have been in a village school.” After all, in polite society you won’t be given an exam on Greek roots, and that’s fortunate for many of us. It’s not a bad thing to have some scrap of Horace or Virgil at hand, as sub tegmine fagi or habet fænun in cornu. It spice up the conversation, like a clove of garlic in a salad. Good manners require that you not be a scholar, but there is some grace in letting it be known that you once knew quite a few things. Do you know how to write verses? — I’m afraid I don’t, sir. — A small rhyming dictionary will cost you half a crown. Society verses are a great help to a young man. If you have the ladies on your side, it matters little who is against you. You must learn to open a door, to enter a room, to offer a snuffbox, holding the lid up with the index finger of the hand offering it. You must acquire the way one curtsies to a man, which requires a touch of dignity, and the way to curtsy to a woman, in which one cannot put too much humility, without neglecting to add a little abandon. You must acquire manners with women that are at once supplicating and audacious. Have you any eccentricity? It made me laugh, the air of ease with which he asked me this question, as if it were a most ordinary quality. “At any rate, you have a pleasant, seductive laugh. But the best tone of today requires an eccentricity, and if you have any inclinations towards anyone, I will not fail to advise you to give it free rein. Petersham would have remained a simple private man all his life, if it had not been noticed that he had a snuff-box for every day of the year and that he had caught a cold through the fault of his valet, who had let him go one cold winter’s day with a thin Sèvres porcelain snuff-box, instead of a thick tortoiseshell one. That drew him out of the crowd, as you see, and he was remembered.” The smallest characteristic peculiarity, like having an apricot tart all year round on your maid, or putting out your candle every night by stuffing it under your pillow, and it doesn’t take much more to distinguish you from your neighbor. For my part, what has brought me to where I am is the rigor of my judgments in matters of dress, of decorum. I do not present myself as a man who follows the law, but as a man who makes it. For example, I present you to the Prince in a nankeen waistcoat today: what do you think will be the consequences of this fact? Consulting only my fears, the result should have been a discomfiture for me, but I do not say so. — Well, the night coach will bring the news to London. It will be tomorrow morning at Buookes and at White’s. Next week , Saint James Street and the Mail will be full of people in nankeen waistcoats. One day, a very painful adventure happened to me. My tie came undone in the street, and I actually walked all the way from Carlton House to Wattier’s in Bruton Street with both ends of it hanging loose. Can you imagine how much that shook my situation? That very evening, there were dozens of dandies in the streets of London wearing their ties untied. If I hadn’t straightened mine out, there wouldn’t be a single tie tied in the whole kingdom now , and a great art would have been prematurely lost. You haven’t applied yourself to practicing it yet? I agreed that you hadn’t. “You should start now that you’re young. I ‘ll teach you the bow stroke myself. By devoting a few hours to it during the day, hours that would otherwise be wasted, you can be perfectly tied in your middle age. The trick consists simply in holding your chin high in the air, while you overlap the folds down towards the lower jaw.” When my uncle spoke of subjects of this sort, he had always in his dark blue eyes that flash of fine malice which made me judge that this humor, which was peculiar to him, was a conscious eccentricity, having in my opinion its source in an extreme severity of taste, but carried voluntarily to a grotesque exaggeration, for the same reasons which induced him to advise me of some personal eccentricity. When I remembered in what terms he had spoken of his unfortunate friend, Lord Avon, the previous evening, and the emotion he had shown in relating this horrible story, I was glad that he had a man’s heart beating in his breast, however much he took pains to conceal it. And chance would have it that I was very shortly away, in the event of casting a furtive glance there, for a very unexpected event happened to us at the moment when we were passing in front of the Crown Hotel . A swarm of grooms and grooms arrived at us. My uncle, throwing down the reins, took Fidelio from the cushion he occupied under the seat. “Ambrose,” he cried, “you can carry Fidelio.” But he received no answer. The seat behind was empty. No more Ambrose. We could hardly believe our eyes when we dismounted : yet it was so. Ambrose had certainly mounted in his place, down there at Friar’s Oak, from whence we had come in a rush, at all the speed the mares could give. But where had he disappeared to? “He will have fallen in a fit,” cried my uncle. “I would turn back, but the Prince is waiting for us. Where is the landlord of the hotel? There, Coppinger, send me your most reliable man to Friar’s Oak. Let him go at all the speed of his horse to seek news of my servant Ambrose! Let no trouble be spared! Now, nephew, we are going to lunch.” Then we went up to the pavilion. My uncle was very upset by the loss of his servant, especially as he was in the habit of taking several baths and changing his costume several times during the slightest journey. For my part, remembering my mother’s advice, I brushed my clothes carefully and made myself as clean as possible. My heart was in the heels of my little silver-buckled shoes at the thought that I was about to be brought into the presence of that great and terrible personage, the Prince of Wales. More than once I had seen his yellow barouche speeding at full speed across Friar’s Oak. I had taken off and waved my hat, like everyone else, as he passed by, but in my wildest dreams it had never occurred to me that I would one day be called upon to find myself face to face with him and answer his questions. My mother had taught me to look at him with respect, being one of those whom God has destined to reign over us, but my uncle smiled when I told him of what she had taught me. “You are old enough to see things as they are, nephew , ” he said, “and their perfect knowledge is the sure guarantee that you are in the intimate circle into which I intend to bring you. There is no one who knows the prince better than I; there is no one who has less confidence in him than I do . Never did a hat shelter a stranger combination of contradictory qualities . He is a man always in a hurry, although he never has anything to do. He makes a fuss about things that do not concern him, and he neglects his most obvious duties. He is generous to people to whom he owes nothing, but he has ruined his suppliers by refusing to pay his most legitimate debts. He shows affection to people he meets by chance, but he dislikes his father, hates his mother, and he never speaks to his wife. He claims to be the first gentleman of England, but the gentlemen retaliated by blackballing his friends at their club and blacklisting him at Newmarket, as suspected of having cheated on a horse. He spends his time expressing noble sentiments and contradicting them with ignoble acts . He tells stories about himself so grotesque that they can no longer be explained except by the blood that flows in his veins. And despite all this, he sometimes knows how to show dignity, courtesy, kindness, and I have found in this man bursts of generosity that have made me forget the faults that can only have their source in the position he occupies, a position for which no man was less suited than he. But this must remain between us, my nephew, and now you will come with me, and you will form your own opinion.
Our walk was quite short, and yet it took some time, for my uncle walked with great dignity, holding his embroidered handkerchief in one hand and carelessly swinging his cloudy amber-tipped cane in the other . Everyone we met seemed to know him and immediately took off their hats as he passed. However, as we turned to enter the pavilion , we saw a magnificent carriage of four coal-black horses driven by a vulgar-looking man of middle age, wearing an old cap that bore the marks of the weather. I noticed nothing to distinguish him from an ordinary carriage driver, except that he was chatting with the greatest ease with a coquettish little woman perched beside him on the seat. “Hello! Charlie, have you had a good walk?” he cried. My uncle bowed and smiled at the lady. “I cut it in two for a ride to Friar’s Oak,” he said. “I have my light carriage and two new half-bred mares, bay Half Clevelands. ” “What do you say to my team of blacks? ” “Yes, Sir Charles, how do you like them? Aren’t they devilishly smart?” cried the little woman. “They are fine strength, good horses, for the Sussex clay. The pasterns a little big for me. I like to go —Go a long way?” cried the little woman with extreme vehemence. “What! What! What the… ” She indulged in talk I had never heard before, even from a man. “We would set off with our tillers touching, and we would have ordered, cooked, and eaten our dinner before you were here to claim your share. ” “By George, Letty is right,” cried the man. “Are you leaving tomorrow?” “Yes, Jack. ” “Well, I’ll make you an offer, Charlie. I’ll have my animals sent from Castle Square at a quarter to nine. You’ll set out as soon as the clock strikes nine . I’ll double the horses. I’ll double the load, too. If you can only see me before we cross Westminster Bridge, I’ll pay you a handsome hundred-pound piece. If not, the money is mine. Play or pay, is that a given? ” “Quite right!” said my uncle. And lifting his hat, he entered the park. As I followed him, I saw the woman take the reins, while the man turned to look at us and threw out a stream of tobacco juice, just as a professional coachman would have done. “That’s Sir John Lade,” said my uncle, “one of the richest men and best coachmen in England; There is no professional on the roads more expert in handling the reins and the tongue, and his wife, Lady Letty, understands neither the one nor the other. “Is it terrible to hear her?” I said. “Yes! That’s her kind of eccentricity. We all have them. She entertained the prince. Now, my nephew, press me close, keep your eyes open and your mouths closed. Two rows of magnificent red and gold footmen, who were guarding the door, bowed low as my uncle and I passed through their midst, he raising his head and appearing at home, I doing my best to gain confidence, although my heart was beating rapidly. From there, we passed into a high and vast hall, decorated in the oriental style, which harmonized with the domes and minarets outside. A number of people were there, coming and going quietly, forming groups where they chatted in low voices. One of these personages, a short, stocky man with a red face, who was causing a lot of embarrassment, giving himself great airs of importance, ran up to meet my uncle. “I have your good news, Sir Charles,” he said, lowering his voice as if it were a matter of state. “It is vollendet, it means shoot: I am fed up with it. ” “Very well, then serve it hot,” my uncle said coldly, “and see that the sauces are a little better than at my last dinner at Carlton House. ” “Ah! mein Gott, you think I’m messing with your kitchen. It’s your business, you know, that I mess. It’s a little fool in the fent that needs a hundred thousand pounds. Three percent and double to be repaid when the Royal papa dies. Alles ist fertig. Goldsmidt, of the Hague, has taken care of it and the public of Holland has subscribed the sum.
” “Great good to the public of Holland,” my uncle murmured, while the fat man went to offer his news to some newcomer. My nephew is the Prince’s famous cook. He has no equal in England when it comes to sautéed fillet with mushrooms. He handles the Prince’s financial affairs. “The cook!” I cried, quite stunned. “You seem surprised, my nephew? ” “I would have thought that a respectable bank… ” My uncle put his lips to my ear. “No self-respecting house would want to get involved,” he said in a low voice. “Ah! Mellish. Is the Prince at home? ” “In the private drawing room, Sir Charles,” said the gentleman, when called upon. “Is there anyone with him? ” “Sheridan and Francis. He said he was expecting you. ” “Then we will go in.” I followed him through the strangest succession of rooms, where everywhere shone a barbaric but curious splendor, which struck me as very rich, very marvelous, and of which I might perhaps have a very different opinion today. On the walls shone arabesque designs of gold and scarlet. Golden dragons and monsters writhed on the cornices and in the corners. Whichever way we looked, countless mirrors multiplied the image of the tall, proud-looking , pale-faced man and the timid young man who walked beside him. At last, a footman opened a door and we found ourselves in the prince’s private apartment. Two gentlemen lounged in an attitude of full ease on sumptuous armchairs. At the other end of the room, a third figure stood between them on beautiful, strong legs that he held apart, his hands clasped behind his back. The sun shone on them through a side window, and I still remember their faces very well, one in the half-light, the other in full light, and the third, half in shadow, half in the sun. Of the two seated figures, I remember that one had a slightly red nose and sparkling black eyes, the other an austere, surly face, framed by the high collars of his coat and a tie with many twists. They appeared to me as a single picture, but it was on the central figure that my gaze fell stared, for I knew he must be the Prince of Wales. George was then in his forty-first year, and with the help of his tailor and barber, he might have looked less aged. The sight of him was enough to put me at ease, for he was a cheerful-looking personage, handsome in spite of his plump and congested figure, with laughing eyes and pouty, mobile lips. The tip of his nose was turned up, which accentuated the air of good nature which prevailed in him, in spite of his dignity. His cheeks were pale and puffy, like a man who lives too well and takes too little exercise. He was dressed in a black coat without turn-ups, sheepskin trousers very tight on his thick thighs, patent leather riding boots , and wore an immense white cravat. “Hello! Tregellis,” he cried in the gayest tone, as soon as my uncle crossed the threshold. But suddenly the smile faded from his face and anger shone in his eyes. “Who the devil is this?” he cried in an irritated tone. A shudder of fear passed through my body, for I thought this outburst was due to my presence. But his gaze went to a more distant object; looking around us, we saw a man in a brown coat and a slovenly wig. He had followed us so closely that the footman had let him pass, believing he was accompanying us. His face was very red, and in his emotion, he was noisily crumpling the blue paper he held in his hand. “Hey! But it’s Vuillamy, the furniture dealer,” cried the prince. “What? Are they going to chase me back to my own home? Where is Mellish? Where is Townshend? What the devil is Tom Tring doing? ” “I assure Your Royal Highness that I would not have intruded unnecessarily.” But I must have money… At least, a thousand pounds down payment would be enough for me. “You must… you must. Vuillamy, that’s strange talk. I pay my debts when I think it’s time, and I don’t want anyone trying to frighten me. Footman, take him out. Put him out. ” “If I don’t have that sum by Monday, I’ll be before your papa’s bench,” whined the little man. And as the footman led him away, we could hear him repeating amidst peals of laughter that he would not fail to submit the matter to papa’s bench. “It ought to be the longest bench in England, oughtn’t it, Sherry,” replied the prince, “for it would require a good many of Her Majesty’s subjects. I’m delighted to see you again, Tregellis, but really you ought to be more careful about those you drag up your skirts.” Just yesterday we had a damned Dutchman here who was ranting about some overdue interest and the devil knows what. My good fellow, I said, as long as the Commons ration me, I ‘ll put you on rations, and the matter has been settled. “I think the Commons would march now, if the matter were laid before them by Charlie Fox or by me,” said Sheridan. The prince burst into imprecations against the Commons with a savage energy that one would hardly have expected from this personage with the hateful and florid face. “Damn them!” he cried. “After all their sermons and throwing in my face the exemplary life of my father, they have had to pay his debts, a million pounds or so, when I can only get a hundred thousand pounds from them. And look what they have done for my brothers: York is commander-in-chief, Clarence is admiral, and what am I?” Colonel of a nasty dragoon regiment, under my own younger brother! My mother is at the bottom of it all. She’s always done her best to keep me out of it. But
who’s the one you brought, eh, Tregellis? My uncle put his hand on my sleeve and led me forward. “This is my sister’s son, Sir. His name is Rodney Stone. He is coming with me to London, and I thought I would do well to begin by introducing him to Your Royal Highness. ” “Very well! Very well!” said the prince with a kind smile, placing his hand familiarly on my shoulder. ” Is your mother still alive? ” “Yes, Sir,” I said. “If you are a good son to her, you will never turn out badly. And mark my words well, Mr. Rodney Stone. You must honor the king, love your country, and defend the glorious English Constitution.” Remembering energetically that he had lost his temper with the Commons, I could not help smiling, and I saw Sheridan put his hand to his lips. “You have only to do this, to be faithful to your word, to avoid debts, to keep your affairs in order, to lead a happy and respected life. What does your father do, Mr. Stone? Is he in the Royal Navy? I was a little in it myself. I never told you, Tregellis, how we boarded the French sloop-of-war La Minerve? ” “No, Sir,” said my uncle, while Sheridan and Francis exchanged smiles behind the Prince’s back. “He was unfurling his tricolor, right here, outside my pavilion windows. Never in my life have I seen such monstrous impudence. You would have to have more self-control than I have to suffer that.” I embarked in my little boat, you know, my fifty-ton longboat, with two four-pounders on each side and a six-pounder in the bow. ” “And then, Sir? And then?” cried Francis, who had the air of an irascible man with a harsh tongue. “You will allow me to tell this story in the way that suits me, Sir Philip Francis,” said the prince in a dignified tone. ” As I was about to tell you, our artillery was so light that, I give you my word, I could have kept our starboard discharge in one pocket of my coat and our port discharge in another . We approached the large French ship. We received its fire and scratched its paint before firing. But it was of no use. By George! it would have been as good as cannonading a wall of earth as throwing our cannonballs into its timbers. It had its nets up, but we jumped in and banged our hammers on the anvil. There was a most lively engagement for twenty minutes. We finally drove its crew into the hold. The hatches were nailed down securely and the boat towed to Seaham. Surely you were with us then, Sherry? ‘I was in London at the time,’ said Sheridan gravely. ‘You can vouch for the fight, Francis? ‘ ‘I can vouch that I heard Your Highness give this account. ‘ ‘It was a hard game with cutlass and pistol. For myself, I prefer the rapier. It is a gentleman’s weapon. You have heard of my quarrel with the Chevalier d’Éon. I held him forty minutes at the point of my sword at Angelo’s. It was one of the finest blades in Europe, but I had too much suppleness in my wrist for him. I thank God there is a button on Your Highness’s foil,’ he said, when we had finished our fencing. ‘By the way, you are something of a duelist, Tregellis? How often have you been in the field?’ “I used to go there whenever I needed a little exercise,” said my uncle carelessly. “But now I ‘ve taken up tennis. A nasty accident happened the last time I went out into the field, and it put me off. ” “You killed your man. ” “No, sir. Worse happened. I had a suit in which Weston had excelled himself. To say it suited me would be an understatement: It was part of me, like the hide on a horse. Weston has made me sixty since that time, and not one that came close. The arrangement of the collar brought tears to my eyes , Sir, the first time I saw it, and as for the size— … You may laugh, Sir, but I shall never see his like again. At the Prince’s invitation, I sat down in a corner on a stool, where I asked nothing better than to remain unnoticed, listening to the talk of these men. It was in all the same extravagant verve, seasoned with many meaningless oaths, but I noticed one difference: while my uncle and Sheridan always put a kind of humor into their exaggerations, Francis always tended toward malice, and the Prince toward self-praise. Finally, we began to talk about music. I am not certain that my uncle did not skillfully divert the conversation in that direction, so that the Prince learned from him what my taste was and insisted on having me sit down at a small piano, all inlaid with mother-of-pearl, which stood in a corner, and I had to play the accompaniment for him while he sang. This piece, as far as I remember, was entitled: The Englishman triumphs only to save. He sang it from beginning to end in a rather beautiful bass voice. The audience joined in and applauded vigorously when he had finished. “Bravo, Mr. Stone,” he said, “you have excellent fingering, and I know what I mean when I speak of music. Cramer, of the Opera, said the other day that he would rather give me his baton than any other amateur in England. Hello! This is Charity Fox. It’s quite extraordinary.” He had darted out with great vivacity to shake hands with a person of remarkable appearance who had just entered. The newcomer was a plump, solidly built man, dressed with such simplicity that it bordered on negligence. He had awkward manners and walked with a swaying gait. He must have been over fifty, and his coppery, hard-featured face was already deeply wrinkled, either by age or by excess. I have never seen features where the characters of the angel and those of the demon were so visibly united. Above was the high, broad forehead of the philosopher; then piercing, witty eyes beneath thick, dense eyebrows. Below was the plump cheek of the sensual man, falling in large rolls over his cravat. This forehead was that of the statesman, Charles Fox, the thinker, the philanthropist, the one who rallied and led the Liberal party during the twenty most hazardous years of its existence. This jaw was that of the private man, Charles Fox, the gambler, the libertine, the drunkard. However, he never added to his vices the worst of vices, hypocrisy. His vices were as exposed as his qualities. It was as if, by some strange whim, nature had united two souls in one body, and that the same constitution contained the best and most vicious man of his century. — I came all the way from Chertsey, Sir, just to shake your hand and make sure that the Tories have not conquered you. “To hell with it, Charlie, you know I’m either sinking or swimming with my friends. I went with the Whigs. I’ll stay a Whig.” I thought I saw on Fox’s brown face that he wasn’t quite so convinced that the Prince was so steadfast in his principles. “Pitt has been to you, Sir, I’m told. ” “Yes, damn him, I can’t get used to the sight of that sharp-nosed snout continually poking around in my affairs. He and Addington have gone back to sifting through my debts. Why, you see, Charlie, Pitt would have contempt for me, and he wouldn’t behave otherwise.” I gathered, from the smile that flitted across Sheridan’s expressive face , that that was just what Pitt had done. But they threw themselves headlong into politics, not without varying this pleasure by the absorption of a few glasses of sweet maraschino that a footman brought them on a tray. The king, the queen, the lords, the Commons were in turn the object of the Prince’s curses, in spite of the excellent advice he had given me with regard to the English Constitution. “And I am granted so little that I am unable to look after my own people. There are a dozen pensions to be paid to old servants and other things of the same kind and I have great difficulty in scraping together the money necessary for these things. However, my…” As he said this, he straightened up and coughed, assuming an important air. “My financial agent has arranged for a loan to be repaid on the king’s death. This liquor is of no use to you or me, Charlie. We are beginning to grow monstrously fat. ” “The gout prevents me from taking any exercise,” said Fox. “I get fifteen ounces of blood drawn a month. But the more I take, the more I take. You wouldn’t think to see us, Tregellis, that we were capable of all we’ve done . We had a few days and nights together, eh! Charlie? ” Fox smiled and nodded! “You remember how we arrived at Newmarket before the races. We took a public coach, Tregellis. We locked the postilions under the seat, and took their places. Charlie was the postilion and I the coachman. A fellow wouldn’t let us pass through his gate on the road. Charlie made one leap and took off his coat in a minute. The man thought he was dealing with a professional prizefighter and hastened to clear the way for us.” “By the way, sir, since we’re talking about boxers, I’m giving the Fancy a supper at the Carriage and Horse Hotel next Friday,” said my uncle. ” If by chance you happen to be in town, we’d be very glad if you would condescend to pay us a visit. ” “I haven’t seen a fight since the one where Tom Tyne, the tailor, killed Earl, about fourteen years ago; I swore I’d never see one again, and you know, Tregellis, I’m a man of my word. Of course, I’ve been incognito around the ring, but never like the Prince of Wales. ” “We should be immensely proud if you would come incognito to our supper, sir. ” “Very well! Very well! Sherry, make a note of that. We shall be at Carlton House on Friday. The Prince can’t come, you know, Tregellis, but you can keep 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 are rumors of a sporting bet you are said to have made against Sir Lothian Hume. What truth is there in that? ” “Oh! it’s only a thousand pounds against a thousand pounds. He’s taken a fancy to that new prizefighter from Winchester, Crab Wilson, and I have to find a man who can beat him.” Anything between twenty and thirty-five years old, at about thirteen stone 52 kilos. “Then consult Charlie Fox,” said the prince; “whether it be a question of handicapping a horse, holding a match, rigging cocks, or choosing a man, he has the soundest judgment in England. At the moment, Charlie, who have we who can beat Wilson the Crab of Gloucester? ” I was astonished to see what interest, what competence all these great people showed about the ring. Not only did they know in detail the exploits of the principal boxers of the time—Belcher, Mendoza, Jackson, Sam the Dutchman—but there was no wrestler so obscure whose prowess and future they did not know in detail. They discussed the men of the past and those of the present. They talked about their weight, their aptitude, their strength in striking, their constitution. Who, seeing Sheridan and Fox busy discussing so heatedly whether Caleb Baldwin, the fruiterer of Westminster, was fit or not to measure himself with Isaac Bittoon, the Jew, could have guessed that he had before him the most profound political thinker in Europe, and that the other would make a lasting name for himself, as the author of one of the wittiest comedies and one of the most eloquent speeches of his generation? The name of the champion Harrison was one of the first thrown into the discussion. Fox, who had a high opinion of the qualities of Wilson the Crab, judged that the only chance my uncle had was to succeed in making the old champion reappear on the field. “He may be slow to move on his pins, but he fights with his head, and his blows are as good as the kicks of a horse. When he finished off Baruch the Black, the latter jumped not only the first but also the second rope and fell among the spectators.” If he is not absolutely worn out, Tregellis, he is your hope. My uncle shrugged. “If poor Avon were here, we could do something with him, for he had been Harrison’s patron, and that 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 today to lose the best servant there is in England, and I must set out in search of him. I thank Your Royal Highness for your kindness in receiving my nephew so kindly. ” “See you on Friday, then,” said the Prince, holding out his hand. “I must go to town whatever happens, for there is a poor devil of an officer of the East India Company who has written to me in his distress. If I can raise a few hundred pounds, I will go and see him and see to him.” Now, Mr. Stone, the whole of life lies before you, and I hope it will be such that your uncle can be proud of it. You will honor the King and respect the Constitution, Mr. Stone. And then, understand me well, avoid debts and put it well into your mind that honor is a sacred thing. And so I carried away the last impression left on me by his face full of sensuality, of good nature, his high cravat, and his broad thighs clad in sheepskin. We crossed again the singular rooms with their gilded monsters. We passed between the sumptuous hedge of footmen and I felt a certain relief to find myself in the open air, facing the vast blue sea and to receive on my face the fresh breath of the evening breeze. Chapter 8. The Brighton Road. My uncle and I got up early the next day, but he was in a rather bad mood, having had no news of his servant Ambrose. He had indeed become like those kinds of ants that books talk about, and who are so accustomed to receiving their food for smaller ants, that they starve to death when left to their own devices. It took the help of a man procured by the butler and Fox’s servant, who had been sent there expressly, for my uncle to finally finish his toilet. “I must win this game, my nephew,” he said, when he had finished breakfast. “I am not in a position to be beaten. Look out of the window and tell me if the Lades are in sight. ” “I see a red four-in-hand in the square. There is a crowd all around. Yes, I see the lady on the seat. ” “Has our tandem gone out? ” “It is at the door. ” “Then come, and you shall have a carriage ride such as you have never seen.” He stopped at the door to pull on his long brown driving gloves and give his last orders to the grooms. “Every ounce counts,” he said. “We will leave this basket of provisions behind.” And you, Coppinger, you can take care of my dog. You know him and understand him. Let him have his warm milk and curaçao as usual! Come, my darlings, you’ll have your fill of that before we get to Westminster Bridge. “Shall I put the toilet-box in?” asked the butler . I saw the embarrassment on my uncle’s face, but he remained true to his principles. “Put it under the seat, the front seat,” he said. “Nephew, you must carry your weight as far forward as possible. Can you make any use of a yard of tin? No, if you can’t, we’ll keep the trumpet. Buckle up that girth, Thomas. Have you greased the hubs as I recommended? Very well. Then get in, nephew, we’ll see them off.” A veritable gathering had formed in the old square: men, women, merchants in dark coats, beaux of the Prince’s Court, officers from Hove, all buzzing with excitement, for Sir John Lade and my uncle were the two most famous drivers of their time, and a match between them was an event considerable enough to keep the conversation going for a long time. “The Prince will be sorry he was not present at the start,” said my uncle. “He hardly ever shows up before noon. Ah! Jack, good morning. Your servant, madam. This is a fine day for a carriage journey. ” As our tandem came up side by side with the four-in- hand, with the two beautiful bay mares, shining like silk in the sun, a murmur of admiration rose from the crowd. My uncle, in his fawn-colored riding habit, with all the harness of the same shade, was making the Corinthian whip, while Sir John Lade, with his many-collared coat, his white hat, his coarse, tanned face, might have been a prominent figure in a gathering of professionals, lined up on a pub bench, without anyone thinking of guessing in him one of the richest landowners in England. It was a century of eccentrics, and he had pushed his eccentricities to a point that surprised even the most advanced, by marrying the mistress of a notorious highwayman, when the gallows came to stand between her and her lover. She was perched beside him, looking extremely chic in her flowered hat and gray traveling suit, and in front of them, the four magnificent coal-black horses, with a few golden highlights slithering here and there around their vigorous, smoothly curved rumps, were kicking the dust with their hooves in their eagerness to leave. “A hundred pounds you won’t see us again from here to Westminster Bridge, when a quarter of an hour has passed. ” “I’ll bet another hundred pounds we’ll overtake you,” replied My uncle. — Very well, now is the time. Good morning. He gave a tokk with his tongue, waved his reins, saluted with his whip in true coachman style, and set off, rounding the corner of the square with a practical skill that brought applause from the crowd. We heard the sounds of the wheels on the pavement fade away until they were lost in the distance. The quarter of an hour, which elapsed until the first stroke of nine o’clock struck on the parish clock, seemed to me one of the longest there had been. For my part, I shifted impatiently in my seat, but my uncle’s calm, pale face and large blue eyes expressed as much tranquility and reserve as if he had been the most indifferent spectator. But he was no less attentive. It seemed to me that the bell and the whip had gone off at the same time, not lengthening, but snapping sharply at the lead horse, which sent us on a furious pace, with a great noise, on our fifty-mile journey. I heard a rumble behind us. I saw the receding lines of the windows lined with attentive faces. Handkerchiefs fluttered. Then we were soon on the beautiful white road, which described its curve in front of us, bordered on each side by the green slopes of the dunes. I had been provided with a supply of shillings so that the gatekeepers would not stop us, but my uncle pulled on the mares’ bridles and set them to a trot over the whole difficult part of the road that ended at the Clayton hill. Then he let them go. We crossed Friar’s Oak and the Saint John Canal in one go. As we passed, we could barely glimpse the yellow cottage where those who were so dear to me lived. Never had I traveled at such a pace, never had I felt such joy as in this bracing air of the heights which whipped my face, with these two magnificent beasts which in front of me redoubled their efforts, made the ground resound under their irons and the wheels of our light carriage ring, which bounced and flew behind them. “There is a long climb of four miles from here to Hand Cross,” said my uncle as we crossed Cuckfield. “I must let them catch their breath, for I do not intend that my beasts have a rupture of the heart. They are animals of blood and they would gallop until they fell, if I were brute enough to let them. Get up on the seat, my nephew, and tell me if you see anything of the others.” I stood up, with the help of my uncle’s shoulder, but for a mile, a mile and a quarter perhaps, I saw nothing. Not the slightest sign of an oven in hand. — If he’s been galloping his beasts up all these hills, they ‘ll be exhausted before they reach Croydon. — They’re four against two. — I’m sure of it, Sir John’s black team makes a fine and good team, but they’re not the animals to devour space like these. This is Cuckfield Place, over there where the towers are. Shift all your weight forward onto the mudguard, now that we’re coming up the hill, nephew. Look at the action of that lead horse: have you ever seen anything easier, anything more beautiful? We trotted up the hill, but even at that pace we saw the driver, who was walking in the shadow of his enormous carriage with its wide wheels and canvas top, stop and look at us with a stunned expression. Near Hand Cross, we passed the royal coach from Brighton, which had started at half-past seven, moving slowly, followed by the passengers who walked in the dust and applauded us as we passed. At Hand Cross, we caught a glimpse of the old owner of the inn, who was running up with his gin and gingerbread, but now the slope was in the opposite direction, and we began to run with all the speed that eight good hooves can give. “Can you drive, nephew? ” “Very little, sir. ” “One cannot learn to drive on the Brighton road. ” “How so, sir? ” “It’s too good a road, nephew. I have only to let them go, and they will soon have brought me into Westminster. It was not always thus. When I was quite young, one could learn to handle one’s twenty yards of reins, here as well as anywhere else. There really are no good driving opportunities these days, further south than Leicestershire. Find me a man who can walk or hold his animals over the course of a glen in Yorkshire, and that is the man who may be said to have been well schooled.” We had crossed the Crawley Dune, traveled along the wide street of Crawley village, passing as if on the wing between two rustic carts with a skill that proved to me that there were still good opportunities to drive well on the road. At each bend, I glanced ahead to discover our adversaries, but my uncle seemed not to worry much about it, and he busied himself giving me advice, in which he mixed so many terms of the trade that I had difficulty understanding him. “Keep a finger for each rein,” he said, “otherwise they risk turning into a rope. As for the whip, the less it fanned out, the more willing your animals would be. But, if you want to put some animation into your carriage, arrange it so that your lock of hair hits the one who needs it , and don’t let it flutter in the air after it has struck.” I saw a driver warm the ribs of a passenger on the open-top behind him, every time he tried to touch his horse sideways. I think they are the ones who raise that dust over there. A long stretch of road stretched out before us, striped by the shadows of the trees that lined it. Through the green countryside, a lazy stream dragged its blue water slowly and passed under a bridge in front of us. Beyond was a grove of young firs, and then, over its olive outline, rose a white whirlwind, moving swiftly, like a wisp of clouds on a north wind. “Yes, yes, they are,” cried my uncle, “and it is impossible for others to travel on that train. Come, nephew, we shall be halfway there when we cross the mole at Kimberham Bridge, and we have made this journey in two hours and fourteen minutes.” The Prince covered the course to Carlton House with three horses in tandem in four and a half hours. The first half is the hardest, and we can make up time on him, if all goes well. We must regain the lead from here to Reigate. And we set off at full speed. It was as if the bay mares could guess what that white flake in front meant. They stretched out like greyhounds . We overtook a two-horse phaeton going to London and left it behind as if it had been standing still. Trees, fences, cottages flashed by in a confused way beside us. We heard people shouting in the fields, convinced it was a mad team. The speed increased every moment. The horseshoes made a castanet-like clang. The yellow manes fluttered, the wheels hummed. Every joint, every rivet , creaked and groaned as the car rocked and swayed until I had to hold on to the side rail. My uncle slowed down and looked at his watch as we came into view of the gray tiles and dirty red houses of Reigate in the depression ahead. “We did the last six miles in less than twenty minutes,” he said. “Now we’ve got time to spare, and a little water at the Red Lion won’t hurt them. Stablehand, did a red four-in-hand pass? ” “Just passed. ” “How fast? ” “Full gallop, sir. Clipped a butcher’s cart at the corner of the High Street and was out of sight before the butcher’s boy could see what had hit him. ” “Z z z zack!” said the long fuse. ” And off we went again. It was market day at Red Hill. The road was crowded with vegetable carts, bands of oxen, and farmers’ carts. It was a real pleasure to see my uncle slip through the melee.” We only crossed the market-place, amidst the shouts of men, the screams of women, the flight of poultry. Then we were again in open country, with before us the long, steep descent of the Red Hill road. My uncle brandished his whip, giving the piercing cry of a man who sees what he seeks. The cloud of dust rolled down the slope in front of us, and through it we dimly glimpsed the backs of our adversaries, a flash of polished brass, and a line of scarlet. “The game is half won, my nephew. Now it’s a matter of overtaking them. Onward, my pretty ones. By George! Hasn’t Kitty capsized? ” The lead horse was suddenly lame. In an instant we were out of the carriage and on our knees beside him. It was only a stone that had buried itself between the fork and the iron, but it took us a minute or two to dislodge it. By the time we resumed our positions, the Lades had rounded the curve of the hill and were out of sight. “What bad luck,” my uncle grumbled, “but they won’t be able to escape us. ” For the first time, he