1 
 
 TORIES 
 
 
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TUFTS UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES 
 
 3 9090 014 535 831 
 
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 Webster Family Library of Veterinary Medicine 
 Cummings Scfiool of Veterinary Medicine at 
 Tufts University 
 200 VVestboro Road 
 North Grafton, MA 01536 
 
 X 
 
HUNT-ROOM STORIES 
 
 YACHTING YARNS. 
 
HUNT-EOOM STOEIES 
 
 YACHTING YAENS. 
 
 THE AUTHOE OF "ACEOSS COUNTEY,' 
 " FAIE DIANA," Etc. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDGAR GIBERNE. 
 
 LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 
 
 Limited. 
 1884. 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
53M • 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 R. Clay, Sons, and Taylor, 
 
 BREAD STREET HILL 
 
TO 
 
 ARTHUR LONGMAN, ESQ., 
 
 Of Shendish, Herts, 
 
 M.F.H. AND YACHTSMAN, 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
 
 ds §,ffjertbitatelD §ebrcate^, 
 
 IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE MANY PLEASANT DAYS 
 I HAVE SPENT WITH HIS HOUNDS. 
 
 April, 1884. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Some of the Tales in the present volume have appeared 
 in the columns of the Comity Gentleman. To the Editor 
 of that newspaper I beg to tender my sincere thanks for 
 his kind permission to reprint them. I have also to 
 thank the Proprietors of the Court Circular for the same 
 favour. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 April, 1884. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 HuNT'RooM Stories : — 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE colonel's BOOTS 3 
 
 A DEAR PURCHASE 22 
 
 NUMBER NINETY-FOUR 35 
 
 HOME FROM HUNTING 46 
 
 A REAL OLD SPORTSMAN 5G 
 
 DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS 70 
 
 "TOO late" 98 
 
 THEIR DIARIES 109 
 
 Yachting Yarns : — 
 
 THE LAST cruise , . , .' 131 
 
 yachting eccentricities 136 
 
 The Ordeal : — 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. — THE "aphrodite" 145 
 
 • IL — EARLY DAYS 151 
 
 III. — BOTH 156 
 
 IV. — THE ORDEAL 167 
 
 h 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Yachting Yarns (continued) — 
 
 The Cruise of the " Moonshine " :— 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. — FIVE OF US 177 
 
 11. — THE BARNACLE CLUB 183 
 
 IIL— HOW WE BOUGHT THE "OCEAN QUEEN"' . . . 186 
 
 IV. — THE " OCEAN QUEEN " 194 
 
 V. — A START 203 
 
 vl — the first cruise 215 
 
 vil — at sea 226 
 
 viil — better 234 
 
 ix. — the catastrophe 237 
 
 Hunting from Town ' 245 
 
 Selling the Spies . 270 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 " UMTSALLAH WAS LYING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE ' DURNFORD 
 
 drain'" To face page 32 
 
 " SHE WAS SITTING WELL BACK AND PULLING ' ALL SHE 
 
 knew'" To face page 48 
 
 " WHERE HE WAS TRYING TO GET HIS HORSE OVER THE FIRST 
 
 fence" To face page 69 
 
 " HARRY WAS ON A BLACK HORSE OF SOMEWHAT UNCOUTH 
 
 appearance" To face page 105 
 
 " THEN HE SAT DOWN ON THE WET BOARDS AT HER FEET " 
 
 To face page 163 
 
 "OLD ANDREW WAS AT THE HELM " To faCC page 231 
 
 " WITH ALL PLAIN SAIL SET WE WENT TEARING THROUGH THE 
 
 GREEN WATER AT A FAMOUS PACE" .... To face page 235 
 "THERE, A COUPLE OF MILES OF " To face page 2GS 
 
HUNT-EOOM STOEIES 
 
HUNT-KOOM STOEIES. 
 
 THE COLONEL'S BOOTS. 
 
 " Here comes the Colonel," said pretty Mrs. Rainer, as 
 they were waiting in the lane below Harbury Wood, " I 
 ho23e he won't stick close by me all day as he did last 
 week at Crowsford." 
 
 " I will relieve you of him with pleasure," cried Lord 
 Audrey Fantail, a small youth on a game-looking thorough- 
 bred, whose legs showed signs of work, though her heart 
 would probably carry her through many a severe run when 
 cocktails might be unwilling to face more fences. 
 
 " No," exclaimed Mr. Pottinger ; " getting rid of bores 
 is my speciiil province. Leave him to me, Mrs. Rainer — / 
 will settle him." At the same time he turned the head 
 of his handsome weight-carrier as if to cut off the 
 Colonel's advance. 
 
 "You will just be good enough to leave the Colonel 
 alone," said Mrs. Rainer. " I admit that he is rather 
 a nuisance sometimes, but he is a good fellow and I 
 won't have him bullied. I like him very much." 
 
 B 2 
 
HUNT-ROOM STORIES 
 
 Before Pottinger and Lord Audrey could reply, the gentle- 
 man in question had joined the group. " A fine morning, 
 Mrs, Rainer," said he ; "a very fine hunting morning. 
 Delighted to see you looking more beautiful than ever, 
 upon my word as an officer and gentleman. And the 
 mare, why she's quite the pink of perfection. I believe 
 we shall get a run, don't you, Mrs. Rainer ? And," added 
 he, lowering his voice, " I hope you will let me pilot you 
 as you did last Tuesday from Crowsford." Then looking 
 round as if he had only just perceived the other two, 
 " Morning, my lord ; morning, Pottinger,'* said he, in a 
 somewhat condescending manner. 
 
 He got his horse close to Mrs. Rainer' s, with the evident 
 intention of stopping there. Both the other men curled 
 their lower lips, and returned his greeting with silent 
 nods. Even the most superficial spectator would have 
 noticed that they were rivals. While the hounds are 
 drawing Hajbury it may therefore be as well to enlighten 
 the reader. 
 
 Mrs, Rainer is a charming widow whose years no book 
 of reference states, but who can certainly not yet have 
 reached thirty summers. After two years' marriage with 
 a man twice her age she was left with a very large fortune 
 entirely at her own disposal, and without what the servants 
 call encumbrances, and what are termed children in other 
 classes of society. The late Mr, Rainer, who had been 
 M.P, for a Scotch burgh, had lived much in London, 
 
THE COLONEL'S BOOTS. 
 
 and had introduced his country wife to many of the best 
 houses ; but shortly after his death his widow took up her 
 abode with her father — a man of moderate but inde- 
 pendent fortune Uving near Crampleton, the county town 
 of Crampshire — and had only paid a few short visits to 
 the metropolis in the three years which had since elapsed. 
 Mrs. Rainer preferred a country life. Her very consider- 
 able income enabled her to add a new wing to her father's 
 house and to build new stables, and she appeared per- 
 fectly contented to console the old gentleman's declining 
 years by her cheerful society, to receive a few friends 
 during the hunting and shooting season, and to join in 
 the Crampleton festivities, few and far between as they 
 were. It was no secret in Crampshire that she did not 
 spend a quarter of her revenue, and that her capital was 
 large enough to enable any second husband she might ac- 
 cept, to keep a very good house, with well-filled cellars and 
 stables, on his wife's money. And Mrs. Rainer was a 
 desirable parti for other reasons. A brunette on a small 
 scale, her dark complexion was animated by the healthy 
 blood which coursed through her veins. She had black 
 eyes, rather deep-set, and they were occasionally so 
 piercing and so strange in their glance that it was not 
 quite pleasant to have them levelled at you. But then, 
 on the other hand, they were often full of soft languor 
 and dreaminess, or, again, sparkling with fun and mischief. 
 At such moments a smile, which illumined the whole 
 
HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 face, disiilayed a row of teeth which might be a little 
 larger than the strict classical critic would ajiprove, but 
 were white and regular. And when this by no means 
 unfrequent smile appeared it brought with it a dimple 
 which made her look young as a schoolgirl, and seemed 
 to remove all the respect which a previous keen glance 
 from those deep-set eyes might have inspired. In figure 
 Mrs. Rainer was plump without being fat, and it was 
 open to one jDrophet to declare that she would be dumpy 
 before she was forty, and to another to forecast that she 
 would become sinewy and tough, like so many riding 
 women. Meanwhile critic and prophets all agreed that 
 she was charming, and knew how to dress and how to 
 ride. Under the circumstances it was scarcely surprising 
 that Mr. Pottinger, the wealthy Crampleton brewer, whose 
 father had made the fortune which the young man had 
 only to spend, or Lord Audrey Fantail, the second son 
 of the great house of Paon, the people of all others in 
 Crampshire, should both be paying much attention to 
 the lovely widow. 
 
 Nor must the Colonel be forgotten ; in fact the Colonel 
 deserves special notice. He was now on half-pay, but had 
 served Her Majesty with distinction in the 50th Dragoons. 
 It was his boast that he had never got into any scrapes, 
 never played any practical jokes, never as a subaltern had 
 disagreeable interviews with his commanding oflScer, and 
 had never spent more money than he could afford. The 
 
THE COLONEL'S BOOTS. 
 
 Colonel was nothing if not methodical. He was the only 
 representative of a good old Crampshire family, and had 
 come to live on the small family estate when his elder 
 brother had died without children. He then left the 
 army, and devoted his attention and his method to the 
 raising of wonderful crops of mangolds and the thorough, 
 drainage of neglected lands. 
 
 Though his moustache was black, and his hair showed 
 no traces of changing its hue— -thanks to the aid of sundry 
 patent dyes, as his enemies asserted — no one could take 
 the Colonel for a young man. Crows'-feet were too 
 numerous and too distinct on his temples, while the deep 
 furrows between nose and cheeks were caused rather by 
 years than by hard service. But, notwithstanding the 
 undoubted fact that he was rapidly approaching at least 
 middle age, the Colonel affected all the ways and manners 
 of extreme youth. He was an indefatigable dancer at the 
 Crampleton balls, the first to come and the last to go. 
 He filled up his card weeks beforehand by riding about 
 and engaging partners at the various houses. He never 
 missed a meet if hounds were anywhere within reasonable 
 distance, and he occasionally even attempted to show the 
 way across country ; but, failing in this, fell back on his 
 really excellent topographical knowledge and his extended 
 experience of foxes and their ways, to be " there or 
 thereabouts" as often as anybody. 
 
 After the Colonel had talked for a few minutes with 
 
HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 Mrs. Rainer, during which she showed some signs of 
 impatience, Mr. Pottinger suddenly held up his hand. 
 
 " A fox, I believe ! " cried Lord Audrey. 
 
 " This way, this way ! " called out the Colonel, hustling 
 his somewhat heavy-topped underbred horse towards a 
 gap in the fence. " He is sure to break on the lower 
 side." 
 
 " Come with us," almost whispered Lord Audrey, " and 
 we shall get rid of the old bore." 
 
 And away went the three precisely in the opposite 
 direction. When the Colonel got into the ploughed field 
 and looked back, he found himself alone. The others had 
 turned through a bridle-gate and galloped along a drive 
 in the wood. Lord Audrey, who was nearest the fair 
 widow, seized the opportunity to remark, " What a horrid 
 nuisance that old Colonel is ! Never knows when he is 
 not wanted." 
 
 " But perhaps I did want him," suggested Mrs. Rainer. 
 
 " I don't believe you did," replied his lordship. " Why, 
 the old fellow runs after you in the most barefaced 
 manner! If you encouraged him a little bit, I believe 
 he'd propose directly." 
 
 "Well, perhaps I should not object," answered the 
 widow, looking her companion straight in the face. " I 
 might do worse." 
 
 " It is cruel to talk like that," exclaimed Lord Audrey, 
 his face flushing up, "when you know that I " 
 
THE COLONEL'S BOOTS. 
 
 What he would have said can only be guessed, for at 
 that moment Pottinger called out, "To the left, Mrs. 
 Rainer ; you can't get over that fence, and hounds are 
 running left-handed," ranging up alongside of them as 
 he spoke. For a quarter of an hour or so there was no 
 talk. They were galloping over a good country, grass 
 alternating with plough or stubble, and there was nothing 
 formidable to stop any decently mounted sportsman ; but 
 then occurred a check. The 4iounds spread out doubt- 
 fully, then a few straggled still wider, then they collected 
 round a spot in the hedge, almost tumbling over each 
 other in their eagerness. " Hold hard, please," was shouted 
 by the huntsman, and re-echoed from a dozen mouths, 
 though those who called " hold hard " had been just as 
 willing to override hounds as the rest. But long before 
 the " tail " had come up they were off again in full cry, 
 the fox having doubled up the hedge and then turned sharp 
 to the right. On his new line there were several nasty 
 places to negotiate, and both Lord Audrey and Mr. Pot- 
 tinger had enough to do to keep their places, Mrs. Rainer 
 going well, thanks to her good horse and her light weight. 
 Soon even the leaders were glad of another check, and 
 this time the scent was not picked up quite so quickly. 
 They were behind a cunning old fox, who was evidently 
 up to every trick of his race. As hounds seemed to make 
 "nothing of it, the huntsman lifted them, and making a 
 wide cast the scent was hit off near a ruined barn, when 
 
10 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 away they tore again in full cry, pointing for Finch Wood. 
 Would they get there before the fox, or would the fox beat 
 them ? That was the question, for Finch Wood was a great 
 straggling place, broken up by many deep dells and pits, 
 where a fox of any talent could easily baffle his pursuers, 
 and at the worst indeed induce a fresh colleague to run 
 instead of himself. The last mile over the pastures which 
 bordered this refuge was covered at a great pace, and Mr. 
 Pottinger's steed was outpaced. Yet hounds were too late ; 
 they had lost valuable time at the barn. Soon they were 
 hunting slowly up and down the gorse and thick under- 
 growth, while the field gradually closed up outside. Pot- 
 tinger came up on his panting horse to where Lord 
 Audrey and Mrs. Rainer were standing, their heads turned 
 to the wind ; and as he rode towards them from one side 
 up came the Colonel from the other, his appearance a 
 marked contrast to theirs. Lord Audrey had covered 
 himself with mud and glory by rolling over at a post and 
 rails. Mr. Pottinger had scratched his face severely in 
 jumping through a blackthorn hedge, and both were 
 attempting to remove the traces of their mishaps with 
 pocket-handkerchiefs, which were quite insufficient for the 
 task set them. Even Mrs. Rainer looked somewhat 
 excited, her face flushed, her hair partly down, and the 
 neck of her mare white with foam. The Colonel might 
 have been on his way to parade, if parade there were in 
 white breeches and pink tops. There was scarcely a spot 
 
THE COLONEL'S BOOTS. ]1 
 
 on either, his hat was smooth and redolent of the iron, his 
 moustache pointed as stiffly as usual, and his hair not even 
 out of curl. "There is nothing like method," quoth he, 
 as he joined the party. " Look at my horse I Not even 
 turned a hair. And yet I have seen all the fun, even 
 to the check at Price's barn. There's nothing like know- 
 ing the country and method ! Better trast me another 
 time, Mrs. Kainer." 
 
 " Where is Captain Bradbourne ? " asked the widow. 
 "He showed me the way for ever so long." 
 
 " In the ditch close to the barn," answered Lord Audrey 
 " I saw him fall in, but had not time to help him out." 
 
 " Serve the young man right," exclaimed the Colonel, 
 who was as jealous of Captain Bradbourne as of every man 
 whom he suspected of admiring the widow. " He is a very 
 reprehensible young man." 
 
 " Beprehensible ! What do you mean ? " asked Pot- 
 tinger. 
 
 " A most irregular person," continued the Colonel ; " a 
 man whom / would request to exchange if / were his 
 commanding officer." 
 
 " Indeed ! What has he done ? " asked young Snider 
 of the Guards, who had joined the group while hounds 
 were hunting in the inaccessible cover, 
 
 " You would scarcely believe it," replied the Colonel, 
 " and I don't like to abuse a man behind his back. But 
 the fact is, that when I was last in Crampleton Barracks 
 
12 HUNT-ROOM STOBIES. 
 
 Captain Bradbourne asked me into his room. His servants 
 brought in some letters. I could see -that they were bills. 
 Now, what do you think ? He actually threw them into 
 the fire without opening them ! A young man of most 
 irregular habits ! " 
 
 There was a roar of laughter, in which even Pottinger 
 joined, though he had probably never known what it was 
 not to be able to pay his bills. 
 
 "Is that all, Colonel?" asked Lord Audrey. "I'm 
 afraid many of us do that. Poor Bradbourne ! But 
 here he is at last." 
 
 " Hallo, Bradbourne," cried Snider ; " glad to see you 
 out of the ditch. Here's the Colonel says you throw your 
 bills into the fire without looking at them. Is it true ? " 
 
 "Well, of course," answered the victim, smiling sadly. 
 " What else can a fellow do ? I can't pay them, and if I 
 read them they would spoil my appetite and take away 
 my sleep ; so I burn them." 
 