lashed the mares, for until then, he had confined himself to making the whip flutter over their heads. “If we catch them in the first few miles, we can do without their company for the rest of the journey.” The mares were beginning to show signs of exhaustion. Their breathing was short and raspy. Their beautiful coats were stuck together with the dampness. At the top of the hill, however, they resumed their fine momentum. “Where the devil have they gone?” cried my uncle. ” Can you see any traces of them on the road, nephew?” We have before us a long white ribbon dotted with carriages and carts going from Croydon to Red Hill, but of the big red four-in-hand, not the slightest sign. “There they are! They’ve slipped away! They’ve slipped away!” he cried, directing the mares towards a side road that branched off to the right of the one we had been traveling. And, indeed, at the top of a curve, on our right, the four-in-hand appeared, and the horses were redoubled their efforts. Our mares lengthened their pace, and the distance between us and them began to diminish slowly. I saw that I could distinguish the black ribbon of Sir John’s white hat, that I could count the folds of his coat, and at last I could distinguish the pretty features of his wife when she turned towards us. “We are on the little road that goes from Godstone to Warlingham,” said my uncle. He will have judged, it seems to me, that he would save time by leaving the road of the market gardeners’ carts. But we have a damned hill to double. You will have something to distract you, my nephew, if I am not mistaken. While he was speaking, I suddenly saw the wheels of the oven in hand disappear, then it was the body, then the two people placed on the seat and all this just as suddenly, just as quickly. as if they had bounced on three steps of a gigantic staircase. A moment later we arrived at the same place. The road stretched below us, steep, narrow, descending in long hooks into the valley. The four-in-hand tumbled down there at all the speed of its horses. “I suspected it,” cried my uncle, “since he doesn’t use a brakeman, why should I? Now, my darlings, a good push and we’ll show them the color of our rear ends.” We went over the crest and descended at a furious speed the hill where the big red car rolled in front of us with a noise like thunder. We were already in its cloud of dust, so that we could barely distinguish in the center a patch of dirty red which swayed as it rolled, but whose outline became clearer and clearer with each stride. We could easily hear the crack of the whip ahead of us, and Lady Lade’s shrill voice encouraging the horses. My uncle was very quiet, but a sideways glance at him showed me his pursed lips, his bright eyes , and a small red spot on each of his pale cheeks. There was no need to hurry the mares, for they had already assumed a pace that would have been impossible to moderate or regulate. The head of our first horse came up level with the hind wheel , then with the fore wheel. Then, for a hundred yards, we did not gain an inch. Then, with a fresh burst, the leading horse placed himself side by side with the black horse on the wheel side, and our fore wheel was within an inch of their hind wheel. “That’s dust,” said my uncle quietly. “Fan them, Jack, fan them,” cried the lady. He sprang up and lashed his horses. “Watch out, Tregellis,” he shouted. “Beware of the danger of someone tipping over.” We had managed to get into exactly the same line as them, and the front wheels vibrated in unison. There wasn’t six inches too much in the road, and at any moment I expected to hear the sound of a collision. But then, as we emerged from the dust, I could see ahead, and my uncle, seeing it too, began to whistle through his teeth. About two hundred paces ahead of us, there was a bridge with posts and wooden bars on either side. The road narrowed as it approached, so that it was obviously impossible for two carriages to pass abreast. One had to give way to the other. Already our wheels were level with their horses. “I’m in the lead,” my uncle shouted. “We must hold them back, Lade. ” “Never in a million years,” he yelled. “No, by George,” cried his wife, “give them a whip, Jack. Hit them with all your might.” It seemed to me that we were being launched together into eternity. But my uncle did the only thing that could save us. With a desperate effort, we were still able to overtake the carriage just opposite the entrance to the bridge. He sprang up and whipped vigorously to the right and left at the mares, who, maddened by this unknown sensation of pain, rushed forward with extreme fury. We went down with a great noise, all shouting at the top of our voices in a sort of temporary madness, it seemed to me, but we were still moving steadily forward and had already reached the front horses when we sprang onto the bridge. I glanced back at the carriage. I saw Lady Lade, gnashing all her little white teeth, throw herself forward and pull with both hands on the side reins. — Across, Jack, across these… So they can’t get through. If she had executed this maneuver a moment earlier, we would have crashed violently against the wooden parapet, we would have brought him down to be thrown into the deep ravine that opened below. But it was otherwise, it was not the strong haunch of the black horse in the lead that came into contact with our wheel, but his forequarters, whose weight was not sufficient to make us swerve. I suddenly saw a wet, red gash open on his black coat. A minute later, we were flying down the slope of the road. The four-in-hand had stopped. Sir John Lade and his wife, who had dismounted, were together dressing the horse’s wound. “At your ease, now, pretty ones,” cried my uncle, resuming his place on the seat and glancing over his shoulder. “I would not have believed Sir John Lade capable of such a trick. Throwing one of his lead horses across the road! I do not tolerate a bad joke of this sort, he will hear from me tomorrow. ” “It’s the little lady,” I said. My uncle’s brow cleared and he began to laugh. “That was little Letty, wasn’t it? I should have known. There’s a memory of the late and lamented Jack Sixteen Strings in that round. Bah! these are messages of a different sort that I’m sending to a lady. So, my nephew, we’ll continue our journey, thanking our lucky stars that they bring us back over the Thames without a broken bone. We stopped at the Greyhound at Croydon, where the two good little mares were sponged, stroked, and fed. After which, taking an easy pace, we passed through Norbury and Streatham. At last the fields became fewer, the walls longer , the suburban villas less and less spaced until they touched, and we traveled between two rows of houses with stalls at the corners , where the traffic was of a kind of activity entirely new to me. It was a torrent roaring towards the center. Then suddenly we found ourselves on a wide bridge, beneath which flowed a sullen river the color of black coffee. Barges with bulging sterns drifted on its surface. To the right and left stretched a row, here and there, broken, irregular, of multi-colored houses extending on either bank as far as my sight could reach. “This is the Houses of Parliament, nephew,” said my uncle, pointing to it with his whip. “The black towers are part of Westminster Abbey… How is Your Grace?” How are you?… It’s the Duke of Norfolk, that fat man in a blue coat on his braided-tailed mare. There’s the Treasury on the left, then the Horse Guards, and the Admiralty at that gate surmounted by dolphins carved in stone. I imagined, like a young man brought up in the country that I was, that London was simply a collection of houses, but I was astonished to see green slopes appearing in their intervals, beautiful trees with a spring-like appearance. “Yes, those are the private gardens,” said my uncle, “and here is the window through which Charles took the last step, the one that led him to the scaffold. You wouldn’t believe the mares have come fifty miles, would you? See how they go, the little darlings, to do honor to their master. Look at that barouche, that man with the angular features, looking out of the window. It’s Pitt on his way to the House. Now we ‘re going into Pall Mall.” That big building on the left is Carlton House, the Prince’s palace. Here is Saint James’s, that vast, smoky living room where there is a clock and where the two sentries in red coats stand guard in front of the door. And here is the famous street that bears the same name. My nephew, there is the center of the world. It is in this street that Jermyn Street opens. Finally, here we are near my little box and we have taken much less than five hours to come from the old Brighton square. Chapter 9. At Wattier’s. The house my uncle occupied in Jermyn Street was very small, five rooms and an attic. “A cook and a cottage,” he said, “that is what a wise man’s needs are reduced to. On the other hand, it was furnished with the delicacy and taste that distinguished his character, so well that his most opulent friends found in his charming little dwelling enough to disgust them with their sumptuous residences. The attic itself, which had become my bedroom, was the most perfect marvel of an attic imaginable. Beautiful and precious knick-knacks occupied every corner of every room. The whole house had become a veritable miniature museum that would have enchanted a connoisseur. My uncle explained the presence of all these pretty things with a shrug of the shoulders and a gesture of indifference. “They are small gifts,” he said, “but it would be indiscreet on my part to say anything else.” At Jermyn Street, a note was waiting for us, which Ambrose had already sent. Instead of dispelling the mystery of his disappearance, it only made it more impenetrable. It ran thus: My dear Sir Charles Tregellis, I shall never cease to regret that circumstances should have placed me under the absolute necessity of leaving your service in such an abrupt manner, but an incident occurred during our journey from Friar’s Oak to Brighton which left me no alternative but this resolution. I hope, however, that my absence may be only temporary. The recipe for shirt-front starch is in the strong-box at Drummond’s Bank. Your most obedient servant, AMBROSSE. “Then I suppose I shall have to take his place as best I can,” said my uncle, with a disgruntled air, “but what on earth could have happened to him to oblige him to leave me when we were trotting down the hill in my carriage?” I’ll never find his equal in fighting for my chocolate or my ties. I’m sorry. But for the moment, my friend, we must send for Weston to fit you. It’s not the gentleman’s place to go to a shop. It’s the shop that must come to the gentleman. Until you have your clothes, you must remain in retirement. The taking of the measurements was a most solemn and serious ceremony, but it was nothing compared to the fitting, which took place two days later. My uncle was truly tortured while each piece of the garment was put in place and he and Weston discussed the smallest seam, the lapels, the tails, and I ended up getting dizzy from pirouetting in front of them. Then, just when I thought I was done, young Mr. Brummel arrived, promising to be even more difficult than my uncle, and the whole matter had to be thoroughly discussed between them. He was a rather fine-looking man, with a long face, a fair complexion, chestnut hair, and small red whiskers. His manner was languid, his accent drawling, and while he eclipsed my uncle in the extravagant style of his speech, he lacked that manly and determined air which shone through everything my relative affected. “What? George,” cried my uncle, “I thought you were with your regiment? ” “I sent back my papers,” said the other in his drawling accent. “I suspected it would end like this. ” “Yes, the tenth had received orders to leave for Manchester, and it was hardly to be expected that I would go to such a place.” Finally, I found a monstrously stupid major. — How so? — He assumed I was aware of this absurd exercise, Tregellis, as you can well imagine, I had something quite different in mind. I had no difficulty in finding my place on parade, for there was a trooper with a red nose on a gray background , and I had noticed that my place was right in front of him. This saved me an infinite amount of trouble. But the other day, when I came to the parade, I galloped in front of one line, then another , without being able to find my man with the big nose. Then, as I didn’t know what to do, I just happened to see him all alone on the flanks and naturally put myself in front of him. It seems that he had been put there to guard the place, and the major forgot himself to the point of telling me that I understood nothing about my job. My uncle began to laugh, and Brummel to look me up and down with his large, difficult-looking eyes. “That will do passably well,” he said, brown and blue. These are perfectly suitable shades for a garment. But a flowered waistcoat would have been better. “I don’t think so,” my uncle said briskly. “My dear Tregellis, you are infallible when it comes to ties, but you will allow me to have my own way of judging when it comes to waistcoats. I think this one is very good as it is, but a few red flowers would give it the last touch of perfection it needs.” They discussed for a good ten minutes, relying on numerous examples and comparisons, while they circled around me, heads bent, glasses fixed in their eyes. I felt a sense of relief when they finally agreed by means of a compromise. “Nothing I say should shake your confidence in Sir Charles’s judgment, Mr. Stone,” Brummel told me with great seriousness. I promised him that would not be the case. “If you were my nephew, I think you would conform to my taste, but as you are, you will cut a very good figure. Last year, a young cousin came to town who was recommended to my care. But he would not accept any advice. At the end of the second week, I met him in St. James Street, dressed in a snuff-colored coat that had been cut by a country tailor. He bowed to me. Naturally, I knew what I owed to myself. I looked him up and down. That was enough to put an end to his plans for success in the capital. You come from the country, Mr. Stone? ” “Sussex, sir. ” “Sussex? Ah! That’s where I send my linen to be bleached. There is a person who understands starching perfectly well and lives near Hayward’s Heath. I send two shirts at a time. When you send more, it excites that woman and distracts her attention. ” All I can suffer from the country is its whitewashing. But I should be enormously annoyed if I had to live there. What can one do there? “You don’t hunt, George? ” “When I hunt, it’s for the woman. But surely, Charles, you don’t give to dogs. ” “I went out with the Belvoirs last winter. ” “The Belvoirs? Have you heard how I tricked Rutland? The story has been going around the clubs all these months. I bet him that my game bag would be heavier than his. He weighed three and a half pounds, but I killed his liver-colored pointer and he was obliged to pay. But to talk of hunting, what amusement can one find in running about in the middle of a crowd of filthy peasants galloping by. Each to his own, but with a window at Brooks’s by day and a comfortable corner at the Macao table at Wattier’s, all the needs of my mind and body are satisfied. You heard how I fleeced Montague the brewer? — I wasn’t in town. — I won him eight thousand pounds in one sitting: From now on, Mr. Brewer, I said to him, I will drink your beer. All the rabble of London drinks it, he replied. It was monstrous rudeness, but there are people who do not know how to lose gracefully. Come, I am leaving. I am going to pay that Jew King a little interest. Are you going that way? Well then, good morning. I will see you and your young friend, at the club or the Mail, no doubt? And he walked slowly away to his business. “This young man is destined to take my place,” my uncle said gravely after Brummel had left. “He is very young, he has no ancestors, and he has made his way by his imperturbable aplomb, his natural taste, and the extravagance of his language. He has no equal when it comes to being impertinent with the most perfect politeness.” With his half-smile, his way of raising his eyebrows, he’ll get a bullet in the body one of these mornings. His opinion is already being cited in clubs competing with mine. Bah! Every man has his day, and when I’m convinced that mine is over, Saint James Street will never see me again, because it’s not in my nature to accept second place after just anyone. But now, my nephew, with this brown and blue outfit you can go anywhere. So, if you don’t mind, you’ll take a seat opposite me, and I’ll show you a little of the city. How can I describe everything we saw, everything we did on that charming spring day? For me, it seemed as if I had been transported into a fairy-tale world, and my uncle appeared to me as a benevolent magician in a suit with a wide collar and long tails, who was doing the honors for me. He showed me the streets of the West End, with their fine carriages, their ladies in gaily colored dresses, the men in dark coats, all these people crossing, coming and going with a hurry, crossing again like ants whose nest you had upset with a blow of a cane. My imagination could never have conceived these endless rows of houses and this incessant flow of life which rolled between them. Then we went down by the Strand where the crowd was even denser . We finally crossed Temple Bar, thus entering the City, although my uncle begged me not to speak of it to anyone: he did not want it to be known to the public. There I saw the Stock Exchange and the Bank and Lloyd’s Coffee House with its brown-coated traders, with their harsh faces, the clerks always in a hurry, the enormous horses and the active drivers. It was a very different world from the one we had left, the West End, the world of energy and strength, where the idle and the useless would have found no place. Young as I was, I understood that the power of Great Britain lay there, in that forest of merchant ships, in the bales being hauled up through the shop windows, in those laden carts rumbling over the cobblestone pavements. There, in the City of London, was the main root that had given rise to the Empire, to its magnificently blossoming fortunes. Fashion may change, as may language and manners, but the spirit of enterprise contained in that space of a mile or two square cannot change, for if it withers, all that has sprung from it is doomed to wither with it. We lunched at Stephen’s, the fashionable inn, in Bond Street, where I saw a line of tilburys and saddle horses stretching from the door to the end of the street. From there we went to the Mail, to St. James’s Park, then to Brookes’ where the great Whig club was, and finally back to Wattier’s where people met to play at being fashionable people. Everywhere I saw the same types of stiff-faced men in little waistcoats. All showed the greatest deference to my uncle and, for to be agreeable to him, welcomed me with benevolent tolerance. The talk was always of the kind I had already heard at the Pavilion. They discussed politics, the King’s health. They talked about the Prince’s extravagance, the war, which seemed ready to break out again, horse racing and the ring. I thus realized that eccentricity was also in fashion there, as my uncle had told me, and if the continentals still look at us today as a nation of madmen, it is undoubtedly a tradition that goes back to the time when the only travelers they happened to see belonged to the class with which I then found myself in contact. It was an age of heroism and madness. On the one hand, Bonaparte’s incessant threats had called to the forefront men of war, sailors, statesmen such as Pitt, Nelson, and later Wellington. We were great in arms and we were soon to be great in letters, for Scott and Byron were in their time the greatest powers in Europe. On the other hand, a grain of madness, real or simulated, was a passport that opened doors closed to wisdom or virtue. The man who was able to enter a drawing-room walking on his hands, the man who had filed his teeth in order to whistle like a coachman, the man who always thought aloud in such a way as to keep his guests always in a shiver of apprehension, such were the people who easily managed to place themselves in the forefront of London society. And it was not possible to draw a line between heroism and madness, for very few people were able to escape entirely from the contagion of the times. At a time when the Prime Minister was a heavy drinker, the Leader of the Opposition a debaucher, and the Prince of Wales combined these attributes, it would have been difficult to find a man whose character was equally irreproachable in public and in his private life. At the same time, that era, with all its vices, was an era of energy, and you will be happy if in yours the country produces men like Pitt, Fox, Nelson, Scott, and Wellington. That evening, as I was sitting at Wattier’s, next to my uncle, on one of those red velvet-upholstered seats, I was shown one of those singular types whose fame and eccentricities are not yet forgotten by the contemporary world. The long hall, with its many columns, mirrors, and chandeliers, was crowded with these lively, loud-voiced townspeople, all in dark evening dress, white stockings, cambric shirtfronts, and their little spring hats under their arms. “That old gentleman with the rosy face and spindly legs,” my uncle told me, “is the Marquis of Queensberry. His chaise traveled nineteen miles in an hour in a match with Count Taafe, and he sent a message fifty miles in thirty minutes by passing it from hand to hand in a cricket ball. The man he’s talking to is Sir Charles Bunbury, of the Jockey Club, who had the Prince of Wales excluded from the Newmarket racecourse for declaring and withdrawing the ride of his jockey Sam Chifney. This is Captain Barclay. He knows more about training than anyone in the world , and he covered ninety miles in twenty-one hours. You have only to look at his calves to convince yourself that nature made him for that purpose. There’s another walker here. It’s the man in the flowered waistcoat who’s standing by the fire.” It was the handsome Whalley who made the journey from Jerusalem in a long blue coat, riding boots, and leather gloves.
“Why did he do that, sir?” I asked, quite astonished. “Because it was his fancy,” he said, “and this walk has brought him into society, which is better than having entered Jerusalem. Next is Lord Petersham, the man with the large aquiline nose. He is the man who gets up every day at six o’clock in the evening and has the best-stocked cellar of snuff in Europe. He is the one who ordered his servant to put half a dozen bottles of sherry beside his bed and wake him up the day after. He is talking with Lord Panmure, who can drink six bottles of claret and then argue with a bishop. The thin man, who is teetering on his knees, is General Scott, who lives on toast and water and has won two hundred thousand pounds at whist. He is talking with young Lord Blandfort, who, the other day, paid eighteen hundred pounds for a copy of Boccaccio. Evening, Dudley. ” “Evening, Tregellis.” A haggard-looking middle-aged man had stopped in front of us and was looking me up and down. “Some young greenhorn Charlie picked up in the country,” he murmured. “He doesn’t look like much. Left town, Tregellis? ” “For a few days. ” “Huh!” the man said, turning his sleepy gaze back to my uncle. “He looks awful. He’ll be off to the country feet first one of these days if he doesn’t start to stop.” He nodded and walked away. “You mustn’t look mortified,” my uncle said, smiling. “He’s old Lord Dudley, and he’s a man of many a minds . People used to get angry about it, but they don’t notice it anymore.” Look, last week, as he was dining at Lord Elgin’s, he asked the company to accept his apologies for the poor quality of the food. As you see, he thought he was at his own table. That gives him a special place in society. It is to Lord Harewood that he has clung for the moment. Harewood’s peculiarity is that he copies the prince in everything. One day, the prince had put his tail under the collar of his coat, believing that tails were beginning to go out of fashion. Harewood cut his own. Here is Lumley, the ugly man, as he was called in Paris. The other is Lord Foley, nicknamed number eleven because of the thinness of his legs. “This is Mr. Brummel, sir,” I said. “Yes, he will come to see us soon. This young man certainly has a future.” Do you notice the way he looks around him, from under his eyelids, as if he came out of condescension. The little poses are unbearable, but when they are pushed to the utmost extreme, they become respectable. How is it, George? “Have you heard what they say about Vereker Merton?” asked Brummel, who was walking with one or two other beaus at his heels. “He ran off with his father’s cook and actually married her. ” “What did Lord Merton do? ” “He congratulated them warmly and admitted that he had always misjudged his son’s wit. He is going to live with the young couple and agrees to a large pension, on the condition that the bride continues to practice her profession. By the way, Tregellis, there are rumors that you are about to get married? ” “I don’t think so,” replied my uncle. It would be a mistake to burden a single person with attentions that so many others would be delighted to share. “My point of view absolutely, and expressed in the happiest way !” cried Brummel. “Is it right to break a dozen hearts to give one the intoxication of rapture? I’m leaving next week for the continent. ” “The records,” asked one of his neighbors. “Not so low as that, Pierrepont. No, no, it’s to combine pleasure and instruction. Besides, it is necessary to go to Paris for our small business, and if there is a chance of a new war breaking out, it would be good to ensure a supply. “That is perfectly fair,” said my uncle, who seemed keen not to be outdone in extravagance by Brummel. ” I usually had my sulfur gloves brought from the Palais Royal. In ’93, when the war broke out, I was deprived of them for nine years. If I had not hired a lugger expressly to smuggle them in, I might have been reduced to our tanned leather from England. ” “The English are superior at making a flatiron or a poker, but anything requiring more delicacy is beyond their reach. ” “Our tailors are good,” cried my uncle, “but our fabrics leave something to be desired in taste and variety. The war has made us more rococo than ever. It has prevented us from traveling.” There is nothing like travel for training the intellect. Last year, for example, I came across some new waistcoat material in St. Mark’s Square in Venice. It was yellow with the prettiest red shimmers you could find. How could I have seen it if I hadn’t traveled? I took some with me, and for a while it was all the rage. The Prince fell in love with it too. Yes, he generally conforms to my direction. Last year we dressed so similarly that we were often mistaken for each other. What I say is not to my advantage, but that’s how it was. He often complains that the same things don’t look so good on him as on me. But may I give the answer that presents itself? By the way, George, I didn’t see you at the Marchioness of Dover’s ball. “Yes, I was there and stayed for about a quarter of an hour. I ‘m surprised you didn’t see me there. However, I didn’t go further than the entrance, because unfair preference gives rise to jealousy. ” “I went there at the first hour,” said my uncle, “because I had heard that there would be some very passable debutantes. I am always delighted when I find an opportunity to pay a compliment to one of them. It has happened , but rarely, because I have an ideal that I hold very high. That was how these singular characters chatted. For my part, looking at them in turn, I could not imagine why they did not burst out laughing in each other’s faces. Far from it, their conversation was very serious and strewn with an infinite number of little bows.” Every moment they opened and closed their snuff boxes, unfurled embroidered handkerchiefs . A veritable crowd had gathered around them, and I perceived very well that this conversation had been considered a match between the two men, who were regarded as referees disputing the empire of fashion. The Marquis of Queensberry put an end to it by putting his arm through Brummel’s and leading him away, while my uncle showed off his lace-trimmed cambric shirt-front and waved his cuffs, as if he were satisfied with the figure he had cut in the match. Forty-seven years have passed since I listened to this circle of dandies; and now where are their little hats, their fantastic waistcoats, and their boots, in front of which one could have tied one’s cravat? They led strange lives, those people, and they died strangely, some by their own hands, some in poverty, some in debtors’ prison, and some , as was the case with the most brilliant of them, abroad , in a madhouse. “This is the gaming-room, Rodney,” said my uncle when we We passed through an open doorway that lay in our path. I glanced in and saw a row of small tables covered with green serge, around which sat small groups. At one end was a longer table, from which issued a continual murmur of voices. “You can lose all you like here,” said my uncle, ” unless you have nerve and self-control. Ah! Sir Lothian, I hope luck is on your side?” A tall, thin man with a hard, stern face had advanced a few paces from the room. Beneath his bushy eyebrows twinkled two quick, gray, searching eyes. His coarse features were deeply sunk in his cheeks and temples like water-eaten flint. He was dressed entirely in black, and I noticed that his shoulders swayed as if he had been drinking. “Lost as a demon,” he said abruptly . “At dice ? ” “No , at whist.” “You must not have been badly hurt at that game? ” “Ah! You think so,” he said in a grumbling voice, “betting a hundred pounds a trick and a thousand a point, and losing for five hours straight . Well! What do you say to that?” My uncle was evidently struck by the haggard look on the other man’s face. “I hope you’re not too badly off. ” “Quite badly. I don’t like to talk about it much. By the way, Tregellis, have you found your man for this fight yet? ” “No. ” “It seems to me you’ve been stalling for a long time. You know, you play or you pay. I’ll ask for a forfeit if you don’t get to the point. ” “If you fix a date, I’ll bring my man, Sir Lothian,” my uncle said coldly. “Let’s say four weeks from today, if that’s convenient. ” “Perfectly, May 18th. ” “I hope that by then, I will have changed my name. ” “How so?” asked my astonished uncle. “It may very well be that I become Lord Avon. ” “What! Have you heard anything?” asked my uncle , his voice in which I noticed a tremor. “I have sent my agent to Montevideo. He believes he has proof that Lord Avon died there. In any case, it is absurd to suppose that because a murderer eludes justice… ” “I do not allow you to use that term, Sir Lothian,” said my uncle dryly. “You were there as well as I: you know he was the murderer. ” “I repeat, you will not say so.” Sir Lothian’s small, wicked gray eyes had to lower before the imperious anger that shone in my uncle’s. “Well! Even leaving that aside, it is monstrous that the title and the estates should remain thus in abeyance forever. I am the heir, Tregellis, and I mean to assert my rights. ” “I am, as you well know, Lord Avon’s intimate friend,” said my uncle stiffly. “His disappearance has in no way diminished my affection for him, and until his fate is definitely established, I will do my utmost to see that his rights are equally respected. ” “His rights are to fall at the end of a long rope and have his spine broken,” replied Sir Lothian. And then, suddenly changing his manner, he laid his hand on my uncle’s sleeve. “Come, come, Tregellis! I was his friend as much as you,” he said. “We cannot change the facts, and it is a little late today to be bickering about it. Your invitation remains fixed for Friday evening? ” “Certainly.” “I’ll bring Wilson the Crab with me, and we’ll settle the terms of our little wager. ” “Very well, Sir Lothian. I hope to see you.” They bowed to each other. My uncle paused for a moment to follow him with his eyes as he mingled with the crowd. “A good sportsman, my nephew,” he said, “a bold horseman, the best pistol shot in all England, but… a dangerous man.” Chapter 10. The Men of the Ring. It was at the end of my first week in London that my uncle gave a supper at the Fantasia, as was the custom of gentlemen of that time, who wished to appear in that audience as Corinthians and patrons of sport. He had invited not only the principal champions of the time, but also the fashionable personages who were most interested in the ring: Mr. Flechter Reid, Lord Say and Sele, Sir Lothian Hume, Sir John Lade, Colonel Montgomery, Sir Thomas Apreece, the Honorable Berkeley Craven, and many others. The rumor had already spread through the clubs that the Prince would be present, and invitations were eagerly sought. The Carriage and Horses was a house well known to sportsmen . Its owner was a former professional, a boxer of some calibre. Its furnishings were as primitive as needed to satisfy the most accomplished Bohemian. One of the most curious fashions, which has now disappeared, was that people, blasé about luxury and high life, should seem to find a piquant pleasure in descending to the lowest rungs of the social ladder. Thus, the nightclubs and the frank carpets of Covent Garden and Haymarket often gathered under their smoky vaults an illustrious company. It was a change for these people to turn their backs on Weltjie’s or Ude’s kitchen, on old Q’s chambertin, and go to dinner at a house where commission agents met to eat a slice of beef and wash it down with a pint of ale from a pewter jug. A rude crowd had gathered in the street to see the champions enter. My uncle warned me to watch my pockets as we passed through. Inside was a room hung with pewter-red curtains, with a sanded floor, and walls covered with engravings of boxing and horse-racing scenes. Tables with brown stains from the liquors were placed here and there. Around one of them sat half a dozen formidable-looking fellows , while one of them, the most brutal-looking, perched on it, swinging his legs. Before them was a tray laden with small glasses and tin pots. “The friends were thirsty, sir, so I brought them some ale, to loosen their tongues,” said the innkeeper in a low voice. “I hope you won’t mind. ” “You’ve done very well, Bob. How are you all? How are you, Maddox? And you, Baldwin? Ah! Belcher, I’m delighted to see you . ” The champions rose and took off their hats, except for the fellow sitting on the table, who continued to swing his legs and look very coldly and straight in the face of my uncle. “How are you, Berks? ” “Not too bad, and you? ” “Say, sir, when you talk to a gentleman,” said Belcher, and immediately, giving the table a sharp jerk, he threw Berks almost into my uncle’s arms. “Hey, Jem, none of that!” said Berks gruffly. “I’ll teach you some manners, Joe, since your father forgot to. You’re not here to drink gut -riddles in some filthy hovel, but you’re in the presence of noble people, the latest-fashioned Corinthians, and you must adjust yourself to their manners. ” “I’ve always been considered a noble person’s manners, myself,” said Berks thick-tongued, “but if by By chance I had said or done something I shouldn’t have… “Now, Berks, that’s very well,” cried my uncle, who was anxious to arrange matters and cut short any quarrels at the beginning of the evening. “Here are some more of our friends. How is he, Apreece? And you too, Colonel? Well! Jackson, you seem to have won immensely. Good evening, Lade, I hope Lady Lade didn’t feel too bad from our charming carriage ride? Ah! Mendoza, you look well enough today to throw your hat over the ropes. Sir Lothian, I am glad to see you. You will find some old friends here.” Among the moving crowd of Corinthians and boxers who pressed into the room, I had glimpsed the solid build and beaming face of the champion Harrison. The sight of him was like a breath of Southern Downland air that had drifted into this low-ceilinged, oily room, and I ran to shake his hand. “Ah! Master Rodney. Or should I call you Mr. Stone, as I suppose? You are so changed that no one would recognize you. I can hardly believe it was really you who used to come so often to pull the bellows when little Jim and I were at the anvil. Why, how handsome you are, indeed! ” “What news have you brought from Friar’s Oak?” I asked eagerly. “Your father called at my house to talk about you, and he tells me that the war is about to break out again, and that he hopes to see you in London in a few days, as he is going here to visit Lord Nelson and look out for a ship. Your mother is well. I saw her on Sunday at church. ” “And Little Jim?” Champion Harrison’s good-natured face darkened. “He had seriously intended to come here tonight, but I had reasons for not wanting him to, so there is a cloud between us. This is the first, and it weighs on me, Master Rodney. Between us, I have very good reasons for wanting him to stay with me, and I am sure that with his pride of character and his ideas, he would never be able to regain his equilibrium once he had had a taste of London. I left him there, with enough work to keep him occupied until I returned to him.” A tall man of superb proportions, and very elegantly dressed, was advancing towards us. He looked at us fixedly, quite surprised, and held out his hand to my interlocutor. “What? Jack Harrison? A real resurrection. Where are you from? ” “Glad to see you, Jackson,” said my friend. ” You look as young and as strong as ever.” “Why, yes, thank you. I laid down the belt the day I couldn’t find anyone to wrestle with, and I started giving lessons. ” “And I’m a blacksmith, down there in Sussex. ” “I’ve often wondered why you didn’t have your eye on my belt. I tell you frankly, man to man, I’m very glad you didn’t. ” “Well! It’s very fine of you to say so, Jackson. I might have tried it, but the good woman opposed it. She’s been an excellent wife to me, and I haven’t a word to say against her. But I feel a little isolated, for all these young men have appeared since my time. ” “You could beat a few more of them,” said Jackson, feeling my friend’s biceps. “Never saw a better star in a twenty-four-foot ring. It would be a real treat to see you grapple with some of these young people. Would you like me to enter you against them?” Harrison’s eyes sparkled at the thought, but he shook his head. “It’s no use, Jackson, I promised my old woman. Here’s Belcher. Isn’t that that fine-looking young fellow with the flashy coat? ” “Yes, that’s Jem, you haven’t seen him, he’s a gem. ” “I heard so. Who’s that young fellow standing near him? He looks like a solid fellow to me. ” “He’s a newcomer from the West. They call him Crab Wilson. ” Harrison looked at him with interest. “I’ve heard of him. They’re having a match over him, aren’t they? ” “Yes, Sir Lothian Hume, the thin-faced gentleman over there, has him booked against Sir Charles Tregellis’s man. We’ll hear about that match tonight, I hear. Jem Belcher expects some fine exploits from Crab Wilson. This is Belcher’s brother Tom.” He’s looking for an engagement, too. They say he’s quicker than Jem with the gloves, but doesn’t hit as hard. I was just talking about your brother, Jem. “The boy will make his way,” said Belcher, who had come up. ” At present he’s playing rather than fighting, but when he ‘s thrown his strangles, I’ll hold him against any of them on the list. There are as many champions in Bristol at this moment as there are bottles in a cellar. We ‘ve received two more—Gully and Pearse—that will make your London lovebirds wish they’d soon return to their West Country. ” “Here’s the Prince,” said Jackson, to a confused buzz from the door. ” I saw George come roaring forward with a kindly smile on his good-natured face. My uncle bade him welcome and brought some Corinthians to present to him. “We’ll be in trouble, old fellow,” Belcher said to Jackson. “Berks drinks gin straight from the jug, and you know what a pig he is when he’s drunk. ” “You’ve got to put a cap on him, Dad,” said several of the other fighters. “When he’s sober, you can’t call him a charmer, but when he’s loaded, there’s no putting up with him. ” Jackson, because of his prowess and tact , had been chosen as chief organizer of everything concerning the Boxing Corps, which usually referred to him as Commander-in-Chief. He and Belcher approached the table on which Berks was perched. The rascal’s already glowed, his eyes heavy and bloodshot. “You’ve got to behave yourself tonight, Berks,” said Jackson. “The Prince is here, and— ” “I haven’t seen him yet,” said Berks, staggering from the table . “Where is he, boss?” Go and tell him Joe Berks would be very proud to shake his hand. ‘No, not so, Joe,’ said Jackson, laying his hand on Berks’s chest as he made an effort to push through the crowd. ‘You’d better keep to your place. Or we’ll put you in a place where you can make as much noise as you like. ‘ ‘Where is that place, boss? ‘ ‘In the street, by the window. We mean to have a quiet evening , as Jem Belcher and I will show you, if you presume to show us off from your Whitechapel towers. ‘ ‘Easy there, boss,’ growled Berks, ‘surely I’ve always had a reputation for behaving myself properly. ‘ ‘That’s what I always said, Berks, and try to behave as if you were. But now our supper is ready. The Prince and Lord Sele enter. Two at a time, my lads, and don’t forget whose company you’re in.’ The meal was served in a large room where the British flag and numerous mottoes decorated the walls.