 "Quite right, too," said Lord Audrey. "I always do. 
 The only thing that is sacred is a writ. When that comes 
 I am bound to speak to the governor, for fear my horses 
 might go." 
 
 " Still, I consider it a most reprehensible and disgraceful 
 practice," whispered the Colonel, stooping over to Mrs. 
 Rainer. " Don't you ? " 
 
 " Oh, dreadful ! " answered she, gaily ; " very shocking 
 indeed ! " 
 
THE COLONEL'S BOOTS. 13 
 
 "Yes," continued lie, "you see to what you expose 
 yourself with these young men." 
 
 " I? " asked the widow, innocently. " I am not exposed 
 to anything that I know of. They don't send their bills 
 to me ; they only burn them." 
 
 " But you know they all want you to marry them." 
 
 " Colonel, what nonsense ! " 
 
 "They do, though. Now if you would only trust a 
 man of some experience " 
 
 Mrs. Rainer turned away her horse. " It is no use 
 waiting here all day," she remarked in an audible tone, 
 " the horses will get quite stiff. Let us move on round 
 to the other side of the wood. Perhaps we shall find 
 out what they are doing." 
 
 All obeyed the hint, and the Colonel's Ute-a-Ute with 
 her was again interrupted. Nor did he get another 
 chance that day. Whenever he rode up to Mrs. Eainer's 
 side she began talking to some one else, or drew back, or 
 hurried on ; and once, when there appeared no other way 
 of getting rid of him, she actually turned her mare short 
 on the road and jumped across a stiff wattle fence into 
 the next field, a leap which the Colonel's charger refused 
 to take. 
 
 But not many days elapsed before the gallant officer 
 got another chance. It was at a dinner given by the 
 Crampleton banker, at which Mrs. Rainer and her father 
 were present. He would have dearly loved to take her in 
 
14 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 to dinner, but the fates and the banker's wife decreed 
 otherwise, and the Colonel found himself in less congenial 
 company, fondly believing the same of her. When, after 
 a " sit " over some old port which was much too long for 
 the amorous ex-plunger, the drawing-room door at last 
 admitted the men, our friend lost no time in approaching the 
 lovely widow, who was sitting on a sofa exchanging mild 
 chaff with Lord Audrey Fantail and Captain Bradbourne. 
 
 "Come and sit here. Colonel," was her greeting, as she 
 made room for him on the couch, " and tell me all about 
 yesterday. I could not go out, because we had some 
 people from town staying with us." 
 
 " The day had no charm for me," replied the veteran 
 gallantly, " as Mrs, Rainer did not vouchsafe to appear." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I know your politeness very well. Colonel. 
 Tell me something I dont know ! Where did you find ? 
 Had you a run ? Did you kill ? And did your knowledge 
 of the country help you ? " 
 
 " Captain Bradbourne, here," answered he, rather 
 jealously, "ought to be able to satisfy you. I saw him 
 at the meet," 
 
 "I only came to look at them, Colonel," said the 
 Captain. " I have only two horses, and one is lame. I 
 can't afford more, so I rode home after they had drawn all 
 the woods near Barston. It was hard lines, tumbling into 
 that ditch the other day. The mare was as lame as a tree 
 next morning, and I have not paid for her yet." 
 
THE COLONEL'S BOOTS. 15 
 
 The Colonel raised his eyebrows. " Indeed ! Not paid 
 for her ? " A significant glance towards Mrs. Rainer, and 
 the whispered remark, "A most unmethodical, irregular 
 young man, as I told you." 
 
 " No ! " continued Bradbourne ; " I couldn't afford to 
 pay for my horse, and Oakley won't give tick for more 
 than one at a time. So you see I can't manage to hunt 
 four times a week, can I ? " 
 
 This proposition seemed self-evident, as indeed it might 
 be called wonderful that under the circumstances he 
 could afford to hunt at all. The Colonel, however, at 
 last narrated the very uninteresting events of the previous 
 day, and wound up with the remark, " If you studied the 
 country as I do, Captain Bradbourne, you would be able to 
 make your two horses do a deal more than they do. What 
 is the use of your reckless, harum-scarum riding ? Do it 
 methodically, that's what I say. Study your fox's point, 
 and then ride for it. Never jump if you can help it. Trot 
 up the furrows, remember your gates, and carry your ord- 
 nance map in your pocket. Then your horse will be fit to 
 go again the next day if you want him." 
 
 " Yes, to go along roads and up lanes as you do," mur- 
 mured Bradbourne to Lord Audrey, as he moved off. 
 " What a terrible old bore ! Why does not Mrs. Rainer 
 shunt him for good and all ? " 
 
 " Why, indeed ? " drawled his lordship. " I never can 
 make her out." 
 
16 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 The Colonel took advantage of this aside to whisper one 
 on his own account. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Eainer," said he, "when can I have a 
 chance of seeing you alone ? I really must. I have a 
 most important question to ask you." 
 
 " Ask it now," answered the lady. . 
 
 The Colonel looked round. He was brave enough, but 
 too methodical to ask a question into which he wanted to 
 infuse the greatest possible tenderness before a host of 
 people in a crowded drawing-room. 
 
 " No ; I can't indeed. It requires a Ute-di-Ute, even if 
 only a short one. Do grant me this, dear Madam. May 
 I call at your house ? " 
 
 " You had better not," replied Mrs. Kainer, looking affec- 
 tionate. " You see, dear Colonel, people have been 
 talking." 
 
 " Talking ? " asked the delighted lover. " About 
 whom ? " 
 
 "Well, about you and me," said she, archly. "They 
 have noticed that you are always riding with me when 
 we are out hunting, and often see me home. And papa 
 has heard of it." 
 
 " But you are quite independent of Mr. Easton ? You 
 are quite your own mistress ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I would never do anything to displease papa. 
 No ; you must not call in a public way, nor at the usual 
 time. Tell me, do you really want to see me so much ? " 
 
THE COLONEL'S BOOTS. 17 
 
 " Can you doubt it ? " answered the gallant Colonel, 
 attempting to seize her hand. 
 
 " How can you be so impertinent ? — before all these 
 people too ! Well, if you must come, do so. Come to the 
 little back garden gate of our house at ten o'clock next 
 Monday night. Knock gently. I will be there. And 
 mind you don't drive up to the gate. Papa might hear," 
 With these words she rose and crossed the room to the 
 banker's wife. 
 
 The Colonel could hardly trust his ears or his luck. 
 Mrs. Rainer had not only made room for him on the sofa, 
 had not only greeted him with twice her usual kindness, 
 but had actually glanced affectionately at him several times 
 and had wound up by giving him a rendezvous in her 
 garden at an advanced hour of the evening. 
 
 When an extraordinary piece of good fortune befalls 
 people they begin by being astonished, and then in a very 
 short time discover that they fully deserved it, and that 
 it is a wonder, if not an injustice, that it did not happen 
 sooner. Before the Colonel had taken his leave he had 
 quite got over his surprise, and had arrived at the con- 
 viction that nothing was more natural than for Mrs. Rainer 
 to fall in love with him. " She is bound to like me better 
 than that sucking lord or that extravagant fool, Bradbourne," 
 said he to himself, as he jerked his pony's reins on his 
 homeward way. " Of course a woman of her sense would 
 soon see the difference between a man of experience and 
 
 c 
 
18 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 method like myself and these jackanapes. She knows I 
 should make her a good husband, and she is ready to take 
 me if I ask her. Why should she not, too ? " And the 
 Colonel gave an extra curl to his moustache with the hand 
 which was at liberty. " I have served Her Majesty with 
 honour and credit. I am not middle-aged yet, and as 
 good-looking as any youngster. Know the country, too^ 
 better than any of them. Ah ! " he concluded, giving the 
 pony a flick, " the Colonel will get the brush yet, notwith- 
 standing all your nonsense, you young asses." 
 
 The next few days were spent in delicious dreams 
 of a fair and rich wife, and Monday opened auspiciously ; 
 but before noon clouds began to gather, and at four 
 o'clock rain set in with a steadiness and a gloom which 
 promised continuance. It was a long six miles from 
 the Colonel's place to Squire Easton's house, and being 
 anxious to observe the rules of the strictest discretion, 
 our hero did not order a covered fly, but started at 
 about nine o'clock in his little pony trap — "For fear," 
 said he to himself, " of compromising the lady." It 
 rained hard, and ever harder; the road was heavy, and 
 pools formed themselves all over the Colonel's water- 
 proofing, which eventually found their way slowly into 
 his nether garments. He had, as a matter of course, 
 thought of donning dress clothes, but the weather 
 had, at the last moment, deterred him, and he added 
 a heavy high pair of boots to his morning costume. 
 
THE COLONEL'S BOOTS. 19 
 
 But even then he would have been miserable in the 
 extreme had not the thoughts of the lovely Mrs. Rainer 
 and her large fortune kept him in good spirits. Instead 
 of following the high road to Mr. Easton's gates, he 
 turned up a lane overhung with the bare boughs of 
 dripping trees. Here he descended and secured the 
 pony's reins round a gate-post. " Polly will be safe 
 enough there," he thought, " while I go and conquer 
 the heiress. You will have a rich man to take home, 
 Polly," added he, aloud, as he stroked the pony's neck. 
 "Stand quiet, and wait for him." Then he trudged 
 up the lane till he reached a garden wall and a little 
 green gate in it. He felt wet and dirty, and was fain 
 to admit to himself that he was scarcely fit to appear 
 in the presence of his graceful lady-love. " But she 
 won't mind," he thought ; " she can't expect a man 
 to come six miles on a night like this and turn out as 
 if he had come in a bandbox." And he knocked at 
 the door, first faintly, and then, as nobody came, a little 
 louder. Soon he heard soft steps on the gravel. It 
 was she ! Even his old heart began to beat faster. 
 The door was gently opened, and all he could distinguish 
 in the gloom was an umbrella. " Dear Mrs. Rainer ! " 
 he whispered. "It is not Mrs. Rainer," a low voice 
 announced from under the umbrella. " I am her maid. 
 Turn this way, and shut the door very gently. Master 
 mustn't hear you — he would kill you if he knew." The 
 
 c 2 
 
20 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 umbrella moved up the gravel path, and he followed. 
 " Stop ! " the voice suddenly said : " your boots make 
 a horrid noise ; take them off." 
 
 " Take my boots off ? " asked the Colonel, amazed. 
 "Why, I shall get wet through." 
 
 " I won't have my missus get into a row," replied 
 the umbrella ; " and your boots make such a noise on 
 the gravel they are sure to hear us as we get near 
 the house. Take them off at once, or go back." 
 
 " Never ! " cried the Colonel, and he sat down on the 
 wet path and pulled off his boots, which he held in 
 one hand, while entrusting the other to his guide, for 
 it was perfectly dark, and though he knew the place 
 well from the outside, he had never been in this part 
 of the premises before. 
 
 It seemed a long way to the house. At last the 
 maid again stopped, and pushed open a small door. 
 " Take care," she whispered, " there is a step. Keep 
 firm hold of my hand, and whatever you do don't make 
 a noise. We are going up the back stairs." 
 
 The Colonel murmured assent, and followed through 
 a passage, then to the left up a steep flight of stairs. 
 At the first landing she stopped. " There," said she, 
 " lucky man. Now only just go on." With these words 
 she opened a door, and pushed the Colonel forward. 
 There was a blaze of light, and for several seconds 
 he could not make out where he was. 
 
THE COLONELS BOOTS. 21 
 
 At last a roar of laughter brought him to his senses. 
 He was in a brilliantly illuminated drawing-room, sur- 
 rounded by a semicircle of ladies and gentlemen in 
 evening dress. Among them he instantly recognised 
 Mr. Pottinger, Captain Bradbourne, and Lord Audrey. 
 On his left was a piano, before which sat Mrs. Rainer, 
 who looked at him steadily, and only said — 
 
 " Oh, Colonel ! How wet you are ! And what are 
 you doing with your boots?" ' 
 
 Wet, indeed ; and what was he doing with his boots ? 
 There stood our hero, in a dripping waterproof, from 
 which little rivulets were trickling down on the carpet. 
 In his left hand he held a pair of muddy Wellingtons ; 
 his right was feeling about in an uncertain manner as 
 if for support. With a shriek of dismay he at last 
 realised the situation. It was a practical joke. He 
 dropped the boots and turned to fly. But the door 
 was closed, and Mr. Easton came forward. 
 
 " Very glad to see you. Colonel," said the old gentle- 
 man ; " but you have come rather late. Bradbourne 
 here shall take you up to his room and make you 
 comfortable. He is at home, you know — they are to 
 be married next month." 
 
A DEAR PURCHASE. 
 
 He was a grand-looking chestnut, certainly. Sixteen 
 hands if he was an inch ; long, short-legged, with fine 
 sloping shoulders. As I stood up against him and placed 
 my left hand on his withers, I felt I had never seen a 
 more likely animal. " Jump ? " " Of course he could 
 jump," said his owner, a small farmer in the neighbour- 
 hood of the town of Howden, in the eastern portion of 
 Yorkshire. And I did not feel inclined to doubt it, for 
 how could a horse built like Umballah (that was his 
 name) not jump ? Besides, the would-be seller was 
 willing that he should be tried over a fence. Giving his 
 boy a " leg up," the lad took the chestnut out of the 
 *' moock yard " where the inspection had taken place, and 
 we followed into an adjoining paddock. Here a hurdle 
 with long wings and a small ditch in front of it had been 
 erected for the purpose of trying hunters. Umballah 
 took the place well enough, though laying his ears back 
 
A DEAR PURCHASE. 23 
 
 a little, and was pulled up on the far side at once, quiet 
 as a lamb. 
 
 I looked at him again : I passed my hand down his 
 broad flat legs. He seemed as sound as a bell. His 
 thorough-bred feet were small, but well-shaped, and firm ; 
 his hoofs showed no sign of any of those insidious com- 
 plaints by which the best horse is so often rendered 
 useless for anything but soft ground. His head was a 
 little large, perhaps, for a son of Wild Dayrell, and his 
 eyes were sleepy. Yet the closest inspection failed to 
 show that anything was wrong with them. His wide 
 chest implied good wind, and his teeth were those of a 
 six year old. Why, then, did I not buy him at once, as 
 I was looking for a hunter ? I will tell you. The reason 
 was an unusual one; the reader will probably exclaim 
 that it is the most unlikely reason to deter a purchaser. 
 The liorse was too cheap. Thirty guineas was all that was 
 asked for him. He seemed not only dirt cheap, but 
 actually given away, for the money. Even in these remote 
 parts the canny farmers who habitually bred horses for 
 the market were well aware of the value of a strong, 
 sound, thorough-bred horse up to at least 14st, and the 
 price demanded seemed utterly uncommensurate with the 
 appearance and breeding of Umballah. Fast, too, the 
 man said, nor had I any reason to doubt it, for was not 
 his name in the Stud Booh, and had he not come out of 
 Lord Stamford's celebrated stable ? Not fast enough, 
 
24 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 however, to win Derbys or Legers, that I knew from his 
 record. He had run several times as a two year old, he 
 had been second in a small race once, but had not other- 
 wise been successful. As a three year old he only ran 
 once, at Newmarket in a biennial, and was not placed. 
 Then I knew not what his career had been, except that 
 he had been sold out of the great stable when it was 
 broken up. But I did not want a horse fast enough to 
 win the Derby. I only required a good hunter, fit to 
 carry me well across a provincial country, in the first 
 flight if possible, but if not quite in the van, at any rate 
 not in the rear. And I could not afford a large sum. So 
 Umballah was tempting. But I was a stranger in the 
 country, and the price was suspiciously small ; in fact, as 
 I have said, the horse was too cheap. He would have 
 fetched more at the " Corner " (it was the " Corner " then) 
 on his appearance alone, without pedigree or anything 
 else. So I doubted still. " May I send a veterinary to 
 look at him ? " I inquired, almost certain that the question 
 would be answered evasively. " Certainly," replied the 
 owner, to my surprise ; " only you'd best drive into town 
 at once and send him out to-day, for unless you buy the 
 horse he is going up to Rugby to-morrow to be sold ; 
 these is bad times, and I can't afford to keep him. He 
 is regular given away at the money." " Very well," I 
 said ; " he shall be here before dark," and I drove off at a 
 great pace to HoNvden, six miles off, to find a vet, I soon 
 
A DEAE PURCHASE. 25 
 
 discovered one, and after some difficulty as to a convey- 
 ance, persuaded him to return with me at once to the 
 farm. He thought he knew XJmballah, he said, but was 
 not communicative at all. He promised to examine him 
 closely, and to give me a conscientious opinion, but beyond 
 the admission that " he thought he had seen the horse," 
 he declared himself ignorant as to his history. It was 
 almost dusk when we arrived, but the leech certainly went 
 to work in a business-like manner. He put the horse 
 through all the usual paces, pinched his throat, carefully 
 examined his legs and feet (by the help of a lantern) 
 tried his eyes, and, in fact, performed all the tricks of the 
 trade. I was still suspicious, and did not leave him alone 
 with the farmer for an instant. Yet nothing appeared to 
 justify my suspicions, except that both veterinary and 
 owner seemed strangely silent. The latter silently opened 
 the stable door, ordered the horse out, and when he had 
 been examined, just called for a lantern, and no more; 
 then, equally silent, again shut the stable door, and walked 
 into the house with us. I drew the vet. aside. " Is he 
 sound ? " I asked. " Perfectly," he answered ; " the horse 
 is sound in wind and limb." "Very well," I said, "will 
 you give me a certificate ? " " Certainly," he assented. 
 Now his character was at stake I felt more comfortable, 
 and determined to close the bargain. " Mr. Broadley," 
 I said to the farmer, " I will take Umballah. Give me 
 pen and ink ; I will write a cheque." " On what bank. 
 