The tables were arranged to form the three sides of a square. My uncle occupied the center of the largest, and had the Prince on his right, Lord Sele on his left. He had had the wise precaution of allocating the places beforehand, so as to divide the gentlemen among the professionals, and to avoid the danger of placing two enemies side by side, as that of placing a man who had recently been vanquished next to his conqueror. As for me, I had the champion Harrison on one side, and on the other a stout, broad-faced fellow who informed me that his name was Bill War, that he was the proprietor of a public house at the Unique Tonne in Jermyn Street, and that he was one of the toughest champions on the list. “It’s my meat that’s ruining me, sir,” he said. “It’s growing on my body with surprising rapidity. I should fight at 13 stone eight ounces, and I’ve come in at 17. Business is the cause.” I have to stay behind the counter all day, and there’s no way I can turn down a round for fear of upsetting a customer. That’s been the downfall of many a champion before me. “You should take my profession,” said Harrison. “I became a blacksmith, and I haven’t gained half a stone in fifteen years. ” “Back home, some take up one trade, some another , but the majority run bars for themselves. ” “Look at Will Wood, whom I beat in forty rounds in a snowstorm down there, near Navestock. He drives a hired coach. Little Firby, that rogue, is a waiter now. Dick Humphries—he’s a coal merchant , he always wanted to be distinguished. George Ingleston is a porter for a brewery.” But when you live in the country, there’s at least one thing you don’t risk, and that’s having young Corinthians and starlings from good families always in front of you, provoking you to your face. This was the last inconvenience to which, in my opinion, a professional famous for his victories would be exposed, but several bovine-faced fellows, who were on the other side of the table, nodded in agreement. “You’re right, Bill,” said one of them. “Nobody has as much trouble with them as I do. One fine evening, there they come into my bar, heated by wine. You’re Tom Owen, the boxer,” said one of them. “At your service, sir,” I answer. “Well, catch that,” he said, “and there’s a slap on the nose, or they slap me with the back of their hand, across the tankards, or it’s something else.” So they can go and shout everywhere that they’ve beaten Tom Owen. “Don’t you uncork them a few bottles as a reward?” asked Harrison. “I never argue with them; I say to them: Now, gentlemen, my profession is that of a boxer and I don’t fight for the love of it, any more than a doctor drugs you for nothing, any more than a butcher gives you his rump steaks as a present. Give me a small purse, my master, and I promise to do you honor. But don’t imagine that you’re going to walk out of here and get your throats stuffed for free by a middle-weight champion. ” “That’s how I do it too, Tom,” said his fat neighbor. “If they put a guinea on the bar—they never fail to do so when they’ve been drinking a lot—I give them what I think is worth a guinea and collect the money. ” “But if they don’t— ” “Well!” In this case, it is an ordinary attack on a loyal subject of Her Majesty, one William War. I drag them before the magistrate the next day. It costs them eight days or twenty shillings. Meanwhile, supper was going on at a brisk pace. It was one of those solid, uncomplicated meals that were fashionable in our grandfathers’ time, and that will explain to you, some of you, why they never knew these relatives. Large slices of beef, saddles of mutton, smoked tongues, pies of veal and ham, turkeys, chickens, geese, all sorts of vegetables, a parade of fiery sherries, large ales, such was the mainstay of the feast. It was the same meat and the same cuisine before which , fourteen centuries before, their Norwegian and German ancestors might have sat down . And to tell the truth, as I contemplated through the steam of the dishes these rows of fierce and coarse mugs, these broad shoulders, which rounded over the table, I could have believed that I was attending one of those copious feasts of old, where the savage guests gnawed the meat to the bone, then, in their murderous games, threw their remains at the heads of their captives. Here and there, the paler face and aquiline features of a Corinthian more closely recalled the Norman type, but for the most part these stupid, heavy, plump-cheeked faces, faces of men for whom life was a battle, evoked the most exact sensation possible in our midst, of what these fierce pirates, these corsairs who carried us in their flanks, must have been like. And yet, when I examined attentively, one by one, each of the men I had before me, it was easy for me to see that the English, although they were ten to one, had not been the only masters of the field, but that other races had shown themselves capable of producing fighters worthy of measuring themselves with the strongest. Without doubt, there was no one in the audience who could compare with Jackson or Belcher, for beauty of proportion and bravery. The first was remarkable for his magnificent structure , the narrowness of his waist, the Herculean breadth of his shoulders. The second had the grace of an ancient Greek statue, a head whose beauty more than one sculptor would have wanted to reproduce. He had in his loins, his limbs, his shoulder, that length, that delicacy of lines which gave him the agility, the activity of the panther. Already, while I was looking at him, I thought I saw on his face something like a tragic shadow. I had a sort of presentiment of the event which was to occur a few months later, that racket ball whose impact caused him to lose his sight forever on one side. But, with his proud heart, he did not let his title be snatched from him without a fight. Even today you can read the details of that fight where the valiant champion, having only one eye and thus unable to judge the distance accurately, struggled for thirty-five minutes against his young and formidable adversary, and then, in the bitterness of his defeat, was heard to express his grief over the friend who had supported him with all his fortune. If, reading this, you are not moved, it is because you must lack in you something indispensable to make a man of you. But, if there were no men around the table capable of standing up to Jackson or Jem Belcher, there were others of a different race, of a different type, possessing qualities which made them dangerous boxers. A little further into the room, I saw the black face and curly head of Bill Richmond wearing the red and gold livery of a footman . He was destined to be the predecessor of the Molineaux, the Suttons, of that whole series of black boxers who have shown that muscular vigor, that insensitivity to pain which characterizes the African and gives him a very special advantage in the sport of the ring. He could also boast of having been the first American by birth who had won laurels in the English ring. I also saw the fine-featured face of Dan Mendoza the Jew, who had just retired from active life. He left behind him a reputation for elegance and accomplished science, which since then, to this day, has not been surpassed. The only criticism that could be made of him was that he did not strike with enough force. This was certainly a reproach that would not have been made of his neighbor, whose elongated face, aquiline nose, and black, shining eyes clearly indicated that he belonged to the same old race. This one was the formidable Sam, the Dutchman who fought at nine stone six ounces, but nevertheless possessed such vigor in his blows that later his admirers consented to sponsor him against the fourteen stone champion, on condition that they were both tied astride a bench. Half a dozen other pale-skinned Jewish figures proved with what ardor the Jews of Houndsditch and Whitechapel had taken up this sport of their adopted country, and that in this, as in other more serious careers of human activity, they were capable of measuring themselves with the strongest. It was my neighbor War who showed the greatest eagerness to introduce me to these celebrities, whose reputation had resounded throughout our smallest Sussex villages. “This,” he said, “is Andrew Gamble, the Irish champion. It was he who beat Noah James of the Guard, and who was afterwards almost killed by Jem Belcher in the hollow of the common at Wimbledon, close by the Abbershaw gallows. The two who come after him are also Irishmen, Jack O’Donnell and Bill Ryan. When you find a good Irishman, you could not find anything better, but they are terribly treacherous.” That little fellow with the sneering face is Cab Baldwin, the fruiterer, the one they call the pride of Westminster. He’s only five foot seven and weighs only nine stone five, but he’s got the heart of a giant. He’s never been beaten, and there’s nobody within a stone of his weight who can beat him, except only Dutch Sam. Here’s George Maddox, another of the same brood, one of the best boxers that ever wore a coat. That decent-looking fellow who eats with a fork, the one with the shape of a Corinthian, except that the hump on his nose isn’t quite in place, is Dick Humphries, the same one who was the Cock of the Middleweights until Mendoza came along and cut off his mohawk. You see that other one with the grizzled head and the scars on his face? “Why, that’s Tom Faulkner, the cricketer,” cried Harrison, looking in the direction War’s finger was pointing. “He’s the most agile player in the Midlands, and when he was in full swing, there were hardly any boxers in England who could stand up to him. ” “You’re right, Jack Harrison. He was one of the three who came forward when the three champions of Birmingham challenged the three champions of London. He’s an evergreen , that Tom. Well, he was over fifty-five when he challenged and beat in fifty minutes Jack Hornhill, who had enough stamina to overcome many a youngster. It’s better to give points in weight than in years. ” “Youth will have its due,” said a quavering voice from the other side of the table. “Yes, my masters, the young will have their due.” The man who had just spoken was the most extraordinary personage there was in that room where there were such extraordinary ones. He was old, very old, so old in fact that he was beyond comparison, and no one could have guessed his age from his mummified skin and fish-like eyes. A few sparse gray hairs were scattered across his yellowed skull. As for his features, they had scarcely anything human about them, so deformed were they, for the deep wrinkles and flaccid bags of extreme old age had been added to a face that had always been grossly ugly and that many blows had finished kneading and crushing. From the beginning of the meal, I had noticed this being, who leaned his chest against the edge of the table, as if to find necessary support there, and who peeled, with a trembling hand, the dishes placed before him. But, little by little, as his neighbors made him drink copiously, his shoulders regained their shape. His back stiffened , his eyes lit up, and he looked around him, at first with surprise, as if he did not quite remember how he had come there, then with an expression of truly growing interest . He listened, making a kind of ear trumpet with his hand, to the conversations of those around him. “That’s old Buckhorse,” said Champion Harrison in a low voice. ” He was just like that, twenty years ago, when I first entered the ring. There was a time when he was the terror of London. ” “Yes, he was,” said Bill War. “He fought like a ten- horned stag, and he had such stamina that he would let the first son of a family come along and throw him to the ground with one blow for half a crown. He didn’t have to spare his face, you see, for he was always the ugliest man in England. But it’s been nearly sixty years since they split his ear , and it took more than one beating to make him realize that his strength was leaving him. ” “Youth will have its reward, my masters,” purred the old man , shaking his head piteously. “Fill his glass,” said War. “Hey, Tom, pour old Buckhorse a drop of gut-rot.” Warm his heart. The old man poured a glass of gin down his wrinkled throat. It had a wonderful effect on him. A gleam shone in each of his dull eyes. A slight flush appeared on his waxen cheeks. Opening his toothless mouth, he suddenly gave a very peculiar sound, silvery like that of a musical bell. Hoarse peals of laughter from the whole company responded. Flaming faces leaned forward one after the other to catch a glimpse of the veteran. “It’s Buckhorse,” they cried, “it’s Buckhorse resuscitated. ” “Laugh if you like, my masters,” he cried in his Lewkner Lane jargon , raising his two thin, vein-covered hands. It won’t be long before you see my claws that struck Figg’s ball and Jack Broughton’s and Harry Gray’s and many other famous boxers who fought for their bread, before your fathers were able to eat their soup. The company began to laugh again and to encourage the veteran, with shouts in which the mocking intonation was not devoid of sympathy. “Serve them well, Buckhorse, fix them up. Tell them how the little ones used to do it in your day.” The old gladiator cast a most disdainful look around him. “Well, from what I see,” he said in his high, quavering falsetto, “there are some of you who can’t get rid of a fly off meat. You would have made very good maids, most of you, but you took the wrong road when you entered the ring.” “Give him a swat by the mouth,” said a hoarse voice. “Joe Berks,” said Jackson, “I’d spare the executioner the trouble of breaking your neck, if His Royal Highness weren’t present. ” “That may well be so, boss,” said the half-drunken rascal, and he staggered to his feet. “If I’ve said anything unbecoming not to a proper gentleman… “Sit down, Berks,” my uncle cried in such an imperious tone that the fellow fell back in his chair. “Well! Which of you would look Tom Slack in the face,” chirped the old man, “or Jack Broughton, he who told the old Duke of Cumberland that he would undertake to demolish the King of Prussia’s guard, at the rate of one man a day, every day of the month in the year, until he had finished off the whole regiment, and the smallest of those guards was six feet long. Which of you would have been able to recover after the blow with the rag that the Italian gondolier gave Bob Wittaker? ” “What was it, Buckhorse?” cried several voices. “He came here from a foreign country, and he was so large that he had to turn sideways to fit through a doorway.” He was forced to do it on my word, and he was so strong that wherever he hit, the bone had to fall apart, and when he had broken two or three jaws, it was thought that there would be no one in the country able to rise up against him. So the king got involved. He sent one of his gentlemen to Figg and said to him: There is a little fellow who breaks a bone every time he hits, and it does the lads of London little credit if they let him go without giving him a beating. So Figg got up and said: I don’t know, my master. He can beat the jaws of any of his countrymen, but I will bring him a lad from London whose jaw he won’t break even if he used a sledgehammer. I was with Figg at Slaughter’s Coffee House, which existed then, when he said this to the King’s gentleman: and I ‘ll go, yes, I’ll go. After these words, he again gave that singular cry which resembled the sound of a bell. Whereupon the Corinthians and the boxers again began to laugh and applaud him. “His Highness… that is to say, the Earl of Chester… would be delighted to hear your story to the end, Buckhorse,” said my uncle, to whom the Prince had just spoken in a low voice. “Well, Your Royal Highness, this is what happened. When day came, everyone assembled in Figg’s amphitheater, the same one that was at Tottenham Court. Bob Wittaker was there, and that great Italian gondolier was there too. There were all the fine people there too. There were more than twenty thousand of them crammed together, so much so that, seeing their heads, you would have thought they were potatoes in a barrel, forming rows on the benches all around. And Jack Figg was there himself to see that they played fair in this fight, with a foreign rascal. All the people were crowded in a circle, except that in one place there was a passage so that the gentlemen of the nobility could go and take their places. As for the ring, it was made of timber, as was the custom then, and raised a man’s height above the heads of the people. Well! When Bob had been put in front of this Italian giant, I said to him: Bob! Give him a good blow in the bellows, because I had seen that he was as swollen as a cheesecake. So, Bob marches on and as he advances towards the foreigner, he receives a hard blow on the ball. I heard the dull thud it made and I heard something go by quite close to me, but when I looked, the Italian was feeling his muscles in the middle of the stage, but as for Bob, there was no way of seeing him, no more than if he had never been there. The audience was hanging on the old boxer’s every word. “Well!” cried a dozen voices, “well, Buckhorse! Did he swallow him, what? ” “Well, my boys, that’s just what I was wondering when all of a sudden I saw two legs sticking up in the air, in the middle of the audience, a good distance away. I recognized the Bob’s legs, because he wore a sort of yellow breeches with blue ribbons at the knees. Blue was his color. So, we put him back on the right track. Yes, we cleared a path for him and applauded him to give him courage, although he had never lacked it. At first he was so dazzled that he didn’t know whether he was in the church or in the Horse Trader’s prison, but when I bit him on both ears, he shook himself and came to. We ‘ll get back to it, Buck, he said. He’s made an impression on you, I said. And he winked, or what was left of it. Then the Italian threw his fist again, but Bob jumped aside and punched him right in the meat with all the strength God had given him. — Well? Well? — Well! The Italian had received that right on the throat and it bent him double like a two-foot measure. Then he straightened up and let out a shout. You’ve never heard Gloria! Hallelujah! sung with that force. And there he was, with a bound, leaping down from the platform and taking the free passage with all the speed of his legs. The whole audience got up and left with him as fast as they could, but we laughed and laughed! The whole kennel was full of people three abreast, holding their sides as if they were afraid of breaking in two. Well, we chased him along Holborn to Fleet Street, then to Cheapside, beyond the Stock Exchange, and we didn’t catch him until we reached the embarkation office where he was asking what time the first departure for abroad was. The laughter redoubled, and glasses were clinked on the table when old Buckhorse had finished his story. I saw the Prince of Wales hand something to the waiter, who came up and slipped it into the veteran’s hand. He spat on it before stuffing it into his pocket. Meanwhile, the table had been cleared. It was now strewn with bottles and glasses, and long clay pipes and packets of tobacco were being distributed. My uncle did not smoke, because he believed the habit blackened the teeth, but a good many Corinthians, and the Prince was among the first, set an example by lighting their pipes. All restraint was gone. The professional boxers, fired up by the wine, called out loudly to each other from one end of the table to the other, shouting their greetings of welcome to their friends at the other end of the room. The amateurs, joining in unison with the company, were hardly less noisy and, discussing aloud the merits of each other, criticized the professionals’ manner of fighting to the faces of the professionals and made bets on future encounters.
In the middle of this sabbath, a rap sounded authoritatively on the table. My uncle rose to speak . As he stood, his pale and calm face, his body so well shaped, I had never seen him in such an advantageous aspect for him, for with all his elegance, he seemed to possess an undisputed empire over these fierce fellows. He would have said a hunter who comes and goes without a care, in the middle of a pack that leaps and barks. He expressed his pleasure at seeing so many fine sportsmen gathered together, and acknowledged the honor that had been done both to his guests and to himself by the presence, that evening, of an illustrious personage whom he was to mention under the name of the Earl of Chester. He was sorry that the season had not permitted him to serve game on the table, but there was such fine game around it that its absence was not regretted. Applause and laughter. According to him, the sport of the ring had contributed to developing that contempt for pain and danger which had so often contributed to the salvation of the country in times past and which would become necessary again if he were to believe what he had heard. If an enemy landed on our shores, then, with our army so small, we would be obliged to rely on the bravery natural to the race, bravery bent to perseverance by the sight and practice of manly sports. In times of peace also, the rules of the ring had been useful, in that they consolidated the principles of fair play, in that they made public opinion hostile to the use of the knife or kicks so widespread abroad. He concluded by asking that a toast be made to the success of the Fantasy, associating with this toast the name of John Jackson, the worthy representative and type of what was most admirable in English boxing. Jackson having replied with a promptness and aptness that more than one public man could have envied, my uncle rose once more. “We are gathered tonight,” he said, “not only to celebrate the past glories of the professional ring, but also to arrange future encounters. It would be easy, now that the bosses and the boxers are grouped under this roof, to settle some agreements. I myself gave an example by making a match with Sir Lothian Hume, the terms of which will be communicated to you by this gentleman. ” Sir Lothian rose, a paper in his hand. “Your Royal Highness and gentlemen, here are the terms in a few words . My man, Wilson the Crab, of Gloucester, who has never fought for a prize, engages in a match to be held on May 18 of this year with any man, regardless of weight, who has been chosen by Sir Charles Tregellis. Sir Charles Tregellis’s choice is limited to a man under twenty or over thirty-five, so as to exclude Belcher and the other candidates for championship honors. The stakes are two thousand pounds to one thousand pounds.” Two hundred pounds will be paid by the winner to his man. Whoever backs out, pays. It was a curious thing to see with what gravity all these people, boxers and amateurs, inclined their heads and judged the conditions of the match. “I am informed,” said Sir John Lade, “that Wilson the Crab is twenty-three years old, and that, without ever having contested a prize in a regular fight, in the public ring, he has nevertheless competed for stakes, within the ropes, on many occasions. ” “I have seen him there six or seven times,” said Belcher. “It is precisely for this reason, Sir John, that I bet two to one in his favor. ” “May I ask,” said the Prince, “what is Wilson’s height and weight exactly ? ” “Your Royal Highness, it is five feet eleven inches and thirteen stone ten. ” “That is a height and weight sufficient for any biped,” said Jackson amidst the approving murmurs of the professionals. “Read the rules of the fight, Sir Lothian. ” “The fight will take place on Tuesday, May 18, at ten o’clock in the morning, at a place to be fixed later. The ring will be a square twenty feet square. Neither combatant will retire unless a decisive blow is recognized as such by the referees. There will be three of them, chosen from the field, two for ordinary cases, and one to decide between them. Is that in accordance with your wishes, Sir Charles?” My uncle nodded. “Have you anything to say, Wilson? ” The young pugilist, who was of singular build in his gaunt, wiry frame, with a rugged, bony face, ran his fingers through his short hair. “If it pleases you, sir,” he said with the slight lisp of the West Country folk, “a ring twenty feet square is a little narrow for a man of thirteen stone.” Another murmur of approval among the professionals. “How much would you require, Wilson? ” “Twenty-four, Sir Lothian. ” “Have you any objection, Sir Charles? ” “None. ” “Is there anything else you would like to ask, Wilson? ” “If it pleases you, sir, I should not be sorry to know who I am to fight. ” “As I see, you have not yet officially chosen your champion, Sir Charles. ” “I intend to do so only on the morning of the fight. I believe the very wording of our wager grants me that right. ” “Certainly, you may exercise it. ” “That is my intention, and I should be immensely obliged to Mr. Berkeley Craven, if he would accept the deposit of the stakes.” That gentleman having hastened to give his consent, all the formalities involved in these modest tournaments were completed. And then, these sanguine, vigorous men, being heated by wine, exchanged angry glances from one side of the tables to the other. The light penetrating through the gray spirals of tobacco smoke illuminated the wild, angular faces of the Jews and the reddened faces of the rough Saxons. The old quarrel which had once arisen as to whether Jackson had committed a foul act in taking Mendoza by the hair in his fight at Hornchurch, flared up again. Sam the Dutchman threw a shilling on the table and offered to fight the glory of Westminster, if he would dare to maintain that Mendoza had been fairly defeated. Joe Berks, who had become more and more noisy and aggressive as the evening advanced, attempted to mount the table, uttering horrible blasphemies, to come to blows with an old Jew named Yussef the Fighter, who had thrown himself headlong into the discussion. It would not have required much more for the supper to have ended in a general and bitter battle, and it was only through the efforts of Jackson, Belcher, and Harrison, and other colder, more settled men, that we did not witness a melee. Then, this question once removed, there arose in its place that of the rival claims to the championships of different weights. Angry words were again exchanged. Challenges were in the air. There was no definite line between light, middle , and heavyweights, and yet it was an important matter in the classification of a boxer whether he would be rated as the heaviest of the light-weights, or the lightest of the heavyweights. One posed as the champion by ten stone; the other was ready to accept any match at eleven stone, but refused to go to twelve, which would have resulted in him being pitted against the invincible Jem Belcher. Faulkner presented himself as the champion of the veterans, and even through the tumult the singular ring of old Buckhorse’s bell was heard, declaring that he challenged any fighter over eighty years of age and weighing less than seven stone. But in spite of these clearings, there was a storm in the air. Champion Harrison had just whispered to me that he was absolutely certain we should never get through the evening without unpleasantness. He had advised me, in case things took a nasty turn, to take refuge under the table, when the landlord came in hurriedly and handed my uncle a note. He read it and passed it to the Prince, who returned it with a raised eyebrow and a gesture of surprise. Then my uncle stood up, holding the slip of paper and smiling : “Gentlemen,” he said, “there is a stranger downstairs waiting and expressing a desire to engage in a decisive fight with the best boxer in the hall.” Chapter 11. The Fight Under the Carriage Hall. This concise announcement was followed by a moment of silent surprise and then a general burst of laughter. One might argue about who was the champion of each weight, but it was absolutely certain that the champions of all weights were seated around the tables. A challenge bold enough to address itself to everyone, without exception, without distinction of weight or age, was of such a nature that it could only be seen as a farce, but it was a farce that might cost the joker dearly. “Is it for real?” asked my uncle. “Yes, Sir Charles,” replied the innkeeper. “The man is waiting downstairs. ” “He’s a kid,” cried several boxers, “some boy making us pose. ” “Don’t believe it,” replied the innkeeper. “He’s a Corinthian in the latest fashion, judging by his dress, and he speaks seriously, or I don’t know anything about men.” My uncle conversed for a few moments in a low voice with the Prince of Wales. “Well!” Gentlemen, he said afterward, the night is not very far advanced, and if there is any one in the company who wishes to show his talent, you cannot find a better opportunity. “What is his weight, Bill?” asked Jem Belcher. “He is nearly six feet tall, and I shall rate him at thirteen stone when he is undressed. ” “Heavyweight. Who’s going to take him?” cried Jackson. Everybody wanted him, from the nine-stone men down to Dutch Sam. The hall rang with the hoarse shouts of those who claimed to be qualified for the choice. A battle, when they were warmed by wine and ripe for battle, and especially a battle before such select company, before the Prince himself, was a chance that did not often present itself to them. Only Jackson, Belcher, Mendoza, and a few other old and famous men remained silent, judging it beneath their dignity to accept an engagement thus improvised. “Well! But you can’t all fight him, Jackson remarked, when the confusion of tongues had subsided. It’s for the president to choose. “Your Royal Highness may have a champion in view,” my uncle asked. “By Jove,” said the Prince, whose face was getting redder and his eyes duller, “I would run myself if my position were different. You’ve seen me with the Jackson gloves. You know my form? ” “I’ve seen Your Royal Highness,” said Jackson, like a good courtier, “and I’ve felt Your Royal Highness’s blows. ” “Perhaps Jem Belcher would consent to give us a séance.” Belcher shook his handsome head, smiling. “Here’s my brother Tom here, who never bled in London. He’d make a fairer match. ” “Give him to me,” yelled Joe Berks. “I’ve waited all this evening for a case, and I’ll fight anyone who seeks to take my place. That game is mine, my masters.” Leave it to me if you insist on seeing how a calf’s head is prepared . If you put Tom Belcher before me, I’ll fight Tom Belcher, and afterward, Jem Belcher or Bill Belcher or any Belcher who came from Bristol. It was clear that Berks had gotten himself into such a state that he had to fight someone. His coarse face was tense. The veins stood out on his low forehead. His wicked gray eyes glared maliciously from one man to another, seeking a quarrel. His big red hands were clenched into knobbly fists. He brandished one menacingly as he cast his drunken gaze around the tables . “I suppose, gentlemen, you will agree with me that Joe Berks will be the better for a little fresh air and exercise,” said my uncle. “With His Highness’s assistance Royal and company, I will designate him as our champion on this occasion. “You do me great honor,” cried the individual, who stood up staggering and began to take off his coat. “If I don’t swallow it in five minutes, may I never see Shroshire again. ” “Just a moment, Berks,” cried several amateurs. “Where will the fight take place? ” “Where you please, my masters, I will fight in a sawyer ‘s pit or on top of a coach, as you please. Put us foot to foot and I will take care of the rest. ” “They cannot fight here, in the middle of this congestion. Where then to?” said my uncle. “Upon my soul, Tregellis,” cried the Prince, “I believe our friend the unknown would have his opinion to give on the matter. It would be completely disrespectful to him not to leave him the choice of conditions. ” “You are right, Sir, he must be brought up.” “That’s easy enough, for he was just crossing the threshold. I glanced around and saw a tall young man , very well dressed, wearing a large brown traveling coat and a black felt hat. A second later, he turned around, and I convulsively seized Champion Harrison’s arm. “Harrison,” I said in a panting voice, “that’s little Jim.” And yet from the first moment it had occurred to me that the thing was possible, even probable. I believe it had also occurred to Harrison, for I noticed a serious, then agitated expression on his face, as soon as the question of a stranger who was downstairs was mentioned. At that moment, as soon as the murmur of surprise and admiration caused by Jim’s face and appearance had subsided , Harrison rose, gesticulating vehemently. “That’s my nephew Jim, gentlemen,” he cried. “He’s not twenty years old, and if he’s here, it’s not my fault. ” “Leave him alone, Harrison,” cried Jackson. “He’s old enough to answer for himself. ” “This matter has gone far enough,” said my uncle. “Harrison, I think you’re too good a sportsman to object to your nephew proving that he takes after his uncle. ” “He’s very different from me,” cried Harrison, in the throes of embarrassment. “But I’ll tell you, gentlemen, what I can do. I had made up my mind never to set foot in a ring again. I’ll gladly measure myself against Joe Berks, just to entertain the company for a moment. ” Little Jim stepped forward and laid his hand on the champion’s shoulder. “It must be done, uncle,” he said in a low voice, but so that I could hear him. “I’m sorry to go against your wishes, but my mind is made up, and I’ll see it through. ” Harrison shook his broad shoulders. “Jim, Jim, you have no idea what you’re doing. But I’ve heard you say that before, and I know it always ends with what pleases you. ” “I hope, Harrison, you’ve given up your opposition?” my uncle asked. “Can I take his place? ” “You wouldn’t want it said that I made a challenge and left it to someone else to keep?” Jim said quietly. ” This is my only chance. For heaven’s sake, don’t get in my way.” The blacksmith’s large, usually impassive face was convulsed by the struggle of conflicting emotions. At last, he slammed his fist sharply on the table. “It’s not my fault,” he cried, “it had to happen and it did. Jim, for heaven’s sake, my boy, remember your distance and keep within easy reach of a man who could pay you back sixteen pounds. ” “I was certain Harrison wouldn’t be stubborn when it comes to sport,” said my uncle. “We’re glad you’re come, for we can agree and make the necessary arrangements for your sportsmanlike challenge. “Who am I going to fight?” said Jim, glancing at the people present, who were all standing at the moment. “Young man, you’ll see who you’re dealing with before the game is fully engaged,” shouted Berks, pushing his way unevenly through the crowd. “You’ll want a friend to swear he recognizes you before I’ve finished, you see?” Jim looked him up and down, and disgust was written all over his face. “Surely you’re not going to pit me against a drunken man ?” he said. “Where’s Jem Belcher? ” “Here I am, young man. ” “I’d be glad to try my hand with you, if I can. ” “My boy, you have to work your way up to me by degrees. You don’t jump up the ladder in one leap, you climb it step by step. ” Show yourself worthy of being an opponent for me, and I will give you your turn. “I am much obliged to you. ” “And I like your looks, I wish you well,” said Belcher, holding out his hand. They were quite similar to each other, both in figure and proportions, except that the champion of Bristol was a few years older. There was a murmur of admiration when these two tall, slender bodies, with sharp , sharp features, were seen side by side. “Have you chosen some place for the fight?” asked my uncle. “I leave it to you, sir,” said Jim. “Why don’t we go to Five’s Court?” suggested Sir John. “Very well, let’s go to Five’s Court.” But that did not suit the innkeeper at all. He saw in this happy incident an opportunity to reap a new harvest in the pockets of the spendthrift company. “If you don’t mind,” he cried, “there’s no need to go so far. My carriage house behind the yard is empty, and you’ll never find a better place to bump into each other. ” A unanimous exclamation arose in favor of the carriage house, and those near the door slipped away in the hope of getting the best seats. My fat neighbor, Bill War , pulled Harrison aside. “I’d prevent it if I were you .” “If I could, I would. I don’t want him to fight at all. But once he gets something into his head, it’s impossible to get it out of him. All the fights the pugilist had, if you put them together, wouldn’t have put him in such a turmoil. ” “Then take care of him and take the sponge when things start to go wrong. You know Joe Berks ‘s record ?” “He’s been going since I left. ” “Well! He’s a terror. Only Belcher can beat him. You see the man yourself: six feet and fourteen stone. And that’s the devil in his body. Belcher beat him twice, but the second time he had to work hard. ” “Well, well, we’ve got to go through it. You haven’t seen little Jim flex his muscles. If you did, you’d think better of his chances. He was only sixteen when he thrashed the Cock of the South Downs, and he’s come a long way since then . ” The company poured out of the gate and clattered down the steps. So we mingled with the current. It was a fine rain falling, and the yellow light from the windows made the cobblestone paving of the yard gleam. How good it was to breathe that fresh, damp air, coming out of the stinking atmosphere of the supper-room. At the other end of the courtyard, a wide door opened, which stood out vividly in the light of the lanterns inside. Through this door entered the stream of amateurs and fighters, jostling in their eagerness to get into the front row. For my part, with my rather small stature, I would have seen nothing, if I had not encountered an upturned bucket on which I planted myself, leaning against the wall. The room was large with a wooden floor and a square opening in the roof. This opening was festooned with heads, those of grooms and stable boys, who looked down from the harness room above. A carriage lamp hung at each corner, and a very large stable lantern hung at the end of a rope attached to a main beam. A coil of rope had been brought in, and four men, under Jackson’s direction, had been posted to hold it. “How much space do you give them?” asked my uncle. “Twenty-four feet, for they are both very tall, sir. ” “Very well. And half a minute after each round, I suppose.” I will be one of the referees, if Sir Lothian Hume will be the other, and you, Jackson, will hold the watch and serve as supreme referee. All preparations were made with as much speed as accuracy by these experienced men. Mendoza and Sam the Dutchman were put in charge of Berks. Little Jim was entrusted to the care of Belcher and Jack Harrison. Sponges, towels, and a bladder full of brandy were passed from hand to hand, to be placed at the disposal of the seconds. “Here’s your man,” cried Belcher. “Come, Berks, or we’ll get you.” Jim appeared in the ring, naked to the waist, with a colored scarf tied around his waist. A cry of admiration escaped the spectators when they saw the beautiful lines of his body, and I shouted like the others. His shoulders were rather drooping than massive, but his muscles were in the right place, making long, smooth undulations from neck to shoulder, and from shoulder to elbow. His work at the anvil had given his arms their highest degree of development. The healthy country life had coated his ivory skin with a brilliant sheen that reflected the lamplight. His expression indicated great spirits, confidence. He had that sort of fierce half-smile that I had seen on him many times in the course of our youth and which indicated, beyond a shadow of a doubt in my mind, the determination of pride as hard as iron. He would lose consciousness, long before his courage left him. Meanwhile, Joe Berks had swaggered forward and stood with his arms folded between his seconds in the opposite corner. His expression showed nothing of the haste or ardor of his opponent, and his matte white skin, with its deep creases on his chest and ribs, proved, even to inexperienced eyes like mine, that he was no untrained boxer. Certainly, a life spent drinking small glasses and having a good time had made him bloated and heavy. On the other hand, he was famous for his skill, for the force of his blow, so that even in the face of superiority in age and condition, the bets were three to one in his favor. His fleshy, clean-shaven face expressed ferocity as much as courage. He remained motionless, staring viciously at Jim with his small, bloodshot eyes, carrying his broad shoulders a little forward, like a fierce mastiff tugging at its chain. The hubbub of betting had increased, drowning out all other noises. The men threw their appraisals from one side of the shed to the other, waving their hands in the air to attract attention or to signal that they accepted a bet. Sir John Lade, standing in the front row, shouted the sums held. against Jim and valued them liberally with those who judged by the appearance of the unknown. “I’ve seen Berks fight,” he said to the honorable Berkeley Craven. “It’s not a country bumpkin who will beat a man with such a record. ” “It may be a country bumpkin,” said the other, ” but I’ve been held to be a good judge of bipeds or quadrupeds, and I tell you, Sir John, I never saw a man in my life who looked better. Do you still bet against me?
” “Three to one. ” “Each unit counts for a hundred pounds. ” “Very well, Craven! Here they go. Berks! Berks! Bravo! Berks! Bravo! I think, Berkeley, I shall have to make you pay that hundred pounds.” The two men stood facing each other, one as light as a goat, with his left arm well out, and his right arm across the small of his chest, while Berks held both arms half-bent and his feet almost in line , so as to be able to carry either back. For a minute they looked at each other. Then Berks, lowering his head and throwing a blow in his way of putting his hand over the other’s, suddenly pushed Jim into his corner. It was a slide backward rather than a knockdown, but a thin stream of blood was seen to trickle from the corner of Jim’s mouth. In an instant the seconds took their men and dragged them into their corner. “Do you mind doubling our stake?” said Berkeley Craven, who craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Jim. “Four to one on Berks! Four to one on Berks!” shouted the people in the ring. –The inequality has increased, as you see. Are you four to one in hundreds? –Perfectly, Sir John! –It seems you’re counting more on him, now that he ‘s had a knockdown. –He was knocked down by a blow, but he parried all those that were aimed at him, and I think he looked to my liking when he got up. –Good! I’m rooting for the old boxer. Here they are again. He’s learned a fine game, and he covers himself well, but it’s not always the one who has the best appearances who wins. They were grappling for the second time, and I was stamping my bucket with agitation. It was evident that Berks intended to win by a hair’s breadth, while Jim, advised by the two most experienced men in England, understood very well that the safest tactic was to let the rascal waste his strength and breath in vain. There was something horrible in the energy with which Berks threw his blows and accompanied each blow with a low grunt. After each one, I looked at Jim as I would have looked at a ship stranded on the Sussex beach, after each wave following another, which had just risen with a roar, and each time I expected to see him again cruelly damaged. But the light of the lantern showed me each time the fine-featured face of the youth, with the same alert expression, his eyes wide open, his mouth set, while he received the blows on the forearm or, suddenly lowering his head, let them pass by, whistling over his shoulder. But Berks had as much cunning as violence. Gradually, he drove Jim back into a corner of the square of ropes, from which it was impossible for him to escape, and as soon as he had him there, he threw himself on him like a tiger. What happened then lasted so short a time that I cannot detail it in its order, but I saw Jim duck quickly under the two arms thrown out at full speed. At the same time, I heard a sharp, resounding noise, and I saw Jim dancing in the center of the ring, Berks lying on his side, one hand over one eye. What a clamor! The professionals, the Corinthians, the Prince, the stable boys, the innkeeper, everyone was shouting at the top of their lungs. Old Buckhorse was hopping near me on a crate, and in his shrill voice, squawking criticisms and advice in a strange, antiquated ringing jargon that no one understood. His dull eyes glittered. His parchment-like face quivered with excitement, and his musical bell-like sound rose above the din. The two men were hurried into their corners. One of the latter mopped them while the other waved a towel in front of their faces. They themselves, with dangling arms and outstretched legs, took in as much air as their lungs could hold during the short interval allotted them . “What do you think of your country-boy?” cried Craven triumphantly. “Have you ever seen anything more masterly? ” “He’s certainly no John,” said Sir John, nodding his head. How much do you want for Berks, Lord Sele? “Two to one. ” “I’ll take him at a hundred a piece. ” “There’s Sir John covering himself,” cried my uncle, turning towards us with a smile. “Come on!” said Jackson. This round was notably shorter than the last. Evidently, Berks had been advised to engage in the fight at close quarters at all costs, to take advantage of his superior weight, before his opponent’s advantage in form could take effect. On the other hand, Jim, after what had happened in the last round, was less inclined to make great efforts to keep him at arm’s length. He aimed at the head of Berks, who was throwing himself forward, missed, and received a violent blow in reverse, which imprinted on his ribs, above, the mark of four knuckles in red. As they drew nearer, Jim instantly seized his opponent’s spherical head under his arm and struck it twice with his bent arm, but thanks to his weight the professional made him jump over him and both rolled to the ground, side by side, panting. But Jim sprang to his feet and went to his corner, while Berks, dazed by his excesses of this evening, went to his seat, leaning with one arm on Mendoza and the other on Dutch Sam. “Forge bellows to mend,” cried Jem Belcher. “And now who holds four to one? ” “Give us time to take the lid off our pepperbox,” said Mendoza. “We intend it to last all night. ” “That looks good!” said Jack Harrison. “He’s already got one eye closed. I hold my boy to one. ” “How many?” cried several voices. “Two pounds, four shillings, three pence,” said Harrison, counting all he possessed in the world. Jackson shouted once more. “Go!” Both of them leaped to the mark, Jim with equal spring and confidence, and Berks with a fixed grin on his bulldog face and a flash of fierce malice in his eye that could be of use to him. His half-minute had not given him all his breath, and his vast , hairy chest rose and fell with a quick, noisy panting, like that of a hound that has had enough. “Go on, my boy, stuff him without stopping,” yelled Belcher and Harrison. “Save your breath, Berks! Save your breath,” shouted the Jews. So we witnessed a reversal of tactics, for this time it was Jim who threw himself into it with all the vigor of youth, with an energy that nothing had dampened, while Berks, the savage, paid to nature the debt he had incurred by outraging her so many times. He opened his mouth. There were gurgles in his throat, his face flushed with the efforts he made to breathing while extending his long left arm and folding his right arm across, to ward off the blows of his nervous antagonist. “Drop when he strikes,” Mendoza shouted. “Drop and take a moment’s rest.” But there was no slyness or change in Berks’s game. He had always been a courageous brute who disdained to give way to an opponent, as long as he could stand on his feet.
He kept Jim at bay with his long arms, and so well that Jim leaped around him to find an opening, he was stopped as if he had been before a forty-inch iron bar. Now, every moment gained was an advantage for Berks. Already he was breathing more freely and the bluish tint was fading from his face. Jim guessed that the chances of a quick victory were about to slip through his fingers. He returned, he multiplied his attacks as fast as lightning, without being able to overcome the passive resistance offered by the experienced professional. It was then that the science of the ring found its application. Fortunately for Jim, he had two masters of this science behind him.
“Bring your left to his mark, my boy, and aim for the head with your right,” they shouted. Jim heard and acted instantly. “Bang!” His left fist landed just where the curve of his opponent’s ribs left the sternum. The violence of the blow was half mitigated by Berks’s elbow, but it had the effect of driving his head forward. “Bang!” made his right fist, with a clear, sharp sound, like a billiard ball hitting another. Berks staggered, beat the air with his arms, pivoted, and fell in a vast mass of flesh on the ground. His seconds sprang at once and pulled him to a sitting position. His head swung unconsciously from shoulder to shoulder and finally even fell back with his chin stretched toward the ceiling. Sam the Dutchman shoved the bladder of brandy between his teeth, while Mendoza shook him furiously and shouted insults in his ears; but neither alcohol nor insults could shake him from this serene insensitivity. The word “Go!” was uttered at the appointed moment and the Jews, seeing that the matter was over, let go of their man’s head , which fell with a noise to the floor. He remained stretched out there, his big arms and strong legs stretched out, while the Corinthians and the professionals hurried to go further to shake the hand of their conqueror. For my part, I also tried to split the crowd, but it was not an easy task for the weakest man in the room.
All around me, animated discussions were taking place between amateurs and professionals about Jim’s performance and his future. “That’s the finest debut I’ve ever seen, since Jem Belcher first fought Paddington Jones at Wormwood Scrubbs, four years ago last of April,” said Berkeley Craven. “You’ll see the belt around his body before he’s twenty-five, or I don’t know anything about men. ” “That fine face of yours cost me five hundred pounds,” grumbled Sir John Lade. “Who would have thought he hit so cruelly? ” “Notwithstanding,” said another, “I’m convinced if Joe Berks had been sober, he would have eaten him. Besides, the young fellow was in full training, while the other was ready to burst like an overcooked potato if he had been hit. I never saw a man so limp and with his breath in such a condition. Put the men in training and your head-breaker will be like a chicken before a horse.” Some agreed with the one who had just spoken. Others were of a contrary opinion, so that a heated discussion ensued around me. As she walked, the prince left, and as if on cue , the majority of the company made for the door. This enabled me at last to reach the corner where Jim was finishing his toilette while the champion Harrison, with tears of joy on his cheeks, helped him put on his overcoat. “In four rounds!” he kept repeating in a sort of ecstasy. “Joe Berks in four rounds! And it took Jem Belcher fourteen! ” “Well, Roddy,” cried Jim, holding out his hand, “I told you I’d go to London and make a name for myself. ” “It was splendid, Jim! ” “Good old Roddy! I saw your face in the corner, your eyes fixed on me. You’re not changed with all your fine clothes and London nail polish.” “You’re the one who’s changed, Jim. I hardly recognized you when you came into the room. ” “And so did I,” said the blacksmith. “Where did you get all that fine plumage, Jim? I know for a fact that it wasn’t your aunt who helped you take the first steps toward the ring and its prizes. ” “Miss Hinton has been a friend to me, the best friend I ever had! ” “Hmm! I thought so,” grumbled the blacksmith. “Well! Jim, I had nothing to do with it, and you, Jim, will have to bear me witness to it when we get home. I don’t know what… But what’s done is done, and there’s nothing we can do about it… After all, she’s… Now the devil take my clumsy tongue.” I couldn’t say whether it was the effect of the wine he had drunk at supper or the excitement caused by little Jim’s victory, but Harrison was very agitated, and his usually placid countenance wore an expression of extreme unease. His manner seemed to betray by turns jubilation and embarrassment. Jim was examining him curiously, and evidently wondering what could be hidden behind those broken sentences and long silences. Meanwhile, the carriage shed had been cleared. Jem Belcher remained talking very gravely with my uncle. “That’s all right, Belcher,” said my uncle, within earshot. “I should be very pleased to take charge of it, sir,” said the famous pugilist. And they both walked towards us. “I wanted to ask you, Jim Harrison, if you would consent to be my champion in the fight with Crab Wilson, of Gloucester,” said my uncle. “What I want, Sir Charles, is the chance to make my way. ” “There are big stakes, very big stakes on the event,” said my uncle. “You’ll receive two hundred pounds if you win. Is that all right with you? ” “I’ll fight for honor, and because I want to be thought worthy to stand in line with Jem Belcher. ” Belcher laughed heartily. “You’re taking the road to get there, young man,” he said, “but it was easy enough for you tonight to beat a man who had been drinking and was out of sorts. ” “I didn’t want to fight him at all,” said Jim, blushing. “Oh, I know you’ve got guts enough to fight any two-legged fellow. I was sure of it the moment my eyes fell upon you.” But I remind you that when you have to fight Wilson, you will be dealing with the strongest man in the West who shows the greatest promise, and the strongest man in the West will undoubtedly be the strongest man in England. He has the quickest movements and the longest reach as you, and he trains down to his half ounce of fat. I warn you now, you see, because if I have to take charge of you… “Take charge of me? ” “Yes,” said my uncle, “Belcher has agreed to train you for the next fight, if you would agree to accept it. ” “Certainly, and I am very grateful to you,” said Jim eagerly; “unless my uncle is willing to train me, there is no one I would choose more willingly. ” “No, Jim, I will stay with you for a few days, but Belcher knows a great deal more about training than I do. Where shall we stay? ” “I thought if we chose the Georges Hotel at Crawley, it would be more convenient for you. Then, if we had a choice of location, we would take Crawley Down, for, outside Molesey Hurst, or perhaps Smitham Hollow, there is hardly a more suitable spot for a fight. Do you agree with that? ” “I agree with it with all my heart,” said Jim. “Then you are mine from this hour, you see,” said Belcher. “You will eat what I eat, you will drink what I drink, you will sleep as I do, and you will have to do whatever you are told. We have not an hour to lose, for Wilson has been in half-training for the last month. You saw his glass empty tonight. ” “Jim is as ready for a fight as he will ever be again in his life,” said Harrison, “but we are both going to Crawley tomorrow. So, good-night, Sir Charles. ” “Good-night, Roddy,” said Jim. “You will come to Crawley and see me at my training-place, won’t you?” I promised him eagerly that I would. “You must be more attentive, nephew,” said my uncle, as we drove home in his model vis-à-vis. “In early youth, one is somewhat inclined to be guided by one’s heart, rather than by one’s reason.” Jim Harrison seems to me a most suitable young man, but after all, he is a blacksmith’s apprentice and a contender for the prize ring. There is a wide gulf between his position and that of a near relation of mine, and you must make him feel that you are his superior. “He is the oldest and dearest friend I have in the world, sir. We spent our youth together, and we have never had a secret from each other. As for showing him that I am his superior, I do not know how I can do it, for I see that he is mine. ” “Hmm!” said my uncle drily. And that was the last word he spoke to me that evening. Chapter 12. The Fladong Cafe. So little Jim went to the Georges in Crawley to recover himself under the care of Jem Belcher and Champion Harrison, and to train for his great fight with Wilson the Crab, of Gloucester. Meanwhile, people were talking in all the clubs and bars about how he had appeared at a Corinthian supper and beaten the formidable Joe Berks in four rounds. I remembered that afternoon at Friar’s Oak when Jim had told me he would make a name for himself, and his plan had come true sooner than he had expected, for wherever one went, one was sure to talk of nothing but the match between Sir Lothian Hume and Sir Charles Tregellis and the qualities of the two probable combatants. The bets in favor of Wilson were rising regularly, for he had a good number of official fights to his credit and Jim had only one victory. Those in the know, who had seen Wilson practice, were of opinion that the singular defensive tactic which had earned him his nickname was very calculated to disconcert his antagonist. In size, strength, and reputation for endurance, it would have been difficult to decide between them, but Wilson had been subjected to more rigorous tests. It was only a few days before the battle that my father paid the visit to London he had promised. The sailor did not enjoy himself in cities. He found more charm to walk on the dunes, to direct his telescope on the slightest topsail which appeared on the horizon than to orient himself in the streets cluttered with crowds. He complained of not being able to direct his course according to that of the sun and found that one was at every moment stopped in his calculations. There were rumors of war in the air and he had to use his influence with Lord Nelson in the event that a job presented itself for him or for me. My uncle had just set out, dressed, as was his custom in the evening, in his large green riding coat, with silver buttons, wearing his Cordoba leather boots, and his round hat, to show himself at the Mail, on his little horse with a short-cropped tail. I had stayed at home, because I had already recognized, to myself, that I had no vocation for fashionable life. These men, with their little waistcoats, their gestures, their unnatural manners, had become unbearable to me, and my uncle himself, with his air of coldness and protection, inspired me with very mixed feelings. My thoughts turned to Sussex. I was dreaming of the cordial and simple life one leads in the country, when suddenly there was a knock at the door and I heard a familiar voice, then I saw on the threshold a smiling face, with a tanned complexion, wrinkled eyelids, and clear blue eyes. “Well! Roddy,” he cried, “what a great personage you are! But I would rather see you with the king’s blue uniform on your back than with all those ties and cuffs. ” “And I wouldn’t ask for anything better, either, father. ” “It warms my heart to hear you speak like that. Lord Nelson has promised to find you a cabin.” Tomorrow we will set out to find him and refresh his memory. But where is your uncle? He is riding at the Mall. A look of relief passed over my father’s honest face , for he never felt entirely at ease in the company of his brother-in-law. I have been to the Admiralty and I expect to have a ship when the war breaks out. At any rate, it will not be long. Lord Saint Vincent told me so himself. But I am expected at Fladong’s, Roddy. If you will come and have supper with me there, you will see some of my comrades from the Mediterranean. When we remember that in the last year of the war we had fifty thousand sailors and marines on board, commanded by four thousand officers, when we consider that half of this number had been discharged when the peace treaty of Amiens put their ships at anchor in Hamoaze or in Portsmouth Bay, we will easily understand that London, as well as the seaports, were full of seafarers. One could not walk the streets without meeting these men with gypsy faces, with lively eyes, whose simple dress betrayed the meagerness of their purses, just as their distracted air testified to the burden they had on them from a life of enforced inaction, so contrary to their habits. They looked completely out of place in the dark streets with their brick houses, like the seagulls that, driven far away by bad weather, appear in the central counties. However, while the prize courts lingered in their operations, and as long as there was a chance of obtaining employment by showing their suntanned faces to the Admiralty, they continued to go through Whitehall with their deck-walking sailors’ gait , to meet in the evenings to discuss the events of the last war or the chances of the next, at Fladong’s Coffee House, in Oxford Street, which was reserved for sailors as exclusively as Slaughter’s was to the army and Ibbetson’s to the Church of England. I was not surprised, then, to see the vast room where we were having supper full of sailors, but I remember that what caused me some astonishment was to see all these seafaring people, who, although they had served in the most diverse situations, in all parts of the globe, from the Baltic to the East Indies, were all cast in a single mold, which made them even more similar to each other than is ordinarily the case between brothers. The rules of the service required that one should always be clean-shaven , that each head should be powdered, and that on the nape of each neck should fall a small tail of natural hair tied with a black silk ribbon. The biting wind and the tropical heat had combined their influence to give them a dark complexion, at the same time that the habit of command and the threat of dangers always ready to reappear had imprinted on all the same character of authority and vivacity. There were some jovial faces among them, but the old officers had faces furrowed with deep wrinkles and imposing noses that gave most of them the appearance of austere ascetics, hardened by the elements like those of the desert. Solitary vigils, a discipline that forbade all camaraderie, had left their marks on these Red Indian faces. For my part, I was so busy examining them that I barely touched my supper. Despite my great youth, I knew that, if there remained any liberty in Europe, we owed it to these men, and I thought I read in their fierce and hard features the summary of those ten years of struggles that had finally made the tricolor flag disappear from the sea. When we had finished supper, my father led me into the large coffee room where about a hundred other naval officers were gathered, drinking wine and smoking their long clay pipes, making a smoke as thick as that which reigns on the upper deck when fighting side by side. As we entered, we found ourselves face to face with an officer of a certain age who was about to leave. He was a man with large, intelligent eyes, a full, placid face, one of those figures that one would attribute to a philosopher, a philanthropist, rather than to a warrior sailor. “This is Cuddie Collingwood,” my father said in a low voice. “Hello, Lieutenant Stone!” said the famous admiral in a very cordial tone .
“I have hardly seen a glimpse of you since you came on board the Excellent after Saint Vincent. You were lucky enough to be on the Nile too, I hear?” “I was third on the Theseus, under Millar, sir. ” “I nearly died of grief at not being there. I had a hard time getting over it. When you think of that brilliant expedition!… And to think that I was charged with chasing vegetable boats, miserable cabbage boats , at San Lucar. ” “Your task was better than mine, Sir Cuthbert,” said a voice behind us, that of a fat man in a post captain’s uniform, who stepped forward to stand in our circle. His mastiff face was agitated with emotion, and as he spoke, he nodded piteously. “Yes, yes, Troubridge, I know how to understand feelings and how to sympathize with them. ” “I spent that night in torment, Collingwood, and it left its marks on me, marks that will last until I am thrown overboard in a sailcloth coffin . ” To think I had my beautiful Culloden stranded on a sandbank , too far away to fire a cannon. To hear and see the battle all night long, without being able to fire a single broadside, without even taking the plug off a single gun! Twice I opened my pistol box to blow my brains out, and twice I was held back by the thought that Nelson might still perhaps employ me. Collingwood shook the unfortunate captain’s hand. “Admiral Nelson was not long without finding you some useful employment, Troubridge. We have all heard of your siege of Capua and how you got your guns into position, without trenches or parallels, and fired point-blank through the embrasures. ” The melancholy vanished from the stout seaman’s broad face, and his loud laugh filled the room. “I am not clever or patient enough for their zigzag ways,” he said. “We lined up alongside and ran at their gun ports until they lowered the flag. But you, Sir Cuthbert, where have you been? ” “With my wife and two little girls, at Morpeth, up in the North. I have only seen them once in ten years, and it may be another ten years, I don’t know, before I see them again.” I did good work for the fleet there. “I thought, sir, it was inland,” said my father. “It is indeed inland,” he said, “but I did good work for the fleet nonetheless. Tell me what ‘s in this bag.” Collingwood took a small black bag from his pocket and waved it. “Bullets,” said Troubridge. “That’s something even more necessary for a sailor,” said the admiral; and turning the bag over, he dropped a few grains into the palm of his hand. ” I take it with me on my walks across the fields, and wherever I find a spot of good earth, I push a grain deep with the end of my cane. My oaks will fight those scoundrels on the water when I am already forgotten. Do you know how many oaks it takes to build a ship with eighty guns?” My father shook his head. “Two thousand, not one less.” Every two-decker that brings the white flag costs England a whole lumber. How will our grandsons manage to beat the French if we don’t prepare the wherewithal to build their ships? He put his little bag back in his pocket, then, taking Troubridge’s arm , he went out the door with him. “Here is a man whose life might help you settle yours,” said my father, as we sat down at a vacant table. “He is still the same quiet gentleman, always concerned for the welfare of his crew and cherishing, in the bottom of his heart, his wife and children whom he saw so seldom. They say in the fleet that he never swore, Rodney, and yet, I don’t know how he managed, when he was first mate, with a crew of rookies. But everyone likes Cuddie, for they know he is an angel in battle. How are you, Captain Foley? My respects, Sir Edward. Well !” “It would only be necessary to exercise forced enlistment in the present company to crew a corvette with flag officers. There is here, Rodney,” resumed my father, casting his eyes around him, “more than one man whose name will never go further than his ship’s log book, and who, in his sphere, has shown himself no less worthy of being cited as an example than an admiral. We know them and we speak of them, though their names have never been shouted in the streets of London. There is as much seamanship and skill in managing a cutter as in managing a ship of the line, when it comes to fighting, though that will not bring you a title or the thanks of Parliament. Here, for example, is Hamilton, that calm-looking man with the pale face, leaning against the column.” It was he who, with six rowing boats, cut off the retreat of the frigate Hermione under the muzzles of two hundred coastal cannons in the port of Puerto Caballo. It was he who attacked twelve Spanish gunboats with his single small brig and forced four of them to surrender. This is Walker, of the Cutter Rose, who attacked three French privateer ships with crews of one hundred and fifty-six men. He sank one, captured another, and forced the third to flee. How are you, Captain Bail? I hope you are well? Two or three officers who knew my father and who were sitting nearby, drew their chairs together, and soon a small circle formed in which everyone was talking very loudly and discussing matters of the sea. Long clay pipes with red stems were brandished. They pointed them at the speakers as they talked. My father whispered in my ear that my neighbor was Captain Foley, of the Goliath, who marched in front at the Battle of the Nile, that this other tall, thin, dark-red man, sitting opposite, was Lord Cochrane, the boldest frigate captain in the navy. Even at Friar’s Oak, we were told how, in his little ship the Rapide, armed with fourteen small cannons and manned by fifty-four men, he had boarded the Spanish frigate Gamo, manned by a crew of three hundred. It was easy to see that he was a lively, irascible, and impulsive man, for he spoke of his grievances in an angry tone that reddened his freckled cheeks. “We shall do no good on the Ocean until we hang the contractors of the naval yards. I wish I had a contractor’s corpse as a stern figure on every first-class ship in the fleet, and on every frigate there would be a purveyor of provisions. I know them well with their glue-on patches, their devil’s rivets. They risk five hundred lives to save a few pounds of copper. What has become of the Chance? And of the Orestes and the Martin?” They sank in the open sea and we never heard from them again. I can therefore say that their crews were massacred. It seems that Lord Cochrane expressed everyone’s opinion, for a murmur of approval, mingled with oaths uttered with conviction by deep-sea sailors, was heard throughout the circle. “Those scoundrels across the water know better,” said a one-eyed captain who had in his buttonhole the blue and white ribbon of the Battle of Saint Vincent. “It is indeed his head that one risks committing such foolishness. Has anyone ever seen a ship leave Toulon in the state in which my thirty-eight-gun frigate was when it left Plymouth last year? Her masts were so loose that on one side her sails were stiff as iron bars, while on the other they hung in festoons.” The smallest sloop that ever left a French port could have outpaced her, and then it would have been me , and not that wrecker from Devonport, who would have been court-martialed. These old sea dogs loved to grumble, for no sooner had one of them finished airing his grievances than another would begin his own and become even more bitter. “Look at our sails,” said Captain Foley, “put a French and an English ship at anchor together and then say which nation this or that belongs to. ” “Francinet has her foremast and main topgallant mast almost equal,” said my father. “Among the old ships, perhaps, but how many new ships are there built on the French type? No, when they are at anchor, it is impossible to determine them. But
when they are setting sail, how will you tell them apart? ” “Francinet has white sails,” cried several. –And ours are black with mold. That’s the difference. Then be surprised that they sail past us, when the wind blows through the holes in our canvas. “On the Rapide,” said Cochrane, “the canvas was so thin that when I took my observation, I always took my meridian through the foretopsail and my horizon through the foresail. ” These words provoked a general burst of laughter. Then they all left, finally relieved of those long sulks, those sufferings endured in silence which had accumulated during many years of service and which discipline forbade them to reveal while their feet were on the poop deck. One spoke of his powder, of which six pounds were needed to launch a cannonball a thousand yards; another cursed the Admiralty courts, where the prize enters like a well-rigged ship and leaves like a schooner. The old captain spoke of advancement subordinate to parliamentary interests, which had often put in a captain’s cabin a dandy whose place would have been in the holy beard. Then they returned to the difficulty of finding crews for their vessels. They raised their voices to groan in unison. “What’s the point of building new ships,” Foley was saying, ” when with a hundred pounds bounty you won’t be able to equip the ones you have? ” But Lord Cochrane saw the matter differently. “Men! Sir, you would have them if they were treated well. Admiral Nelson finds the men he needs for his ships. And so does Admiral Collingwood. Why? Because he cares about his men, and then his men remember him .
Let officers and men respect each other, and then there will be no trouble maintaining the crew strength. What rots the navy is this infernal system of transferring crews from one ship to another, without the officers.” But I have never encountered any difficulty, and I believe I can say that if I hoisted my pennant tomorrow, I would find all my old men from the Rapid and have as many volunteers as I wanted to take. “That’s very good, my lord,” said the old captain with some warmth. “When sailors hear that the Rapid has captured fifty ships in thirteen months, you can be sure they will willingly offer to serve under her commander. A good cruiser is always sure to complete her crew easily. But it is not cruisers that fight battles in defense of the country and blockade the enemy’s ports. I say that all the profit from prizes should be divided equally among the entire fleet, and until this rule is established, the ablest men will always go where they render the least service and make the greatest profit.” This speech produced a chorus of protests from the cruiser officers and vehement approval from those serving on board the ships of the line. The latter appeared to form the majority in the circle that had gathered. From the animation of the faces and the anger that shone in the eyes, it was evident that the question was very close to the hearts of both parties. “What the cruiser gets,” cried a frigate captain, the cruiser gains. ” “Do you mean by that, sir,” said Captain Foley, “that the duties of an officer on board a cruiser require more attention or more professional skill than those of an officer in charge of a blockade, who has the shore to starboard whenever the wind shifts to the west and who has continually in sight the topsails of the enemy squadron? ” “I do not pretend to superior skill, sir. ” “Then why do you demand higher pay?” Can you deny that a sailor before the mast renders more service on a fast frigate than a lieutenant can do on a ship? of war? — Last year, no later, said a gentleman-like officer who might have been taken for a petty master in the city, were it not for the coppery complexion he owed to a sun such as one never sees in London, last year, I brought back from the Mediterranean the old Ocean, which floated like an empty cask and brought back absolutely nothing, as cargo, but glory. In the channel we met the frigate La Minerve of the Western Ocean, which was diving up to the gun ports and was ready to burst under a booty that had been deemed too valuable to entrust to the prize crews. There were silver ingots up to her yards and near her bowsprit, silver plate at the heads of her masts. My sailors would have fired at her, yes, they would have fired, if they had not been held back. It made them furious to think of all they had done in the South, and to see that impudent frigate parading her money before their eyes. “I don’t see the merit of their grievances, Captain Bail,” said Cochrane. “When you are promoted to the command of a two- decker, my lord, it may well appear more clearly to you. ” “You speak as if a cruiser had no other duty than to take prizes. If that is your view, allow me to tell you that you are not well informed. I have commanded a sloop, a corvette, and a frigate, and on each of them I have had to perform very diverse duties. I have had to evade the enemy’s ships of the line and give battle to his cruisers. I have had to give chase to his privateers and capture them and cut off their retreat when they took refuge under his batteries. I had to create a diversion on his forts, land my men, destroy his guns and signal posts. All this, and in addition the convoys, the reconnaissance, the necessity of risking his own ship, to gain knowledge of the enemy’s movements, falls to the officer in command of a cruiser. I go so far as to say that when one is able to perform these tasks successfully, one deserves better from his country than the officer of the ship of the line, who goes back and forth between Ushant and the Black Rocks, long enough to build a reef with the mass of his ox bones. “Sir,” said the irascible old sailor, “an officer like that does not at least run the risk of being taken for a privateer. ” “I am surprised, Captain Bulkeley,” replied Cochrane briskly , “that you go so far as to put together the terms privateer and king’s officer.” Things were turning stormy between these hot-headed, laconic sea dogs, but Captain Foley warded off the danger by turning the discussion to the new ships being built in the ports of France. I took great interest in listening to these men, who spent their lives fighting our neighbors, discussing their character and methods. You who live in times of peace and cordial understanding, you cannot imagine with what rage England then hated France, and above all its great leader. It was more than a simple prejudice, than an antipathy. It was a deep, aggressive aversion, of which you can still get some idea today by glancing at the newspapers and caricatures of the time. The word French was hardly ever uttered except preceded by the epithet coquin or canaille. In all ranks of society, in all parts of the country, this feeling was the same. And the marines, who were on board our ships, led the fight against the French with a ferocity that they would never have shown if they had been Danes, Dutch or Spaniards. If, now that fifty years have passed, you were to ask me where this feeling of virulence towards them came from, this feeling so foreign to the English character with its laissez-faire and tolerance, I will confess to you that, in my opinion, it was fear. Naturally, it was not an individual fear. Our most venomous detractors never called us cowards. It was fear of their star, fear of their future, fear of the subtle man whose plans always seemed to turn out happily, fear of the heavy hand that had brought down one nation, and then another. Our country was small and at the time of the war, its population was hardly more than half that of France. And then, France had grown by gigantic leaps. It had advanced northward as far as Belgium and Holland. It had increased southward into Italy. Meanwhile, we were weakened by the deep hatred that reigned in Ireland between the Catholics and the Presbyterians. The danger was imminent, obvious to the most inarticulate man . One could not walk along the Kent coast without seeing the piles of wood piled up to serve as signals and warn the country of the enemy’s landing, and when the sun shone on the heights near Boulogne, one could see its glare reflected on the bayonets of the veterans who were maneuvering. No wonder there was, deep in the hearts of the bravest, a fear of French power, and this animosity always results in engendering a bitter and rancorous hatred . Then the sailors spoke without kindness of their recent enemies. They hated them sincerely and, according to the custom of our country, they said aloud what was in their hearts. As for the French officers, it was impossible to speak of them in a more chivalrous manner, but as for the nation, they held it in horror. The old men had fought against them in the American war, fought again during these last ten years, and it seemed as if the most ardent desire in their hearts was to spend the rest of their lives fighting against them again. But if I was surprised at the violent animosity they showed towards the French, I was no less surprised at the degree to which they appreciated them. The long series of English victories had finally forced the French to take shelter in the ports, to give up the fight in despair, and this had made us all believe that, for one reason or another and by the very nature of things, the English at sea always had the upper hand against the French. But those who had participated in the fight were by no means of this opinion. They poured out noisy praise on the valour of their adversaries and they explained their defeat by precise reasons . They recalled that the officers of the old French navy were almost all aristocrats, that the Revolution had driven them from their ships and that the naval face had fallen into the hands of undisciplined sailors and incompetent leaders . This poorly commanded fleet had been roughly driven back into the ports by the thrust of the English fleet which had good crews well commanded. It had kept them there immobile, so that they had no opportunity to learn the things of the sea. Their drill in the ports, their cannon fire in the ports were of no use , when it was a question of reefing sails, of firing broadsides at a ship of the line rocking on the waves of the Atlantic. When one of their frigates reached the open sea and could sail freely for a couple of years, then its crew would get to know its business and an English officer could hope to put a feather in his cap, when with a ship of equal strength he succeeded in making it lower its flag. Such were the opinions of these experienced officers who supported them with numerous memories of multiple proofs of French valour. They cited, among other things, the way in which the crew of the Orient had used its quarterdeck guns, while, under their feet, the deck was on fire and they knew that they were fighting on a powder bunker ready to explode. It was generally hoped that the West Indies expedition which had taken place since the peace, would have given many ships experience of the Ocean and that it would be possible to venture to get them out of the Canal if war were to break out again. But would it do it again? We had spent fabulous sums and made immense efforts to bend the power of Napoleon and prevent him from making himself the despot of all Europe. Would the government try it once more? Would he allow himself to be terrified by the frightening weight of a debt that would make many future generations bow their backs? Pitt was there, and certainly, he was not the man to leave the job half-done. Suddenly, there was a commotion near the door. Among the gray clouds of tobacco smoke, I glimpsed a blue uniform and gold epaulettes, around which a dense crowd was forming, while a hoarse murmur, starting from the group, changed into applause from strong chests. Everyone stood up to look. They wondered to each other what it was all about. But the crowd seethed and the applause redoubled. “What is it? What’s happening?” asked about twenty voices. “Let’s take it off! Let’s hoist it up,” someone shouted, and immediately afterward I saw Captain Troubridge above the shoulders of the crowd. His face was red, as if he were under the influence of wine, and he was waving something that looked like a letter. The applause gradually died down, and there was such silence that I could have heard the rustling of the paper in his hand.
“Great news, gentlemen,” he shouted, “great news! Rear-Admiral Collingwood has instructed me to communicate it to you. The French ambassador received his passports this evening. All the ships listed in the Directory will receive their commissions. Admiral Cornwallis is to leave Cawsand Bay to cruise off Ushant. One squadron is leaving for the North Sea, another for the Irish Sea. He doubtless had other news to give, but his audience would hear no more. How they shouted, how they stamped their feet, what delirium! Prudish and old flag officers, grave captains-at-arms, young lieutenants, all shouted at the top of their lungs like schoolboys on vacation. No one thought any more of those stinging and multiple grievances that I had heard enumerated. The bad weather was over. The seabirds, captive on land, were going to skim the foam, once again. The notes of God Save the King dominated majestically the confused noise. I heard the ancient verses sung in a way that made one forget their bad rhymes and their banality. I hope that you will never hear them sung like that, with tears on their wrinkled cheeks, with sobs in the voices of energetic men. Those who speak of the phlegm of our compatriots have never seen them when the crust of lava is broken and, for a moment, the ardent and lasting flame of the North appears uncovered. That is how I saw it then, and if I do not see it today, I am neither old enough nor foolish enough to believe that it is extinguished. Chapter 13. Lord Nelson. The meeting between Lord Nelson and my father was to take place at an early hour, and he was all the more anxious to be punctual because he knew how much the admiral’s comings and goings would be altered by the news we had received the previous evening. I had barely finished breakfast, and my uncle had not rung for his chocolate, when my father came to fetch me from Jermyn Street. After a few hundred paces along Piccadilly, we found ourselves in front of the large building of faded brick which served as the Hamiltons’ town lodgings and which became Lord Nelson’s headquarters when business or pleasure brought him from Merton. A footman answered our knock with his hammer and showed us into a large drawing-room with dark furniture and sad-colored hangings. My father called his name, and we sat down, gazing at the white Italian statuettes in the corners, and at a picture of Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples, which hung above the harpsichord. I still remember a black clock with a loud ticking on the mantelpiece; and now and then, amidst the noise of the hired carriages, loud peals of laughter came to us from some other room or other. When at last the door opened, my father and I rose, expecting to find ourselves in the presence of the greatest of Englishmen. But a very different person entered. She was a tall lady, and I found her extremely beautiful, though perhaps a more experienced and fastidious critic would have found her charm more of the past than of the present. Her queenly body presented large and noble lines, while her face, which was beginning to thicken and become coarse, was still remarkable for the radiance of her complexion, the beauty of her large, light blue eyes, and the reflections of her black hair, which curled over a low, white forehead. She had a most imposing bearing, so that, watching her at her majestic entrance, and in the pose she assumed as she glanced at my father, I was reminded of the Queen of the Peruvians, who, in the guise of Miss Polly Hinton, excited little Jim and me to rebellion. “Lieutenant Anson Stone?” she asked. “Yes, fair, lady,” my father replied. “Ah!” she cried, jumping up in an affected, exaggerated manner. “Then you know me? ” “I saw Your Lordship at Naples. ” “Then you have seen my poor Sir William, no doubt? My poor Sir William!” And she touched her dress with her white, ringed fingers, as if to draw our attention to the fact that she was in full mourning. “I have heard of the sad loss your Lordship has suffered,” said my father. “We died together,” she cried. “What can my existence be now but a death slowly prolonged?” She spoke in a beautiful, rich voice, which was agitated by the most painful tremor, but I could not help recognizing that she looked like the sturdiest person I had ever seen, and I was surprised to see that she gave me little questioning glances as if she took some pleasure in being admired, even by so insignificant an individual as myself. My father, in his rough sailor’s language, tried to stammer out some commonplace words of condolence, but his eyes were turned away from that surly, tanned face, to spy on what effect it had produced on me. “Here is his portrait, to this guardian angel of this house,” she cried, showing with a grand, broad gesture a portrait hanging on the wall and representing a gentleman with a very thin face, a prominent nose and who had several decorations. to his coat. But that’s enough about my personal sorrows, she said, wiping invisible tears from her eyes. You came to see Lord Nelson. He asked me to tell you that he would be here in a moment. You have no doubt heard that hostilities are about to resume? “We heard this news last night. ” “Lord Nelson has received orders to take command of the Mediterranean Fleet. ” “You can believe that at such a moment… But is it not His Lordship’s footsteps that I hear?” My attention was so absorbed by the lady’s singular manner, and by the gestures and postures with which she accompanied all her remarks, that I did not see the Grand Admiral enter the room. When I turned around, he was very close beside me. He was a small, dark man with the slender, slender figure of a youth. He was not in uniform. He wore a brown coat with a high collar, the right sleeve of which hung empty at his side. The expression of his face was, I remember well, extremely sad and gentle, with the deep wrinkles which revealed the struggles of his impatient, ardent soul. One of his eyes had been put out and damaged by a wound, but the other was directed from my father to me with as much vivacity as penetration. Indeed, altogether, with his brief, sharp glances, the beautiful pose of his head, everything about him indicated energy, promptitude, so that, if I may compare great things to small, he reminded me of a good-bred terrier, well trained for combat, gentle and nimble, but lively and ready for anything that chance could throw in his way. “Well, Lieutenant Stone,” he said in the most cordial tone, holding out his left hand to my father, “I am very glad to see you.” London is full of Mediterranean sailors, but I reckon that before a week goes by there will be not one of you officers left on dry land. “I came to ask you, Sir, if you could help me get a ship. ” “You shall have one, Stone, if my word is taken at all in the Admiralty. I shall need all the old Nile sailors behind me. I cannot promise you a first-rate ship, but it shall be at least a sixty-four-gun vessel, and I can assure you that a great deal can be done with a sixty-four-gun ship, well-handling, well- manned, and well-built. ” “Who could doubt it, when they have heard of the Agamemnon?” cried Lady Hamilton. And at the same time, she began to speak of the admiral and his exploits in terms of laudatory exaggeration, with such a shower of compliments and epithets, that my father and I did not know what to do. We felt humiliated and grieved by the presence of a man who was forced to hear such things said in his presence. But, after risking a glance at Lord Nelson, I perceived to my great surprise that, far from showing embarrassment, he smiled, he had an enchanted air as if this gross flattery of the lady were for him the most precious thing in the world. “Come, come, my dear lady, your praise far surpasses my merits…” These words encouraging her, she launched into a theatrical apostrophe to the favorite of Great Britain, the eldest son of Neptune, and he submitted to it with the same gratitude, the same pleasure. That a man of the world, forty-five years old, penetrating, honest, and familiar with the workings of the courts, should allow himself to be entangled by such crude and coarse homage, I was astonished, as were all those who knew him. But you who have lived a long time, you do not need to be told how often it happens that the most energetic, the noblest, to some unique, inexplicable weakness, a weakness which shows itself all the more visibly the more it contrasts with the rest, as a black stain appears more shockingly on the whitest sheet . “You are a sea officer such as I like them, Stone,” he said, when his lordship had reached the end of his panegyric. “You are a sailor of the old school.” He paced the room with short, impatient steps while talking and pivoting now and then on one heel, as if some invisible barrier had stopped him. “We are beginning to get too good for our work with these inventions of epaulettes and quarter-deck badges. At the time I entered the service, you might have seen a lieutenant making the bindings and rigging his bowsprit, sometimes having a marlin slung around his neck, to set an example to his men. Today is just a matter of time, if he will carry his sextant to the hatchway. When will you be ready to embark, Stone? “Tonight, My Lord. ” “Good, Stone, good. That is the true spirit. They double the work at every tide in the yards, but I do not know when the ships will be ready. I will hoist my flag on the Victoire on Wednesday, and we will set sail at once. ” “No, no, not so soon, she cannot be ready to put to sea,” said Lady Hamilton in a plaintive voice, clasping her hands, and she turned her eyes towards the ceiling as she spoke. “She must be ready, and she will be,” cried Nelson with extraordinary vehemence. “By Heaven, even if the devil were at the door, I will embark on Wednesday. Who knows what these scoundrels may be doing in my absence? My head is spinning at the thought of the devilry they may be planning.” At this very moment, dear lady, the Queen, our Queen, may be staring wide open to see the topsails of Nelson’s ships. As I imagined he was speaking of our old Queen Charlotte, I understood nothing of what he said, but my father then told me that Nelson and Lady Hamilton had taken an extraordinary liking to the Queen of Naples, and it was the interests of that little kingdom that were so dear to his heart. Perhaps my look of bewilderment attracted Nelson’s attention to me, for he suddenly stopped his quarter -deck walk and looked me up and down with a stern expression. “Well, young gentleman,” he said sharply. “He is my only son, Sir,” said my father. “My desire is that he shall enter the service if a cabin can be found for him, for we have been officers of the King for many generations.” “So you insist on coming and having your bones broken,” cried Nelson harshly, and looking with displeasure at the fine clothes which had been so long discussed between my uncle and Mr. Brummel. “You will have to change that great coat for an oilcloth jacket if you serve under me.” I was so embarrassed by the abruptness of his language that I could hardly stammer out a reply that I hoped to do my duty. Then his stern mouth relaxed into a kindly smile , and presently he laid his little brown hand on my shoulder. “I think I may say you will do very well. I see you are of good stuff. But don’t imagine you are entering an easy service, young gentleman, when you enter Her Majesty’s service. It is a hard profession.” You hear about the few who succeed, but what do you know about the hundreds who don’t make it? Look how lucky I was. Out of two hundred who were with me on the San Juan expedition, one hundred and forty-five died in a single night. I took part in one hundred and eighty engagements, and As you see, I lost an eye and an arm, not to mention other serious injuries. Luck allowed me to get through all that, and now I fly the flag of admiral, but I remember more than one honest man who was as good as me and who did not get pierced. Yes, he continued, as the lady burst into loquacious protests, many people, many people who were as good as me, have fallen prey to sharks and land crabs. But he is a worthless sailor who does not risk himself every day, and the lives of all of us are in the hands of him who knows perfectly well the hour when he will ask for it back. For a moment, the seriousness of his gaze, the religious tone of his voice gave us a glimpse perhaps of the depths of the real Nelson, the man of oriental tales, imbued with that virile puritanism which brought forth from this region the Iron Coasts, those who were to shape the heart of England and the Pilgrim Fathers who were to propagate it abroad. This was the Nelson who claimed to have seen the hand of God resting upon the French and who knelt in the cabin of his flagship, to await the moment to attack the enemy league. There was also a human tenderness in the tone he took when speaking of his dead comrades, and it made me understand why he was so beloved by all who served under him. Indeed, although he had the hardness of iron when it came to sailing and fighting, in his complex nature there was combined a faculty which the Englishman lacks, that affectionate emotion which expressed itself in tears, when he was touched, and in instinctive movements of tenderness, like that in which he asked his flag captain to embrace him when he lay dying, in the post of the Victoire. My father had risen to leave, but the admiral, with that kindness which he always showed to youth, and which had been for a moment frozen by the untimely splendor of my clothes, continued to walk before us, throwing out short and substantial sentences to encourage and advise me. “It is ardor that we require in the service, young gentleman,” he said. “We must have men heated to red, who do not know what rest is.” We have such in the Mediterranean, and we shall find them again. What a fraternal troop. When I was asked to appoint one for a difficult task, I told the Admiralty to take the first one that came along, for the same spirit animated them all. If we had taken nineteen ships, we should never have declared our task well accomplished, as long as the twentieth had sailed the seas. You know how it is with us, Stone. You have spent too much time on the Mediterranean, for me to need to say anything to you about it. “I hope to be under your orders, My Lord,” said my father, “the next time we meet them. ” “We shall meet them, we must, and it shall be. By Heaven! I shall not rest, until I have given them a shock. That rascal Bonaparte intends to humble us. Let him try, and God favor the good cause!” He spoke with such animation that the empty sleeve flapped in the air, which gave him a most extraordinary appearance. Seeing my eyes fixed on him, he smiled and turned to my father. “I can still do some work with my fin,” he said, laying his hand on his stump. “What was the talk in the fleet about that? ” “That it was a signal that it would be unwise to get across your hawsehole. ” “They know me, the rascals. You see, young gentleman, not one spark of the ardor I put into serving my country has been lost. It may happen one day that You will fly your own flag, and when that day comes, you will remember that my advice to an officer is to do nothing halfway, by half measures. Put in your stake at once, and if you lose through no fault of your own, the country will give you another stake of the same value. Don’t worry about maneuvers. Never mind maneuvers! The only one you need is to stand shoulder to shoulder with the enemy. Fight to the bitter end, and you will always be right. Never have a second thought about your comfort, your own life, for your life is no longer your own from the day you put on the blue uniform. It belongs to the country, and it must be spent without counting the cost if the country derives the slightest benefit from it. How’s the wind this morning, Stone? “East, southeast,” my father said without hesitation. “Then Cornwallis is doubtless on his way to Brest, though for my part, I would have preferred to try to lure them out to sea. ” “That is also what all the officers and men of the fleet would wish, Your Lordship,” said my father. “They do not like blockade duty, and that is not surprising, since it brings neither money nor honor. You remember how it was in the winter months, off Toulon, Stone, when we had on board neither powder, nor beef, nor wine, nor pork, nor flour, not even spare cables, canvas, and rope. And we were strengthening our old pontoons with ropes. God knows I did not expect to see the first Levantine come along and sink our ships. But, even so, we did not give up. Nevertheless, I fear that there, we did not do much for the honor of England.” At home, we light up the windows at the news of a great battle, but we don’t understand that it would be easier for us to repeat the Battle of the Nile six times than to remain on station all winter for the blockade. But I pray God that he will make us meet this new enemy fleet, and that we may end it with a hand-to-hand battle. “May I be with you, my lord!” said my father gravely. ” But we have already taken up too much of your time and I have nothing left to do but thank you for your kindness and offer you all my wishes. ” “Good morning, Stone,” said Nelson, “you will have your ship and if I can have this young gentleman among my officers, it will be done. But if I believe his dress,” he continued, turning his eyes to me, “you have been better off in the distribution of prizes than most of your comrades. For my part, I have never thought, I have never been able to think of earning money.” My father explained that the famous Sir Charles Tregellis was my uncle, that he had taken charge of me, and that I was staying with him. “Then you don’t need my help,” said Nelson somewhat bitterly. “When you have guineas and protection, you can get over the heads of old naval officers, even if you can’t tell the stern from the galley, or a carronade from a nine-gun. Nevertheless… What the devil is going on?” The footman had suddenly rushed into the room, but stopped short of the admiral’s angry look. “Your Lordship told me to come to you as soon as this happened,” he explained, showing a large blue envelope. “By heaven! Those are my orders,” cried Nelson, seizing it quickly and making clumsy efforts to break the seals with the hand that remained. Lady Hamilton ran to her aid, but she had scarcely cast her eyes upon the paper which was there, when she uttered a piercing scream, put her hand to her eyes, and fell down in a swoon. But I could not help recognizing that she fell down very skillfully and that, despite the loss of her senses, she had the good fortune to very skillfully arrange the folds of her costume and to adopt a classical and graceful attitude. As for him, the honest sailor, he was so incapable of trickery and affectation, that he did not suspect them in others, so he ran in a panic to the doorbell, to loudly demand servants, doctor, salts, throwing out incoherent words in his grief, pouring out in words so passionate, so moved, that my father judged it more discreet to pull me by the sleeve, as if to warn me that we had to go out stealthily. So we left him in that dark London drawing-room, losing his mind with pity for this superficial woman who had nothing natural about her, while outside, right next to the wheelhouse in Piccadilly, the tall black sedan was waiting for him, ready to take him on that long journey that would end in pursuing the French fleet on a course of seven thousand miles across the ocean, to finally meet it and defeat it. This victory was to limit Napoleon’s ambition to continental conquests , but it would cost our great sailor the life he was to lose at the most glorious moment of his existence, as I would wish to happen to all of you. Chapter 14. On the Road. The day of the great battle was already approaching. The war about to break out and Napoleon, who was becoming more and more threatening, were only second-rate objects for all sportsmen, and at that time sportsmen formed a good half of the population. In the patrician club, in the plebeian tavern, in the merchant’s coffee-house, in the soldier’s barracks, in London and in the provinces, the same question excited the whole nation.