26 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 sir ? " asked Mr, Broadley. " On my London bank, the 
 Union." " You will excuse me, sir, I am sure," answered 
 he, " but you're a stranger here, and a London cheque 
 wants four days to cash, and I have known gentlemen 
 from down south change their minds after they had 
 bought a horse, and stop the cheque. Perhaps they had 
 seen something they liked better. I'd sooner have cash." 
 Though somewhat annoyed, I was so much in love with 
 Umballah, and felt that he was such an extraordinary 
 bargain, that I was ready even to meet the demands of 
 the cautious Yorkshireman. " You must come into 
 Howden with me, then," I remarked ; " they will cash a 
 cheque for me there, and I will give you the money." 
 
 So it was arranged. Mr. Broadley put an old saddle on 
 the horse, and sent his son into town with him, the vet. 
 and I driving back together. We reached my hotel just 
 in time for dinner. I got the cheque changed without 
 difficulty, and handed thirty guineas to young Broadley, 
 who thereupon led Umballah to the stables, where I had 
 secured a stall and decent attendance for him. On the 
 way I had noticed that he seemed an excellent hack, for 
 although the night was dark, and of course the trap passed 
 and re-passed him, I remarked that he was easy to ride, 
 did not stumble, and jogged along quietly enough on the 
 side of the road. The vet. pocketed his guinea, refused 
 my invitation to stoj) and dine, and went off. Mr. 
 Broadley, jun., having accepted a glass of hot whisky and 
 
A DEAR PURCHASE. 27 
 
 water, calmly set out to walk his six miles home, with the 
 saddle on his back. The next morning Umballah was 
 after some difficulty, transferred to a horse-box, and we 
 proceeded together by train to the small town of Beverley, 
 about thirty miles off, where I had fixed my hunting 
 head-quarters. 
 
 The first time I had my new purchase out with the 
 hounds was on that day week. Meanwhile I had walked 
 him over to a friend's house, some miles off, and had found 
 him pleasant enough, though decidedly sleepy. Nor had 
 my groom any fault to find with him in the stable. He 
 fed well, behaved himself, and gave no trouble. He was 
 led out to exercise with my other hunter (a faithful old 
 mare), and went well enough with a leading-rein. In 
 short, the horse seemed in every respect satisfactory. As I 
 jogged him over to the meet, which was near at hand, 
 several local sportsmen admired him, and, in fact, a 
 grander looking horse never stepped. As we joined the 
 hounds, and I walked him up and down (for it was a cold, 
 raw morning), I heard several of those remarks which 
 make a man feel as proud as a dog with two tails. 
 " Who's that on the splendid chestnut ? " asked one. 
 " Don't know ; but the horse looks a rare good 'un," 
 answered another. " If the man goes as well as the 
 horse," observed a third, " the stranger '11 make Bill 
 Spencer gallop," Bill Spencer being a notoriously hard- 
 riding gentleman farmer of the district. We trotted off 
 
28 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 to the cover-side, but drew blank. Then to another cover, 
 where a fox was chopped, and so on for some time. To 
 get warm I galloped across from a spinney, which seemed 
 to hold nothing, to a little wood which I knew would come 
 next, and jumped a couple of small things en route. 
 Umballah seemed lazy, but took them all right; he 
 appeared to me to be a bit of a sleepy horse, who wanted 
 rousing, but with plenty of latent power. He was, at any 
 rate, wonderfully quiet. Neither hounds, horses, nor men 
 seemed to agitate him. He would walk quietly through a 
 gate, whisking his tail, while dozens of eager sportsmen, 
 on all sorts of animals, were hustling and jostling him. 
 He lifted up his feet when some hound came whimpering 
 round his heels, and put them down again carefully. In 
 short, his manners were perfection. At this last wood, as 
 the hounds were a long time in cover, sandwiches and 
 flasks began to appear. We were standing or moving 
 about on a fine expanse of turf near the bottom of a hill, 
 which the recent heavy rains had made rather sloppy. I 
 was calmly munching a sandwich, and held the reins 
 negligently in my left hand, while the box and flask were 
 in my right, when Umballah suddenly began to sway from 
 side to side. I had hardly time to make out what was the 
 matter when he fell or threw himself down on one side. 
 My sandwich-box and flask flew away, but I fortunately 
 had the presence of mind to jump off while the horse was 
 in the act of falling. I held on to the reins, and the 
 
A DEAR PURCHASE. 29 
 
 thought flashed across me that he had the staggers. Not 
 a bit of it. He simply rolled over and over, kicked up his 
 heels in the air a few times, then slowly rising shook him- 
 self and began calmly nibbling the turf. The condition 
 of the saddle and the appearance of the horse may be 
 easier imagined than described. A second horseman, 
 belonging to a friend of mine, rushed up to help me 
 to clean the saddle, while the others gathered round 
 wondering what was the matter. I picked up my 
 belongings, and we were still trying to remove the dirt, 
 with which everything was covered, when the cheery 
 cry of " Gone away ! " and the music of the hounds 
 resounded from the far side of the covert. To jump 
 on, regardless of breeches, was the work of a moment, 
 and away we rushed up the grassy hill on the left. As 
 we topped the easy slope we saw the hounds all together 
 about a field in front, running almost silently and very 
 fast, the hunstman and first whip just behind. We 
 crossed stubble fields, turf and ploughs alternating, but 
 comparatively few of the latter. It was for the first 
 fifteen minutes a fairly fast thing over an easy country, 
 no big fences, but a succession of small hedges and 
 ditches. Then there was a slight check, and the hounds, 
 striking off the scent, swerved away to the left. This gave 
 every one a chance of coming up, and as we cantered 
 across a wide grass field, cutting off a corner of the 
 course taken by the fox, a decent farmer-looking fellow 
 
30 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 on a very good roan horse ranged up alongside of me. 
 " Beg your pardon, sir," he said, touching his hat, 
 " you're a stranger here." " Yes," said I ; "I only 
 
 know Squire A and Colonel C , and it is but 
 
 the second time I am out with your hounds." " I 
 thought so," said he ; " is not that Umhallah you're 
 riding ? " " Yes," said I ; "do you know him ? " "I 
 thought I knew him, sir, but I was not quite sure. 
 You'd better look out." " What do you mean ? " I 
 said; "what's the matter with him?" "Oh, nothing's 
 the matter," answered the man ; " he's good enough. 
 But he's a rum 'un. Look out, sir, that's all I say." 
 And spurring up the roan he jumped a stile into the 
 next field, evidently unwilling to continue the conversa- 
 tion. We still went on, and Umballah still seemed 
 to go well enough. In another few minutes, however, 
 I observed some hesitation in the field, though the 
 hounds were running straight as a dart. A lot of men 
 turned off to the left, while a few, including the hunts- 
 man, the whips, the celebrated Bill Spencer, and some 
 more of what appeared to be very hard riders, followed 
 the hounds. Just then I happened to be close to my 
 
 friend Colonel C . "What is it?" I asked him. 
 
 " Why, the Durnford Drain," he answered. " The 
 Durnford Drain ? " " Yes," he exclaimed ; " it's the 
 biggest jump in the country. It's what you'd call a 
 liver in the south, only its got a rotten bottom, and if 
 
A DEAR PURCHASE. 31 
 
 you once get into it you can't get out of it. Many a 
 good horse's back has been broken at that place. Better 
 come away to the bridge with us ; we're sure to nick in 
 again." But I dechned, for I thought it was of no use 
 having a splendid thorough-bred hunter, up to nearly 
 twice my weight, if I turned away funking a " Durnford 
 Drain." Those who followed the hounds were now few 
 and far between, for some more turned off to a ford on the 
 right. We then jumped through a high hedge (easy 
 enough) which had hidden the view, and then at the 
 bottom of a gentle grassy slope, about two hundred yards 
 off, I saw winding along a crooked band of black, sluggish- 
 looking water, with very steep but evidently rotten banks 
 on both sides. A few stunted willows and pollards pro- 
 jected into it at certain places, the banks between them 
 having given way. The leading hounds were tearing up 
 the opposite hill side, the tail ones scrambling through the 
 water and emerging black and slimy. In front of me 
 were the huntsman and Bill Spencer ; close alongside, one 
 of the whips ; behind me were three or four hard-riding 
 men. The others had turned. " Now, sir," exclaimed the 
 whip as he rushed past me, "go at it as hard as you 
 can. Stick it into him, sir, stick it into him, or it's all 
 over with you." Stick it into him I did. I saw the hunts- 
 man tear down the slope like lightning, and flash across. 
 Bill Spencer, on his left, just saved the jump, which kept 
 growing, bigger and bigger as I approached it. The whip 
 
32 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 on my right, whom I was following, had both spurs in his 
 horse's flanks, while his hands were down, and he held 
 the reins in an iron grasp. I did my best. Old Umballah 
 laid his ears back and raced for the " Durnford Drain " 
 like the wind. I kept his head straight for it. At the 
 brink, when he ought to have risen, he suddenly stopped, 
 very nearly pitched me over his head, and then, without 
 any hesitation, and before I could turn him round to 
 have another try, calmly and deliberately jumped straight 
 into the middle, making no more exertion than if he had 
 had to cross a three-foot ditch. Souse ! I went in up 
 to my neck in black water, and was for a moment blinded 
 by showers of mud and slime. I soon scrambled out on 
 the opposite bank, and stood there dripping, my boots full 
 of water, the ooze streaming down my face, my cap, and 
 my whole body, loosely holding the reins. Umballah was 
 lying at the bottom of the " Durnford Drain," with his 
 nose just above the water. Nothing was visible of him 
 except nose, eyes, and ears ; he seemed perfectly com- 
 fortable, did not snort, and did not even attempt to move. 
 In fact, he. almost looked as if he were going to sleep. 
 A more hopeless predicament could not be imagined. 
 There was no possibility of hauling him out by the 
 bridle, and he was evidently determined not to try to 
 get out himself; nor could I reach him with my hunting- 
 crop. My friend the second whip came to my assistance. 
 He holloaed a labourer, who had a huge cart- whip. 
 
A DEAR PURCHASE. 33 
 
 " Give it the bnite," he called out, and when I suggested 
 that the horse might get hurt, he said, " Umballah ? No 
 fear. He has had enough of the run, and he thought 
 he'd jump into the Durnford Drain to get a rest ; that's 
 all. We know all about him in these pairts." After a 
 few vigorous applications of the cart-thong, Umballah 
 roused himself, struggled once or twice, and the whip 
 being again applied, he at last scrambled out. Then, as 
 before, he shook himself, rolled over and over on the ground, 
 and began nibbling the grass. I was thinking of going 
 home, but my friend would not let me. " Git on, mon," 
 he said ; " no stranger's any worse for having been in 
 Durnford Drain. T' horse is a rare bad 'un ; he'd have 
 got over well enough if he'd a tried." And I did get on. 
 I galloped both Umballah and myself dry. We came up 
 with the hounds again, and I fancy that the chestnut, 
 if still living, remembers to this day the absolutely 
 unmerciful way in which I rode him for the rest of 
 the afternoon. 
 
 Towards the end of it, he at last began to look warm 
 (all the morning he had not turned a hair) and was quite 
 unsuccessful in capsizing me or shirking a jump. But I 
 soon found out all about him. He was perfectly sound, 
 but a resolute cur. Every race he had run he might have 
 won, but laid his ears back when collared, and refused to 
 try. He lost his various owners hundreds of pounds when 
 backed for steeple-chases which, with his power and speed, 
 
 D 
 
34 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 he might have won in a canter. He had been put into 
 harness, but broke the shafts repeatedly by lying down 
 and having a roll while waiting at some door. At the 
 covert side he had earned a similar unenviable notoriety. 
 When hacked, unremitting attention kept him on his 
 legs ; and when he was a new purchase, I suppose I had 
 kept him going by chance on the one occasion when I had 
 used him for the purpose. But you had to be always • 
 " at him," and the moment you became careless he used 
 to lie down. For hunting he had no heart. I tried him 
 once more, but found it hopeless. He simply would not 
 trouble himself to leap ; he hated the whole business. 
 If forced at a big fence, he would jump into it rather than 
 over, in order to get rid of the job. I was glad enough to 
 sell him to a local fly-proprietor for half the money I I 
 gave for him. How many shafts he has broken since 
 I do not know. 
 
NUMBER NINETY-FOUB. 
 
 " Yes," said Roland Glenavon to his friends when the 
 servants left the room after the dessert had been handed 
 round, " I know you all want to hear how it was I married 
 at last. Nay," he added, seeing some deprecating gestures 
 " my wife is fully aware of my previous character, and 
 won't mind my telling you the story. Will you ? " inquired 
 he, turning to the hostess, pretty Mrs. Glenavon, who was 
 assisting her husband to entertain a party of men. 
 
 " Certainly not," replied she, langhing. " But I may as 
 well leave you to your wine and cigars. The story will be 
 better told in my absence." 
 
 And, rising with a smile for her husband and a gracious 
 bow for young Denton, who held the door open, she left 
 Roland to amuse his friends with the tale of his courtship, 
 which I now give my readers as I heard it. 
 
 The previous history of Roland Glenavon must, however, 
 first be briefly told. Heir to a fine estate in the Midlands 
 he was left an orphan while still an urchin in petticoats, 
 
 D 2 
 
36 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 and the result of a long minority was, that when he took a 
 first-class at Oxford he came into a very handsome sum in 
 Consols, as well as a good rent-roll. Roland, though some- 
 thing of a rowing and riding man before he went up, was 
 studiously inclined, and had been infected by that Balliol 
 enthusiasm which turns out prigs and fine fellows in almost 
 equal proportions. His love of sport saved him from being 
 a prig, and his love of books prevented him becoming a 
 mere athlete. A deep friendship formed at a private 
 tutor's, and cemented at Oxford, induced the graduate to 
 forego the temptations of London and the attractions which 
 were the more powerful that they were still untried, in. 
 order to accompany an eclectic young theologian on a pro ■ 
 longed foreign tour, which ended only when the influence 
 of the Church of Rome had induced Roland's travelling 
 companion to modify his views and change his future plans. 
 So at four-and-twenty young Glenavon began his first 
 London season with all the freshness of inexperience, and 
 yet with the University angles rounded ofi" by foreign 
 travel. Well-grown and good looking, a pleasant com- 
 panion, an excellent dancer, a fair tennis player, and a 
 cultivated man, he was sure to become popular ; and his 
 income of over fourteen thousand pounds made him 
 decidedly the catch of the season among the commoners. 
 When July drew towards its close, however, Roland 
 Glenavon was still uncaptured, and after a round of 
 country visits he retired to Glenavon Castle — a fine old 
 
NUMBER NINETY-FOUR. 37 
 
 feudal residence in the Midlands — to shoot and hunt with 
 a party of friends. Several years rolled on, and at last even 
 the most enterprising of dowagers put Roland down as 
 "decidedly not a marrying man." He still danced from 
 April to July, and flirted occasionally, but he remained to 
 all appearances heart-whole, and he was so careful that no 
 big brother nor over-anxious mother had yet dared to ask 
 him his intentions. Sometimes an elderly aunt — a widow 
 — took the part of hostess at Glenavon, and then the old 
 house was filled with young married couples, with bevies of 
 laughing girls, and with men who were not always selected 
 from the most fashionable clubs, but who were always good 
 company at home and in the field. During the hunting 
 season the stables, which Roland had rebuilt, were filled 
 with horses for his friends, and there was no more enthu- 
 siastic votary of the Chase than the host himself, who 
 offered stable room to men possessing their own studs, and 
 mounts to those who did not keep horses. He entertained 
 royally, and no one was more popular. But he was 
 rapidly approaching his fortieth year, and yet he did 
 not marry. 
 