Every coach arriving from the West brought details of the fine condition of Wilson the Crab, who had returned to his native country to train and was known to be under the immediate direction of Captain Barclay, the expert. On the other hand, although my uncle had not yet chosen his champion, no one in the public doubted that it was Jim, and the information they had of his physique and performance won him a good many bettors. However, the odds were in Wilson’s favor, and the people of the West, as one, stood for him, while in London opinion was divided. Two days before the fight, Wilson was given three to two in all the West End clubs. I had twice been to see Jim at Crawley, in the hotel where he was staying for his training, and I found him there subjected to the strict regimen in use. From daybreak until nightfall, he ran, jumped, beat a bladder suspended from a bar, or practiced against his formidable trainer. His eyes shone. His skin gleamed with overflowing health. He had such confidence in success that my apprehensions vanished at the sight of his valiant attitude and when I heard his language marked by quiet joy. “But I wonder you come to see me now, Rodney,” he said, making an effort to laugh, “now that I am become a boxer, and in your uncle’s pay, while you are in town and past Corinthian. If you had not been the best, the most sincere little gentleman in the world, you would have been my boss in a little while instead of being my friend.” Looking at this superb fellow with his distinguished face and fine features, thinking of his fine qualities, of the generous impulses of which I knew him capable, I found it so absurd that he should regard my friendship as a mark of condescension, that I could not restrain a loud burst of laughter. “All that is very well, Rodney,” he said, looking at me. fixedly in the eyes. But what does your uncle think about it? This question was a sticky one. I had to confine myself to an uncertain reply that, however indebted I was to my uncle, I had known Jim first and that I was certainly old enough to choose my friends. Jim’s doubts were well founded to a certain extent. My uncle was very definitely opposed to any intimacy between us. But as he found many other things to disapprove of in my conduct, this one lost its importance. I fear I had caused him much disappointment. I had not invented any eccentricities, although he had been kind enough to point out several, by means of which I would succeed in getting out of the rut, as he put it, and in imposing myself on the attention of the strange world in which he lived. “You are a most agile young fellow, my nephew. Don’t you think you are capable of going around a room by jumping from one piece of furniture to another without touching the parquet floor? A little feat of strength of this kind would be extremely appreciated. There was a captain of the guards who managed to make a great success for himself in society by betting a small sum that he would do it. Madame Liéven, who is extremely demanding, frequently invited him to her parties just so that he could exhibit himself. I assured her that I felt incapable of this feat. ” “You are still a little difficult,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “As my nephew, you could have secured a position for yourself by continuing my reputation for delicate taste. If you had declared war on bad taste, the world of fashion would have been quick to look to you as an arbiter by virtue of your family traditions, and you would have reached, without the slightest competition, the position that this young upstart Brummel is aiming for.” But you have no instinct in this direction. You are incapable of attention to the smallest details. Look at your shoes! And your tie again! And finally your watch chain! You should only let two rings show. I let three show, but that was going too far, and at this moment I see no fewer than five. I regret it, my nephew, but I do not believe you are destined to reach the position on which I have the right to count for a near relative. “I am sorry to have caused you these disillusionments, sir,” I said. “Your misfortune consists in not having found yourself sooner under my influence,” he said. “I could have molded you in such a way as to satisfy even my own aspirations. I had a younger brother who was in a similar case. I did my best for him, but he pretended to put strings on his shoes and in public he made the mistake of mistaking Burgundy wine for Rhine wine. The poor fellow ended up throwing himself into books and lived and died a village priest. He was a good man, but an ordinary one… and there is no place in society for the unremarkable. “Then, sir, I fear there is no place for me,” I said. “But my father has the greatest hope that Lord Nelson will find me employment in the fleet. If I have failed in the city, I am no less grateful for the kindness you have shown me in taking me on, and I hope that, if I receive my commission, I shall still be able to do you honor. ” “It may well happen that you reach the height I have set for you, but that you arrive there by another route,” said my uncle. There are men in the city, such as Lord Saint Vincent, Lord Hood, who are figures in the most respectable societies, although their only recommendation is their services in the navy. It was in the afternoon of the day preceding the battle that This conversation took place between my uncle and me, in the pretty sanctuary of his house in Jermyn Street. He was dressed, I remember, in his ample brocade coat, which he usually wore to his club, and he had his foot resting on a chair, for Abernethy, who had just gone out, was treating him for the beginnings of gout. Was it the effect of pain, was it perhaps the effect of disappointment with my future, but his manner with me was more curt than usual, and there was, I fear, a little irony in his smile when he spoke of my faults. As for me, this explanation was a relief, for my father had left London with the firm conviction that employment would be found for us both, and the only weight I had on my mind was the thought of the pain I should have in leaving my uncle without destroying the plans he had formed for me. I had taken an aversion to this empty existence for which I was so little suited, I was equally fed up with the selfish talk of a coterie of frivolous women and foolish little masters who claimed to be regarded as the center of the universe. Perhaps my uncle’s mocking smile fluttered on my lips when I heard him speak of the disdainful surprise he had felt at meeting in this sacrosanct environment the men who had saved the country from annihilation. “By the way, my nephew,” he said, “there is no drop that can hold, and whether Abernethy likes it or not, we must be in Crawley tonight. The fight will take place on Crawley Dune. Sir Lothian Hume and his champion are at Reigate. I have reserved beds for both of us at the Georges Hotel.” I’m told the crowd will exceed anything ever seen. The smell of these country inns is always disagreeable to me, but what can you do? The other day at the Berkeley Club, Craven was saying there wasn’t a bed to be had for twenty miles around Crawley and they were charging three guineas a night. I hope your young friend, if I’m to regard him as such, will live up to his promise, for I’ve put more on the vent than I care to lose. Sir Lothian, too, is putting his all into it, for he’s made an extra bet at Limmer’s of five thousand to Wilson’s three thousand. From what I know of the state of his affairs, he’ll be seriously damaged if we carry off… Well, Lorimer? “Someone who wishes to see you, Sir Charles,” said the new valet. “You know I don’t receive anyone until my toilette is finished. ” “He insists on seeing you, sir. He almost broke down the door. ” “Breaked down the door? What do you mean, Lorimer? Why didn’t you turn him out?” A smile crossed the servant’s face. At the same moment, a deep bass voice was heard in the corridor . “I told you to let me in at once, my boy. Otherwise, it will be too bad for you.” It seemed to me that I had heard this voice before, but when, over the servant’s shoulder, I glimpsed a large, fleshy, bovine face, with a flattened Michelangelo nose in the center, I at once recognized the man I had had for a neighbor at supper. “It’s War the boxer, sir,” I said. “Yes, sir,” said our visitor, ushering his bulky person into the room. This is Bill War, the keeper of the public-house at the Tonne in Jermyn Street, and the best- rated man for stamina. There’s only one thing I get beaten for, Sir Charles, and that’s my meat; it grows so fast I’ve always got four stone when I don’t need it. Yes, sir, I’ve caught enough to make a champion of the little ones. weight, with what I have in excess. You would hardly believe to see me that, even after fighting with Mendoza, I was able to jump over the four-foot height of the rope that surrounds the ring, with the agility of a small kid, but, now, if I threw my beaver into the ring, I would never be able to catch him again, unless the wind blew him out, for the devil take me if I could get over the rope to catch him. I present my respects to you, young man, and I hope you are in good health. An expression of great annoyance had appeared on my uncle’s face , at seeing his private abode thus invaded. But it was one of the necessities of his situation to remain on good terms with the professionals. He therefore contented himself with asking him what business brought him. For all reply, the fat wrestler cast a significant look at the servant. “It is an important matter, Sir Charles, and it must remain between you and me.” “You may go out, Lorimer… Now, War, what is it?
” The boxer sat very quietly astride a chair, resting his arms on the back. “I have had some information, Sir Charles,” he said. “Well! What is it?” cried my uncle impatiently . “Valuable information. ” “Come now, explain yourself. ” “Information worth money,” said War, pursing his lips. “I see you want to be paid for what you know.” The boxer smiled affirmatively. “Yes, but I don’t buy anything on trust. You know me well enough not to play that game with me. ” “I know you for what you are, Sir Charles, that is to say, for a noble Corinthian, a complete Corinthian. But you see, if I were to use that against you, it would put hundreds of pounds in my pocket. But my heart will not suffer it . ” Bill War has always been for good sport and fair play. If I use it for you, I hope you’ll see that I don’t lose by it. “You can do as you please,” said my uncle. “If your information is of any use to me, I’ll know what I must do for you. ” “It couldn’t be more frank than that. We’ll be content with it, boss, and you’ll be as generous as you ‘ve always been known to be. Well, our man, Jim Harrison, is fighting Wilson the Crab, of Gloucester, tomorrow, on Crawley Downs for a stake. ” “Well, what about after that? ” “Do you happen to know what the odds were yesterday? ” “They were three to two on Wilson. ” “That’s right, boss. Three to two, that’s what was offered in my barroom. Do you know what the odds are today? ” “I haven’t gone out yet. ” “Well, I’ll tell you, they’re seven to one on your man.” “You say? ” “Seven to one, boss, no less. ” “You’re talking nonsense, War. How can it be that the odds have gone from three to two to seven to one? ” “I’ve been to Tom Owen’s, I’ve been to the Hole in the Wall, I’ve been to The Carriage and Horses, and you can lay seven to one in any of those houses. Money is being wagered by the ton against your man. It’s the same proportion as a horse to a fowl in every sporting-house, in every public-house, from here to Stepney. ” The look that came over my uncle’s face convinced me that this was a serious matter for him. Then he shrugged his shoulders with a smile of incredulity. “So much for fools who lay bets,” he said. “My man’s in good health. Did you see him yesterday, my nephew? ” “He was very well yesterday, sir.” — If something bad had happened, I would have been informed. “But perhaps nothing untoward has happened to him yet ,” said War. “What do you mean? ” “I’ll explain, sir. You remember, Berks? You know he’s a man who can hardly inspire confidence at all times, and that he has it in for your man, because he was beaten by him in the carriage house. Well! Last night, about ten o’clock, he came into my bar escorted by the three most out-and-out scoundrels in London. These three were Red Ike, the one who was put out of the ring for cheating with Bittoon; then Yussef the Fighter, who would sell his mother for a seven-shilling piece; the third was Chris Mac Carthy, a dog thief by profession, who has a kennel down by Haymarket. It’s very rare to see these four beauties together, and they all had more than they could hold, except Chris, a rabbit too clever to get drunk when there’s a deal going on. For my part, I showed them into the parlor. Not that it was worth the trouble, but I was afraid they might start picking fights with my customers, and I didn’t want to jeopardize my license by leaving them at the counter. I poured them drinks and stayed with them, just to keep them from getting their hands on the stuffed parrot and the pictures. Well, boss, to cut a long story short, they began to talk about the fight and burst out laughing at the idea that young Harrison might win, all of them except Chris, who stood there making signs and grimaces at the others, so much so that at last Berks was about to smack him in the face for his trouble. I guessed something was up, and it wasn’t hard to see, especially when Red Ike said he’d bet a fiver that Jim Harrison wouldn’t fight. So I got up to get another bottle of tongue-tie and went behind the closed wicket of a shutter through which drinks were brought from the bar into the living room. I opened it a thumb’s width, and even if I’d been sitting at the table with them, I couldn’t have heard any better what they were saying. There was Chris McCarthy grumbling at them because they wouldn’t keep their mouths shut. There was Joe Berks talking about beating them up if they had the nerve to call him out any more. So Chris began to reason with them, for he was afraid of Berks, and he asked them if they really wanted to be fit to do the job the next morning, and if the boss would agree to pay, seeing that they had gotten drunk and that they were not to be counted on. That calmed all three of them, and Yussef the Fighter asked what time they would leave. Chris told them that as long as the Georges Hotel in Crawley was not closed, we could work on that. “It’s very badly paid to use the rope,” said Ike the Red. “To hell with the rope,” said Chris, taking a small leaded stick from his side pocket. “While three of you hold him down , I’ll break the bone in his arm with this. We’ll have earned our money, and we risk six months in prison at the most. ” “He’ll defend himself,” said Berks. “Well,” said Chris, “that will be his only fight. I haven’t heard any more.” This morning I went out, and I saw, as I told you, that the odds in Wilson’s favor were rising to fabulous sums, that the gamblers never found them high enough . That’s where we are, boss, and you know what that means, better than Bill War could tell you. “Very well, War,” said my uncle, rising, “I am very much obliged to you for telling me that, and I will see to it that you do not lose by it. I look upon it as the idle talk of drunken scoundrels, but you have nevertheless done me an immense service .” by drawing my attention in that direction. I expect to see you tomorrow at the Dunes. — Mr. Jackson has asked me to take charge of the ring. — Very well. I hope we shall have a fair and good fight. Good evening and thank you. — My uncle had maintained his somewhat mocking attitude while War was present, but he had scarcely closed the door when he turned to me with a look of agitation I had never seen in him. — We must start at once for Crawley, nephew, he said, smiling. There is not a minute to lose. Lorimer, have the bay mares hitched to the carriage. Put the toilet-kit in it and tell William to be at the door as soon as possible. — I will see to it, sir, I said. And I ran to the coach-house in Little Ryder Street where my uncle kept his horses. The stable-boy was away and I had to send a lad to look for him. Meanwhile, with the help of the groom, I pulled the carriage out and got the two mares out of their stalls. It took half an hour, perhaps three-quarters of an hour, before everything was in place. Lorimer was already waiting in Jermyn Street with the inevitable baskets while my uncle stood in the open doorway, dressed in his full fawn-colored riding coat. His pale face was impassively calm and betrayed nothing of the tumultuous emotions that were battling within his chest. I was certain of it. “We’ll leave you, Lorimer. We might have difficulty finding you a bed. Hold their heads, William. Get in, nephew. Hola! War, what’s the matter?” The boxer was running up with all the speed his girth would allow. “Just one more word before you go, Sir Charles,” he said, panting. I heard in my bar that the four men in question had left for Crawley at one o’clock. ‘Very well, War,’ said my uncle, with one foot on the step. ‘And the odds have gone up to ten to one. ‘ ‘Let go of the head, William. ‘ ‘One more word, master, just one. You’ll excuse my liberty. But if I were you, I’d take my pistols. ‘ ‘Thank you, I’ve got them.’ The long thong snapped between the ears of the lead horse. The groom sprang ashore, and we passed from Jermyn Street to Saint James Street and thence to Whitehall with a rapidity which indicated that the gallant mares were no less impatient than their master. The Houses of Parliament clock showed a little after half-past four when we flew over Westminster Bridge. The water reflected below us as quickly as lightning, and then we drove between the two rows of brown-walled houses forming the avenue that had led us to London. We had reached Streatham when he broke the silence. “I have a considerable stake, nephew,” he said. “And so do I,” I replied. “You!” he cried in surprise. “I have my friend, sir! ” “Ah! yes, I had forgotten. You have your eccentricity, after all, nephew. You are a true friend, which is a rare thing in our world. I have only ever had one in my position, and that one… But you heard me tell the story. I fear it will be dark when we reach Crawley. ” “I fear so too. ” “Then we may be too late. ” “God grant that not, sir.” “We are behind the best beasts in England, but I fear we shall find the roads clogged before we reach Crawley. Have you heard, nephew! War heard those four bandits talking about someone giving them orders and paying them for their crime. You understand, don’t you? That they were hired to cripple my man.” So who could have hired them, who could be interested in them? Unless it was… I know Sir Lothian Hume to be a man capable of anything. I know he lost large sums at cards at Wattier’s and at White’s. I know he gambled a large sum on this event and entered into it with a rashness that makes his friends believe he has some personal reason to count on the result. By heavens! How it all comes together. If that were so… He fell silent again, but I saw reappear that expression of fierce coldness which I had noticed in him the day when he and Sir John Lade were running side by side on the Godstone road . The sun was slowly sinking over the low Surrey hills and the shadows were falling from moment to moment, but the wheels continued to hum and the hooves to beat without slowing down. A fresh wind blew in our faces, though the leaves hung motionless from the branches of the trees that stretched over the road. The golden rims of the sun had scarcely disappeared behind the oaks of the Reigate hill when the sweat-drenched mares arrived in front of the Crown Hotel at Red Hill. The owner, a sportsman and ring lover, ran up to greet a Corinthian as well known as Sir Charles Tregellis. “You know Berks, the boxer?” asked my uncle. “Yes, Sir Charles. ” “Has he been? ” “Yes, Sir Charles.” It must have been about four o’clock, though with this throng of people and carriages, it was difficult to swear. There was him, Red Ike, the Jew Yussef, and another . They had a bloody beast between the shafts. They had driven it at full speed, for it was covered with foam. “That’s very serious, my nephew,” said my uncle, as we flew towards Reigate. ” If they were going at this rate, it’s because they evidently wanted to make their move early. ” “Jim and Belcher would certainly be strong enough to stand up to all four of them,” I suggested. “If Belcher were with him, I should fear nothing; but there’s no telling what devilry they’ve arranged. Just let us find him safe and sound, and I won’t lose a moment until I see him in the ring. We’ll keep watch with our pistols, my nephew, and I only hope that these villains will be bold enough to try their blow. But they must have been quite certain of success beforehand, for the odds to have risen to such a figure, and that’s what worries me. ” “But surely they have nothing to gain by committing such an infamy, sir.” If they can injure Jim, the fight cannot take place and the bets will not be decided. — This would be the case in an ordinary prize fight , and it is fortunate that it is so, otherwise the rogues who infest the ring would soon make all sport impossible, but here it is otherwise. According to the terms of the bet, I must lose, unless I present a man within a certain age limit, who is the victor of Wilson the Crab. You must remember that I have not named my man; it is a pity, but it is so. We know who he is, our opponents know it too, but the referees and the depositary of the stakes would refuse to take it into account. If we complained that Jim Harrison was out of contention, they would answer us that they were not duly informed that Jim Harrison was our champion. The terms are, play or pay, and the scoundrels take advantage of it. The fears my uncle had expressed about the congestion of the road were only too well justified, for when we had passed Reigate, we saw such a procession of carriages of all kinds that, during the eight miles which remained to be covered, there was not, I believe, a single horse whose nostrils were more than a few feet from the rear of the carriage or cart in front of it. All the roads leading out of London, like those leading away from Guildford in the west, from Tunbridge in the east, had contributed in their part to swell this flood of four-in -hand, gigs, and sportsmen on horseback, so that the broad road to Brighton was filled from ditch to ditch with a crowd laughing, shouting, singing, and marching in the same direction. It was impossible for anyone who had looked upon this motley crowd not to recognize that the passion for the ring, good or bad , was not the distinguishing feature of a certain class, but that it was a mark of the national character, deeply rooted in the nature of the Englishman, that it had been transmitted from generation to generation, as well to the young aristocrat who drove his fine carriage, as to the rude dealers sitting six rows deep in their carts drawn by a bidet. There I saw statesmen and soldiers, gentlemen and lawyers, farmers and squires, East End tramps and provincial oafs. All these people were struggling with the prospect of spending a painful night, just for the chance of witnessing a fight which might end in a single round, a thing impossible to predict. A more cheerful, more cordial crowd could not be imagined. Jokes crossed, as thick as clouds of dust, and in front of every roadside inn, the landlord and the waiters stood ready with their trays laden with pots overflowing with foam to quench the thirst of these busy mouths. These stops for beer, this rough camaraderie, the cordiality, the inconveniences greeted with peals of laughter, this impatience to see the fight, were all traits, which could be called vulgar, popular, by people of difficult taste, but as for me, now that I listen to the distant and vague echoes of our past time, all this seems to me to constitute the skeleton which formed the framework so solid and so virile of which this ancient race was composed. But alas! what chance had we of gaining ground? My uncle, with all his skill, could not see a passage in this moving mass. We had to keep our place in the file and crawl like snails from Reigate to Horley, then to Povey Cross, then to Lowfield Heath, while day gave way to dusk and that to night. At Kimberham Bridge, all the lanterns were lit. It was a marvelous sight, the curve of the road stretching out before us, the coils of that golden-scaled serpent uncoiling in the darkness. At last! At last, we saw the immense, shapeless mass of the Crawley elm towering above us in the darkness, and we came to the entrance of the village street where all the cottage windows were lit, and then to the high front of the old Georges Hotel, where light was to be seen in every door, in every pane, in every crack in honor of the noble company who were to spend the night there. Chapter 15. Foul Play. My uncle’s impatience did not allow him to wait his turn in the procession that was to bring us to the door. He threw the reins and a piece of a crown to one of the poorly dressed individuals who crowded the pedestrian walkway, and, quickly pushing his way through the crowd, he pushed towards the entrance. When he appeared in the zone of light thrown by the windows, we wondered in low voices who this imperious gentleman, with the pale face, under his riding cloak could be, and a gap formed to let us pass. Until then I had not suspected how popular my uncle was in the sporting world, for as we passed, people began to shout at the top of their lungs: “Hurrah! for the handsome Tregellis! Good luck to you and your champion, Sir Charles! Make way for the famous, the noble Corinthian! ” Meanwhile the butler, attracted by the acclamations, was running to meet us. “Good evening, Sir Charles,” he cried. “You are well, I hope? And you will agree, I am sure, that your champion does honor to the George. ” “How is he?” my uncle asked quickly. “He could not be better, sir. He is as handsome as a painting. Yes, he is fit to win a kingdom in wrestling. ” My uncle sighed with relief. “Where is he?” he asked. “He came back early to his room, sir, for he had some very special business to attend to tomorrow,” said the butler with a hearty laugh. “Where is Belcher?” –Here he is in the bar-room. As he said this, he opened the door. We peered in and saw about twenty well-dressed men, among whom I recognized several figures that had become familiar to me during my short career in the West End. They were seated around a table on which a tureen full of punch was steaming. At the other end, very comfortably installed among the aristocrats and dandies who surrounded him, sat the champion of England, the magnificent athlete, leaning back in his chair, a red scarf carelessly knotted around his neck, in the picturesque manner with which his name was long associated. More than half a century has passed, and I have seen my share of handsome men. Perhaps it is because I am myself rather short , but it is a trait of my character to find more pleasure in the sight of a handsome man than in that of any other masterpiece of nature. Nevertheless, during all this time, I have never seen a more handsome man than Jim Belcher, and if I seek to find a counterpart in my memories, I can find none other than the second, Jim, whose fate and adventures I seek to relate to you. There were joyful exclamations of welcome when my uncle’s figure appeared on the threshold. “Come in, Tregellis, we have been expecting you… We have ordered a famous shoulder of mutton… What fresh news do you bring us from London?… What does this mean, this rise in the odds against your champion?… Have people gone mad?… What the devil is going on?… Everyone was talking at once. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” replied my uncle, “I will make it my duty to give you later all the news I can. I have a matter of some importance to attend to. Belcher, I would like to have a few words with you.” The champion came to join us in the corridor. “Where is your man, Belcher?” “He’s back in his room, sir. I think twelve hours of good sleep will do him a lot of good before the fight. ” “How did he spend the day? ” “I had him do some light exercises, stick, dumbbells, walking, and half an hour with the boxing gloves. He ‘ll do us all credit, sir, or I’m just a Dutchman. But what the devil is going on about the betting? If I didn’t know he was as straight as a fishing line, I’d have thought he was playing a double game and betting against himself. ” “That’s why I came running, Belcher. I’ve been informed on good authority that there’s a plot to cripple him, and the scoundrels are so certain of success that they’re willing to bet any sum that he won’t show up. ” Belcher hissed through his teeth. “I haven’t seen any evidence of that, sir. No one has been with him, no one spoke to him, except your nephew and me. — Four bandits, and of this number Berks who leads them, were several hours ahead of us. It was War who told me. — What War says is right and what Joe Berks does is crooked. Who were the others? — Ike the red, Yussef the fighter, and Chris Mac Carthy. — A fine band indeed. Well! sir, the young man is safe and sound, but it might be prudent for one or other of us to stay in his room with him. For my part, as long as he is in my care, I never stray far from him. — It is a pity to wake him. — He will have some difficulty falling asleep with all this noise in the house. This way, sir, follow the corridor. We walked through the long, low, winding corridors of the old-fashioned inn to the rear of the house. “This is my room, sir,” said Belcher, nodding to a door on the right. “The one on the left is his.” So saying, he opened it. “Jim,” he said, “this is Sir Charles Tregellis coming to see you. And then. ” “Good heavens! What does this mean?” The small room appeared before us in its full extent, brightly lit by a brass lamp on the table. The sheets had not been drawn, but folds in the quilt showed that someone had been lying on them. Half of the openwork shutter swung on its hinges, and a cloth cap thrown on the table—that was all that remained of the occupant of the room. My uncle looked around and nodded. “We are too late, it seems. ” “Here is his cap, sir.” Where the devil can he have gone bareheaded ? An hour ago, I thought he was quiet and in bed. Jim! Jim! he called. “He certainly went out of the window,” my uncle cried. “I ‘m convinced those bandits lured him out by some diabolical device of theirs. Take the lamp to light my way, nephew. Ha! I suspected it, here are the prints of his feet in the flowerbed. The butler and two or three of the Corinthians, who were in the barroom, had followed us to the back of the house. One of them opened the side door and we found ourselves in the vegetable garden and there, grouped on the sanded path, we were able to lower the lamp to the soft, freshly turned earth between us and the window. “Here are the prints of his feet,” said Belcher. He was wearing his walking boots tonight , and you can see the nails. But what is this? Some other person has come here. ‘A woman!’ I cried. ‘By heavens! you are right, nephew.’ Belcher cursed with conviction. ‘He has never said a word to any young lady in the village. I
have taken particular notice of that! And to think that here they are, arriving at such a time! ‘ ‘That is as clear as can be, Tregellis,’ said the Honorable Berkeley Craven, who had left the company assembled in the bar-room. ‘Whoever it was came in from the outside and knocked at the window. You see here and here again the prints of little shoes, all with their toes in the direction of the house, while the other prints are turned outwards. She came to call him, and he followed her. ‘ ‘That is perfectly certain,’ said my uncle. ‘We must separate and search in different directions, unless some clue reveals where they have gone.’ “There’s only one path leading out of the garden,” said the master of the hotel, putting himself at our head. “It opens onto that secluded alleyway that leads to the stables. The other end goes to the little road. Suddenly there appeared the strong yellow light of a stable lantern, drawing a brilliant circle in the darkness, and a groom came sauntering out into the yard. “Who goes there?” shouted the master of the inn. “It’s me, landlord, Bill Shields. ” “How long have you been here, Bill? ” “Landlord, I’ve been in the stables for an hour, pacing back and forth. There’s no way I can put another horse in. It’s no use trying, and I hardly dare give them anything to eat, for if they take up any more room… ” “Come this way, Bill, and be careful with your answers, for one mistake may cost you your place. Have you seen anyone go by on the path? ” “There was a fellow in a rabbit-hair cap here some time ago .” He was there, loitering, so I asked him what he was doing, for his face didn’t suit me, nor did his way of leering at the windows. I turned the stable lantern on him, but he lowered his head, and all I can say is that his hair was red. I glanced quickly at my uncle, and saw that his face had darkened still further. “What happened to him?” he asked. “He slipped away, and I saw no more of him, sir. ” “You saw no other person? You didn’t see, for instance, a woman and a man going out together by the path? ” “No, sir. ” “Heard anything extraordinary? ” “Ah! since you mention it, sir, yes, I heard something , but, on a night like this, when all the scoundrels of London are in the village… ” “Well! what was it?” “Well, sir, it was like a scream from over there . It sounded like someone who’d caught a bad blow. I thought, ‘It must be two fellows fighting,’ and I didn’t pay much attention. ” “Which way did the scream come from? ” “From the road, sir. ” “Did it come from far away? ” “No, sir, I’m sure it came from two hundred yards at the most. ” “Just one scream? ” “Yes, like a howl. Then I heard a car go by at full speed along the road. I remember thinking it was odd that anyone should be leaving Crawley in a car on a night like this.” My uncle took the lantern from the man, and we went down the path, grouped behind him. The path ended at a right angle with the road. My uncle ran to it, but he didn’t have to look long. The strong light suddenly illuminated something that brought a groan to my lips and a harsh curse to Belcher’s. Across the bleached surface of the road dust lay a scarlet streak, and near the ominous stain lay a small and deadly instrument, a pocket stunner, such as War had mentioned in the morning. Chapter 16. The Crawley Downs. During that terrible night, my uncle and I, Belcher, Berkeley Craven, and a dozen Corinthians searched the whole countryside for some trace of our lost champion, but apart from that ominous trace on the road, not the slightest clue was discovered as to what had happened to him. No one had seen him, no one had learned anything about him. The isolated cry, uttered in the night, of which the groom had spoken, was the only evidence that a tragedy had taken place. Divided into small groups, we scoured the whole country as far as East Grintead and even Bletchingley, and the sun was already quite high above the horizon when we returned to Crawley, heavy-hearted and overcome with fatigue. My uncle, who had driven to Reigate, hoping to bring back some information, returned only seven hours passed and a glance at his face told us news as gloomy as that which he read on our faces . We held a council around the table where a lunch was served to us which hardly tempted us and to which Mr. Berkeley Craven had been invited, in his capacity as a man of good advice and great experience in matters of sport. Belcher was half mad to see all the trouble he had taken for this training turn so abruptly. He was incapable of anything other than hurling delirious threats at Berks and his companions and promising to arrange them nicely as soon as he met them. My uncle remained grave and pensive. He did not eat and drummed his fingers on the table. My heart was heavy, I was on the point of hiding my face in my hands and bursting into tears, at the thought of my powerlessness to help my friend. Mr. Berkeley Craven, a flourishing man of the world, was the only one among us who seemed to have kept both his composure and his appetite. “Come now, the fight was to take place at ten o’clock, wasn’t it?” he asked. “It was agreed upon. ” “I venture to believe it will take place. Never say: it’s over, Tregellis. Your champion has three hours to return.” My uncle nodded. “The bandits will have done their work too well for that to be possible. I fear so,” he said. “Come now, let’s reason it out,” said Berkeley Craven. “A young woman wants to draw the young man from his room with her teasing. Do you know any young woman who has influence over him?” My uncle looked at me questioningly. “No, I don’t know any. ” “Well, we know one has come,” said Berkeley Craven. “There ‘s not the slightest doubt about that.” She came with some touching story, some story that a gallant young man cannot refuse to listen to. He fell into the trap and was lured into some place where the scoundrels were waiting for him. We can take all this for granted, I suppose, Tregellis? “I can’t think of a more plausible explanation,” said my uncle. “Well then, it’s obvious that these men have no interest in killing him. War heard them say so. They weren’t sure, perhaps, that they would do such a sturdy young man enough harm to put him absolutely out of fighting. Even with a broken arm, he could have risked a fight: others have done so before.
There was too much money at stake for them to put themselves in the slightest danger. They will no doubt have given him a blow on the head to prevent him from putting up too much resistance, and then they will have taken him to a farm or a stable where they will hold him prisoner until the time for the fight is over.” I guarantee you’ll see him again before nightfall, as well as before. This theory had such plausible appearances that it seemed to me to lift a weight from my heart, but I saw that from my uncle’s point of view it was hardly consoling. “I think I can say you’re right, Craven,” he said. “I’m convinced of it. ” “But it will hardly help us to win the victory. ” “That’s the main point, sir,” cried Belcher. “By the Lord, I wish I could be allowed to take his place, even with my left arm strapped to my back. ” “At any rate, I would advise you to go to the ring,” said Craven. “You must hold out until the last moment, with the hope that your man will return. ” “That I shall certainly do, and I shall protest if I am forced to pay the stake under such circumstances.” Craven shrugged his shoulders. “You remember the terms of the match,” he said. “I’m afraid they are still: Play or pay. No doubt the case might be submitted to the judges, but they will decide against you, there is no doubt in my mind. ” We had fallen into a melancholy silence, when suddenly Belcher jumped up on the table. “Listen,” he cried, “listen to this. ” “What is it?” we cried with one voice. “It’s the odds. Listen to this. ” Above the hubbub of voices and the rumble of wheels from outside, a single sentence reached our ears. “Even on Sir Charles’s champion. ” “Even,” cried my uncle. “It was seven to one against me yesterday. What does that mean? ” “Even on both champions,” repeated the voice. “There is someone who knows something,” said Belcher, “and there is no one who has a greater right to know it than we do. Come, sir, and we will get to the bottom of it.” The village street was crowded, for twelve or fifteen people had slept in a room, and hundreds of gentlemen had spent the night in their carriages. The crowd was so dense that it was not easy to get out of the Georges Hotel. A man, who was snoring terribly , was sprawled on the doorstep and did not seem to notice the stream of people passing around him, and sometimes over him. “What are the odds, children?” asked Belcher from the top of the steps.
“At par, Jim,” cried several voices. “It was much higher in Wilson’s favor when I last heard it.” “Yes, but a man came along who soon lowered it , and after him they began to follow him, so that now you find yourself betting at even. ” “Who started it? ” “Well, here he is! It’s that man who is lying drunk on the steps. He has been drinking as if it were water ever since he arrived in the carriage at six o’clock, and it is not surprising that he is in this state. ” Belcher bent down and turned the inert head of the individual so that his features could be seen. “He is a stranger to me, sir. ” “And to me too,” added my uncle. “But not to me,” I cried. “That is John Cummings, the landlord of the Friar’s Oak inn. I have known him since I was a boy, and I cannot be mistaken. ” “And what the devil can that fellow know of the matter?” said Craven. “Nothing at all, in all probability,” replied my uncle. “I beg you to bring me some lavender water, landlord, for the smell of this crowd is dreadful. My nephew, I do n’t think you’ll be able to get a reasonable word out of this drunkard, or make him say what he knows. It was in vain that I shook him by the shoulders, that I shouted his name in his ears. Nothing could rouse him from this blissful intoxication. ” “Well! that’s a unique situation, as far as my experience goes,” said Berkeley Craven. “We are two hours into the fight, and yet you don’t know if you’ll have a man to represent you. I hope you haven’t committed yourself to lose a lot, Tregellis?” My uncle shrugged his shoulders and took a pinch of his tobacco with that broad, inimitable gesture that no one had ever dared to imitate. “Very well, my boy,” he said, “but it is time we thought of setting out for the Dunes. This night journey has left me somewhat untouched, and I should not be sorry to be left alone for half an hour to attend to my toilet. If this is to be my last kick, at least it will be delivered by a well-polished hoof. I heard a man who had traveled in the uncultivated regions say that, in his opinion, the Indian and the English gentleman were close relatives, he gave as proof their common passion for sport and their ability to keep emotion hidden. I remembered this language, seeing my uncle, that morning, because I do not believe that ever a victim tied to the stake had had before his eyes such a cruel prospect. Not only was a good part of his fortune at stake, but also, it was a question of the terrible situation in which he would find himself before this immense crowd, among which were many people who had risked their money according to his judgment, and he would perhaps see himself at the last moment reduced to making worthless excuses, instead of having a champion to present. What a situation for a man who had always prided himself on his aplomb, who presented himself as capable of carrying out all undertakings with great success. I, who knew him well, I saw from the livid color of his cheeks and the nervous agitation of his fingers, that he really did not know where to turn. But a stranger who had seen his easy manner, the way he fluttered his embroidered handkerchief, the way he handled his strange eyeglass, the way he waved his cuffs, would never have believed that this sort of butterfly could have the slightest earthly concern. It was nearly nine o’clock when we were ready to leave for the Crawley Downs. At that moment, my uncle’s carriage was almost the only one left in the village street. The other carriages had remained the night, with their wheels crossed, the shafts of one placed on the body of another in as close rows as could be placed, from the old church to the Crawley elm , covering the road five abreast and a good half mile in length. At that moment, the gray village street stretched out before us, almost deserted. Only a few women and children were to be seen. Men, horses, carriages, all had gone. My uncle took off his riding gloves and arranged his clothing with meticulous care, but I noticed that he glanced up and down the road in both directions, where, however, some hope was still visible, before getting into the carriage. I sat in the back with Belcher. The Honorable Berkeley Craven sat next to my uncle. The Crawley road reaches, by a beautiful curve, the heather-covered plateau that stretches for many miles in all directions. Lines of pedestrians, most of them so tired, so covered with dust that they had evidently walked the thirty miles to London during the night, trudged along the edges of the road or took the shortest route by climbing the long, motley slope that leads up to the plateau. A rider, in a fancy green costume and superbly mounted, was waiting at the crossroads, and when he had spurred his horse up to us, I recognized the handsome brown face and bold black eyes of Mendoza. “I’m waiting here to give the official information, Sir Charles,” he said. “It’s down the Grinstead road, half a mile to the left. ” “Very well,” said my uncle, pulling on the mares’ reins to take the road that opened there. “You didn’t bring your man there,” remarked Mendoza, a little suspiciously. “What the devil does it matter to you?” cried Belcher furiously . “It means a great deal to all of us, for strange stories are being told. ” “Then you’d better keep them to yourself or you might repent of listening to them. ” “All right, Jim!” I see your breakfast this morning didn’t go well. “Have the others arrived?” said my uncle, with a carefree air. “Not yet, Sir Charles, but Tom Oliver is down there with the ropes and stakes. Jackson has just arrived by car, and most of the ring keepers are at their posts. “We have another hour,” my uncle remarked, as he set off again. “It’s possible the others will be late, since they have to come from Reigate. ” “You take it like a man, Tregellis,” said Craven. “We must keep a good countenance and a brazen front until the last moment. ” “Of course, sir,” cried Belcher, “I never thought the betting would rise like this. Someone knows… We must go in tooth and nail, Sir Charles, and see how it turns out.” A noise like waves making on the beach came to us long before we were in the presence of this immense multitude. Finally, at a sudden dip in the road, we saw this crowd, this whirlwind of human beings unfolding before us, with a whirling void in the center. All around, carriages and horses were scattered by the thousands across the moor. The slopes were enlivened by the presence of tents and improvised shops. The site of the ring had been chosen at a place where a large hollow had been cut into the ground, so that the outline formed a natural amphitheater from which everyone could clearly see what was happening in the center. As we approached, a murmur of welcome came from the crowd that was placed on the edges and therefore closest to us, and these cheers were repeated throughout the multitude. A moment later, great shouts were heard beginning at the other end of the arena. All the figures, which had been facing us, turned around, so that in the twinkling of an eye, the entire foreground passed from white to black. “They are. They are punctual,” said my uncle and Craven together. Standing on our carriage, we could see the cavalcade approaching the Dunes. It began with the spacious barouche where Sir Lothian Hume, Wilson the Crab, and Captain Barclay, his trainer, were seated. The postilions had streams of canary-yellow favors in their headdresses. This was the color in which Wilson was to fight. Behind the carriage came on horseback at least a hundred gentlemen from the West, then a line, as far as the eye could see, of gigs, tilburys, and carriages. All this went down the Grinstead road. The big barouche was coming, lurching over the meadow, in our direction. Sir Lothian Hume saw us and ordered his postilions to halt. “Good morning, Sir Charles,” he said, dismounting. “I thought I recognized your red carriage. This is a fine morning for wrestling.” My uncle bowed coldly, without replying. “I suppose, since we are all present, we can begin at once,” said Sir Lothian, without paying attention to his interlocutor’s manner. “We will begin at ten o’clock. Not a minute sooner. ” “Very well, since you insist. By the way, Sir Charles, where is your man? ” “I should ask you this question, Sir Lothian. Where is my man? ” An expression of astonishment crossed Sir Lothian’s features, an expression admirably feigned if it were not genuine.
“What do you mean by asking me such a question? ” “I want to know. ” “But how can I answer? Is it my business? ” “I have reason to believe you have made it your business. ” “If you would be so kind as to explain yourself a little more clearly, it might perhaps be possible for me to understand you.” Both were very pale, very cold, very stiff and impassive in their attitude, but they exchanged glances as if they were crossing swords. I remembered Sir Lothian’s reputation as a terrible duellist, and I trembled for my uncle. “Now, sir, if you think you have a grievance against me, you would oblige me infinitely by making it plain to me. ” “That is what I will do,” said my uncle. “A plot has been organized to maim or kidnap my champion, and I have every possible reason to believe that you are involved in it. ” A nasty, sneering smile crossed Sir Lothian’s bilious face. “I see,” he said, “your man has not become the champion you expected, at the end of his training, and you are at a loss to find a defeat. All the same, I believe you could have found one that was more plausible or that involved less serious consequences. ” “Sir,” replied my uncle, “you are a liar, but no one knows better than you how much of a liar you are.” Sir Lothian’s sunken cheeks turned pale with anger, and for a moment I saw in his deep-set eyes the gleam one sees in the depths of a furious mastiff’s rearing and dragging itself at the end of its chain. Then, with an effort, he became his usual cold, hard, self-possessed man. “It is not fitting in our situation to quarrel like two drunken louts on market day,” he said. “We will take the matter further another day. ” “For that, I promise you,” my uncle replied fiercely . “Meanwhile, I invite you to observe the conditions of your engagement. If you do not present your champion in twenty -five minutes, I claim the stake. ” “Twenty-eight minutes,” my uncle said, looking at his watch. “Then you may claim it, but not a moment sooner.” He was admirable at this moment, for he had the air of a man who has all sorts of hidden resources at his disposal. Meanwhile, Craven, who had exchanged a few words with Sir Lothian Hume, came back to us. “I have been asked to act as sole judge in this matter. Does that meet your wishes, Sir Charles? ” “I should be extremely obliged to you, Craven, if you would accept the office. ” “And Jackson has been proposed as timekeeper. ” “I could not wish for a better one. ” “Very well, that is agreed.” Meanwhile, the last carriage had arrived and the horses had been tied to the stake on the moor. The stragglers had closed in so that the vast multitude now formed a compact mass from which arose a single voice that began to roar with impatience. When one cast one’s eyes around, one could scarcely perceive any object in motion on that vast expanse of green and purple moor. A belated gig was galloping up the road from the south.
A few pedestrians were still trudging up from Crawley, but nowhere was there a sign of the absent man to be seen. “The betting’s going well, though,” said Belcher. “I’ve been around the ring and it’s still even. ” “There’s a place for you in the outer enclosure near the ring, Sir Charles,” said Craven. “I can’t see any sign of my champion yet. I won’t go in until he arrives. ” “It’s my duty to warn you there are only ten minutes left. ” “And I score five,” cried Sir Lothian. “That’s a question for the judge to decide,” said Craven firmly . “My watch shows ten minutes, it will be ten minutes. ” “Here’s Wilson the Crab,” cried Belcher. At the same moment, a shout like thunder rang out from the crowd . The Western boxer had come out of the tent where he was washing. He was followed by Dutchman Sam and Tom Owen, who were acting as his second-in-command. He was naked to the waist, wearing a pair of white drawers, white silk stockings, and running shoes. Around his waist was a canary-yellow sash, and pretty little favors of the same color were tied to his knees. In his hand, he held a large white hat. He ran across the space that had been kept free in the crowd to allow access to the ring. He threw the hat into the air, which fell into the enclosure formed by the stakes. Then, with a double leap, he cleared the outer and inner rope enclosures and remained standing in the center with his arms folded. I was not surprised at the applause of the crowd. Belcher himself could not help joining in. He was certainly a young athlete of magnificent structure. It was impossible to see anything more beautiful than his white skin, lustrous and shiny like a panther’s hide under the rays of the morning sun, with the beautiful waves of the play of muscles at each of his movements. His arms were long and flexible, his shoulders well laid back and yet powerful, with that slight fall which is more an index of strength than build. He clasped his hands behind his head, raised them, waved them behind him, and with each of his movements some new surface of smooth white skin bulged, became covered with muscular projections while a cry of admiration and rapture from the crowd greeted each of these exhibitions. Then, crossing his arms again, he remained motionless like a beautiful statue awaiting his opponent. Sir Lothian Hume, with an impatient air, had remained with his eyes fixed on his watch; he closed it with a sharp and triumphant snap. “The time is up,” he cried. “The match is forfeited.” “The time is not up,” said Craven. “I have five minutes yet,” said my uncle, casting a desperate glance around him. “Only three, Tregellis. ” “Where is your champion, Sir Charles? Where is the man we bet on?” And heated faces were already straining towards each other. Irritated glances were directed towards us. “Only one minute more. I am very sorry, Tregellis, but I shall be forced to forfeit against you.” There was a sudden stir in the crowd, a push, a shout, and from a distance, an old black hat, thrown in the air over the heads of the spectators in the ring, came rolling into the ropes. “Saved, good God!” yelled Belcher. “I think it’s my man this time,” said my uncle calmly. “Too late!” cried Sir Lothian. “No,” replied the judge, “it’s not twenty seconds.” Now the fight can take place. Chapter 17. Around the Ring. Among all this vast multitude, I was one of those, very few in number, who saw from which direction that black hat, so opportunely thrown over the ropes, was coming. I have already spoken of a gig which was approaching singly and arriving at full speed, by the southern road. My uncle had seen it, but had been distracted by the discussion between Sir Lothian Hume and the judge about the time. As for me, I had been so struck by the furious pace with which the stragglers were arriving, that I had remained watching them with a sort of vague hope, of which I dared not say anything, for fear of causing my uncle a new disappointment. I had just seen that the gig contained a woman and a man, when suddenly I saw the vehicle swerve across the road, set off at a bounding gallop, jolting on the wheels and cutting short across the moor, crushing the clumps of broom, then sinking up to its hubs in the heather and pools. When the driver stopped his foam-covered mares, he threw the reins to his companion, sprang from his seat and threw furiously through the crowd, and soon the hat was thrown, which informed everyone of the challenge. “Now, I suppose, Craven,” said my uncle, as coolly as if this dramatic turn of events had been carefully and prearranged by him, “there is no hurry. ” “Now that your champion has thrown his hat into the ring, you may take your time, Sir Charles. ” “My nephew, your friend certainly appeared in time. It was a hair’s breadth—” “It’s not Jim, sir,” I said in a low voice. “It’s another.” My uncle’s raised eyebrows expressed astonishment. “What! another!” he exclaimed. “And a solid one at that!” roared Belcher, giving himself a slap on the thigh that sounded like a pistol shot. “Hey! let my carcass jump if it isn’t old Jack Harrison himself .” We glanced at the crowd and saw the head and shoulders of a sturdy, valiant man gradually gaining ground, leaving behind him a V-shaped wake, like the one formed behind a swimming dog. Now that he was nearing the inner edge where the crowd was less dense, he raised his head, and we saw the good-natured, tanned face of the blacksmith turning towards us. As soon as he had emerged from the crowd, he quickly opened his greatcoat, under which he appeared in all his fighting gear, black breeches, chocolate-colored stockings, and white shoes. “I am very sorry to arrive so late, Sir Charles. I would have come sooner, but it took me a while to arrange things with the woman. I could not persuade her all at once, and she had to be taken with me, and we discussed the matter on the way.” And glancing at the gig, I saw Mrs. Harrison sitting there. Sir Charles beckoned to Jack Harrison. “What brings you here, Harrison?” he said. ” I was never more pleased to see a man in my life than I am to see you now, but I confess I did not expect you. ” “But, sir, you were warned that I would come. ” “No, certainly not. ” “Did you not receive word of warning, Sir Charles, from one Cummings, who is the landlord of the Friar’s Oak inn? Master Rodney here knows him well. ” “We saw him dead drunk at the Georges Hotel. ” “That’s it, I was afraid of him,” cried Harrison with vexation. “He is always like that when he is excited. I never saw a man get so worked up as he did when he knew I was going to take this fight on myself.” He brought a bag of sovereigns to bet for me. “So that’s why the odds changed?” said my uncle. ” He ‘s brought others with him. ” “I was so afraid he’d start drinking that I made him promise to come straight to you without losing a minute. He had a ticket for you. ” “I heard he arrived at the Georges Hotel at six o’clock. Now, I didn’t get back from Reigate until after seven , and by then I’m sure he must have drunk his commission. But where is your nephew Jim, and how did you know you were needed? ” “It wasn’t his fault, I can answer for it, if he left you in the lurch. As for me, I was ordered to take his place. That order was given to me by the only man in the world whom I would never have disobeyed.” “Yes, Sir Charles,” said Mrs. Harrison, who had come down from the gig and come up to us, “make the best of him this time, for you will have no more of my Jack, even if you have to ask me on your knees. ” “She doesn’t encourage sports at all. That’s a fact!” said the blacksmith. “Sports!” she cried in a shrill voice through which the contempt and anger. Come back and tell me about it when it’s all over. She hurried away, and I saw her later, sitting among the heather, her back to the crowd and her hands over her ears, all hunched up, all convulsed with apprehension. While this rapid scene was going on, the crowd had become more and more tumultuous, as much from impatience at the delay as from their increased enthusiasm when they glimpsed the unexpected good fortune of seeing a prizefighter of such repute as Harrison. His name had already been in circulation, and more than one elderly connoisseur had taken his net purse from his pocket to put a few guineas on the man who was to represent the school of the past opposite the school of the present. The young men were leaning towards the man from the West, and there were still some slight variations in the odds, according to the change in the proportion of supporters of one or the other in the groups of the crowd. Meanwhile, Sir Lothian Hume was making trouble for the Honorable Berkeley Craven, who had remained standing near our carriage. “I lodge a formal protest against this course of action,” he said. “On what grounds, sir? ” “Because the man presented here is not the one first designated by Sir Charles Tregellis. ” “I designated absolutely no one, you know that,” said my uncle . “The bets were made on the idea that young Jim Harrison would be the opponent of my champion. Now, at the last moment, he is withdrawn to be replaced by another more formidable. ” “Sir Charles Tregellis is not exceeding his rights in any way,” said Craven firmly. He undertook to present a man who would be within the agreed age limits, and I am told that Harrison fulfills these conditions. You are over thirty-five , Harrison? “Forty next month, sir. ” “Very well. I declare that the fight may proceed. But, alas! there was an authority higher than that of the judge himself, and we had to endure an incident which was the prelude and sometimes also the end of many a fight of old. Across the moor came a rider dressed in black, with hunting boots with sheepskin cuffs, followed by a couple of grooms, and this group of riders stood out clearly on the tops of the undulations, then disappeared into the bottoms of the folds of the ground alternately. A few of the crowd who knew how to observe had cast suspicious glances in the direction of this rider, but the majority only saw him when he had stopped his horse on a mound overlooking the amphitheater and from where, in a stentorian voice, he announced that he represented His Majesty’s Custos Rotulorum in the county of Sussex and that he declared the meeting of this assembly contrary to the law, and that it was his charge to disperse it by force if necessary. Never before had I understood this deep- rooted fear, this salutary respect that the law had finally, after many centuries, impressed with blows of the cudgel into the souls of these wild and turbulent islanders. So here was a man, flanked by only two servants, facing thirty thousand other angry, discontented men, among whom were a great many professional boxers and also among the latter, representatives of the most brutal and dangerous class in the country. And yet, it was this isolated man who spoke of resorting to force while the immense multitude floated murmuring like an unruly and fierce animal, face to face with a power, which he knew to be deaf to all reasoning, capable of overcoming all resistance. But my uncle, as well as Berkeley Craven, Sir John Lade and a A dozen other lords and gentlemen ran to meet this sports troublemaker. “I suppose you have a warrant, sir?” said Craven. “Yes, sir, I have a warrant. ” “Then the law gives me the right to examine it.” The magistrate handed him a blue paper. The gentlemen, who formed the little group, bent their heads to examine it, for most of them were magistrates themselves and very careful to discover the slightest blunder in the drafting. At last, Craven shrugged his shoulders and handed back the paper. “It looks all right, sir,” he said. “It is absolutely correct,” replied the magistrate affably. “To save you a waste of your precious time, gentlemen, I can tell you, once and for all, that I am perfectly resolved to prohibit all fighting, under any circumstances whatsoever, within the territory of the county under my charge and I am determined to follow you all day to prevent it.” In my inexperience, I imagined that this seemed to settle the matter definitively, but I had not done justice to the foresight of the people who organize these meetings and I was also ignorant of the advantages which made Crawley’s Dune a privileged meeting place. The patrons, the punters , the judge, the timekeeper held a council. “There are seven miles of ground beyond the Hampshire border and two beyond that of Surrey,” said Jackson. The famous master of the ring had displayed in honor of the occasion a magnificent scarlet coat with gold-embroidered buttonholes, a white cane, a buckled hat with a broad black ribbon, white silk stockings, and light brown breeches. This costume showed off his superb presence well, and particularly those famous baluster calves which had done so much to make him the first of the runners and jumpers, as well as the most formidable of the English boxers. His hard-featured, sharp-boned face, his piercing eyes, and his enormous build made him an excellent leader for this rough and rowdy troop who had taken him for commander-in-chief. “If I could venture to give you any advice,” said the affable magistrate, “it would be to go over to the Hampshire side, for, on the Sussex side, Sir James Ford is no less opposed than I am to these sorts of meetings, while Mr. Merridew of Long Hall, who is the Hampshire magistrate, is less rigorous on this point. ” “Sir,” said my uncle, raising his hat in such a way as to produce the greatest effect, “I am infinitely obliged to you. If the judge permits, we will only have to move the stakes.” The next moment, there was a scene of the liveliest animation. Tom Owen and his assistant Fogs, assisted by the ring keepers, tore up the stakes and ropes and carried them to another part of the plain. Wilson the Crab was wrapped in great cloaks and carried into the barouche, while Champion Harrison took Mr. Craven’s place on our carriage. Then the immense crowd moved on, riders, vehicles, pedestrians, moving like a slow stream over the vast surface of the moor. The carriages had a rolling and pitching motion, like ships at sea, while they moved forward fifty abreast, shaken and jolted by every unevenness they encountered. From time to time, with a sharp, dull thud, a hub key came loose, a wheel crashed down on the heather, and peals of laughter greeted the people in the carriage, as they piteously contemplated the disaster. Then, in a part of the moor where the undergrowth was thinner and the surface more even, the pedestrians began to run, the riders flexed their spurs, the drivers cracked their whips, and the whole crowd poured out in one race to the steeple, frantic after the yellow barouche and the red carriage which formed the vanguard. “What do you think of our chances?” my uncle said to Harrison so that I could hear him, while the mares went cautiously over this uneven ground. “This will be my last fight, Sir Charles,” said the blacksmith. “You heard the good woman say that, if she let me go, it would be on condition that I never ask her again. I must do my best to make this fight a good one. ” “But your training? ” “I am still in training, sir. I work hard from morning to night and I drink nothing but water. I do not believe that Captain Barclay can do better with all his rules. ” “He has a bit of a long arm for you. ” “I have fought with others who had even longer ones and I have beaten them. If it came to a hand-to-hand fight, I would have every advantage and with a push, I would overcome him.” “It’s a match between youth and experience. Well! I wouldn’t take a guinea off my stake. But unless he was forced, I won’t forgive young Jim for deserting me. ” “He was forced, Sir Charles. ” “You saw him, then? ” “No, boss, I didn’t. ” “You know where he is? ” “Ah! I’m not allowed to speak one way or the other. All I can tell you is, it was impossible for him to act otherwise. But here comes the policeman back to us. ” This ominous personage came galloping back to our carriage, but this time with a more amiable mission. “My spring stops at that ditch, sir,” he said. “I fancy you’ll be hard-pressed to find a more advantageous spot for a match of boxing than that gently sloping field on the other side. There I’m quite certain no one will disturb you.” The obvious desire he had to see the fight begin contrasted so strongly with the zeal he had shown to drive us out of his county, that my uncle could not help but point it out to him. “It is not the role of a magistrate to overlook a violation of the law,” he replied, “but if my colleague from Hampshire has no qualms about allowing this in his jurisdiction, I would not be sorry to see the fight.” And spurring his horse, he went to stand on a nearby mound, from where he hoped to see what would happen. Then I had before my eyes all these details of etiquette, these curiosities of usage which have been perpetuated to the present day; they are still so recent that we have not been able to persuade ourselves that one day they will be collected by some historian of society with as much zeal as the sportsmen used to observe them. The fight assumed a certain dignity, thanks to a rigid code of ceremonies, just as the clash between iron-clad knights was preceded and embellished by the call of the heralds and the detail of the coat of arms. In the eyes of many people of the past, the duel must have appeared as a bloody and barbaric ordeal, but we who contemplate it from a broad perspective, we see in it a harsh and valiant preparation for the conditions of life in an age of iron. And yet, now that the ring has become as much a thing of the past as the lists, a broader philosophy must make us understand that, when things appear of themselves in such a natural and spontaneous way, it is because they have a function to fulfill, it is because there is less harm in two men fighting, of their own accord, until their strength is exhausted , it is, I say, a lesser evil than if the ideal of energy and endurance ran the risk of being lowered in a people whose destiny is so completely subordinated to the individual qualities of the citizen. Let us put an end to war, if the intelligence of man is capable of suppressing this accursed thing, but until the day when the means are found, let us beware of attacking these primary qualities, to which we may, at any moment, be obliged to resort to keep ourselves safe. Tom Owen and his eccentric assistant Fogs, who combined the professions of boxer and poet, but who, fortunately for him, made better use of his fists than of his pen, had soon established the ring according to the rules then in vogue. The white wooden posts, each of which bore the initials PC of the Pugiling Club, were planted so as to delimit a square of twenty-four feet on a side surrounded by ropes. Outside this ring, another enclosure was arranged; there was eight feet of width between the two. The inner enclosure was intended for the combatants and their seconds, while in the outer enclosure, places were reserved for the judge, the timekeeper, the champions’ patrons, and a small number of distinguished or favored personages , among whom I was, being in company with my uncle. About twenty well-known pugilists, including my friend Bill War, Richmond the Black, Maddox, the Glory of Westminster, Tom Belcher, Paddington Jones, Tom Blake the Enduring, Symonds the Highwayman, Tyne the Tailor, and others, were placed as guards in the outer enclosure. All these fellows wore the high white hats which were so much in favor with fashionable people. They were armed with silver-rimmed riding crops, marked with the initials PC. If anyone, whether East End vagrant or West End patrician, should steal into the outer enclosure, the body of guards, instead of resorting to argument or prayer, fell upon the offender in all directions and whipped him mercilessly until he had fled from the defended ground. And notwithstanding this formidable guard and these savage methods, the guards, who had to withstand the forward thrust of an enraged crowd, were often as worn out as the fighters themselves at the close of an encounter. Until that time, they formed a line of sentries which presented, under a series of white hat uniforms, every possible type of boxer, from the fresh and youthful countenance of Tom Belcher, Jones, and the other new recruits, to the scarred and mutilated faces of the old professionals. While the stakes were being driven in and the ropes fixed, I could, thanks to my privileged position, hear the words of the crowd behind me. Two rows of this crowd were lying on the ground, the other two rows kneeling, and the rest standing in close columns along the gentle slope, so that each row could only see over the shoulders of the one in front of it. There were several spectators, and among them, very experienced ones, who saw Harrison’s chances in the darkest light, and my heart was heavy listening to their words. “Always the same story,” said one. “They don’t want to get it into their heads that the youngsters must have their turn. It must be hammered into their heads with fists. ” “Yes, yes,” said another, “that’s how Jack Slack beat Boughton and how I myself saw Hooper the tinsmith tear the oil merchant to pieces.” They all come to that in time, and now it’s Harrison’s turn. “Don’t be so sure,” cried a third. “I’ve seen Jack Harrison fight five times, and I’ve never seen him defeated. He’s a butcher, I tell you. ” “He was, you mean. ” “Well, I don’t see that he’s changed all that much. And I I am prepared to put ten guineas on my opinion. “What!” said a man standing right behind me, who was acting important, very loudly, speaking with a heavy, lisping western accent. “From what I saw of those young men from Gloucester, I don’t believe Harrison would have stood his ground for ten rounds when he was in his prime. I came in yesterday by the Bristol coach, and the guard told me he had fifteen thousand pounds in gold in the chest, which had been sent to bet on our man. ” “They’ll be lucky if he comes back, their money,” said another . “Harrison is no damsel in a fight, and he’s got race to the marrow of his bones. He wouldn’t back down if his opponent was as big as Carlton House. ” “Phew!” replied the man from the West. It is only in the Bristol and Gloucester countries that one finds men capable of defeating those from the Bristol and Gloucester countries. “You have a good deal of nerve to talk like that,” said an irritated voice from the crowd behind him. “There are six men from London who would undertake to demolish twelve of those who come to us from the West. ” The affair might have begun with an impromptu engagement between the indicated Cockney and the gentleman from Bristol, if a thunderous applause had not come to cut short their altercation. This applause was due to the appearance in the ring of Wilson the Crab, followed by Sam the Dutchman and Mendoza, who carried the basin, the sponge, the brandy bladder, and other insignia of their office. As soon as he entered, Wilson the Crab undid the canary-yellow scarf around his waist and tied it to one of the corner posts , where it remained flapping in the breeze. Then his seconds gave him a bundle of small ribbons of the same color, and going around the ring, he offered them as a wrestling souvenir to the Corinthians, at a price of a shilling each. His little business, which was going very well, was interrupted only by the arrival of Harrison, who entered calmly and quietly, stepping over the ropes as befitted his more mature age and less supple joints. The shouts that greeted him were even more enthusiastic than those that had greeted Wilson, and they expressed a deeper admiration, for the crowd had already had time to see Wilson’s physique, while Harrison’s was a novelty to them. I had often contemplated the arms and neck of the powerful blacksmith, but I had never seen him naked to the waist. I had not understood the marvelous symmetry of development that had made him, in his youth, the favorite model of the sculptors of London. It was no longer that smooth, white skin, that play of light on the protrusions of the muscles that made Wilson so pleasing to the eye. Instead, one was in the presence of a roughly hewn grandeur, a tangle of knotted muscles. They looked like the roots of an old oak twisting to reach from chest to shoulder and from shoulder to elbow. Even when he was at rest, the sun cast shadows on the curves of his skin. But when he exerted himself, each muscle jutted out its bundles in distinct, sharp masses and made his body a mass of knots and roughness. The skin of his face and body was of a darker shade , of a closer grain than that of his younger opponent , but he seemed to have more resistance, more hardness, and this appearance was still more marked by the darker color of his stockings and breeches. He entered the ring sucking on a lemon, followed by Jim Belcher and Caleb Baldwin the fruiterer. He walked to the post and tied his pigeon-throated neckerchief over the western man’s yellow neckerchief and finally directed his outstretched hand toward his opponent. “I hope you are well, Wilson?” he said. “Not too bad, thank you,” replied the other. “We shall speak in a different tone, I hope, before we part. ” “But no hard feelings,” said the blacksmith. And the two men exchanged a sneer before taking their places in their corners. “May I ask, Your Honor, if these two men have been weighed?” asked Sir Lothian Hume, standing in the outer enclosure. “They have just been weighed before my eyes, sir,” replied Mr. Craven. “Your man has brought the pan down to 13 stone three and Harrison is 13 stone eight. ” “He is a man of fifteen stone, from the waist up ,” cried Sam the Dutchman from his corner. “We shall lose him a little before the end. ” “You shall get more from him than you ever bought,” replied Jim Belcher. And the crowd laughed at these rude jokes. Chapter 18. The Blacksmith’s Last Stand. “Leave the outer ring!” cried Jackson, standing near the ropes, a large silver watch in his hand. “Swhack! Swhack! Swhack!” went the whips, for a number of spectators, some thrown forward by the push from behind, others willing to risk a little physical pain for a chance of a better view, had slipped under the ropes and formed an irregular row inside the outer enclosure. Now, amid the loud laughter of the crowd, under a shower of blows from the guards, they were making furious dives backward, with the clumsy rush of frightened sheep trying to get through a gap in their pen. Their situation was embarrassing, for the men in front refused to retreat an inch, but the arguments they received from behind finally gained the upper hand, and the last fugitives returned, quite frightened, to the ranks, while the guards resumed their posts on the edges, at equal intervals, their whips by their thighs. “Gentlemen,” Jackson cried again, “I am required to inform you that the champion designated by Sir Charles Tregellis is Jack Harrison, fighting for the weight of thirteen stone eight, and that of Sir Lothian Hume is Wilson the Crab, thirteen stone three. No one is to remain in the outer enclosure except the judge and the timekeeper. It only remains for me to request you, if occasion requires it, to give me your assistance in keeping the field clear, avoiding confusion, and ensuring the fairness of the contest. Is everything ready? ” “All ready,” they cried from both corners. “Go.” For a moment, everyone was silent, everyone stopped breathing, when Harrison, Wilson, Belcher, and Dutch Sam strode briskly to the center of the ring. The two men shook hands. The latter did the same. The four hands crossed. Then the latter retreated. The two men stood face to face, foot to foot, hands raised. It was a magnificent sight for anyone not lacking the instinct that makes one appreciate the noblest of nature’s works. Each of these two men fulfilled the condition that makes the powerful athlete, that of appearing larger without his clothes than with them. In the jargon of the ring, they ate well. And each of them brought out the other’s characteristic features by the contrasts with his own: the long, slender-limbed youth with deer-like feet, and the stocky, rugged veteran, whose trunk resembled an oak stump. The odds began to rise in the young man’s favor from the moment they were brought together, for his advantages were quite apparent, while the qualities which had raised him so high Harrison in his youth, were now only a memory left to the old-timers. Everyone could see the three inches of superiority in height and the two inches more in the length of the arms, and it was enough to notice the quick, cat-like movement of the feet, the perfect balance of the body on the legs, to judge with what promptness Wilson could spring upon his slower opponent or escape from him. But it required a more penetrating instinct, to interpret the fierce smile that flitted about the blacksmith’s lips or the secret flame that shone in his gray eyes. Only people of old knew that with his powerful heart and his iron frame, he was a man against whom it was dangerous to bet. Wilson stood in the stance that had earned him his nickname, his left hand and foot well forward, his body leaning far back from his loins, his guard placed across his chest, but held far enough forward to make it extremely difficult to go beyond it. The blacksmith, on the other hand, had assumed the obsolete posture introduced by Humphries and Mendoza, but which had not been seen for ten years in a first-class fight. Both his knees were slightly bent, he presented himself squarely to his adversary, and held his two brown fists over his mark, so as to be able to throw either at will. Wilson’s hands, which were incessantly moving in and out, had been dipped in some astringent liquid to prevent them from swelling, and they contrasted so vividly with the whiteness of his forearms that I thought he was wearing dark-colored and very sticky gloves, until my uncle explained the matter to me in a low voice. They stood thus face to face amidst a quiver of attention and expectation, while the immense multitude followed the slightest movements, silent, panting, to the point that they might have believed themselves alone, man to man, in the center of some primitive solitude. It seemed evident, from the beginning, that Wilson the Crab was determined to neglect no chance, that he would rely on the lightness of his feet, the agility of his hands, until the moment when he understood something of his adversary’s tactics. He circled him several times, with short, quick, threatening steps, while the blacksmith slowly pivoted on himself, regulating his movements accordingly. Then Wilson stepped back, to urge Harrison to break away and follow him. The old man smiled and shook his head. “You must come to me, my boy,” he said. “I’m too old to chase you around the ring, but we have the whole day before us, and I’ll wait.” Perhaps he didn’t expect to receive such a prompt response to his invitation, for in an instant the man of the West , leaping like a panther, was upon him. “Bang! Bang! Bang!” Then came a succession of dull blows. The first three fell on Harrison’s face, the last two landed roughly on his body. And with a dancing step, the young man stepped back, freed himself in superb style, but not without landing two blows that marked the lower part of his ribs in bright red. “First blood for Wilson!” shouted the crowd. And as the blacksmith whirled to face the movements of his agile adversary, I shuddered at the sight of his flushed , dripping chin. And Wilson feinted back and launched a sweeping blow at Harrison’s cheek, then parrying the forehand from the blacksmith’s strong fist, he ended the round with a slide on the turf. “First knockdown for Harrison!” shouted thousands of voices, for twice as many thousands of pounds could change. hand according to the judgment rendered. “I appeal to the judge,” cried Sir Lothian Hume, “it was a slip and not a knockdown. ” “I judge it was a slip,” said Berkeley Craven. And the two adversaries went to their corners amid unanimous applause for their first, full of enthusiasm and well-fought round. Harrison delved into his mouth with his thumb and forefinger and with a quick twist pulled out a tooth and threw it into the basin. “Just as of old,” he said to Belcher. “Take care, Jack,” said the second anxiously. “You have received a little more than you gave. ” “I can carry more,” he said serenely, while Caleb Baldwin passed the large sponge over his face. The shining bottom of the tin basin suddenly ceased to show through the water. I could see from the comments made around me by the experienced Corinthians, and from the remarks of the crowd behind me, that Harrison’s chances were considered diminished by this round. “I saw his former faults, and I did not see his former qualities,” said Sir John Lade, our competitor on the Brighton road . “He is as slow as ever on his feet and in his guard. Wilson has touched him as much as he liked. ” “Wilson may touch him three times while he is himself touched once, but that time will be worth three of Wilson’s,” my uncle remarked. ” He is a wrestler by nature, while the other is expert at exercises, but I do not take a guinea away.” A sudden silence made it clear that the two men were again face to face. The latter had performed their task so skillfully that neither appeared to have suffered from what had passed. Wilson maliciously took the offensive with his left, but having misjudged the distance, he received in reply a crushing blow to the stomach that sent him reeling and breathless on the ropes. “Hurrah for the old man!” roared the crowd. My uncle began to laugh and tease Sir John Lade. The man from the West grinned, shook himself like a dog coming out of water, and with a stealthy step returned to the center of the ring, where his opponent remained standing. And the right hand went to apply itself once more to the Crab’s mark, but Wilson cushioned the blow with his elbow and sprang aside laughing. Both men were a little out of breath, and their rapid, deep breathing, mingling its sound with their slight stamping as they circled each other, made a uniform, long-paced noise. Two blows, delivered simultaneously on each side with the left hand, met with a sort of detonation like a pistol shot, and then, as Harrison sprang forward to attack, Wilson made him slip and my old friend fell face first , as much by the effect of his momentum as by that of his vain attack, not without receiving in passing on his ear a full blow from the half-bent arm of the man from the West. “Knock down for Wilson!” shouted the judge, to which a roar answered like a broadside from a seventy-four -gun ship.