 It is now time to let Roland resume his own story. 
 " You may remember last winter," he said, " that we 
 began cub-hunting very early, and that there was no frost 
 to stop us till February. Most of you fellows were here 
 then, and there were a lot of women, too, about Christmas 
 time. The ladies rode harder than you did, and what with 
 
38 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 big runs, and long days, and the chapter of accidents, I had 
 scarcely a horse fit to go when New Year came. I must 
 have turned some of you out, or left you at home to play 
 billiards, if I had not thought of running up to Tattersall's 
 one Saturday to pick up a few. I would not say what I 
 was going for, or I know many of you would have left 
 Glenavon rather than put me to trouble and expense ; so I 
 said I had business with my lawyers, left dear old Aunt 
 Veronica and Vickers there (nodding at a man at the foot 
 of the table) to look after you, and bolted. Of course there 
 were all sorts and sizes up for Monday's sale, and with the 
 assistance of my vet. I soon spotted a few that might suit 
 us. In looking down the Fourteen Stall Stable I was much 
 struck by a dappled grey, whose coat was of a remarkably 
 beautiful colour and brilliancy. He did not look much 
 like a hunter, and he had no character in the catalogue; 
 but the horse was so handsome, and had such a singularly 
 intelligent head, that, when I had marked the hunters I 
 proposed bidding for, I returned to have another look at him. 
 ' That is not your style at all,' remarked the vet, ' Don't 
 look like jumping a bit. Not big enough either ; has some 
 Arab blood in him, I should think.' This thought had 
 struck me also, for the horse had that very small black 
 muzzle, wide forehead, and deep jowl of the desert-born, 
 while his silvery coat was of a finer texture than I had ever 
 seen before. ' He might do for a hack,' I said, and ordered 
 him to be brought out. His action was showy, and in the 
 
NUMBER NINETY-FOUR. 39 
 
 daylight he looked still handsomer than in the stable. The 
 surgeon could not pronounce him unsound. Still I was fain 
 to confess that he was not at all the sort of horse I had come 
 to buy. At most fifteen hands, with somewhat straight 
 shoulders, he looked fit neither for the field nor for a covert 
 hack. So I went back to my club), and there aga,in referred 
 to the catalogue, which simply said, ' No. 94. Rajah, a grey 
 gelding.' Nothing could well be less satisfactory, and oa 
 that day I thought no more about him. But Monday was 
 a fine bright day, and when Rajah was brought out, and 
 his beautiful coat glistened in the sunshine, while his in- 
 telligent head Avas stretched out, his large eyes gazing 
 wonderingly at the crowd, and his inflated nostrils showing 
 the fine pink shell-like skin, I could not resist making a 
 bid of five-and-twenty for him. To my surprise he was 
 knocked down to me, and when I had bought four hunters, 
 I took the afternoon express down. The horses came on 
 next day, and you may remember that most of you laughed 
 at my anxiety about Rajah, and laughed still more whea 
 you saw him. 
 
 " I was quite fascinated by that horse. I fancied that he 
 gave me a look of recognition when I had him brought 
 into the stable yard, and certainly when I went up to him 
 in his box he rubbed his nose against my face in the most 
 affectionate way. But I had not the cheek to ride him to 
 the meet, and to face all your chaff, for I was sure that he 
 had some terrible defect which I should discover in half-an- 
 
40 HUNT-ROOM STOEIES. 
 
 hour's hacking. I was determined to try him myself, and 
 alone. Nor was an early opjiortunity wanting. There was 
 to be one last day's shooting in the Hedgebury Spinnies, to 
 finish the season, and we fixed the Wednesday for it, as 
 there were no hounds within reach. I left you fellows over 
 the lunch, and sneaked home to get Rajah saddled. I rode 
 him down the avenue at a walk, and he went as quietly as 
 possible — rather sleepily, perhaps, but still at a fair pace. 
 I then trotted and cantered across the park, and his action 
 was unexceptionable, while his mouth was light as a 
 feather. Well, thought I, he is at any rate a charming 
 lady's hack. From the park I turned into the Dipston- 
 road, and then through the farmyard, round the end of the 
 outlying spinnies. I did not want you to see me, but was 
 rather anxious as to how you had got on, so turned into 
 Hedgebury -lane, which, as you know, takes to those cross- 
 roads in the woods where my property joins my late 
 neighbour's, Mrs. Wycherley's. I was cantering along the 
 grassy lane, when one of you fired. Rajah stopped as if 
 he had been shot himself, and thinking it was only natural 
 nervousness, I allowed him a moment to recover, then patted 
 his beautiful neck, and gave him the slightest possible 
 touch with my whip. He did net move an inch, so I patted 
 him again, talked to him, and let him have a very tiny 
 hint from the spurs. Still he would not budge, but looked 
 round at me with a very curious expression in his large 
 eyes. I began to get impatient, and gave him a good cut.- 
 
NUMBER NINETY-FOUR. 41 
 
 He planted his fore-feet firmly in the ground, and would 
 not move a step forward, hut again looked round at me, as 
 I thought, almost wonderingly. At last I made up my mind 
 to give him a severe dressing, and I shoved the spurs into 
 him, while administering some very sharp cuts of my whip. 
 He turned his head again, and I almost fancied that his 
 eyes were moist with tears ; but he seemed still determined 
 not to move, so that I am sorry to say I quite lost my 
 temper, and thrashed him most unmercifully. The chas- 
 tisement finally produced some result, for he dashed off at 
 full gallop, and tore down the lane as hard as he could go. 
 I was not unwilling to test his paces, and therefore let him 
 have his head. He w^as in full swing, and we had just 
 reached the cross-roads, when there was another shot from 
 your party. He stopped still more suddenly than before, 
 and, taken unawares as I was, I was sent clean over 
 his head, and came down against the root of a tree, 
 with one leg under me. I felt a violent wrench, and 
 tried to get up, but unsuccessfully. I sank down again 
 in agony, with the conviction that my leg was 
 broken. But I was fully possessed of my senses, 
 and watched the manoeuvres of the horse with 
 ever-increasing surprise. • When he saw me attempt to 
 rise, he stretched out his neck and looked at me with the 
 same wondering expression I had noticed before ; but 
 when I sank back again on the ground he seemed more ' 
 satisfied, and neighed loudly. He then knelt down by my 
 
42 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 side and sniffed me all over. Apparently content, Rajah 
 rose to his feet again, and proceeded to push a quantity of 
 dead leaves towards me, working with his nose and his 
 fore-feet. There were plenty of leaves about, and in a 
 very few minutes he had pushed up quite a respectable 
 heap, which he tried to cover me with. I could not move 
 my injured leg in the least, and was in mortal fear lest he 
 should touch it with his hoofs. But he seemed very 
 careful, and, having made a large heap, gently pushed the 
 leaves over me with his nose till some were scattered 
 pretty fairly all over my prostrate body. Then, as I 
 wondered more and more, he galloped away down the 
 lane towards Crampton, neighing loudly. 
 
 " I had heard no more shooting, and it was evident 
 that you fellows were working towards home, which was 
 more than three miles off. It was not of much use to 
 shout, and I felt faint and weary, and therefore thought 
 it better to wait for a chance passer-by. Nor had I very 
 long to suffer in solitude, for very soon I heard the tramp 
 of a horse down the lane, and the next minute Rajah 
 reappeared, still neighing. He galloped up to me, and 
 seemed satisfied at finding me in the same spot. He 
 looked towards the lane ; so did I, and from it emerged a 
 pony carriage, driven by a lady, whom I soon recognised 
 as my amiable and charming neighbour, Mrs. Wycherley, 
 who had lost her venerable but (excuse my saying so) very 
 tiresome and silly old husband the year before. 
 
NUMBER NINETY-FOUR. 43 
 
 " ' Why, there is somebody under those leaves,' she 
 exclaimed to the lady who accompanied her, and pulled 
 up the ponies. ' It is Mr. Glenavon, I declare ! ' she con- 
 tinued. ' What on earth are you doing there, Mr. 
 Glenavon ? ' 
 
 " ' I am afraid I have broken my leg,' I answered, 
 meekly. ' At any rate I can't move.' 
 
 " In a moment she was out of her carriage. ' Charlotte,' 
 she said to her companion, a lady of more mature age, 
 ' you are something of a doctor. Can you find out what is 
 the matter with him ? ' And she turned away to look at 
 Rajah, who was standing by the phaeton in the most 
 composed manner, with a self-satisfied air which would at 
 any other time have made me roar with laughter. As 
 it was, I could hardly help shrieking with pain, even 
 under the light touch of the lady doctor. 
 
 " ' I think Mr. Glenavon's leg is broken,' said this lady ; 
 
 * we must either take him home or send for help.' 
 
 " ' Oh, take him home,' answered Mrs. Wycherley, 
 quickly ; ' your husband can attend to him at once. Dr. 
 Clarke and his wife are stopping with me,' she explained, 
 
 * and he can set your poor leg at once, if you don't mind. 
 The groom will walk back, and Mrs. Clarke and I will 
 drive you. It is not half a mile to the house, and it's 
 ever so far to Glenavon.' 
 
 *' In a few minutes the ladies had piled up all the 
 cushions in such a manner as to make almost a horizontal 
 
44 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 couch of the front of the phaeton, and while I endured 
 tortures the three helped me into it. Mrs. Wycherley sat 
 down beside me on the bare boards, while ' Charlotte ' 
 perched herself on the seat behind, and the little groom 
 led Rajah back to Glenavon. It was a very short drive to 
 Mrs. Wycherley's pretty home, and the rugs and cushions 
 made it fairly easy. There was, however, time for me to 
 admire my fair companion's eyes, which were large and 
 liquid, and seemed full of pity and anxiety; her dainty 
 gloved fingers, which so deftly handled the reins and 
 
 whip ; her But why describe her, gentlemen ? You 
 
 have seen her and know her. Excuse the enthusiasm of 
 a husband who is still a lover. 
 
 " To resume. Dr. Clarke had me carried to a spare room 
 and set my leg at once. He absolutely prohibited my 
 being removed for a week at least. He, his good wife, 
 and Mrs. Wycherley took turns at nursing me, and when 
 after a few days his professional avocations called him to 
 town, Mrs. Wycherley was my constant companion. An 
 invalid couch was brought, which enabled me to be 
 wheeled into the adjoining room, and my fair hostess was 
 so kind, and made my convalescence so pleasant that 
 I was quite sorry when I was able to hobble about on 
 crutches, and had no longer an excuse for trespassing on 
 her hospitality. The party here broke up when you heard 
 of the accident, of which you could not guess the details, 
 and you were all good enough to come and pity me, while 
 
NUMBER NINETY-FOUR. 45 
 
 / felt that I was the hajjpiest man alive. You know the 
 rest. As soon as I recovered the use of my leg I knelt 
 at Mrs. Wycherley's feet, and she is now Mrs. Glenavon." 
 
 " But what about Rajah ? " we all asked. 
 
 " Oh ! Rajah's history is this : I discovered it afterwards. 
 He came out of a travelling circus, and had been taught to 
 perform as a Life Guardsman's horse in Egypt. His 
 master was supposed to be wounded by a shot from an 
 Arab, and to fall off. Rajah had then been trained to bury 
 him in the sand all but his head, and to gallop away to 
 fetch an ambulance. The poor horse expected me to fall 
 off at the first shot, and was very indignant at my not 
 doing so. When at last I did tumble, he was grieved and 
 astonished at my not remaining motionless like the circus 
 rider. He then covered me with leaves, as there was no 
 sand, and galloped off for the ambulance, which he met in 
 the shape of Mrs. Wycherley's pony phaeton. 
 
 " Her attention was of course attracted by the riderless 
 horse, and his neighing and other extraordinary antics 
 induced her to follow him, withwhat result you know." 
 
 " What have you done with Rajah ? " I inquired. 
 
 "He has the best and most comfortable box I could 
 build," replied Roland, " and my wife rides him from May 
 till August. In the shooting season he is led about by a 
 lad for fear of accidents, and when he gets old he will be 
 pensioned, for he has made me the happiest man alive." 
 
HOME FROM HUNTING. 
 
 It had not been a very satisfactory day, and I was 
 jogging towards home in no very contented frame of mind. 
 The scent had been catchy and the field unruly, though 
 small ; the weather wet and cold until the afternoon, when 
 it cleared up as if for a frost, and the scent grew worse 
 every minute. The ground was tremendously deep, and 
 the fences blinder than they usually are even in the first 
 half of November. My new purchase — a youngster with a 
 pedigree as long as my arm, whom I had bought at the 
 Oxbridge Agricultural Show, where he had won the first 
 prize for jumping — had scarcely acted up to his price nor 
 to his reputation. The former was the longest I had ever 
 paid for a horse, and the recollection that a small bill, the 
 balance of the purchase money, was rapidly maturing, did 
 not become pleasanter since he had dropped his hind legs 
 into a ditch after refusing a flight of sheep-hurdles before 
 the whole field. And among the powerful horses of — 
 never mind which — Vale, I was fain to confess that he 
 looked small and weak, scarcely able to cross the formid- 
 
HOME FROM HUNTING. 47 
 
 able oxers, and unlikely to live through a long run over 
 heavy grass land. Corky he was, pleasant to ride, and 
 pretty to look at, but, like Mr. Sawyer's roan, he seemed 
 to have dwindled wonderfully in size since I bought him. 
 Two or three friends had asked me whether that was the 
 new horse I had (imprudently) talked a good deal abovit, 
 and on receiving an affirmative reply had remarked, " A 
 niceish Kttle horse, but scarcely up to your weight, is he ? " 
 I hoped that no one but the huntsman had seen his 
 blunder at the ditch, for we two were the only ones then 
 in the same field with the hounds, but I knew that all 
 had watched him refuse the hurdles. So altogether I was 
 thoroughly out of temper, and began to doubt, not only 
 the wisdom of my purchase, but even the reality of the 
 pleasure of hunting. Nay, more, my depression went so 
 far that I felt much less certain than usual of my own 
 knowledge of horseflesh. Need it be said that, as a rule, 
 I "fancied" myself very much on this subject? Doubts 
 now began creeping over me as to my 'cuteness and ability 
 to cope with dealers — doubts which unfortunately came 
 rather late in the day. I recollected how proudly I had 
 begun the previous season with a powerful youngster, 
 who had cost a lot of money (but not so much as the 
 Oxbridge prize-winner), and two screws, whose jumping 
 powers were better than their legs; how when one of 
 them broke down badly in the middle of a run over deep 
 plough and steep hills I rather overdid the other two, 
 
48 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 and my brave youngster, after carrying me gallantly 
 through several big days, had given way altogether under 
 the strain, so that he had to be put on the shelf for a 
 twelvemonth. So before half the season was over I was 
 reduced to one screw only, and the poor thing did her 
 level best, but also succumbed early in March. Thus the 
 value of my stable had dwindled to a mere fraction ; in 
 fact, a " pony " would have bought the lot. And this 
 year, it seemed to me, was likely to be still worse. De- 
 termined to have at least one real good one, I had spent 
 more than I could afford ; and, lo ! on the very j&rst day 
 he was out he had made two mistakes. One of my screws 
 was, indeed, patched up, and had gone well enough the 
 previous week, but she might, as I well knew, "turn 
 it up " at any time. So my reflections were melancholy, 
 and my temper was irritable. " Hold up, you brute," I 
 said in an unkind tone of voice as the thorough-bred 
 (who was of course something of a daisy-cutter) tripped 
 over a loose stone, and I caught hold of his head roughly, 
 in a manner he scarcely understood. Just then I heard 
 galloping behind me, and turning round I saw a young 
 girl on a powerful chestnut, which, if not actually running 
 away, had certainly got the best of his rider. She was 
 sitting well back and pulling " all she knew," but as the 
 horse flashed past me I noticed the curb chain hanging 
 loose, and perceived at once that the chance of the young 
 lady stopping her steed sooner than the latter liked 
 
HOME FROM HUNTING. 49 
 
 was very remote. It is a bad thing to gallop after a 
 runaway horse, and I was still considering how to act, 
 when I heard the same sound again, and this time was 
 nearly upset by a regular bolter, on to whom a groom 
 clung, much more discomposed than his young mistress. 
 He had lost his hat; he dropped his whip as he passed 
 me ; his horse's head was straight out, and the bit between 
 his teeth. Of course my own " Herald " did not witness 
 all this without some discomposure ; he made a violent 
 plunge, and attempted to join in the frantic race going 
 on before him. For a moment I had enough to do to 
 keep him in hand while setting him going, and this 
 moment sufficed for the anival of the third member of 
 the party, a little girl on a rough Exmoor . pony, which 
 was of course running away after the rest. On the whole, 
 thought I, she is in the least danger, as she won't have 
 far to fall ; so I gave Herald his head and tore down the 
 road after the others. There was a sharp turn to the 
 right a few hundred yards on, followed by a steep descent, 
 and I was fearful lest the young lady on the chestnut 
 should come to grief here, as it was just the sort of place 
 to bring a runaway horse down. As I neared it, however, 
 I just saw her hat over the intervening hedge, gliding 
 swiftly, but apparently safely, down the hill. Not so with 
 the groom. The horse slipped up in turning the wet 
 corner, tried to regain his footing, stumbled, and fell 
 heavily, the groom, who by this time had lost, not only 
 
 £ 
 
50 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 his presence of mind, but grip and balance as well, landing 
 on his hatless head. I did not stop to pick him up, as my 
 youngster was also getting excited ; besides, I was more 
 anxious for the young lady in front, so as soon as I reached 
 the foot of the steep but short declivity I let Herald have 
 the latchfords, and at last began to appreciate the value of 
 my purchase, as the moment I gave him his head he 
 began to overhaul the chestnut in front stride for stride. 
 I knew there was an old-fashioned, narrow, and steep 
 bridge a little farther on, and felt that the runaway must 
 be stopjjed before getting there, as otherwise a serious 
 accident must happen, for, like many country bridges, 
 this one was not in a straight line with the road, but 
 slightly on one side, the old road having led through the 
 brook by a ford, now impassable on account of the recent 
 heavy rains. We therefore raced in earnest, and it was 
 well we did so, for only about a hundred yards from the 
 black, deep brook was I able to range alongside the 
 chestnut. Fortunately Herald, with all his blood and 
 speed, was the most manageable of horses, so when I laid 
 hold of the chestnut's head and gave him " the office " 
 he helped me by gradually shortening his stride and 
 acting as a drag on the runaway. 
 
 " Sit quiet," I called out to the young lady, whose 
 brown hair, flying in the wind, added not a little to 
 the charm of her appearance. " Sit well back, and give 
 another pull. The mare will stop now." 
 
HOME FROM HUNTING. 51 
 
 So she did, but only just in time. In fact, the sight 
 of the dark waters in front of her probably stopped the 
 mare as much as our united efforts. I was off, of course, 
 in a moment, and, as I fastened up the curb chain, 
 inquired whether the rider was hurt. 
 
 " Not at all," she replied ; " and the mare has never 
 run away before. I can't make it out. But where is 
 my sister ? " 
 
 I then told her what I had seen, and we at once turned 
 back to the scene of the catastrophe, meeting the little 
 Exmoor, as I expected, still galloping away like a race 
 horse. When he saw us returning, the tiny brute sud- 
 denly shied on one side, and put his little rider down 
 in the neatest manner. Her skirt somehow got entangled 
 in the saddle, and gave way, and there she stood in the 
 road without it, her pretty baby face hovering doubtfully 
 between laughter and tears. The pony then immediately 
 began cropping the grass on the road-side as if nothing 
 had happened, with the rent garment hanging loosely 
 from the saddle. The elder sister was in dismay. 
 
 " What shall we do ? " she cried. " This gentleman 
 says Charles has fallen off, and you're an awful figure ; 
 and how shall you ever get home ? And perhaps The 
 King's knees are broken." 
 
 Of course I was bound to help. "You had better get 
 off," I said to the eldest, as I helped her from her now 
 placid steed, "and try and make your little sister more 
 
 E 2 
 
52 . HQNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 comfortable. I dare say you have got some pins ; and 
 here, take my hat-string, that will do to tie up the pieces." 
 At the same time I took the skirt off the pony's saddle, 
 and opened a gate through which the two young ladies 
 could pass into a field, so as to get as tidy as circum- 
 stances would permit under a friendly hedge. I secured 
 the pony's bridle to the gate, and told them to wait for 
 me while I looked after Charles. Remounting my Herald, 
 I led the mare till I reached the turn of the road, the 
 scene of the recent disaster. Here I found Mr. Charles 
 standing dazed by his trembling horse ; the latter was 
 apparently uninjured, but the groom's coat was torn, his 
 head and right side all over mud, and his forehead grazed. 
 I saw at once there was not much the matter, and pro- 
 ceeded to examine the horse, much to Mr. Charles's 
 disgust, who considered his own injuries much more 
 serious. The horse was lame. He had probably sprained 
 himself, and could scarcely walk. "Are you far from 
 home ? " I inquired. 
 
 " About nine miles, sir," was the reply. " Oh dear ! 
 my poor 'ead. Our 'ouse is Furze 'Ouse, sir — Mr. 
 Weddingfield's." 
 
 This was just about nine miles in the opposite direction 
 to my own head-quarters, and therefore eighteen out 
 of my way. But I felt that I could not let the girls go 
 home alone, and it was quite clear that neither Charles 
 nor his horse could go with them. Looking about, there- 
 
HOME FROM HUNTING. 53 
 
 fore, I soon spied a cottage about a quarter of a mile off 
 the road, and telling Charles to wait, I cantered up to look 
 for accommodation. The good woman had a tiny farm- 
 stead with a small cow-house, but she boasted neither 
 horse nor trap, and though willing to take the sick man 
 in and to give the horse shelter, could not help either 
 of them home. I summoned the young ladies to the 
 council, and they were of opinion that they would wait 
 in the cottage until I sent them a fly from Mudford, 
 whither I was bound, which would take them home. 
 I argued that this would be a bad plan, as their horses 
 would have to remain in a shed, without food or clothing, 
 an indefinite time; and my arguments were none the 
 less forcibly put that I had by this time discovered that 
 Miss Weddingfield was an extremely good-looking, grace- 
 ful, and pleasant young lady. 
 
 "If you are not afraid to ride again," I said, "the 
 best plan will be for me to take charge of you as far as 
 Furze House while this good woman takes care of Charles 
 and The King ; then Mr. Weddingfield will no doubt send 
 for both in the evening." As we were some distance from 
 the nearest village, and the short afternoon was drawing 
 to a close, my advice was at last taken, and abandoning 
 Charles, who was evidently not only a bad rider but a 
 sulky brute, we turned our horses towards Furze House. 
 My ill-humour had strangely vanished, though, logically 
 speaking, it ought to have been largely increased by 
 
54 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 the prospect of a nine miles ride on a tired horse, and 
 eighteen back in the dark on a cold November evening. 
 Miss Weddingfield was full of pity for me and my horse, 
 and attempted, after we had ridden a mile or two safely 
 and quietly, to persuade me to return and let them go 
 home by themselves. She assured me that their horses 
 always went quietly enough, but that her mare had been 
 suddenly startled by some pigs, which rushed out of a 
 farm-yard, and The King, not having done much work 
 lately, bolted as soon as he saw the mare gallop. Of 
 course, I resolutely declined to abandon my trust, and 
 Miss Weddingfield then became somewhat silent, as indeed 
 was not surprising, for she knew nothing of me except 
 that I had stopped her horse and otherwise helped, and 
 having thanked me for my assistance had, strictly speaking, 
 nothing more to say. Her little sister, Eflfie, however, was 
 more communicative, and told me all about her two 
 brothers at school, a certain demoniacal Miss Brayger, 
 the plague of Effie's life (who, it afterwards turned out, 
 was a harmless governess), her garden, her games, her 
 pony, and her dog. She told me that Mr. Weddingfield 
 had gone to London on business, and that it was partly 
 with a view of meeting him on his return that they had 
 ridden so far towards Mudford. They had, however, 
 been disappointed. He would probably come by a later 
 train. 1 was not at all disappointed, and should not have 
 minded if he had not come at all, though my efforts at a 
 
HOME FROM HUNTING. 55 
 
 sustained conversation with the elder sister were ahiiost 
 fruitless ; she seemed determined to keep to common 
 ground — that is, to the adventure of the day and my 
 assistance. At last we approached Furze House, just 
 as darkness had completely fallen in. As we turned 
 into the grounds past a brightly-lighted lodge we heard 
 a voice out of the night, " Your papa has just come 
 home, young ladies ; " and indeed the carriage was still 
 at the front door, Mr. Weddingfield's traps being in the 
 course of unloading. In the hurried embraces, questions, 
 and answers which followed on our joining the group 
 on the steps, consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Weddingfield and 
 some friends, my presence was for a minute overlooked ; 
 but I was soon brought into the light, and took the 
 opportunity of introducing myself by name, which formality 
 seemed greatly to relieve Miss Weddingfield, who at once 
 dropped the reserve she had assumed, and became the 
 frank, pleasant maiden she was by nature. 
 
 Furze house became for the rest of the season a favourite 
 " fixture " for me. Need I tell the sequel ? A month 
 later Charles was discharged, and a year later I became 
 the happy partner of Miss Weddingfield. We have seven 
 children now, and I cannot afford to hunt. Herald is 
 pensioned, and trots about the paddock, eating apples 
 which my little ones give him. 
 
A REAL OLD SPORTSMAN. 
 
 There is a man whom I used to meet in the hunting- 
 field for two successive years, and who was my hete noire. 
 My heart is not, I believe, worse than other people's, and 
 my bosom does not generally cherish sanguinary feelings 
 against a fellow-man. But all my milk of human kindness 
 turned into (is it whey ?) when I saw this modern imitation 
 of Squire Western, without the old squire's hearty good- 
 nature. His name is Blister, and very proud he was of 
 it. He thought it was a name to conjure with. Years 
 ago, it appears. Blister was a very fine rider across 
 country ; years ago (a very great many, I am sure) Blister 
 " sported silk " and won steeple-chases, at a period when 
 the expression " gentleman rider " was rather less vaguely 
 interpreted than it now is. Blister traded on this past 
 reputation of his as a staunch old sportsman, as a careful 
 preserver of foxes, a first-class huntsman (for he also 
 wielded the horn in Blankshire for several successive 
 seasons), as a rough rider, and for aught I know, even 
 
A REAL OLD SPORTSMAN. 57 
 
 as a cock-fighter. On the strength of his prowess 
 in old times he made himself a nuisance to all his 
 juniors, who were very many, and a bore to his con- 
 temporaries, who were few. Seniors he had none. He 
 bullied us, he ordered us about, he growled at us, cursed 
 us, and even threatened more than once to fight any of 
 us. For two successive seasons I vainly endeavoured to 
 satisfy the old ruffian. I assented to all he said, I obeyed 
 his orders without a murmur, accepted his curses with 
 a deprecating smile, and even agreed with him when he 
 asserted that he could pound me into a jelly if he 
 liked. For the odour — not perhaps of sanctity, but of 
 what smells better in the nose of most of us — that of a 
 true blue, a sportsman of the old school, clung to him, 
 and inspired respect. I was desirous of pleasing the 
 sportsman of the old school ; I wished metaphorically to 
 sit at his feet and learn the words of wisdom. Though 
 he now rode over fifteen stone, he had once weighed 
 less than ten, and had led fields of the best amateur 
 jockeys perhaps in England, mounted on the best horses. 
 He it was, I was informed, who saved the fox from utter 
 destruction in the districts surrounding his house ; he 
 exerted himself to get the country in order, and having 
 begged or purchased drafts from various packs, hunted 
 it himself, and handed it over to his successors with a 
 reputation due to his own skill and perseverance alone. 
 With the stud, the kennel, and the ways of wild creatures 
 
58 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 he was perfectly familiar; and he was also well known 
 in connection with more than one useful and charitable 
 institution. So in truth Mr, Blister possessed all the 
 qualities necessary to make him an idol to the younger 
 generation of hunting men. But he was a most ob- 
 jectionable idol. He had a tongue, and he spoke roughly ; 
 and his ears were sharp, notwithstanding his age. If his 
 manners were those of a sportsman of the old school 
 I am very glad that the old school is, as we are so often 
 told, fast dying out. I do not see why strong language 
 and overbearing behaviour should be necessary to a 
 genuine hunting man. I imagine that courtesy and 
 toleration denote the gentleman, whether it be at home, 
 in general society, or in the field. At least so I was 
 taught at Oxford, and I have hitherto had no reason to 
 modify my opinion. Mr. Blister certainly fell far below 
 my standard of an ideal English sportsman even in the 
 days when I was sanguine enough to suppose that I 
 could by soft answers and gentle behaviour turn away 
 his wrath, and bask in the sunshine of his smiles, which, 
 though they came but seldom, were cheery enough when 
 they did come. 
 
 On one occasion, towards the end of my second season 
 with Mr. Blister, he at last succeeded in breaking down 
 my humility and causing me to lose my patience. I 
 had been consistently trampled on for something like 
 twenty successive hunting days, and tlie worm turned 
 
A REAL OLD SPORTSMAN. 59 
 
 at last. A good old dog fox had broken from Rise 
 Spinney, and old Mr. Blister was as usual abreast of the 
 body of the pack before they had crossed the first field. 
 He knew the country as well as any man out, and the 
 ways of Reynard better. He had studied hounds to 
 some purpose, and though both his age and weight 
 prevented his riding very forward, and the " thrusters " 
 were to him what a red rag is to a bull, he was always 
 there or thereabouts. So I generally stuck to him till 
 the fox was fairly away, or at least went the same side 
 of the covert as he did. This Wednesday in March, I 
 had, as usual, kept my eye on his movements, and when 
 I saw him suddenly thrust the spurs into his horse and 
 hurry for a gate, I knew that hounds had gone away, 
 though I neither saw nor heard anything. He dashed 
 through, and let the gate swing violently back without 
 the slightest effort to hold it. But this was only Mr. 
 Blister's usual way. Hounds were creeping through a 
 black-looking hedge into the next field. The huntsman 
 and a couple of " thrusters " took it in succession at the 
 only practicable place, and Blister followed them. There 
 was no reason for me to try to make a gap for myself 
 alone ; it would have been selfish, and besides I might 
 have hung myself up in the attempt. I therefore calmly 
 jumped at the same spot, about four lengths behind 
 Blister. As I crossed he angrily turned round, and ex- 
 claimed, " Don't jump on my back, sir ! Ride a line of 
 
60 HUNT-EOOM STORIES. 
 
 your own, if you can ride at all ! " As this, again, was 
 quite the old gentleman's style, I took no notice, but 
 resolved not to be behind him next time if I could help 
 it. We were in a large ploughed field, the hounds crowd- 
 ing and bustling under a gate at the far end. In the 
 plough my horse, carrying eleven stone, naturally went 
 away from Blister's weight-carrier, and I reached the gate 
 first, just behind Manners, one of the best and most for- 
 ward riders of the hunt, a charming fellow, whom our true 
 blue bullied as much as he did every one else. Manners 
 held the gate for me, and I did the same for Blister. 
 " Get on, sir, get on ! What do you mean by stopping 
 up the gate ? " he shouted, but not until he had his crop 
 fairly against it. And get on I did, beginning to feel 
 that I was scarcely treated with the courtesy one gentle- 
 man may fairly expect from another. Again we approached 
 a gate, and this time Manners had not been able to hold 
 it, or some contretemps had occurred. At any rate I 
 found it closed, and had to endeavour to raise the latch 
 — no easy task, with a young horse burning to join the 
 hounds, who were racing away on the far side. I fumbled 
 somewhat in my endeavours, and my nervous anxiety 
 to get the gate open made me more awkward than usual. 
 
 " D you, sir ! " screamed Blister, riding up ; " can't 
 
 you open a gate ? " Just then I succeeded in doing so, 
 and he thrust through, exclaiming, "Now, don't crowd 
 like that, sir ; there's plenty of time," as he hustled his 
 
A REAL OLD SPORTSMAN. 61 
 
 horse along over the springy grass. This was the last 
 straw. I had consistently endeavoured to be polite, I 
 had lost a good deal of ground by holding gates for him, 
 and I had received nothing but curses in return. At the 
 other side of the field, a long way off, for it was a large 
 one, I saw the huntsman and Manners riding for what 
 was certainly a very formidable obstacle, though I could 
 not from my position at the moment determine its nature. 
 The huntsman was a little in advance on the right : I 
 observed his horse refuse ; Manners then took a tremen- 
 dous bound into the air and disappeared on the other side, 
 and the huntsman, putting his horse at. the same place 
 with great determination, got over. " Now," I thought 
 to myself, " I will give Mr. Blister something to swear 
 at. He has cursed me for being civil ; he cannot do 
 more if I am rude. But I wonder what language he 
 will use." With malice '^jrepense I waited till my friend 
 was about thirty yards from the obstacle, which I could 
 now see to be a wide ditch, guarded by a post and rail 
 on the near, and a very thick hedge on the far side, the 
 place where Manners had jumped, and to which we were 
 now steering, appearing to be about the only possible one. 
 An outsider would have thought that Blister did not 
 seem to be quite certain whether he would go at it or 
 not ; but I knew that he was afraid of nothing, and was 
 merely steadying his horse. Taking advantage of this 
 circumstance, I rushed past him, and went at it at racing 
 
62 HUNT-ROOM STOEIES. 
 
 pace. I yelled out a wild " Hold up ! " as my good horse, 
 with a tremendous leap, landed safely on the far side. 
 But even my shout was not loud enough to drown Blister's 
 angry curses. They rattled through the blackthorn like 
 buck shot, and came hustling about my ears like a shower 
 of hail. A rapid glance backward through the twigs just 
 enabled me to descry Blister's horse refusing the jump, 
 nor could I wonder at this, for he had been thrown out 
 of his stride, and his rider had lost the little temper he 
 had ever possessed. 
 