The Corinthians threw their twisted hats into the air by the hundreds and the whole slope before us was like a beach of red and screaming faces. My heart was paralyzed with fear. I jumped at every blow, and yet I felt myself prey to an all-powerful fascination, to a thrill of fierce joy, to a certain exaltation of our banal nature, which I saw capable of rising above its pain and fear, merely by an effort to conquer the humblest of glories. Belcher and Baldwin had rushed upon their man, but, in spite of the coldness with which the blacksmith received his punishment, The westerners showed immense enthusiasm. “We’ve got him, he’s beaten, he’s beaten!” shouted the two second Jews. “A hundred to one on Gloucester !” “Beaten? Do you think so?” said Belcher. “You ‘d better rent this field before you come to beat him, for he can hold out a month against these fly-whisks.” As he spoke, he waved a napkin in Harrison’s face while Baldwin wiped it with the sponge. “How are things, Harrison?” asked my uncle. “As merry as a kid, sir. It’s as fine as the day.” This lively reply had such an edge of gaiety that the clouds disappeared from my uncle’s brow. “You should advise your man to take more initiative, Tregellis,” said Sir John Lade. “He’ll never win, he doesn’t attack . ” “He knows more about the game than you or I, Lade. I prefer to let him do as he pleases. ” “The odds are now against him three to one,” said a gentleman whose gray mustache marked him as an officer of the last war. “That is very true, General Fitzpatrick, but you will observe that it is the young men who give high odds and the old men who accept them. I stand by my opinion.” The two men were soon engaged in spirited combat; as soon as the cry of “Allez!” was raised , the blacksmith had the left side of his head a little humped, but he still had his good-natured yet menacing smile. As for Wilson, he appeared exactly as he had been at first, but twice I saw him bite his lips as if to repress a sudden spasm of pain, and the bruises on his ribs changed from bright red to dark purple. He held his guard a little lower to defend this vulnerable point and fluttered around his opponent with an agility calculated to prove that his breathing had not suffered from the blows to the chest. For his part, the blacksmith persevered in the defensive tactics with which he had begun. We had heard much from the West about the finesse of Wilson’s game, the speed of his blows, but the reality was beyond what we knew of him. In this round and the two following, he displayed an agility and accuracy that had never been surpassed even by Mendoza in his prime. He moved forward, backward, with the speed of lightning. His blows were heard and felt before they were seen. But Harrison received them all with the same stubborn smile, countering from time to time with a vigorous blow to the body, for with his height and his attitude, his adversary managed to keep his face out of reach. At the end of the fifth round the bets were four to one and the people of the West were exulting loudly. “What do you say now?” cried the man from the West who was behind me. He was so excited that he could only repeat: “What do you say now?” When in the sixth round the blacksmith received two blows without being able to respond with a blow that counted, and, to boot , he fell, my man could only utter inarticulate sounds and shouts of joy, he was so excited. Sir Lothian Hume smiled and shook his head, while my uncle remained cold and impassive, and yet I knew he was suffering as much as I was. “It won’t work, Tregellis,” said General Fitzpatrick. “My money is on the old man, but the young man is a better fighter. ” “My man is a little worn out,” replied my uncle, “but he will eventually get the better of him.” I saw that Belcher and Baldwin were looking grave and I understood that a change of some kind was becoming necessary to put an end to this old story of the young and the old. However, the seventh round revealed the reserve of strength that the brave old boxer had, and the faces of those betting men who had imagined that the fight was over and that a few rounds would be enough to give the blacksmith the final blow began to lengthen. When the two men were face to face, it was evident that Wilson had decided to act by cunning, that he intended to force the other into combat and maintain the offensive he had taken. But there was still that gray gleam in the veteran’s eyes and still that same smile on his rough face. He had also taken on a sort of coquetry in the movements of his shoulders, in the carriage of his head, and I felt my confidence return when I saw the way he squared himself in front of his man. Wilson attacked with his left hand, but he did not go far enough, and he avoided a hard blow with his right hand that whizzed past his ribs. “Bravo, old fellow,” cried Belcher. “One of those blows, if it hits its mark, will be worth a dose of laudanum.” There was a pause during which feet shuffled, labored breathing was heard, interrupted by a mighty blow from Wilson to the body, a blow which the blacksmith stopped with the utmost composure. But there was still some time of silent tension. Wilson attacked maliciously to the head, but Harrison received the shock on his forearm, smiling and nodding to his adversary. “Open the pepperbox,” yelled Mendoza. And Wilson rushed forward to obey these instructions, but was repulsed with vigorous blows to the chest. “Now is the moment, go quickly,” shouted Belcher. And the blacksmith, springing forward, rained down a hail of blows with his half-bent arm, until at last Wilson the Crab, unable to bear it any longer, withdrew to his corner. Both men had marks to show, but Harrison definitely had the upper hand in the offensive. It was then our turn to throw our hats in the air, and make ourselves hoarse with shouting while the seconds slapped our man on his broad back and brought him back to his corner. “What do you say now?” shouted all the neighbors of the man of the West, repeating his own refrain. “Well! Dutchman Sam never got back on the offensive better,” cried Sir John Lade. “How are the odds now, Sir Lothian? ” “I’ve staked all I wanted to stake, but I don’t think my man can lose.” But the smile had nonetheless disappeared from his face, and I noticed that he kept glancing over his shoulder toward the crowd. A livid red cloud was slowly approaching from the southwest; yet I can say that among the thirty thousand spectators, there were very few who had the time and attention left to notice it. But its presence suddenly manifested itself in a few large drops of rain, which soon ended in a heavy downpour, filling the air with its whistling and making a sharp noise on the high, hard hats of the Corinthians. The collars of their coats were turned up, handkerchiefs were tied around their necks, while the skin of the two men streamed with moisture and they stood facing each other. I noticed that Belcher, with a very serious air, whispered a few words in Harrison’s ear, who was getting up from his knees, that the blacksmith nodded his head in agreement, with the air of a man who understands and approves the recommendations he receives. And it was immediately seen what these recommendations had been. Harrison was going to make the attack succeed the defense. The result of the rest after the last round had convinced the seconds that their champion, with his endurance and vigor, must have the upper hand when it came to receiving and to strike back. And then, to finish the matter, the rain came. The slippery turf neutralized Wilson’s advantage of agility, and he would find it more difficult to dodge his opponent’s impetuous attacks. The art of the ring consists in taking advantage of circumstances of this kind , and more than one vigilant second has won his man a nearly lost battle. “Go on, go on!” his two seconds shouted, while all the bettors for Harrison repeated their cries throughout the crowd. And Harrison went at it in such a way that no one who saw him would forget it. Wilson the Crab, as stubborn as a stone, received him each time with a volleyed blow, but there was no strength, no human science that seemed capable of making this man of iron retreat. In rounds that followed one another without interruption, he forced his way through with resounding blows, like slaps, with his right and left fists, and each time he landed, he struck with tremendous power. Sometimes he covered his face with his left hand, when at other times he neglected all precaution, but his blows had an irresistible spring. The downpour continued to whip them. The water flowed in torrents from their faces and spread in red streams over their bodies, but neither took any notice of it, except for the purpose of maneuvering so that it fell on the eyes of the antagonist. But after a series of rounds, the champion of the West weakened. After this series of rounds, the rating rose on our side and exceeded the highest figure it had hitherto reached in the opposite direction. My heart failing with pity and admiration for these two valiant men, I ardently wished that each assault would be the last. And yet, no sooner had Jackson cried, “Go!” than both sprang from the knees of their seconds, laughter on their battered faces and jokes on their bleeding lips. It may have been a humble object lesson, but I give you my word, more than once in my life I have forced myself to perform a painful task, recalling to my memory that morning on the Crawley Downs. I asked myself if I was so weak as not to be able to do for my country or for those I loved, as much as these two men did , for a miserable stake and to gain consideration among their peers. Such a spectacle may make those who are already so more brutal, but I affirm that it also has its intellectual side and that in seeing how far the extreme limit of human endurance and courage can reach, one receives a lesson which has its own value. But if the ring can produce such brilliant qualities, one must have a real bias to deny that it can engender terrible vices and fate willed that on this morning we had both examples before our eyes. While the fight continued and turned against Sir Lothian Hume’s champion, chance would have it that my eyes were very often averted to notice the expression his face assumed. I knew, indeed, with what rashness he had bet, I knew that his fortune as well as his champion were crumbling under the crushing blows of the old boxer. The confident smile he wore in the opening rounds had long since vanished from his lips, and his cheeks had assumed a livid pallor, while his fierce gray eyes peeped furtively from under his thick eyebrows. More than once he burst into savage imprecations when a blow brought Wilson to the ground. But I particularly noticed that his chin kept turning towards his shoulder, and that at the end of each round he had quick and sharp glances towards the last ranks of the crowd. For some time, on this immense slope, formed by figures which were arranged in a semicircle behind us, it was impossible for me to discover exactly where his gaze was directed. But at last, I succeeded in recognizing him. A very tall man, who showed a pair of broad shoulders under a bottle-green suit, was looking with the greatest attention in our direction and I perceived that there was a rapid exchange of almost imperceptible signals between him and the Corinthian baronet. While watching this stranger, I saw that the group of which he formed the center was composed of all that was most dangerous in the assembly, people with fierce and vicious faces, expressing cruelty and debauchery. They howled like a pack of wolves at every blow and hurled imprecations at Harrison each time he returned to his corner. They were so turbulent that I saw the ringside guards talking to each other in low voices and looking in their direction as if expecting some incident, but none of them suspected how imminent the danger was and how serious it might be. Thirty rounds had been fought in one hour and twenty-five minutes, and the pouring rain was heavier than ever. A thick steam rose from both fighters, and the ring had become a pool of mud. Multiple falls had given the opponents a brown color, mixed here and there with horrible red spots. Every round had given the indication that Wilson the Crab was going down, and it was obvious, even to my inexperienced eyes, that he was rapidly weakening. He leaned his whole weight on the two Jews when they brought him back to his corner, and he staggered when they ceased to support him. But his science, thanks to long exercises, had made him a sort of automaton, so that if he slowed down and struck with less force, he always did so with the same accuracy. And even a passing observer might have believed that he had the upper hand in the fight, for it was the blacksmith who bore the most terrible marks. But there was in the eyes of the man of the West I know not what fixity, what bewilderment, I know not what embarrassment in the breathing which revealed to us that the most dangerous blows are not those which are best seen on the surface. A vigorous blow from the side, launched at the end of the thirty-first round, took away his breath and when he stood up for the thirty-second round, in an attitude more elegantly brave than ever, one would have said that he was dizzy, so much did his physiognomy recall that of a man who had received a blow from a stun gun. “He lost at pot-ball,” cried Belcher. “You can have your way now. ” “I’d fight another week,” said Wilson, panting. “The devil take me! I like his style,” cried Sir John Lade. ” He doesn’t back down, he doesn’t give in. He doesn’t seek a hand-to -hand fight. He doesn’t sulk. It’s a shame to let him fight. We must take him, the good fellow. ” “Take him away! Take him away!” repeated hundreds of voices. “I won’t be taken away. Who dares talk like that?” cried Wilson, who had returned after another fall on the knees of his seconds. “He has too much heart to shout enough,” said General Fitzpatrick. Then, addressing Sir Lothian: “You who are his supporter, you should ask for the towel to be thrown in. ” “You think he cannot win?” — He is beaten beyond remission, sir. — You don’t know him. He is a glutton of the first force. — Never did a more enduring man take off his shirt, but the other is too strong for him. “Well, sir, I think he can take ten more rounds. ” As he spoke, he half turned around, and I saw him raise his left arm in the air with a singular gesture. “Cut the ropes! Let’s play fair! Wait until the rain stops!” shouted a stentorian voice behind me. I saw that it was that of the tall man in the bottle-green coat. His cry was a signal, for a hundred hoarse voices broke out with the sound of a sudden clap of thunder, yelling together: “Fair play for Gloucester! Let’s force the ring, let’s force the ring!” Jackson had just shouted, “Go!” and the two mud-covered men were already on their feet, but now the focus was on the audience and not on the fight. Several waves, coming one after the other from the distant ranks of the crowd, had caused as many ripples across its entire width.
All the heads swayed with a sort of cadence in the same direction, as in a wheat field, under a gust of wind. With each push the swaying increased. Those in the front ranks made vain efforts to resist the impulse coming from outside. Finally, two sharp blows were heard. Two of the white stakes, with the earth adhering to their points, were thrown into the outer ring, and a fringe of people, thrown by the compact wave behind, was hurled against the line of guards. The long whips fell, wielded by the strongest arms in England, but the victims, who writhed and screamed , had hardly succeeded in retreating a few steps before the merciless blows when a new push from the rear threw them back into the arms of the guards. A good many of them threw themselves to the ground and let several waves pass over their bodies in succession, while others, enraged by the blows, retaliated with their hunting belts and canes. Then, while half the crowd pressed on the right and the other half on the left, to escape the pressure from behind, this vast mass suddenly split in two and, through the empty space, rushed a troop of bandits from the other side. All were armed with leaded canes and shouted: “Fair play and long live Gloucester!” Their resolute momentum swept the guards away, the ropes of the inner ring were snapped like threads, and in an instant the ring became the center of a whirling, seething mass of heads, whips, and canes crashing down with a crash, while the blacksmith and the man of the West, standing in the middle of this throng, remained face to face, so tightly packed that they could neither advance nor retreat, and they continued to fight without paying attention to the chaos raging around them, like two bulldogs holding each other by the throat. The driving rain, the curses, the cries of pain, the orders, the advice shouted at the top of their lungs, the strong smell of the wet sheet, the smallest details of this scene, seen in my early youth, all this comes back to me now that I am old, with as much clarity as if it were yesterday. At that moment, it was not easy for us to make any remarks, for we too found ourselves in the midst of this enraged crowd, which carried us from side to side and sometimes lifted us from the ground. We did all we could to stay behind Jackson and Berkeley Craven. They, despite the sticks and whips which crossed around them, continued to mark the rounds, and to supervise the fight. “The ring is forced,” shouted Sir Lothian Hume at the top of his voice. ” I appeal to the judge. The fight is a draw and without result. ” “You scoundrel!” cried my uncle angrily. “It was you who arranged this. ” “You already have a score to settle with me,” said Hume in a tone sinister and mocking. And while he spoke, a movement of the crowd threw him full into my uncle’s arms. The faces of the two men were only a few inches apart, and the brazen eyes of Sir Lothian Hume had to lower themselves beneath the imperious disdain that shone coldly in my uncle’s. “We will settle our accounts, don’t worry, though it degrades me to go into the field with a gentleman of your sort. Where are we, Craven? ” “We shall have to postpone, Tregellis. ” “My man is in the middle of the fight. ” “I can’t help it. It is impossible for me to perform my duty when every moment I receive a blow from the whip or the cane.” Jackson suddenly darted into the crowd, but returned empty-handed and with a pitiful expression. “My timekeeper’s watch has been stolen,” he cried. A little scoundrel snatched it from my hand. My uncle put his hand to his fob. “Mine’s gone too,” he cried. “Pronounce the surrender without delay or your man will be mauled,” said Jackson. And we saw the indomitable blacksmith, standing before Wilson for another round, while a dozen bandits, cudgels in hand, began to surround him. “Do you consent to a surrender, Sir Lothian Hume? ” “I do. ” “And you, Sir Charles? ” “No, certainly not. ” “The ring is gone. ” “It’s not my fault. ” “Well, I can’t help it. As judge, I order the champions to retire and the stakes to be restored to their possessors. ” “A surrender! A surrender!” cried everyone. And soon the crowd dispersed in all directions, the pedestrians running to get a good head start on the London road, the Corinthians searching for their horses and carriages. Harrison ran to Wilson’s corner and shook his hand. “I hope I haven’t hurt you too much. ” “I’ve been hit enough to have trouble standing. And you? ” “My head is singing like a teakettle. This rain has been on my side. ” “Yes, I thought for a moment I’d beat you. I don’t want a finer fight. ” “Nor I. Good morning.” And then the two brave-hearted champions forced their way through the howling bandits, like two wounded lions through a pack of wolves and jackals. I repeat, if the ring has fallen so low, it is not primarily due to the professional boxers but to the rabble of parasites and scoundrels who live around it. They are as much beneath the honest pugilist as the racetrack prowler and the fixer are beneath the noble racehorse that serves as a pretext for committing their roguery. Chapter 19. At The Royal Cliff. My uncle, in his kindness, took care to put Harrison to bed as soon as possible, for the blacksmith, although he took his wounds with a laugh, had nevertheless been roughly mauled. “Don’t you dare ask me to fight you again, Jack Harrison,” his wife would say, gazing at that cruelly ravaged face. “Look, you’re in worse shape than when you beat Black Baruch, and without your overcoat, I couldn’t swear that you were the man who led me to the altar. If the King of England asked, I would never let you do it again. ” “Well, old girl, I give you my word that I will never do it again.” It is better to leave the fight than to go on until the fight leaves me. He grimaced as he took a swig from the flask of brandy Sir Charles offered him. “It is a first-rate liquid, sir. But it burns my split lips terribly. Ah! here is John Cummings, The innkeeper of Friar’s Oak, as sure as I am a fisherman! You would think he was looking for a madman, judging by the look he made. He was, indeed, a singular personage, the one who was advancing with us on the moor. His face was heated, the dazed air of a man who has just come to his senses after emerging from a state of drunkenness. He ran from side to side, his head bare, his hair and beard flying in the wind. He rushed in short zigzags from one group to another, his extraordinary air attracting upon him a rolling fire of witticisms , so much so that he reminded me in spite of myself of a woodcock flitting through a line of rifles. We saw him stop for a moment near the yellow barouche and hand something to Sir Lothian Hume. Immediately afterward, he returned and, suddenly seeing us, he gave a great cry of joy and ran towards us at full speed, holding a piece of paper at arm’s length. “You’re making a fine bird, John Cummings,” said Harrison reproachfully . “Didn’t I warn you not to swallow a drop of liquid until you had delivered your message to Sir Charles? ” “I deserve to be broken on the wheel, yes,” he cried, tormented by remorse. “I asked for you, Sir Charles, as sure as I live, but you weren’t there, and so what do you want? I was so glad to place my stakes at that price, knowing that Harrison was going to fight… And then the master of the hotel, Georges, made me taste his bottles from behind the people, so that I no longer had my head to myself.” And now, it is only after the fight that I see you, Sir Charles, and if you bring your whip down on my back, I will have only what I deserve. But my uncle paid no attention to the reproaches that the innkeeper volubly addressed to himself. He had opened the note and was reading it with a slightly raised eyebrow, which was with him the highest note in the rather restricted range of his emotional faculties. “What do you understand by this, my nephew?” he asked, passing the note. This is what I read: Sir Charles Tregellis, In the name of God, as soon as these words come to you, go to the Royal Cliff and take as little time as possible in making the journey. I pray you to come as soon as possible, and until then, I will remain the one you know as JAMES HARRISON. “Well, my nephew?” asked my uncle. “Well, sir, I don’t know what it can mean. ” “Who gave you this, old fellow? ” “It was young Jim Harrison himself,” said the innkeeper, “though I hardly recognized him. He would have been taken for his own ghost. He was in such a hurry to get this to you that he wouldn’t leave me until he saw the horses harnessed and the carriage on the road. There was a note for you and another for Sir Lothian Hume, and I should thank heaven that Jim chose a better messenger. ” “That is indeed mysterious,” said my uncle, bending his head over the note. “What could he be doing in this ominous house ? And why does he sign himself the one you knew as James Harrison? Could I have called him by any other name? Harrison, you can throw some light on this. As for you, Mrs. Harrison, your countenance shows me that you are in the know.” “That might be so, Sir Charles, but my Jack and I are good, simple people. We go ahead as long as we can see clearly, and when we can’t see clearly, we stop. It’s been like that for twenty years, but now we’re off the hook and will leave our superiors in front. So, if you want to know what this is, “The note means, I can only advise you to do as you are told, to go by carriage to the Royal Cliff where you will know everything. ” My uncle put the note in his pocket. “I will not move from here, Harrison, without seeing you in the hands of a surgeon. ” “Don’t worry about me, sir. The good woman and I can return to Crawley in the gig; with a yard of plaster and a slice of bleeding meat, I will soon be back on my feet.” But my uncle would hear nothing of it. He drove the couple to Crawley, where the blacksmith was left in his wife’s care, after having been installed in the most comfortable conditions that money could obtain. Afterwards, they had a hasty breakfast and turned the mares on the south road. “That puts an end to my connection with the ring, nephew,” said my uncle. “I recognize that it is henceforth impossible to forbid access to knavery.” I have been cheated and mocked, but one learns prudence in the end, and I would never patronize a professional fight. If I had been older, or if he had inspired me with less fear, I could have told him what was in my heart. I would have asked him to renounce other things and abandon this superficial world in which he lived, to seek another task worthy of his vigorous intellect and his excellent heart. But no sooner had this thought arisen in my mind than he forgot these serious moments and began to talk about the new silver-trimmed harnesses he intended to inaugurate on the Mall, or the thousand-pound bet he proposed to place on his young mare Ethelberta against Aurelius, Lord Doncaster’s famous three-year-old horse. We had reached Whiteman’s Green, which was a good half the distance from Crawley Downs to Friar’s Oak, when I glanced back and saw the reflection of the sun on a tall yellow carriage on the road. Sir Lothian Hume was following us. “He has received the same invitation as us and is bound for the same purpose,” said my uncle, glancing over his shoulder. ” We are both wanted at the Royal Cliff, we, the two survivors of this dark affair. And it is Jim Harrison who is calling us there.
My nephew, I have led an eventful life, but I feel that a stranger scene than the others awaits me among these trees.” He whipped the mares. Then, thanks to the curve of the road, we could see the tall, black gables of the old manor house, rising among the ancient oaks that surround it. This sight, the renown of this blood-soaked, ghost-haunted dwelling , would have been enough to send a shiver down my nerves, but when my uncle’s words suddenly reminded me that this strange invitation had been addressed to the two men who had been involved in this tragedy worthy of times gone by, and that this call came from my childhood playmate, I held my breath, believing I saw the outline of some important event that was preparing before our eyes. The rusty gate, between the two crumbling columns surmounted by coats of arms, swung open. My uncle, in his impatience, whipped the mares as we flew along the avenue invaded by wild grass, and finally stopped them abruptly in front of the steps that time had blackened with stains. The front door had opened and little Jim was there waiting for us. But how little this little Jim resembled the one I had known and loved. There was something changed in him. This change was so obvious that it was what struck me first and it was so subtle that I could not find words for it. define. It was not that he was better dressed than before, for I recognized the old brown suit he wore. It was not that he looked less engaging, for his training had left him such that he might pass for the model of what a man ought to be. And yet the change was real. It was some dignity of expression, some something that gave assurance to his bearing and which by its visible presence seemed to be the only thing that had been wanting to give it harmony and perfection. And in spite of his exploit, one would have said that his schoolboy name, Little Jim, had remained with him naturally until the moment when I saw him in his self-possessed and magnificent manhood on the threshold of the old house. A woman was standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder. I saw that it was Miss Hinton, of Anstey Cross. “You remember me, Sir Charles Tregellis?” she said , coming forward as we got out of the carriage. My uncle looked at her for a long time in the face, with an intrigued air. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of… And yet, Mrs…. ” “Polly Hinton, of the Haymarket. Surely you can’t have forgotten Polly Hinton. ” “Forgotten! But we all mourned you in Pop’s Alley for more years than I care to. But I wonder with surprise… ” “I married secretly and left the theater. I want to ask your pardon for taking Jim away from you last night . ” “So it was you? ” “I had even more respectable rights over him than you did. You were his boss, I was his mother.” And as she spoke, she drew Jim’s head towards her. At that moment, when their cheeks were about to touch, these two faces, one which still bore the traces of a fading feminine beauty, the other depicting the full development of masculine strength, these two faces had such an air of resemblance with their dark eyes, their blue-black hair, their broad white foreheads, that I was surprised I had not guessed their secret the day I saw them together. “Yes, he is my own boy, and he saved me from something worse than death, as your nephew Rodney can tell you. But my lips were sealed, and it was only last night that I was able to tell him that it was to his mother that he had restored the charm of life by dint of gentleness and patience. ” “Hush, mother!” said Jim, placing his lips on his mother’s cheek. “There are things that must remain between us.” But tell me, Sir Charles, how did the fight go? Your uncle would have won, but some of the rabble forced the ring. He was not my uncle, Sir Charles, but he was to me and to my father the best, most faithful friend in the world. I only know one as true, he continued, taking my hand, and his name is my good old Rodney Stone. But he did not have too much trouble, I hope? He will be on his feet in a week or two. But I cannot say that I understand what it is about, and I will venture to tell you that you have told me nothing that seems to justify the way in which you broke your engagement, with a single word. Come in, Sir Charles, and, I am convinced, you will recognize that it would have been impossible for me to act otherwise. But if I am not mistaken, this is Sir Lothian Hume. The yellow barouche had threaded the avenue, and a few moments later, the exhausted, panting horses had just stopped behind our carriage. Sir Lothian jumped down, with a gloomy air that foreshadowed the storm. “Stay where you are, Corcoran,” he said. And then I glimpsed a bottle-green coat that told me who it was. his traveling companion. “Well!” he continued, looking around him insolently, “I should be very glad to know who it is who has the impertinence to extend an invitation to visit my own house, and what the devil you are getting at by invading my property? ” “I tell you that you will understand that and many other things besides,” said Jim, who had an enigmatic smile on his lips . “If you will follow me, I will do my best to explain all this to you.” And holding his mother’s hand, he led us into that fatal room where the cards were still piled up on the side table and where the dark stain was still hidden in a corner. “Well, sir, your explanation?” cried Sir Lothian, who placed himself with folded arms near the door. “My first explanations, it is to you that I owe them, Sir Charles.” And, listening to his words and observing his manner, I could not but admire the effect produced on a young peasant by the society of this woman who was his mother without his knowing it. “I want,” he continued, “to tell you what happened that night. ” “I will tell it for you, Jim,” said his mother. “You must know, Sir Charles, that although my son knew nothing about his parents, we were both alive and never lost sight of him. For my part, I would have let him act as he pleased, go to London and take up this challenge. It was only yesterday that the news reached his father, who would not allow it at any price. He was in a state of extreme weakness and his wishes were not to be opposed. He gave me orders to leave at once and bring his son back to him. I did not know what to do, for I was convinced that Jim would never come unless someone could find a replacement for him. I went to the good people who had brought him up. I told them what was happening. Mrs. Harrison loved Jim as if he had been her own son, and her husband was fond of mine, so they came to my aid. God bless them for their kindness to a sorrowful wife and mother. Harrison was willing to take Jim’s place if he would go to his father. So I drove to Crawley. I found out where Jim’s room was and spoke to him through the window, for I was certain that those who supported him would not let him go. I told him I was his mother. I told him who his father was. I told him my phaeton was waiting, and I was pretty sure it would barely arrive in time to receive the last blessing from the father he had never known. And yet the young man never wanted to leave until I assured him Harrison would take his place. “Why didn’t he leave a note for Belcher? ” “I was out of my mind, Sir Charles. To find a father and mother, a name and a rank in a few minutes. It was enough to upset a brain stronger than mine. My mother asked me to go with her, and I left. The phaeton was waiting, but we were hardly on the road when someone seized the horses’ bridles, and a couple of bandits attacked me. I knocked one of them unconscious with the end of my whip, and he dropped the cudgel with which he was going to hit me. Then I whipped the horses, which got rid of the others, and I left safely.” I cannot imagine who they were and what motive they could have for attacking us. “Perhaps Sir Lothian Hume could tell you,” said my uncle. Our enemy said nothing, but his small gray eyes turned towards us with a most menacing expression. “When I came here, and saw my father, I went down…” My uncle interrupted him with an exclamation of astonishment. “What did you say, young man? You came here, and you have seen your father, here, at the Royal Cliff? “Yes, sir.” My uncle turned very pale: “In heaven’s name, tell us then where your father is?” Jim, for all reply, signaled us to look behind us, and we noticed that two men had just entered the room by the door that led to the staircase. I immediately recognized one of them. This face, which had the impassivity of a mask, these reserved manners, could only belong to Ambrose, my uncle’s former valet. As for the other, he was quite different and presented a most singular appearance. He was tall, wrapped in a dark-colored dressing gown and leaned with all his weight on a cane. His long, bloodless face was so thin, so pale, that by a strange illusion one could have believed it transparent. It is only under the folds of a shroud that I have happened to see such a disheveled face. His hair, mingled with gray streaks, and his bent back might have made him appear old, but the black color of his eyebrows, and the liveliness and brilliance of the black eyes that shone beneath them, were enough to make me doubt whether it was really an old man who stood before us. There was a moment of silence, interrupted by an angry oath from Sir Lothian Hume. “By God! It is Lord Avon!” he cried. “Entirely at your service, gentlemen,” replied the strange personage in the dressing gown. Chapter 20. Lord Avon. My uncle was essentially an impassive man, and this impassiveness had been further developed under the influence of the society in which he lived. He could have turned over a card on which his fortune depended without a muscle moving, and I had seen him drive at a pace that might have been fatal to him, along the Godstone road, maintaining an air as calm as if he had been taking his daily walk along the mall. But the shock he received at that very moment was so strong that he had to remain motionless, his cheeks pale, his gaze fixed, with an expression of incredulity. Twice I saw his lips part, twice he put his hand to his throat, as if a barrier had been raised between him and his desire to speak. At last, he ran a few steps towards the two men, his hands stretched out in front, as if to welcome them. “Ned!” he cried. But the strange personage, who was standing before him, crossed his arms over his breast. “No, Charles,” he said. My uncle stopped and looked at him in astonishment. “Certainly, Ned, you will welcome me, after so many years. ” “You believed I had committed this act, Charles. I read it in your attitude on that terrible morning. You never asked me for an explanation. You never reflected how impossible it was that a man of my character would have committed such a crime. At the first whisper of suspicion, you, my intimate friend, the man who knew me best, you regarded me as a thief and a murderer. ” “No, no, Ned. ” “But yes, Charles, I read it in your eyes. That is why , wanting to put in safe hands the being who was dearest to me in the world, I had to renounce you and entrust him to the man who never, from the first moment, had any doubts about my innocence.” It would have been a thousand times better for my son to be raised in humble surroundings and to ignore his unfortunate father than to learn to share the doubts and suspicions of his equals. “So he is really your son?” cried my uncle, casting a stunned look at Jim. For all reply, the man raised his long, gaunt arm and placed his emaciated hand on the shoulder of the actress, who looked at him with love in my eyes. — I married, Charles, and I kept the matter secret because I had chosen my wife outside our world. You know the foolish pride that has always been the most pronounced trait of my character. I could not bring myself to confess what I had done. It was this negligence on my part that brought about a separation between us, and for which the blame must fall on me and not on her. Nevertheless, because of her habits, I took the child away from her and assured her an annuity, on the condition that she did not take any notice of him. I feared that the child would be spoiled by her, and in my blindness, I had not understood that he could do her good. But in my miserable existence, Charles, I have learned that there is a power that governs our affairs, however hard we may try to hinder its action, and that, without a doubt, we are driven by an invisible current towards a definite goal, however much we may delude ourselves into believing that it is by our oars and our sails that we hasten our progress. I had kept my gaze fixed on my uncle while he listened to these words, but when I raised my eyes, they fell again on the thin, wolfish figure of Sir Lothian Hume. He was standing by the window. His gray outline was outlined against the dusty panes. Never have I seen in a human face such a struggle between various and evil passions: anger, jealousy, and disappointed greed. “Does it mean,” he asked in a thunderous, hoarse voice, “that this young man claims to be the heir to the peerage of Avon? ” “He is my legitimate son. ” “I knew you very well, sir, in your youth, but you will allow me to point out that neither I nor any of your friends have ever heard of your wife or son. I defy Sir Charles Tregellis to say that he ever admitted the existence of any other heir than myself. ” “Sir Lothian, I have already made known the reasons which made me keep my marriage secret. ” “You have given an explanation, sir. But it is to others and in another place than here that you will have to prove that your explanation is satisfactory. ” Two black eyes flashed on the pale, disheveled face and produced an effect as sudden as if a torrent of light were bursting through the windows of a crumbling and ruined mansion. “You dare to doubt my word? ” “I demand proof.” “My word is one for those who know me. ” “Excuse me, Lord Avon, I know you, and I see no grounds for accepting your assertion. ” It was brutal language expressed in a brutal tone. Lord Avon staggered a few steps, and it was only through the intervention of his wife on one side and his son on the other that he did not lay his quivering hands on his insulter’s throat . Sir Lothian Hume shrank from that pale, animated face, where anger shone beneath the black brows, but he continued to cast furious glances around the room. “A very well-laid plot,” he cried, “in which a criminal, an actress, and a professional prizefighter each have their part. Sir Charles Tregellis, you will hear from me again, and so will you, my lord. ” He turned on his heel and strode out. “He has gone to denounce me,” said Lord Avon, his face convulsed by a convulsion of wounded pride. “Must I bring him back?” cried little Jim. “No, no, let him go. That is just as good, for I have already made up my mind and recognized that my duty to you, my son, outweighs that which I owe to my brother and my family, and which I have discharged at the cost of bitter suffering. ” “You have been unjust to me, Ned, if you thought that I had forgotten you or that I had judged you unfavorably. If I ever believed you to be the author of this act, and how can I doubt the testimony of my eyes, I have always thought that this act was committed in a moment of madness and that you were no more conscious of it than a sleepwalker is of what he has done. “What do you mean by the testimony of your eyes?” said Lord Avon, looking fixedly at my uncle. “Ned, I saw you in that accursed night. ” “You saw me? Where? ” “In the corridor. ” “And what was I doing? ” “You were coming out of your brother’s room. I heard his voice expressing anger and pain a short moment before. You were holding a bag of money in your hand and your face expressed the most lively agitation. If you can only explain to me, Ned, how you came to be here, you will lift from my heart a weight that has been weighing on it all these years. No one would have recognized, at that moment, the man who set the tone for all the little masters of London. In the presence of this old friend, before the tragic scene that was being played out before him, the veil of triviality and affectation had just been torn away, and I felt all my gratitude towards him increase and change into affection, as I considered his pale and anxious face, the ardent hope that was depicted there while waiting for his friend’s explanations. Lord Avon hid his face in his hands, and there was silence for a few minutes, in the half-light of the room. “Now,” he said at last, “I no longer wonder that you were shaken. My God, what a net was stretched around me!” If that despicable accusation had been made against me, you, my dearest friend, would have been forced to dispel all remaining doubts about my guilt. And yet, Charles, whatever you may have seen, I am as innocent as you are in this matter. I thank God to hear you speak thus. But you are not yet satisfied, Charles, I see it in your eyes. You desire to know how a man, who was innocent, hid himself all this time. Your word is enough for me, Ned, but the world will demand another answer to that question. It was to save the family honor, Charles. You know how dear it was to me. I could not exonerate myself without proving that my brother was guilty of the vilest crime a gentleman can commit. For eighteen years I covered him up with all that a man could sacrifice. I have lived, as in a grave, a life that has made me an old man, a ruin of a man when I am scarcely forty years old. But now that I am reduced to the alternative of telling all that has passed concerning my brother or of wronging my son, there is for me but one course to take, and I adopt it the more willingly because I have reason to hope. Some circumstance may present itself which will prevent what I have to tell you from reaching the ears of the public. He rose from his chair and, leaning heavily on his two supports, he tottered across the room towards the dust-covered shelf. There, in the center, was that fatal heap of maps, stained by time and mildew, such as little Jim and I had seen several years before. Lord Avon shuffled them with a trembling finger, selected a dozen of them, and handed them to my uncle. — Place your index finger and thumb on the bottom left corner of each card, and gently run your fingers back and forth , tell me what you feel. — It looks like it’s been pricked with a pin. — Exactly. And what is this card? — The king of clubs. — Examine the bottom corner of this card. “It’s quite smooth. ” “And this card is?” “The three of spades. ” “And this other one? ” “It’s been pricked: it’s the ace of hearts.” Lord Avon threw them violently to the ground. “Well, there it is, this cursed affair. Do I need to say more, when every word is torture for me? ” “I see