 That fox ran very straight, and for three fields I had 
 peace from Blister. Manners and the huntsman were 
 still in front, and I rode about six lengths behind ; no 
 one else near the hounds. But I could scarcely believe 
 my eyes when, in the fourth field after the big jump, 
 I saw Blister ranging up on my right. How he got 
 there I could not guess. Either he must have managed 
 to negotiate that big place, or his knowledge of the 
 country had served him to find a handy line of gates. 
 At any rate, there he was, cursing and swearing worse 
 than ever. This time I took matters into my own hands. 
 *' Do you think you are the only one who can curse ? " 
 I called out ; " I could if I tried." His reply, divested 
 of the expletives with which it was studded as plentifully 
 as tipsy-cake with almonds, was to the effect that I was 
 incapable of doing anything but riding over other people, 
 and through gaps they had made for me, and that I was 
 
A REAL OLD SPORTSMAN. 63 
 
 a perfect nuisance to the country. I did not stop to 
 answer, but rode at the next fence, shouting, " Don't 
 jump on me, sir ; give a man time." But it was a very 
 poor revenge. Blister had got the better of me. I did 
 not succeed in pounding him. He stuck to the hounds 
 like a leech, and when at last we ran the fox to earth, 
 I was fain to confess that he had ridden as fast and as 
 straight as the best of us, and had had the monopoly 
 of profane language into the bargain. In this respect I 
 felt myself his inferior. I did not try to compete with 
 him, for I could not. 
 
 But my day was to come. A man of Blister's weight 
 could not ride hard three days a week without producing 
 some slight fatigue in his horses, and when the season 
 was done so were they. The next winter was a very 
 cold one, and men with large studs were often inclined 
 to use language scarcely weaker than the old sportsman's. 
 This gentleman came out early in November on a fresh 
 horse, a beautiful animal well up to his weight. But 
 before we drew the first covert his portly back was 
 visible on the road home. " What is the matter ? " we 
 all inquired. "How is it that old Blister,, the keenest 
 sportsman in Blankshire, turns back early in the morn- 
 ing ? " " The poor fellow has got sciatica," a local 
 hunting doctor explained. " He has had several touches 
 of it since September, and this morning it has come on 
 so badly that he can scarcely sit on his horse. Poor old 
 
64 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 man ! such a fine sportsman, too ! That's a real hunting 
 man ! None of your fellows with aprons and cream 
 tops and nosegays." Will my readers be disgusted when 
 I confess that I did not symj)athise with the doctor ? 
 nay, that I even rejoiced over Blister's sciatica ? Then 
 let them be disgusted, for I was glad. He had bullied 
 me worse than ever on our way to the meet, though we 
 had tried to avoid him as much as possible. He called 
 the perfume of our best Havanas a stink, and asked us 
 satirically whether we came out to smoke or to ride. 
 He objected to our riding behind him, as he hated having 
 fellows always jog, jogging behind him ; and when we 
 went on in front he called out to us to stop as we made 
 his horse pull. In short, he had been a greater nuisance 
 than ever. So we rejoiced in our hearts, though we 
 bore hypocritical sympathy on our lips. Another hunting 
 day came, but no Blister. Blister was vising strong 
 language at the Three Tuns — the favourite old-fashioned 
 inn, which was a handy rendezvous for the Blankshire 
 meets. He had come from town in the hope that his 
 sciatica would be better; but it wasn't. It was worse. 
 He could not even move from the sofa in the hunt-room, 
 which he made too hot to hold the younger members 
 of the party. In order, however, not to miss a chance, 
 he ordered his servant and baggage down from London, 
 and stuck to the Three Tuns. For several weeks there 
 was open weather, and his sciatica did not improve. We 
 
A REAL OLD SPORTSMAN. 65 
 
 had continual bulletins of his condition either from him- 
 self — and then they were sufficiently forcible — or from 
 the landlord, and then they were combined with bitter 
 complaints of the guest's temper. At last, one evening, 
 when the hotel was full of hunting men in anticipation 
 of a favourite meet on the morrow, Blister announced 
 himself quite well. The, well, let me say " blanked " sciatica 
 had left him. He cursed less heavily than usual. He 
 was silent, which was a distinct step in advance. Of 
 course he was grumpy and rude, for 'twas his nature to, 
 but he was not actively offensive unless spoken to. We 
 went to bed under the impression that sciatica had done 
 Blister good, but with serious apprehensions as to his 
 behaviour in the field the next day. 
 
 We need have had no fears. In the morning we woke 
 to a cloudless sky and severe frost. Hunting was out of 
 the question. It froze hard for ten days afterwards, and 
 all this time Blister was, to use his own language, " Fresh 
 
 as a two year old." At last the barometer fell 
 
 and the south wind rose. A day's rain followed a snow- 
 storm, and we all looked to our horses and tops. Again 
 Blister returned to good temper — for him. There was 
 not much cursing in the hunt-room that night. He had 
 a few misgivings about the weather, but he was so urbane 
 as even to tell a funny story — funny, though rather strong. 
 But there was no Blister at breakfast. No oaths ex- 
 ploded between thick slices of buttered toast ; no growls 
 
 F 
 
66 HUNT-ROOM BTORIES. 
 
 accompanied demands for more ham and eggs. Our 
 incubus was once more down with sciatica, and we rode 
 to see the hounds without him. 
 
 And so it went on all the winter. Wlienever the 
 weather was mild Blister was unable to ride ; as soon as 
 he got better a frost was sure to set in. Though he 
 stuck to his quarters and never lost a chance, he was not 
 able to ride a single time until the young wheat and 
 budding fences stopped hunting for the season. The 
 regularity with which he got well the night a frost set 
 in, and was laid up again the day a thaw came on, 
 improved neither his temper nor his language. Mine 
 host of the Three Tuns was a victim to both. His 
 habitual joviality disappeared ; he became moody and 
 thin. It was very wearing, he said, and " Mr. Blister's 
 langwidge was horful ! " But there was no help for it, 
 short of turning the genuine old sportsman out by main 
 force. We youngsters enjoyed ourselves in the short in- 
 tervals of open weather, rode over each other, and opened 
 and shut gates without let or hindrance. At last, when 
 all hope was gone. Blister's horses were sent to Albert 
 Gate, and he gave up the struggle. 
 
 But only for that year. He hoped for better things in 
 the season to come, and bought a fresh lot. It was, how- 
 ever, the same story over again. Frost alternated with 
 thaw, and good health with sciatica. When we hunted. 
 Blister was laid up ; when he got better, we had to stop 
 
A REAL OLD SP0RTSMA:N. 67 
 
 hunting. Again his stud went to Tattersall's, and his 
 only consolation was that he had not tried them, and 
 therefore did not know how good they were. 
 
 When this second season of misery came to an end, 
 Blister resolved to effect a radical, cure. Consulting a 
 distinguished physician, he went to Harrogate, and really 
 got rid of his complaint for good. All the doctors assured 
 him that it would not return again unless he was par- 
 ticularly imprudent. So Blister, who had hitherto bought 
 rather cheap horses, relying on his extraordinaiy ability 
 to get them over anything and make the best of them, re- 
 solved to have a fling and buy a couple of real good ones. 
 Price, he determined, should be no object. He spent a 
 month during the early autumn in travelling about to look 
 at various animals which had been recommended to him, 
 and at last selected two of a stud about to be sold at 
 Tattersall's. There was a large crowd assembled at Albert 
 Gate on that Monday, partly because the stud in question 
 was really considered a good one, and partly, I fear, 
 because some of Mr. Blister's young friends determined to 
 make him pay for any horse he wanted to buy. Old hand 
 as he was, Blister was too mistrustful of other people to 
 buy through a commissioner. He was always in the habit 
 of bidding himself. So some of us who may have had 
 more money than wit, posted ourselves near the rostrum 
 to watch his proceedings. After a few lots had been sold, 
 a fine black horse was brought out, a weight-carrier, well 
 
 F 2 
 
68 HUNT-EOOM STORIES. 
 
 bred, winner of prizes, and with a high character. At a 
 hundred Blister began to bid ; at a hundred and fifty he 
 began to swear, but continued bidding ; at two hundred he 
 swore louder, but still bid ; and finally the horse was 
 knocked down to him at three hundred and seventy. He 
 walked off, with curses audible all over the yard, declaring 
 he would wait another day to buy a couple more, and that 
 that one was good enough to cut all those youngsters down 
 with. Eventually, as we were informed, he bought some- 
 thing just to go on with till he found an opportunity for 
 a cheap purchase, the three hundred and seventy having, 
 to use his own expression, " about dried him up." 
 
 Once more at Rise, on a fine, mild November morning ; 
 everybody in high spirits except Blister, and he was on 
 his recent purchase, grumpy, ill-tempered, but proud. 
 Undoubtedly his mount looked the best in the field. 
 Genuine compliments were showered on him in such 
 numbers that they might almost have consoled him for 
 the loss of two seasons and the expenditure of nearly 
 £400 on one horse. They did not quite effect this wonder, 
 but they visibly pleased the old man, who was delighted 
 at heart to be once more with hounds, and on the best 
 horse he ever rode, as he repeatedly said. Again, as on 
 that memorable occasion, he was away with the pack, but 
 not quite in the same direction. The fox pointed for 
 Scarsbury, and there was a fair hunting jump out of the 
 first field. A few of the leaders went over easily ; then 
 
A REAL OLD SPORTSMAN. 69 
 
 came Blister well clear of the ruck. He rode his magnifi- 
 cent horse steadily, as usual ; but what was his horror, and 
 the surprise of the field, when the beast refused, and 
 being put at it a second time, refused again ! 
 
 The fox ran straight, right through Scarsbury Covert, 
 where there was a check. Everybody asked what had 
 become of Blister, and then somebody replied that they 
 had not seen him since Rise, where he was trying to get 
 his horse over the first fence. And no one did see him 
 again that day, for the fox ran on for another half hour, 
 nearly straight; and when at last Blister got his horse 
 over, horses and hounds were ten miles away ! 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 
 
 He was gloomily looking at a heap of letters lying 
 on tlie breakfast-table. He knew the contents of them 
 without opening the envelopes. They were all bills, 
 or duns, or threats of proceedings. Was it any use 
 reading them ? 
 
 The December sun shone cheerily into the windows 
 of the chambers, perched high up among the rooks in 
 Gray's Inn. Its rays gilded the cottage loaf on the 
 table with a finer tinge than the baker could have 
 given it ; they were reflected in the teapot, and lighted 
 up as if with scorn a copy of Frith's Derly Day 
 on the wall. Ay, Derby Day, and Ascot, and the 
 Cesarewitch, and the Cambridgeshire — between them 
 they had pretty well done for poor Jack Ponsford. He 
 had paid his debts of honour, he had found the money 
 to settle with the Ring, he could walk into Tattersall's 
 with his head erect, and he could attend Newmarket 
 races without being warned off the Heath ; but these 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 71 
 
 were almost the only privileges left him. His tailor 
 his hosier, his bootmaker, the man who had supplied 
 his horses with corn, he who had shod them, he who 
 had sold them on credit, and many more — all combined- 
 to make poor Jack's life a burden to him. Would to 
 heaven that he had never backed a horse, never trodden 
 a race-course in his life ! Vulgar and noisy, too, were 
 these race-courses, not scenes in which Jack Ponsford 
 took any pleasure. He felt that the disagreeable journeys 
 to and fro, the pushing, swearing crowds, the horrible 
 talk, the deep mud or stifling dust, the disgust at see- 
 ing the favourite done by a head, were evils not 
 compensated for by a pleasant half hour under the 
 trees, or a jolly lunch on a drag, or the rare spotting 
 of a winner. 
 
 No, he would not go racing again. But what was 
 he to do now ? There was Smiles regretting that he 
 would have to place matters in the hands of his solicitor ; 
 Larks & Co, had served him with a writ ; Gokes Brothers 
 had a judgment against him; Merrifield was even now 
 waiting in the tiny anterroom to see Mr. Ponsford on 
 " private business," the nature of which might be guessed. 
 He did not know which way to turn. No more money 
 was to be raised on his small property ; it had been 
 mortgaged up to the hilt to meet a series of black 
 Mondays, and the last hundreds had gone in settling 
 over the Cambridgeshire. After deducting the sums 
 
72 HUNT-EOOM STORIES. 
 
 due for interest, he had exactly a hundred a year left 
 to meet all expenses, which hundred was inalienable, 
 being strictly tied up in the hands of trustees. Eight 
 pounds six shillings and eightpence per month, and 
 four or five hundred pounds to pay away out of it. No 
 briefs yet and not much prospect of any. Horses gone, 
 dog-cart sold, nothing to dispose of except what are 
 termed personal effects. Jack tore open the envelopes 
 one after the other. "After all," thought he, "I know 
 what's in them, but I may as well see which of these 
 devils is the most savage and the least patient." The 
 contents were such as he had anticipated — threats, duns, 
 et hoc genus omne. 
 
 " May as well file them, and be tidy for once in my 
 life," said he to himself, smiling bitterly, as he passed 
 the letters over the point of one of those wires specially 
 constructed for the immediate reception of correspondence. 
 " Hullo, what's this ? 
 
 It was a country letter, and read as follows : — 
 
 " My dear Ponsford, — Sorry to hear through Whelks 
 that you had a bad time of it at the Houghton. Come 
 down here for a week, and have a few days with hounds. 
 I can give you a bed, and well find you a mount. Pretty 
 Mrs. Grieves, whom you admired so at Goodwood, is stop- 
 ping with us. Telegraph when you are coming, and I 
 will send to meet you. Kind regards from wife. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 "Arthur Poppleton. 
 
 " PoppLETON Hall, Dec. 2." 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 
 
 The writer had been Jack Ponsford's most intimate 
 friend at Cambridge, and they had come to London 
 to read for the Bar together. They were " called " on 
 the same day, and at first shared the same rooms. But- 
 very few months after they had donned the barrister's 
 wig, Mr. Popple ton, senior, had died, leaving his son 
 Arthur the possessor of a fine estate in Northampton- 
 shire and of a handsome sum in railway securities. 
 Arthur was of course obliged to leave town to look 
 after his property; he promised to return to their snug 
 chambers in a month or two, but fate overtook him 
 in the attractive shape of a pretty and well-dowered 
 neighbour's daughter. In a year after his father's death 
 Arthur Poppleton married, and settled down at Poppleton 
 Hall, definitely retiring from the practice which he 
 had not had time to acquire. It was now eighteen 
 months since Jack Ponsford had acted as his best man, 
 and in these eighteen months the friends had only met 
 occasionally. Jack knew that Arthur's purse would 
 have been opened to him, but he had been hitherto 
 too proud to ajDpeal to it, particularly as he saw no 
 prospect of being able to repay what he might borrow. 
 Now, however, things were becoming so serious that 
 he resolved at once to go to Poppleton Hall, not, indeed, 
 with a view to a loan, but with the intention of consult- 
 ing his friend on his future course. Should he sell up and 
 emigrate ? Should he try for a land agent's situation ? 
 
HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 or should he make an effort to pull through and stick 
 to the Bar? What to do, and how to do it, puzzled 
 Jack, and he felt that a long talk with his kind 
 and sensible friend would strengthen him for the struggle, 
 or nerve him for the final plunge, if plunge there 
 must be. Besides, though he scarcely confessed it to 
 himself, a week's respite from duns, a week spent in 
 the healthful atmosphere of a pleasant Northamptonshire 
 house, a week, too, in the attractive company of such 
 a charming woman as Mrs. Grieves, would rest him 
 from old troubles and brace him for new ones. It was 
 a famous hunting country, and they were sure to have 
 some good gallops. Yes, certainly, he would go as soon 
 as he could get away. But how about funds ? He had 
 two pounds seventeen shillings in his pocket, his banker 
 had given him notice that he could not honour any 
 more cheques, and he felt that he could not very well 
 write to Arthur for a fiver to be able to go down like 
 a gentleman. This was a puzzle. 
 
 There was still another letter on the table — a thin 
 one, with a French postage stamp and the postmark 
 Nice. Jack knew no one at Nice, and opened it with 
 some curiosity. It came from a man who had lost fifty 
 pounds to him on the Derby. Jack had never been paid, 
 his debtor having come to grief and gone abroad; but 
 Captain Rashleigh now sent him a ten pound bank 
 note on account, having, as he said, had a turn of 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 75 
 
 luck at the Monte Carlo tables, and being anxious to 
 settle with every one as far as he could. This was, 
 indeed, an unexpected piece of luck, and Jack went 
 out to talk to Merrifield, and console him for not 
 getting his money, with more courage and better spirits 
 than he had displayed for a long time. Mr. Merrifield 
 was not an easy man to deal with ; but Jack was no 
 novice at pacifying creditors, and finally got rid of 
 him without any disturbance. He then sent for a 
 Bradshaw, and finding a convenient train at four o'clock 
 telegraphed to Poppleton that he would arrive in time 
 for dinner that very evening. 
 
 The guests at Poppleton Hall were Mrs, Grieves, whom 
 our hero had not met since Goodwood, a gentleman who 
 was introduced to Jack as Colonel Whelks, and an in- 
 significant young man of no particular account. At dinner 
 our hero sat next to Mrs. Poppleton, the Colonel being on 
 the other side of her, and before the meal was over he 
 took a decided and unmistakable dislike to the gallant 
 officer. Whenever Jack told a good story, the Colonel 
 capped it with a better one ; whenever Jack attempted to 
 become confidential with Mrs. Grieves (his neighbour on 
 the left), the Colonel talked across the table to her ; and 
 when Jack casually mentioned the names of friends, 
 the Colonel looked satirical, and talked of earls and 
 marquises, leaving out the mention of their titles 
 altogether. 
 
76 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 When the ladies had left the room, Poppleton said, 
 pushing the claret towards Jack — 
 
 " Hounds meet at Horsley Green to-morrow. You can 
 still ride, can't you, old man ? " 
 
 " I hope so," replied Jack ; " though I am not sure." 
 
 " Well," continued the host, " I have old Safeguard in 
 the stable; he won the Oxshire Hunt Steeple-chase last 
 year, you know, and he's a wonderful jumper, just about 
 up to your weight, too. Will you ride him ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Jack. 
 
 " There is no reason that I know of," Poppleton said ; 
 " except that he pulls a little. I have promised Colonel 
 Whelks the Irish mare, or you might have had her ; but 
 the fact is, Safeguard is not up to his weight, so I don't 
 quite see how otherwise to arrange matters." 
 
 "I'm sure you'll like your mount," the Colonel remarked, 
 with what Jack interpreted as a sneer ; " no doubt you 
 can ride Safeguard." 
 
 " Oh ! " their host threw in, " Jack will be all right on 
 him. All he will have to do is to sit well down. I'll 
 warrant Safeguard will carry him to the front." 
 
 Jack would have had no misgivings if he had not noticed 
 a peculiar smile playing round Whelks's lips. But he was 
 not the man to refuse a mount because the horse might 
 pull a little, and did not feel in the least afraid. When 
 they joined the ladies the Colonel at once went over to 
 Mrs. Grieves, who was sitting in one of those comfortable 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 77 
 
 little Pompadour chairs which the progress of high art is 
 gradually expelling from our drawing-rooms, and leant over 
 her in what Jack chose to consider an offensive manner. 
 The fair widow and the Colonel were evidently on good 
 terms, and impartial spectators might have suggested that 
 they would form a very handsome couple. She, slight as 
 a girl, but with gracefully sloping shoulders, rounded 
 figure, frank blue eyes, and fair hair of a tinge between 
 golden and brown, of which the luxuriance was scarcely 
 concealed by her simple mode of wearing it ; he, tall and 
 stalwart, with cheeks browned by an Indian or African sun 
 and worn either by campaigning or dissipation, a drooping 
 black moustache, black eyes deeply set under bushy 
 eyebrows, and a certain languid air which betrayed the 
 cavalry man and scarcely quite harmonised with those eyes 
 and that broad forehead. The chin only was the unpleasant 
 exception to an otherwise handsome face — weak and re- 
 ceding, it seemed to denote indecision. Whatever doubts 
 there may have been of the Colonel's beauty being strictly 
 classical, there was none as to his voice, which he soon 
 practised in a duet with Mrs. Grieves. It was soft, full of 
 melody, and yet powerful — one of those rich baritones 
 which, next to tenors, are most likely to affect an im- 
 pressionable woman. Jack could scarcely get a word with 
 Mrs. Grieves during the evening, and at last fell back on 
 Mrs. Poppleton, a charming woman, who possessed the rare 
 virtue of being kind and polite to the friends of her 
 
78 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 husband's bachelor life. Jack, however, was determined 
 not to waste any time, and when " flat " candlesticks were 
 brought in, asked his host whether he could have a quiet 
 chat with him. 
 
 "Certainly," said Poppleton, leading the way into the 
 deserted dining-room, while Whelks went up to don a 
 smoking-coat, "Fire away here. There will be no one 
 to interrupt." 
 
 Jack told his tale, with which our readers are already 
 acquainted, and wound up by asking his friend's advice. 
 As he had expected, Poppleton at once volunteered a loan 
 of a couple of hundred. 
 
 " No," Jack replied ; " many thanks, old fellow, but 
 that will not really help me. I would not take your 
 money merely just to stave off the evil day, and without 
 a chance of repaying it. Nay," seeing Poppleton raising 
 his hand deprecatingly and about to speak, " don't interrupt 
 me, and don't think me ungrateful, dear old man. But 
 the fact is, I must get square altogether, or turn it up and 
 emigrate, or get a land agent's place, or something of that 
 sort. It is not a bit of use my taking your money. I 
 could keep the duns quiet for a month or two, perhajDS, 
 but after that things would be as bad as they are now, 
 perhaps worse. And I can't live on a hundred a-year, 
 nor can I wait till briefs come." 
 
 " Marry Mrs. Grieves," suddenly suggested Poppleton. 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed Jack, " I wish I had ten thousand a-year, 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 79 
 
 I'd ask her directly," and his eyes suffused with tears. 
 " That woman, Arthur, has prevented my funking it 
 altogether, and bolting out of the w^orld to get rid of my 
 troubles, and since I met her at Goodwood, somehow, the 
 thoughts of her have stopped me from many things worse 
 than backing horses. But these very thoughts make my 
 worries harder to bear. For what chance have I of 
 winning that angel ? No money, and not much to look 
 at, am I ? " 
 
 With these words Jack stood up, and held his dress-coat 
 open with a comical gesture, in order that his friend might 
 have a good look at him. Poor Jack Ponsford was certainly 
 not good-looking. Too slight for his height, though with 
 fairly broad shoulders, he appeared a good deal younger 
 than his age. His nose was rather a snub ; his candid 
 grey eyes, though bright and steady, were small ; his long 
 upper lip was not much improved by a moustache of 
 doubtful brown, his cheek-bones projected, and his jaw was 
 square and heavy. Certainly he was not handsome, but 
 he knew it, and did not pretend to be otherwise than 
 nature had made him. But Poppleton was obliged to 
 admit reluctantly that in Jack Ponsford, who had only a 
 good old name to offer, the rich and beautiful Mrs. Grieves 
 would scarcely find her ideal. The conference ended by 
 his repeating his generous offer, and assuring our hero that 
 he had better accept it while the friendly lender thought 
 over more permanent means for setting him up. 
 
80 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 The next morning broke gloomily, with a touch of frost 
 in the air, but matters improved a little during breakfast. 
 Mrs. Grieves appeared in her riding-habit, which made her 
 look still more attractive, if possible, than on the previous 
 evening ; the Colonel was in pink, got up in a manner so 
 entirely pferfect that not even the most fastidious critic 
 could have found a button or a fold to object to. Poppleton 
 also sported scarlet, though with less pretension to elegance 
 than the soldier; and Jack was in sober black, and had 
 devoted a little more attention to the whiteness of his 
 breeches than he would have done if Mrs. Grieves had not 
 been of the party. Hursley Green being only four miles 
 off, they rode their hunters on, and by dint of manoeuviing 
 Jack succeeded in keeping Safeguard abreast of Mrs. 
 Grieves's mount, a fidgety but well-bred mare. When a 
 man is much in love he is supposed to be tongue-tied, 
 and, indeed, for a mile or so Jack was no exception to the 
 rule. But the brisk easterly wind, the recollection of 
 Poppleton's promise to help both in word and deed, and 
 the vicinity of his fair charmer in the most becoming of 
 costumes, her face glowing with the wintry air, a stray lock 
 fluttering from under her hat, her small hands steadying 
 her fidgety mare, all combined to raise his spirits and to 
 make him rattle away merrily, though not without an 
 occasional tinge of sentiment. He spoke of his pleasure 
 in seeing her again, of the anxiety with which he had 
 sought for opportunities of meeting her, of the pleiisant 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 81 
 
 afternoons they had spent at Goodwood, and of many other 
 topics — all in his usual frank and straightforward way, 
 which could not oflfend the most sensitive. To his own 
 troubles he merely alluded quite superficially, knowing 
 that to tell a woman a long story of one's own money 
 matters is not the way to please her. All this time Safe- 
 guard was as good as gold, his only fault being that he 
 slouched along lazily, like so many thoroughbreds, and 
 never raised his feet more than he could help. The 
 Colonel attempted to interrupt the tSte-d-Ute more than 
 once, but unsuccessfully, for Poppleton gallantly helped 
 Jack as much as he could by keeping his supposed rival 
 deeply engaged in conversation. At Hursley Green, of 
 course, the small party was scattered among the larger one 
 there assembled; but when a move was made for the 
 covert side Jack again managed to get next to Mrs. 
 Grieves, who was, it appeared to him, not so very desirous 
 of the Colonel's company as to cause him any immediate 
 anxiety. Safeguard, however, now began to be trouble- 
 some, putting his head down and laying it into his bit in 
 his struggles to get on, and dancing along sideways in his 
 inability to do so. That he bounded to the left into a 
 puddle and splashed Mrs. Grieves's habit all over was the 
 sort of contingency which might have been expected, 
 and although the lady assured Jack very kindly that it 
 did not matter, she did not look altogether pleased, and 
 our hero was much put out. 
 
 G 
 
82 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 Her mare, too, was becoming more tiresome by seeing 
 the other horse dancing about, and Jack was much relieved 
 when they turned into a ploughed field, and he was able 
 to take Safeguard away to a respectful distance. The 
 spinney they first tried was blank, and on the way to the 
 next several gates had to be opened. Of course Jack was 
 anxious to do the polite, and tried to hold the gate back 
 for Mrs. Grieves. Safeguard, however, was not used to 
 gates, and did not like them. He jammed himself against 
 the latch, very nearly squeezed Jack's leg flat against the 
 rails, and finally, as his rider could not get his hunting 
 crop out of the latch in time, backed out and left Jack 
 prostrate on the poached ground, a spectacle for the whole 
 field. It was a disagreeable and stupid fall, for of course 
 the horse got away, and Jack's coat was plastered with 
 mud. He had to remount and ride after the fast advancing 
 crowd in a condition far from enviable, and when Safe- 
 guard was put into a canter Jack found it difficult to 
 prevent his bursting into a racing gallop. There was no 
 chance of being able to rejoin Mrs. Grieves at once, and if 
 there had been Jack would not have taken advantage of it 
 in his present state. He thought he would allow the 
 incident to be forgotten, if not erased altogether, by the 
 brilhant figure he expected to cut in the run he hoped 
 for. For his horse was a fine fencer. Rather than try to 
 open any more gates. Jack sent him boldly at the next 
 one, which the last of the field had allowed to slam behind 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 83 
 
 him, and Safeguard took it handsomely — a little too fast 
 indeed, and shaking his head more than Jack liked, but 
 still with so much to spare that there could be no doubt 
 of his powers. 
 
 Scarcely were hounds in the next covert when their 
 music resounded, and before Jack had reached the crowd 
 of horsemen gathered at the far corner there was the cry 
 of " Tally-ho ! Away ! Gone away ! " Everybody knows 
 the rush that follows on this welcome cry, and Safeguard 
 was not inclined to wait. Probably he thought that the 
 flag had fallen for the start ; at any rate, when the first 
 lad on a rough pony galloped past him, he was not to be 
 denied, and bolting away at full gallop bore straight for 
 the next fence in the wake of the field. Jack was too old 
 a sportsman not to know that it was hopeless to try to 
 stop his horse. All he might do was to guide him ; and 
 this he tried, with some little success. Safeguard was 
 heading for the blackest and highest part of the hedge, 
 but all Jack thought of was, if possible, to keep him clear 
 of the other horses ; and, holding his arm over his eyes he 
 faced the jump. Nothing worse happened than a severe 
 " whip " across one ear from a thorny bramble, but he had 
 not a hand to spare to wipe his face and staunch the blood 
 he felt trickling down, for on the far side of the field, 
 which Safeguard was approaching at racing speed, was a 
 formidable-looking fence, with but one practicable gap, 
 over which the others were now successively hopping. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 Jack had passed a great many, but several, including some 
 ladies, were waiting their turn at the gap in front, and, 
 notwithstanding all his exertions, Safeguard raced straight 
 for it, seeing the horses there. At his approach the group 
 scattered like chaff, the men using bad language, the 
 women half scared and quite angry. With one almost 
 superhuman effort Jack pulled Safeguard over to the right 
 and avoided banging right into the thick of them, but the 
 horse flew the fence scarcely a yard from the gap, and 
 landed almost on the top of Mrs. Grieves, who had just 
 jumped it. Over went Safeguard, with Jack under him. 
 Mrs. Grieves's mare, who received the impact on her 
 haunches, slipped, struggled, and finally slid down side- 
 ways, her fair rider quickly disengaging herself, with the 
 exclamation, " Oh, Mr. Ponsford ! " She was not in the 
 least hurt, and, with the assistance of the handsome 
 Colonel, was quickly in the saddle again, not, however, 
 before Jack had also remounted, his left leg feeling sore 
 and bruised, but not otherwise injured. Safeguard, by no 
 means done with, would not give him time to apologise, 
 but was off again at Derby speed, as there were still some 
 on in front. These fortunately were passed without acci- 
 dent in the long fallow which followed, and Jack sincerely 
 hoped that the deep ground would settle the horse. This 
 was, however, not the case, for, as often occurs, Safeguard 
 pulled harder and in a more determined manner now he 
 was getting a little blown than he had even done at first, 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 85 
 
 and to steady him appeared hopeless. Jack was out of 
 condition, he had not ridden since his horses had been sold, 
 and his leg hurt him ; he was getting very weary when 
 they jumped the next fence, and narrowly escaped being 
 thrown over his horse's head. Here the stubble had been 
 soiled by sheep, and hounds were at a loss. The huntsman 
 cried, " Hold hard ! " Jack held as hard as he could, but 
 it was of no use, for Safeguard dashed among the pack, 
 treading on the feet of one, knocking over another, and 
 causing yelps of pain and fright all round. Louder yet 
 were the imprecations of huntsman, the Master, and those 
 of the field who witnessed the performance. " Stop that 
 cockney ! " halloaed one, " Who the devil is that fellow ? " 
 cried another. " Send the beast home ! " was the sug- 
 gestion of a third; and Jack, hearing all these howls, 
 ceased trying to stop his horse, but would have been glad 
 to get anywhere out of hearing. 
 