something, but I don’t see everything, Ned; I must go to the end.” The frail personage stiffened. It was clear that he was tensing in a violent effort. “Then I will tell you this at once, once and for all. I hope I shall never find myself in the necessity of opening my lips again on the subject of this miserable affair. You remember our game, you remember how we lost. You remember that you withdrew, that you left me all alone, sitting in this very room, at this very table.” Far from being tired, I was wide awake, and spent an hour or two going over in my mind the incidents of the game and the changes it was likely to make in my state of fortune. As you know, I had suffered heavy losses, and my only consolation was that my brother had won. I well knew that, in consequence of his rash conduct, he was in the clutches of the Jews, and I hoped that what had shaken my position would have the effect of strengthening his. As I stood there absentmindedly handling the cards, chance brought to my attention the little pricks you have just felt. I examined the packets, and to my unspeakable horror, I perceived that anyone who had been privy to this secret could have dealt them in such a way as to form an exact account of the kinds of cards that passed into the hands of each of the opponents. And then, the blood rushing to my head with a surge of shame and disgust I had never known, I remembered that my attention had been struck by the way my brother dealt the cards, by his slowness and his manner of holding the cards by the lower edge. I did not condemn him lightly; I remained for a long time weighing the slightest indications that could be favorable or unfavorable to him. Alas, everything conspired to confirm my horrible suspicions and to change them into certainty. My brother had had the packs of cards brought from Ledbing’s in Bond Street. He had kept them for several hours in his room. He had played with a decision that had then caused our surprise. And above all, I could not hide from myself that his past life was not such as to make it appear that it was impossible for him to commit so abominable a crime. Vibrating with anger and humiliation, I went straight up the stairs, these cards in my hand, and I threw in his face his crime, the lowest, the most degrading that a scoundrel could commit. He had not yet gone to bed and his winnings were still scattered on the dressing table. I hardly knew what to say to him, but the facts were so terrible that he did not attempt to deny his fault. You will remember, for it was the only mitigating circumstance there was to his crime, he was not yet twenty- one years old. My words overwhelmed him. He threw himself on his knees before me, begged me to spare him. I told him that out of respect for the honor of our family, I would not denounce him in public, but that from now on, he would have to abstain for the rest of his life from touching a card and that the money he had won would be returned the next day with an explanation. “That would be the loss of his position in the world,” he protested . I repeated that he must suffer the consequences of his action. On the spot, I burned the papers he had won from me, I put all the gold pieces that were on the table, in a canvas bag. I was about to leave the room without another word, but he clung to me, tore one of my cuffs in his effort to hold me back and make me promise not to say anything to Sir Lothian Hume and to you. It was his cry of despair at finding me deaf to all his entreaties that reached your ears, Charles, and made you open your door and allow you to see me as I returned to my room. My uncle heaved a long sigh of relief. “But it could not have been clearer,” he said. “In the morning, as you remember, I came to you and gave you back your money. I did the same for Sir Lothian Hume. I did not speak of the reasons which made me act in this way, for I could not bring myself to confess to you our dreadful dishonor. Then came that horrible discovery which has cast a shadow over my life and which has been as mysterious to me as to you.” I saw myself suspected, I also saw that I could only justify myself by exposing my brother’s infamy to the light of day, by a public confession . I shrank from this, Charles. I would rather suffer everything myself than publicly shame a family whose honor had been untarnished for so many centuries. So I withdrew from my judges and disappeared from the world. But first of all, it was necessary to take measures concerning my wife and my son, of whose existence you and my other friends were unaware. I am ashamed to admit it, Mary, and I recognize that I alone am to blame for all that followed. At that time, there were reasons which fortunately have long since disappeared and which made me judge it preferable that the son be separated from his mother at an age when he could not suspect that she was absent. I would have taken you into my confidence, Charles, had it not been for your suspicions , which had wounded me cruelly, for at that time I did not know the motive which had inspired you with this prejudice against me. On the evening of this tragedy, I hastened to London. I took steps to provide for my wife to enjoy a suitable income, on the condition that she would not take care of the child. I had, as you remember, frequent intercourse with Harrison the boxer and had had many occasions to admire the frankness and honesty of his character. I then bore him my child. I found him, as I expected, absolutely convinced of my innocence and ready to assist me in every way. At the entreaties of his wife, he had just retired from the ring and was wondering what occupation he could pursue. I succeeded in organizing a blacksmith’s shop for him, on condition that he would practice his profession in the village of Friar’s Oak. We agreed that he should give Jim as his nephew and agreed that he should know nothing of his unfortunate parents. You will ask me why I chose Friar’s Oak. It was because I had already decided on the place of my hidden retreat, and if I could not see my boy, I had at least the small consolation of knowing that he was near me. You know this castle. It is the oldest in England, but what you do not know is that it was built expressly to contain secret chambers. There are no less than two that one can inhabit without being seen. In the thicker walls and the outer walls are made passages. The existence of these chambers has always been a family secret. No doubt, it was a secret to which I did not attach much importance and that was the only reason that would have prevented me from showing them to some friend. I returned stealthily to my home. I went back there at night. I left everything that was dear to me outside. I slipped in like a rat behind the panels to spend the rest of my painful existence in solitude and mourning. On that ravaged face, on that graying hair, Charles, you can read the diary of my miserable existence. Once a week, Harrison came to bring me provisions which he brought in through the kitchen window which I left open for that purpose. Sometimes I ventured out at night to take a walk in the starlight and receive the cool breeze on my forehead, but I finally had to give it up, because I had been seen by some country people and there was talk of a spirit haunting the Royal Cliff. One night two ghost hunters… “It was me, my father, me and my friend Rodney Stone,” cried Little Jim. “I know, Harrison told me that very night.” I was proud, Jim, to find in you Barrington’s valour, and to have an heir whose valour could erase the family stain which I had endeavored to cover at the cost of so much trouble. Then came the day when your mother’s kindness—her ill-timed kindness—provided you with the means to escape to London. “Ah! Edward,” cried his wife, “if you had seen our child, like a caged eagle, striking against the bars, you yourself would have helped to allow him so short an excursion. ” “I don’t blame you, Mary; I might have. He went to London and tried to open a career for himself by his strength and courage. Many of his ancestors did the same, with this only difference that their hands were closed around the hilt of a sword, but I know of none among them who behaved with such valour.” “For that, I swear,” my uncle said eagerly. “Then, on Harrison’s return, I learned that my son was definitely engaged in a match where it was a question of wrestling in public for money. This was not to be, Charles. It is
a very different thing to wrestle as you and I did in our youth, and to compete to win a purse full of gold. ” “My dear friend, for nothing in the world would I… ” “Naturally, Charles, you would not. You have chosen the most capable man. Could you have acted otherwise? But it was not to be. I decided that the time had come to make myself known to my son, especially since many indications revealed to me that my way of life, so contrary to the laws of nature, had seriously impaired my health. Chance, or rather Providence, I should say, finally brought to light what had until then remained obscure and gave me the means to prove my innocence.” My wife went last night to fetch my son to take him back to his unfortunate father. There were a few moments of silence, and it was my uncle’s voice that broke it. “You have been the most cruelly treated man in the world, Ned,” he said. “Would to God we have many years to compensate you, but despite everything, we are, it seems to me, as far as ever from knowing how your unfortunate brother met his death. ” “It has been a mystery to me, as much as to you, for eighteen years. But at last the author of the crime has revealed himself. Come forward, Ambrose, and tell your story with as much frankness and detail as you have told it to me.” Chapter 21. The Tale of the Valet. The valet had left the dark corner of the room where he had remained so motionless that we had forgotten his presence. Then, at this call from his former master, he came and placed himself in full light and turned his pale face towards us. His usually impassive features were in a state of painful agitation. He spoke slowly, hesitantly, as if the trembling of his lips prevented him from articulating his words. And yet, such is the force of habit, under the influence of this extreme emotion he retained that air of deference which distinguishes the servants of a good house, and his sentences followed one another in that sonorous tone which had attracted my attention from the first day, the day my uncle’s carriage had stopped in front of my father’s house. “Milady Avon and gentlemen,” he said, “if I have sinned in this affair, and I frankly admit that I have, I see only one way to expiate it, and that consists in the full and entire confession which my noble master, Lord Avon, has demanded of me. Therefore, all that I am about to tell you, however surprising it may seem to you, is the absolute, incontestable truth concerning the mysterious death of Captain Barrington. It seems to you impossible that a man in my humble position should feel a mortal, implacable hatred for a man in the position occupied by Captain Barrington. You consider that the gulf which separates them is too wide. Gentlemen, I can tell you, a gulf that can be bridged by guilty love can also be bridged by guilty hatred, and the day that young man robbed me of all that made life worth living, I swore to heaven that I would take away that impure existence from him, though that act was the smallest payment for what he owed me. I see you look askance at me, Sir Charles Tregellis, but you should, sir, pray God never put you in the position of wondering what you would be capable of doing in the same situation. We were all amazed to see the ardent nature of this man so evidently revealed itself through the artificial restraint he imposed on himself to keep it in check. His short black hair seemed to stand on end. His eyes blazed with the intensity of his emotion. His face expressed a hateful malignity that the death of his enemy, nor the passage of time, could not diminish . The discreet servant had disappeared, and in his place remained only the man of deep thoughts, the dangerous being, capable of showing himself to be an ardent lover or the most vindictive enemy. We were on the point of being married, she and I, when a fatal chance put this man in our path. By some vile artifice he detached her from me. I heard that she was far from the first and that he was a master of this art. The thing was accomplished before I suspected the danger. She was abandoned, her heart broken, her life lost and had to return to the house where she brought shame and misery. I have seen her since and she told me that her seducer had burst out laughing when she reproached him for his perfidy and I swore to her that this man would pay for this burst of laughter with all his blood. I was from then on a servant, but I was not yet in the service of Lord Avon. I offered myself and obtained this position, thinking that it would offer me the opportunity to settle my account with his younger brother. And yet I had to wait an terribly long time, for many months passed before the visit to the Royal Cliff gave me the chance I hoped for by day and dreamed of by night.
But when it came, it was under conditions more favorable to my plans than I had dared to count on. Lord Avon believed that he alone knew the secret passages at the Royal Cliff. In this he was mistaken. I knew them too, or at least I knew enough for the plans I had formed. I need not tell you in detail how one day when I was preparing the rooms for the guests, a fortuitous pressure on a point of the woodwork caused a panel to open and revealed a narrow opening in the wall. I entered it and recognized that another panel was opening in a larger bedroom. That was all I knew, but that was all I needed for my plan. The arrangement of the rooms had been entrusted to me. I made arrangements so that Captain Barrington would occupy the large bedroom and I the smaller one. I would arrive at his side whenever I wanted and no one would suspect it. He finally arrived. How can I describe to you the feverish impatience in which I lived until the moment arrived for which I had waited, for which I had combined my plans. They had played for a night and a day. I spent a night and a day counting the minutes that brought me closer to my man. They might ring for me to bring me more wine. At any hour I was ready to serve, so much so that this young captain said with a hiccup that I was the model of servants. My master told me to go to bed. He had noticed the redness of my cheeks, the brightness in my eyes, and he attributed it all to the fever. And indeed, it was the fever that had me, but there was only one remedy to overcome this fever. So finally, at a very early hour, I heard them moving their chairs; I guessed they had finished playing. When I entered the room to receive my orders, I noticed that Captain Barrington had already made his way to bed as best he could. The others had also retired, and I found my master alone at the table, facing his empty bottle and scattered cards. He sent me back to my room in an angry tone, and this time I obeyed him. My first concern was to provide myself with a weapon. I knew that if I found myself face to face with him, I could strangle him, but I had to arrange things so that he died without making the slightest noise. There was a hunting kit in the hall. I took from it a large, straight-bladed knife, which I reattached to my boot. Then I crept back to my room and sat down on the edge of my bed to wait. I had decided what I must do. It would be of little satisfaction to me to kill him without his knowing which hand struck the blow and which of his sins he was thus expiating. If I could only bind him, put a gag on him, and then, after waking him with a prick or two of my dagger, I could at least wake him up to make him hear what I had to say. I pictured to myself the expression in his eyes, when the vapors of sleep had gradually dissipated, that look of anger turning at once to horror, to terror, when he finally understood who I was and what I had come to do. That would be the supreme moment of my life. I waited for what seemed like an hour, but I had no watch and my impatience was such that I can say that in reality, barely a quarter of an hour had passed. I then got up, took off my shoes, took out my knife. I opened the panel and slipped noiselessly through the opening. I had little more than thirty feet to go, but I advanced inch by inch, for the old moldy planks made a sharp noise like breaking twigs as soon as a heavy body placed itself on them. Naturally, it was as dark as an oven and I felt my way slowly, very slowly. At last, I saw a yellow streak of light shining in front of me; I knew it was coming from the other side of the panel. I arrived too early, therefore, for he had not yet extinguished his candles. I had waited many months, I could wait an hour longer, for I did not wish to act rashly or carelessly. It was absolutely necessary that I make no noise while moving, for I was now only a few feet from my man and I was separated from him only by a thin wooden partition. Time had warped and split the planks, so that after I had advanced cautiously, as near as possible to the sliding panel, I saw that I could look into the room without difficulty. Captain Barrington was standing by the dressing-table and had taken off his coat and waistcoat. A large pile of sovereigns and several sheets of paper were placed before him, and he was counting his winnings at gambling. His face was hot. It was heavy with want of sleep and wine. This sight rejoiced me, for it proved to me that he would sleep soundly and that my task would be easy. I still had my eyes fixed on him, when suddenly I saw him start up with a start, with a terrible expression on his features. For a moment my heart stopped beating, for I feared that he had somehow guessed my presence. And then I heard my master’s voice inside. I could not see the door by which he had entered nor where in the room he was, but I heard all that he had come to say. As I gazed at the captain’s red and purple face, I saw him turn lividly pale when he heard the bitter reproaches in which he was told of his infamy. My revenge was sweeter to me, much sweeter than I had pictured it in my most charming dreams. I saw my master approach the dressing table, present the papers to the candle flame, throw the blackened fragments into the hearth, and then throw the gold pieces into a small brown canvas bag. Then, as he turned to leave, the captain seized him by the wrist, begging him, in memory of their mother, to have pity on him. I felt a surge of affection for my master as he pried his cuff from between the clutching fingers and left the wretched scoundrel lying there on the ground. Now there remained a difficult point for me to decide. Was it better to do what I had come to do, or was it better, now that I was master of this man’s secret, to retain a sharper, more terrible weapon than my master’s hunting knife? I was sure that Lord Avon could not, would not, denounce him. I knew too well your touchy sensibilities in matters of family honor, my lord, and I was certain that his secret was safe and sound in your hands. But I had both the power and the desire, and when his life had been tarnished, when he had been driven like a dog from his regiment, from his clubs, the time might come for me to deal with him in another way. “Ambrose,” said my uncle, “you are a profound villain.” “We all have our own way of feeling, sir, and you will allow me to tell you that a valet can be as sensitive to an affront as a gentleman, although he is forbidden to take justice into his own hands by duelling. But I tell you frankly, at Lord Avon’s request, everything I thought and did that night, and I will continue even if I do not have the happiness of winning your approval. ” When Lord Avon had left, the captain remained for some time kneeling, his face resting on a chair. When he got up, he began to pace the room slowly, bowing his head. From time to time, he tore his hair, raised his clenched fists.
I saw the moisture beading on his forehead. I lost sight of him for a moment. I heard him opening drawers one after the other, as if he were looking for something. Then he moved closer to the dressing table where his back was to me.
His head was tilted back a little and he was wearing both hands at his shirt collar, as if he wanted to undo it. Then I heard a splash as if a bowl had been overturned and he collapsed on the floor, his head in a corner, and it made such an extraordinary angle with his shoulders that I only needed a glance to understand that my man was about to escape the grip in which I thought I had him. I slid the panel open. A moment later I was in the room. His eyelids were still fluttering and when my gaze fell on his already frozen eyes, I thought I saw an expression of surprise indicating that he recognized me. I put my knife on the floor and lay down beside him so that I could whisper in his ear one or two little things that I wanted him to remember, but at that very moment, he opened his mouth and died. Strangely enough, I, who had never been afraid in my life, was afraid then, standing beside him; and yet, when I looked at him, when I saw that he was still motionless, except for the ever-increasing bloodstain on the carpet, I was seized with a sudden fit of fear. I took my knife and went noiselessly back to my room, closing the panels behind me. It was only then that I perceived that in my mad haste, instead of having brought back the hunting knife, I had picked up the razor which had fallen, covered in blood, from the dead man’s hands . I hid this razor in a place where no one ever discovered it, but my fear prevented me from fetching the other weapon, which I would doubtless have done if I had foreseen the terrible consequences which would surely be drawn from its presence against my master. This, then, Lady Avon, is the exact and sincere account of the manner of Captain Barrington’s death. “And how is it,” my uncle asked angrily, “that you have always left an innocent man open to persecution, when a word from you would have saved him? ” “It was, Sir Charles, that I had the best reasons to believe that this step would be very unwelcome to Lord Avon. How could I tell him all this without revealing the family scandal that he was so careful to conceal? I confess that at first I did not tell him all that I had seen, but I must excuse myself by recalling that he disappeared before I had time to know what I should do. For many years, I may say even since I entered your service, Sir Charles, my conscience has tormented me and I have sworn that if ever I found my old master, I would reveal everything to him.” Chance having caused me to overhear a story told by young Mr. Stone, here present, showed me the possibility that the secret chambers of the Royal Cliff were the abode of someone. I became convinced that Lord Avon was hiding there. I lost no moment in discovering him and offering to do all in my power. “He speaks the truth,” concluded Lord Avon, “but it would have been very strange for me to hesitate to make the sacrifice of a fragile life and languishing health for a cause to which I had already given all my youth. New reflections finally forced me to modify my resolution. My son, in his ignorance of his true rank, was about to allow himself to be drawn into a kind of existence which was in harmony with his strength and courage but not with the traditions of his house. I also told myself that most of the people who had known my brother had disappeared, that it was not necessary for all the facts to come to light, that if I left without having dispelled all suspicion of this crime, it would leave a blacker stain on my family than the fault he expiated if terribly. For these reasons… The sound of several heavy footsteps awakening the echoes of the old house interrupted Lord Avon. Hearing this noise, his face grew a degree paler, and he looked piteously at his wife and son. “I am coming to arrest,” he cried. “I must submit to the humiliation of arrest. ” “This way, Sir James, this way,” said the harsh voice of Sir Lothian Hume from outside. “I need no guidance in a house where I have drunk many a bottle of good claret,” replied a low voice. And at the same moment, we saw in the corridor the stout Squire Ovington in sheepskin breeches and knee-high boots, riding crop in hand. Beside him was Sir Lothian Hume, and I saw two country constables looking over his shoulder. “Lord Avon,” said the squire, “as magistrate of Sussex County, it is my duty to tell you that there is a warrant out for your arrest on account of the premeditated murder of your brother, Captain Barrington, in the year 1786. ” “I am prepared to clear myself of the charge. ” “This I say as a magistrate, but as a man, and as the squire of Rougham Grange. I am delighted to see you, Ned, and here is my hand. I will never be made to believe that a good Tory like yourself, a man who has shown his horse’s tail on every racecourse in the Downs, could have been guilty of such an act. ” “You do me justice, James,” said Lord Avon, shaking the large brown hand which the squire had extended to him. “I am as innocent as you are, and I can prove it.” “Meanwhile,” said Sir Lothian Hume, “a stout door and a strong lock will be the best precautions against Lord Avon appearing when summoned. ” The squire’s tanned face took on a deep purple hue as he addressed the Londoner. “Are you the county magistrate, sir? ” “I have not that honor, Sir James. ” “Then why do you presume to give advice to a man who has held that office for nearly twenty years? When I am not sure of my case, sir, the law gives me a clerk with whom I can confer, and I need no other assistance. ” “You take it too high, Sir James; I am not used to being taken to task so sharply. ” “Nor am I used to being interrupted in the performance of my official duties, sir. I say this as a magistrate, Sir Lothian, but as a man, I am always ready to stand by my opinions.” Sir Lothian bowed. “You will allow me, sir, to point out that I have interests of the greatest importance engaged in this matter. I have every possible reason to believe that a plot has been organized here which targets my position as heir to Lord Avon. I request that he be placed in a safe place until this matter is cleared up and I require you in your capacity as magistrate to execute your warrant. ” “The devil take it all, Ned,” cried the squire. “I wish I had my clerk Johnson with me and I ask only to treat you with all the respect the law allows and yet, as you understand, I am invited to secure your person. ” “Permit me, sir, to suggest an idea,” said my uncle. “As long as he is under the personal supervision of the magistrate, he will be deemed to be in the custody of the law, and this condition is fulfilled if he is under the roof of Rougham Grange.” “Nothing better,” cried the squire eagerly. “You will lodge with me until this matter blows over. In other words, Lord Avon, I declare myself responsible, as representative of the law, that you will be held in a safe place until the day I am required to produce you in person. “You have a really good heart, James. ” “Ta! ta! I am only complying with the law. I hope, Sir Lothian Hume, that you have no objection to that?” Sir Lothian shrugged his shoulders and glared at the magistrate. Then, addressing my uncle: “There is still a little matter pending between us,” he said. ” Would you please give me the name of a friend? Mr. Corcoran, who is outside in the barouche, would act in my name, and we could meet tomorrow morning. ” “With pleasure,” replied my uncle, “I think I can count on your father, my nephew? Your friend can come to an agreement with Lieutenant Stone of Friar’s Oak, and the sooner the better.” Thus ended this strange conference. For my part, I had run to my first childhood friend and was doing my best to tell him how happy I was at his good fortune, and he responded by assuring me that whatever might happen to him, nothing would weaken his affection for me. My uncle touched me on the shoulder, and we were about to leave, when Ambrose, having replaced the bronze mask over his ardent passions, approached him respectfully. “I beg your pardon, Sir Charles, but I am very shocked to see your cravat… ” “You are right, Ambrose, Lorimer does his best, but I have never been able to find someone to replace you. ” “I should be proud to serve you, sir. But you must recognize that Lord Avon has prior rights. If he consents to give me back my freedom… ” “You may go, Ambrose, you may. You are an excellent servant, but your presence has become tiresome to me. ” “I thank you, Ned,” said my uncle. But you, Ambrose, you must not leave me so abruptly. “Allow me to explain the reason, sir. I had decided to inform you of my departure when we arrived in Brighton, but that evening, as we were leaving the village, I saw a lady pass by in a phaeton whose intimate relations with Lord Avon I knew very well , without being certain that she was his wife.
Her presence there confirmed my conviction that he was hiding at the Royal Cliff. I furtively got out of your carriage and followed it immediately with the aim of explaining the matter to her and explaining how necessary it was that Lord Avon should see me. ” “Well, I forgive your desertion,” said my uncle, “and I should be very grateful if you would, once again, arrange my cravat.” Chapter 22. Denouement. Sir James Ovington’s carriage was waiting outside. The Avon family, so tragically dispersed, so singularly reunited, climbed there to go under the hospitable roof of the Squire. When they had left, my uncle got into the carriage and drove Ambrose and me back to the village. “It is best to see your father at once, my nephew. Sir Lothian and his man have been on their way for some time. I should be sorry if there should be any misunderstanding in our meeting. For my part, I was thinking of the terrible reputation of our adversary as a duellist. No doubt my face betrayed my feelings, for my uncle began to laugh. “Well, my nephew,” he said, “you might say you are walking behind my coffin. This is not my first case and I think it will not be my last.” When I’m fighting around town, I usually go and fire a hundred bullets into Manton’s back shop, and I can say I’m in a position to find my way to his waistcoat. However, I confess I’m a little overwhelmed by all that’s happened. To think that my dear old friend is not only alive, but innocent! And that he has, to continue the Avon line, such a fine fellow of a son and heir! That will be the final blow to Hume, for I know that the Jews gave him room for his hopes. And you, Ambrose, to think that you burst in like that! Of all the extraordinary things that had happened, it seemed that this was the one that made the strongest impression on my uncle, for he returned to it again and again. This man, whom he had come to regard as a machine for tying tie knots and stirring chocolate, had shown himself animated by passions. It was a prodigy from which he could not get over it. If his razor-burner had gone wrong, he would not have been more astonished. We were within a few hundred yards of the cottage when we saw Mr. Corcoran, the man in the green coat, pacing the garden path. My uncle was waiting for us at the door with a look of suppressed delight. “I am happy to be of service to you in any way, Sir Charles. We have arranged for seven o’clock tomorrow in the common at Ditchling. ” “I should not mind if these little matters could be postponed until a later hour,” said my uncle. “One is obliged to get up at a most absurd hour or neglect one’s toilet.
” “They stop on the road at the Friar’s Oak inn, and if you would like it to be later— ” “No, no, I will make that effort, Ambrose; you will bring the toilet battery at seven o’clock. ” “I don’t know if you will care to use my barkers,” said my father. “I have used them in fifteen engagements, and at the distance of thirty yards, you would be hard pressed to find a better tool. ” “Thank you; I have my dueling pistols under the seat.” Ambrose, see that the dogs are oiled, for I like a light relaxation. Ah! my sister Mary, I am bringing you back your boy who is not the worse for wear, I hope, after the distractions of the city. I need not tell you that my poor mother covered me with tears and caresses, for you who have mothers know as much as I do, and you who have none will never know what a warm and comfortable nest the family home is. How I had worked and struggled to see the wonders of the city! And now that I had seen more than I had dreamed of in my wildest dreams, my eyes found nothing that gave me a greater impression of sweetness and repose than our little parlor, with its knick-knacks, in themselves insignificant objects but so rich in memories, the Moluccan puffer fish, the Arctic narwhal horn, and the engraving of Ça Ira continued by Lord Hotham. And how cheerful it was to see also on one side of the blazing hearth, my father with his pipe and his kind red face and my mother turning and pricking her knitting needles. As I looked at them, I wondered how I could have this great desire to leave them or how I would bring myself to leave them again. But I would have to leave them and soon, as I learned with my father’s noisy congratulations and my mother’s tears. He had been appointed to the command of the Caton, a sixty-four-gun ship, while a note from Lord Nelson, dated Portsmouth, informed me that a vacancy awaited me if I set sail at once. “And your mother has your sea chest ready, my boy. You can make the voyage with me tomorrow, for if you want to be one of Nelson’s men, you must prove yourself worthy of him. ” “All the Stones have entered the navy,” my mother said to my uncle, as if to apologize, “and it is a great stroke of luck for him to enter under Lord Nelson’s patronage.” But we shall never forget the kindness you had, Charles, in showing Rodney a little of the world. “On the contrary, my sister Mary,” said my uncle gravely, “your son has been very agreeable company to me, so much so that I fear I may be accused of neglecting Fidelio. I am bringing him back to you, I hope, a little more civil than I brought him. It would be folly to call him distinguished, but at least there is no reproach to be made to him. Nature has denied him the supreme gifts. I found him little disposed to supply them with artificial advantages, but at least I have shown him a little of life. I have given him some lessons in finesse and conduct which may seem superfluous now, but which will return in value when he is of a more mature age.” If his career in the city has not given what I expected, the reason lies solely in the fact that I am foolish enough to judge others according to the ideal I have made for myself. However, I am well disposed towards him and I regard him as eminently fit for the profession he is about to enter. He then handed me his sacrosanct snuffbox as a solemn token of his goodwill and when my mind goes back to that time, there are few circumstances in which I have seen more clearly the mischievous flash in his large eyes with their haughty expression, when he had a thumb in the armhole of his waistcoat and offered me the small shining box in the palm of his snow-white hand. He was the type and leader of a strange race of men who have disappeared from England, this handsome man of abundant blood, of virile character, exquisite in his dress, narrow in his ideas, coarse in his amusements, eccentric in his habits. These men crossed the history of England with a stiff step, with their absurd cravats, their wide collars, their dancing trinkets and they vanished into those dark wings from which one never returns. The world, in developing, has left them behind it. There is no longer any room in it for their bizarre fashions, their mystifications, their carefully studied eccentricities. And yet, behind this curtain, under this exterior of stupidity with which they took such great care to drape themselves, they were often energetic men of a robust personality. The languid flâneurs of Saint James were also the Yachtsmen of the Solent, the fine Cavaliers of the counties, the fighters who fought on the high road or in some morning adventure. It was from among them that Wellington selected his best officers. They sometimes condescend to be poets, orators, and Byron, Charles James Fox, Castlereagh, have retained some renown among them. I cannot help wondering how history will understand them, when I myself, who knew one of them so well, who had some of his blood in my veins, was unable to distinguish what was real from what was due to the affectations he had cultivated with such care that they had ceased to deserve that name. Through the interstices of this armor of madness, I have often thought I glimpsed the features of a generous and sincere man and I like to believe that it was not an illusion. As chance would have it, the incidents of that day were not to come to an end.
I had gone to bed early, but found it impossible to sleep, for my mind kept returning to little Jim and the extraordinary change that had taken place in his future and circumstances. I was still tossing and turning in my bed when I heard the sound of horses’ hooves coming from the direction of London, and immediately the screeching of wheels turning to a stop outside the inn. My windows were open, for it was a cool spring night. I heard a voice ask if Sir Lothian Hume was there. At this name I jumped out of bed and had time to see three men get out of the carriage and file into the lighted vestibule of the inn. The two horses remained motionless under the flood of light that fell through the door on their brown shoulders and patient heads . Perhaps ten minutes passed. Then I heard the sound of numerous footsteps and a close group of men burst through the door. “No need to use violence,” said a hoarse voice. “In whose name is this pursuit? ” “In the name of several, sir. You were left some rope in the hope that you would win that fight the other day. Total amount: Twelve thousand pounds. ” “Come now, my friend, I have a most important appointment for tomorrow at seven o’clock.” I’ll give you fifty pounds if you let me go free until then. “It’s really impossible, sir. It wouldn’t take that much to make us lose our jobs as sheriff’s clerks.” By the yellow light thrown by the carriage lanterns, I saw the baronet glance at our windows, and his hatred would have killed us if his eyes had been as terrible weapons as his pistols. “I can’t get into the carriage unless my hands are untied,” he said.
“Hold on, Billy, for he looks vicious. Let go one arm at a time. Ah! So you would… ” “Corcoran! Corcoran!” yelled a voice. Then I saw a dive, a struggle, a frantic figure succeeding in detaching him from the group. A violent blow was delivered, and the man sprawled in the middle of the moonlit road, writhing and leaping in the dust like a trout just landed. “There he is, this time. Hold him by the wrists. And now, together!” He was lifted like a sack of flour and thrown roughly into the back of the carriage. The three men jumped in at once. A whip whistled in the darkness, and that was how Sir Lothian Hume, the fashionable Corinthian, disappeared from my sight and from everyone else’s , except the charitable people who visited debtors’ prisons. Lord Avon lived two years longer, long enough for him, with Ambrose’s help, to prove himself innocent of the horrible crime under whose shadow he had spent so many years. However, he could not shake off the effects of those years spent in unhealthy conditions, contrary to the laws of nature. It was only the devoted care of his wife and son that kept the flickering flame of his life alive. The one I had known as an old actress at Anstey Cross became the Dowager of Avon, while little Jim, as affectionate to me as in the days when we used to pilfer birds’ nests and tease trout together, has now become Lord Avon, beloved by his farmers, the finest sportsman and the most popular man from the Weald to the Canal. He married the second daughter of Sir James Ovington, and, as I have seen three of his grandchildren this week, it is very likely that if the descendants of Sir Lothian Hume persist in eyeing the estate, they will be disappointed in their hopes, as their ancestor before them. The old house on the Royal Cliff was demolished because of the terrible family memories that haunted it. A fine modern building has risen in its place. The lodge on the Brighton road looked so pretty with its trellis and rose beds that I was not the only visitor to declare that I would prefer its possession to that big house over there among the trees. It was here that Jack Harrison and his wife lived for many years, culminating in a quiet and happy old age.
They thus received in the sunset of their lives the care and affection they had lavished. Jack Harrison never again stepped over the twenty-four-foot ring, but the story of the great struggle between the blacksmith and the man of the West is still familiar to the old ring-goers, and nothing pleased him more than to repeat it again in all its twists and turns, while sitting under his rose-covered canopy. But as soon as he heard the sound of his wife’s cane approaching, he began to talk of something else, of the garden and of his future, for she was always haunted by the fear of seeing him return to the ring, and if she remained an hour without seeing the old man, she was convinced that he had gone to dispute the belt with the champion of the day, an upstart. He fought the good fight, it was inscribed in his prayer on his gravestone , and although I am convinced that his last thoughts were for Baruch the Black and Wilson the Crab, no one who knew him refused to see a symbolic meaning in this summary of his life as an honest and valiant man. Sir Charles Tregellis continued for some time to show off his scarlet and gold colors at Newmarket and his inimitable costumes at St. James’s.
It was he who invented putting buttons and buckles on the bottom of trousers for high ceremony and he also who opened new perspectives by his researches on the comparative merits of fish glue and starch in the pressing of shirt fronts. The old beaux, if there are still any strayed in the corners at Arthur’s or White’s, may remember a ruling handed down by Tregellis: namely, that, for a tie to have the proper stiffness, it must be held by one of the corners and raised three-quarters of the way. Then came the schism of Alvanley and his school, who declared that half was enough. Then came the reign of Brummel and the declared rupture over the velvet collars, where the whole city marched behind the newcomer . My uncle, who was not born to be second only to anyone, immediately retired to St. Albans and announced that he would make it the center of fashion and society to replace degenerate London. However, the mayor and council, having voted him an address of thanks for his benevolent projects towards the city and having ordered clothes from London for the occasion, all appeared with velvet collars. This produced such discouragement in my uncle that he took to his bed and no longer appeared in public. His fortune, as a result of which a noble existence had perhaps been missed, was distributed among a large number of small legacies. One of them was intended for Ambrose, his valet, but he reserved enough for his sister, my mother, to give her an old age as sunny and as pleasant as I could wish for. As for me, a worthless thread on which these grains are strung, I hardly dare add a few words about myself, for fear that these words with which I must end my chapter will serve as the beginning of another. If I had not taken up my pen to tell you a landsman’s story, I might have succeeded in giving you a better sailor’s tale, but one cannot put in a single frame two paintings intended to face each other. The day may come when I will put in writing all the memories I have kept of the great battle that took place at sea. I will tell how my father ended his glorious career there by rubbing the paint of his ship against that of a Spanish vessel of eighty guns and that of a Spanish vessel of seventy-four. He fell on his broken stern while eating an apple. I see the bars of smoke on that October evening swirling slowly over the waves of the Atlantic, then rising, rising, rising, until they were torn, these light flakes, and lost in the infinite blue of the sky. And at the same time as them, the cloud that had remained suspended over the country rose. It thinned, diminished in the same way, until the day when the sun of God, the star of peace and security, came to shine upon us again and this time, we hope, without fear of a new darkening. Thus ends the adventure of “Jim Harrison, Boxer,” a work in which Arthur Conan Doyle combines sporting passion and dramatic intensity. This story reminds us that behind brute force always hides a human heart, made of doubts, hopes, and dreams. Jim ‘s story isn’t just that of a fighter in the ring, but of a man struggling to find his place in the world. Thank you for reading with us. For more captivating and inspiring stories, subscribe to Audiobooks and continue your journey through great literary works.