 Safeguard, no longer seeing any horses in front, was now 
 not unwilling to pull up ; but Jack would not let him. 
 He jumped the next fence at the risk of over-riding the 
 fox, and finding himself in a lane, at once turned the now 
 manageable horse towards home. Of course he reached 
 the Hall long before the rest of the party. By this time 
 his leg had become very painful, and he could scarcely 
 hobble to his room. To remove his hunting garments was 
 no easy matter, even with the assistance of Poppleton's 
 valet, and when his toilet was at last completed. Jack felt 
 
86 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 as thorouglily miserable as any man could. To be put 
 down as a galloping cockney snob, to knock over the lady 
 lie most wished to please, to make a fool of himself before 
 a hundred people — all this was so galling that his anger 
 found vent in expletives against Poppleton, who had given 
 him the mount. He had almost made up his mind to 
 start for London at once without meeting any of them, 
 when a silvery voice on the staircase which could only be 
 Mrs. Grieves's, and a heavy tread which he recognised as 
 the Colonel's, told him that the party had returned, and 
 that it was too late to disappear undiscovered. Mrs. 
 Grieves went at once to her room, which was under our 
 hero's on the first floor, his own being on the second. 
 Jack could hear the door close, and the subdued sound of 
 talk between mistress and maid. What should he do ? 
 Should he calmly go down stairs and talk with Mrs. 
 Poppleton, who would be sure to sympathise and soothe ? 
 But probably the Colonel would be there, and he would be 
 terrible to face. Yet the Colonel and all of them must be 
 faced some time or other. In his vexation he approached 
 the window and looked out into the garden, dull as gardens 
 are in December, but neatly swept and trim. Under his 
 window was a balcony — Mrs. Grieves's — and under that 
 again the gun-room, now deserted. From his position he 
 could see a little bit of the drive, and uj) it came Poppleton, 
 slowly riding home. Then the Colonel and Mrs. Grieves 
 had come back together ! No, he Avould not go down 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 87 
 
 now ; he should meet his host in the hall. He would sulk 
 up stairs in solitary grandeur. In a few minutes there 
 were steps on the stairs, then a knock at his door. He 
 threw himself into the armchair, and pretended to sleep. 
 Another knock, then the cheery voice of Poppleton, " Are 
 you asleep, old man ? " and his host, with the sans gene of 
 old friendship, walked in. " Are you hurt ? " he inquired, 
 seeing Jack prostrate. 
 
 " Not much," replied he ; "a little bruised. But, I say, 
 Poppleton, how could you put me on such a brute ? " 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry, my dear fellow," Poppleton asse- 
 verated, " I had no idea that the horse pulled so. He 
 has not been hunted since he was chased, and it appears 
 to have spoilt him for the field. I am really dreadfully 
 sorry. I've been telling every one that it was not your 
 fault. But I thought you could hold anything." 
 
 " So I could at one time," answered Jack ; " but I am 
 not in training. I can't now. At any rate, I could not 
 hold Safeguard. I've made an awful fool of myself, I 
 can't show my face down stairs. What does Mrs. Grieves 
 say? 
 
 " Well," admitted the truthful Poppleton, " I'm afraid 
 you have not improved your chances with her ; but never 
 mind, old man, cheer up. Come and have some tea, I'll 
 stand by you," 
 
 Jack at last allowed himself to be persuaded, and limped 
 down stairs. Mrs. Poppleton was full of compassion and 
 
HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 sympathy, nor did Mrs. Grieves, when she at last appeared, 
 show any signs of displeasure. She was, however, sensibly 
 cooler than in the morning, and when Colonel Whelks 
 began a narrative of Jack's escapade, told in a gentlemanly 
 way enough, but not calculated exactly to soothe our 
 hero's ruffled feelings, she laughed outright more than 
 once. 
 
 Several neighbours came to dinner, and the party was a 
 merry one. Mrs. Grieves was in high spirits. Her face 
 had acquired additional colour from the healthful exercise 
 of the day, and the handsome diamond necklace she wore 
 scarcely sparkled more brightly than her eyes. Poor Jack^ 
 whom fate and Mrs. Poppleton had placed opposite to her, 
 had ample opportunity of contemplating the large brilliants 
 of her necklace, the graceful curve of the fair neck on 
 which it rested, and the sweetness of the smiles with 
 which she responded now to one, now to the other, of her 
 neighbours. Never had the object of his affections 
 appeared so attractive, and never so entirely beyond his 
 reach. It is true that the frame in which the object was 
 set was, on this occasion, of the richest and most imposing 
 nature — diamonds, velvet, and antique lace ; but had not 
 the picture itself been lovely the accessories would have 
 been unable to lend it charm. Jack felt morally and 
 physically depressed — out of it, as he said to himself. 
 His limbs were stiff with bruises, and every movement 
 was painful ; his mind seemed dazed, and he sank into a 
 
DIAMONDS AKE TRUMPS. 89 
 
 dull and hopeless torpor which neither the sparkle of Mrs. 
 Grieves's jewels, nor of her eyes, nor of Poppleton's cham- 
 pagne was able to dispel. He retired early, slipping away 
 when the inevitable duet between the fair widow and 
 Colonel Whelks was being listened to in polite silence. 
 His bruises, his disappointment, and his debts combined 
 to make a heavier load than he could bear, and he resolved 
 to "turn it up" and go back the next day. Back to 
 what ? To town and his duns ? Or to make such pre- 
 parations as he could for a new life beyond the ocean ? 
 He was too tired and too much knocked about to come to 
 any resolution. While he was endeavouring to decide on 
 some course of action, while strains of music, hushed by 
 doors and distance, still occasionally found their way up 
 to his bachelor's room, he fell into a heavy sleep. 
 
 But not for many hours. He awoke, as men often do 
 when quite wearied out, feeling particularly wakeful and 
 almost lively. His leg, too, ached violently, and that alone 
 would now have sufficed to drive slumber away. The 
 house was quiet ; the guests must have departed. For 
 some time no sound was heard except the soughing of the 
 night wind through the trees. Jack turned from one side 
 to the other, punched his pillows and altered the curtains, 
 but was unable to find any position comfortable enough to 
 induce sleep. He tossed about restlessly, tried to think 
 out future plans, and then gave it up because no plan 
 seemed possible without money. Then, somehow, his 
 
90 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 thoughts wandered to Mrs. Grieves's diamonds. Every 
 single stone of that necklet must be worth a hundred at 
 least, and some much more ! How jDleasant to have such 
 ample funds that one could afford to lock up a few 
 thousand or so in those unproductive gems ! What bliss 
 it would be if he, Jack Ponsford, were able to present Julia 
 Grieves with a pair of earrings to match that necklace ! 
 Men always gave jewellery to the ladies they were going 
 to marry. Why not he ? Yes, but he was not engaged 
 yet, nor had he much chance of becoming engaged to 
 her. Besides, if he were, he could not afford diamond 
 
 earrings 
 
 Hark ! What was that ? It sounded like a step on the 
 gravel walk. No, it must have been fancy. Yet again ? 
 Surely there was some one in the garden ? Who could be 
 amusing himself by taking a stroll at two or three o'clock 
 on a winter's night ? Jack listened intently ; his nervous 
 condition lent his ears exceptional sharpness. The noise, 
 though very slight, certainly appeared to proceed from 
 footsteps — from some one taking excessive care, and 
 stepping with extreme caution. Jack jumped from his 
 bed, and slipping on a dressing-gown drew the blind aside. 
 He looked out into the garden. It was a dark night, but 
 still it was lighter outside than in his room, and he could 
 just make out the black outline of the shrubs and the 
 lighter stripes of the walks. But he saw no one. Then, 
 dropping his eyes, he closely scrutinised the flower-beds 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TEUMPS. 91 
 
 under his window. From them they naturally fell to the 
 balcony of Mrs. Grieves's room under his own. What was 
 that dim outline at the balcony ? Surely a man climbing 
 over. Jack was so near that he could not make a mistake. 
 Pressing his face against the window-pane, he peered 
 eagerly down. There was undoubtedly a man outside the 
 balcony, standing on what seemed to be a ladder. The 
 figure raised one leg and then the other, and stepped out 
 of sight over the parapet, right under Jack's window. In 
 this brief glance Jack fancied he recognised the tall 
 stature and broad shoulders of Colonel Whelks ! 
 
 He looked again, and then gently raised the sash, which 
 enabled him to stretch his neck out and look down on the 
 balcony. There was no one there ; the man had dis- 
 appeared, but Jack was certain that he had not gone down 
 again, or he must have seen at least a grey shadow. The 
 man had therefore entered Mrs. Grieves's room by the 
 window. Jack seized a big stick he generally used for 
 country walks, and rushed to the bell, intending to ring it 
 loudly. But a horrible thought stopped him. That man 
 looked like the Colonel ; perhaps it was the Colonel, and 
 possibly Mrs. Grieves was acting Juliet to the Colonel's 
 Romeo. His blood almost froze at the thought ! He 
 listened intently. Undoubtedly there was the sound of 
 voices from the lower room. They were hushed and 
 subdued as lovers' voices might be. What should he do ? 
 If he raised an alarm and it turned out that Mrs. Grieves 
 
92 / . HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 was secretly conversing with the Colonel at her window, 
 he would be betraying the woman he loved best in the 
 world, and calling the world's attention to her indiscretion. 
 But if the intruder was a malefactor that very woman 
 might be being murdered at this moment, and he (Jack 
 Ponsford) was standing close by without stretching out his 
 hand. Further hesitation might be fatal — he would rouse 
 the house. No ! he would first try and find out what was 
 going on. He opened his door as gently as possible, and 
 stepped swiftly down the stairs. In a few seconds he stood 
 at Mrs. Grieves's door. He must, for the first time in his 
 life, listen at a keyhole. If what he heard was a conversa- 
 tion between Colonel Whelks and the fair widow, the 
 words might kill him, but they should be buried with 
 him. He bowed his head and listened. For a few 
 moments he heard nothing but a subdued sigh or groan, 
 and some rustling which might be footsteps, but sounded 
 more as if some one were carefully moving furniture about. 
 Jack's ear was pressed against the door. Suddenly a 
 louder groan reached him, mufiled, like the last, but almost 
 resembling a shriek. This was followed by a low, gruff, 
 but perfectly audible whisper, " If you don't hold your 
 row, I'll shoot yer ! " 
 
 Jack now had no further hesitation. Mrs. Grieves's 
 room had evidently been entered forcibly. No doubt 
 the door was locked on the inside. It would never do 
 to try it, and thus give the alarm too soon. Stepping 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 93 
 
 from the door as far back as he could, Jack suddenly 
 hurled his whole weight against it ; the hasp gave way, 
 and he burst into the room, A glance round was suffi- 
 cient to tell the tale. In the full rays of a bull's-eye 
 lantern was a figure clad in white kneeling before a 
 chair, the face concealed and the head muffled in a cloth, 
 the hands raised as if in supplication, a stray lock of fair 
 hair the only bit of colour. Jack saw a hand dart 
 forward and seize the lantern, which was instantly 
 extinguished. From the far corner of the room came an 
 imprecation, then there was a flash and a report. Short 
 as was the former, it lighted up the whole room, and 
 showed two ruffians with blackened faces, one still busy 
 breaking open a wardrobe, the other holding a pistol. 
 Quick as thought. Jack stepped aside, and his heavy 
 stick came down with a thud on some part of the 
 burglar, who at the same moment fired a second barrel. 
 There was a yell of pain, a shriek from the fair victim, 
 and then another report. Jack, felt a sudden sting in 
 the upper part of his arm, as if a sharp lancet had gone 
 through it ; but he had strength to hit out with his 
 stick right and left, and there was a dim glimmer of 
 light from the open window which enabled him to make 
 out the outlines of the robbers. " E-ing the bell, 
 Mrs. Grieves ! " he shouted, " or run away and scream ! " 
 There was no occasion to repeat the order : the fair 
 widow rushed down the passage yelling loudly, and the 
 
94 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 burglars tried to make good their retreat through the 
 window. But Jack's next thought had been to rush 
 to the balcony and knock the ladder down. Scarcely 
 had he done so when he was seized round the neck by 
 a powerful grasp, and the blow he aimed at his assailant 
 fell harmlessly in the air. He felt that he was choking- 
 Throwing his arms round his opponent, he attempted to 
 force him down ; but the burglar was the heavier man, 
 and had gained a great advantage by almost suffocating 
 Jack before the latter could do anything. Poor Jack 
 was now being squeezed against the balcony railing, 
 his strength fast ebbing away, and his efforts to dis- 
 engage himself vain against the weight of his antagonist. 
 He made one final effort when he saw that the buro-lar 
 would in another instant jump over and escape. He 
 struggled to his knees, and using his heels and body as 
 a purchase tried to force the man back ; but the weight 
 was too much for the frail railings, and with a crash they 
 gave way, Jack and his foe both falling fifteen feet into 
 the garden below. 
 
 Our hero was prostrate on his back, and a shout from 
 above told him that the house was now aroused ; but 
 Jack determined, if possible, to catch his man, and 
 jumped up as well as he could. There was no one 
 there. The burglar had got away. But where ? How ? 
 Jack looked round dazed. Then he made a bound into 
 the laurels on the other side of the path ; a crouching 
 
DIAMONDS AEE TRUMPS. 95 
 
 figure had disappeared into them, and he seized it. There 
 was a howl of agony, and a volley of oaths. " Leave me 
 alone," cried the man, with sundry frightful ejaculations. 
 " I've broke my legs, and I sha'n't try to bolt now. May 
 as well get my five years without any more row about it." 
 But Jack gripped the man's arms with all the strength 
 he could still command, which was not much. He 
 shouted for help, and it soon arrived, for Poppleton and 
 a servant came up and relieved him of his charge. The 
 other burglar had, it appeared, escaped. 
 
 When order was restored and the pieces picked up, it 
 turned out that the captured man was Colonel Whelks's 
 groom, whom the gallant oflScer had but recently engaged 
 and brought down to the Hall. This man was, of course, 
 on excellent terms with the female servants in the estab- 
 lishment, and had heard of the great value and beauty 
 of Mrs. Grieves's diamonds. On this point he was enabled 
 to convince himself by helping to wait at table. He 
 made a full stateinent of his mode of operations, and 
 explained that he had had to wait for the arrival of a 
 confederate from London before effecting his purpose. 
 The men had easily cut a pane out of Mrs. Grieves's 
 window in the way much practised by burglars, had then 
 moved the hasp and raised the sash, and finally carefully 
 lifted the bar of the shutters by working the blade of a 
 blunt table-knife through the joints. The rest was easy. 
 One of them half suffocated Mrs. Grieves by twisting a 
 
96 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 towel round her head, and effectually muffled her cries, 
 while the other tried for the jewels. They had actually 
 opened the drawer in which they were contained when 
 Jack unexpectedly burst in the door. A revolver was kept 
 levelled a yard from Mrs. Grieves's head, ready to fire if 
 she tried to give an alarm. The groom assured every one 
 that they had no intention of killing or even of hurting 
 her, " for," said he, " we know'd the governor was sweet 
 upon her, and we 'adn't no call to interfere with 'er so 
 long as she didn't interfere with us." 
 
 The confederate — a taU man, who of course only 
 resembled Colonel Whelks in outline — was taken a few 
 days later, on the information supplied by the groom. 
 
 Mrs. Grieves was much upset by the occurrence, and 
 took a great dislike to the Colonel, whom she could 
 not help associating with the unpleasant attack of his 
 servant. The one who suffered most — at any rate 
 physically — was Jack Ponsford, whose arm had been 
 pierced by the bullet of the burglar's revolver, while 
 his head and neck had been severely bruised in the 
 struggle on the balcony, and his back hurt in the fall 
 from it. A few hours later he was in a high fever and 
 the doctor prescribed absolute rest of body and mind. 
 The latter, however, was beyond the medical man's power 
 to bestow, as poor Jack scarcely ceased raving of his 
 debts, of sparkling eyes, and bright diamonds. Poppleton 
 was unremitting in his attention, and when Jack had 
 
DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS. 97 
 
 a lucid interval informed him that his creditors were 
 settled with. The good fellow had gone up to town and 
 arranged with his solicitor to settle Jack's affairs, giving 
 him an open credit for the purpose. The moment our 
 hero had this worry removed from his mind his condition 
 improved, and it became still more promising when a 
 mine in which he had placed an odd hundred or so 
 two years back, knowing that it was a gamble, proved 
 to be worth a very large sum, and yielded so good a 
 return that its shares rose to a huge premium. He 
 resolved to sell the shares, and left Poppleton Hall to 
 receive the considerable amount of ready cash due to 
 him on the transaction. When he had paid Poppleton 's 
 solicitor there was still a fair amount left. " How would 
 it do," thought he, " to try his luck in diamonds ? " And 
 he purchased a pair of earrings which would about match 
 the necklace, and with these in his pocket he drove to 
 South Kensington. Mrs. Grieves gave him a warm 
 welcome, a cup of tea, and — something more. For 
 he left her house the happiest man alive, and she wore 
 the earrings on her next visit to Poppleton Hall. 
 
"TOO LATE." 
 
 There probably never was a man keener on sport of all 
 kinds than Harry Marston. He preferred hunting for 
 choice, but, when he could not hunt, he was just as anxious 
 not to miss a day's shooting as the most enthusiastic votary 
 of the gun ; and when neither foxes nor birds were fair 
 game, he would go in for ratting, or any other " chivy " 
 which was to be discovered or invented. Harry was the 
 son of a neighbour of ours, but was supposed to be in town 
 " reading " for the Bar. I believe he did read a little, but, 
 after he was called, his chambers were, as he himself con- 
 fessed, almost the least likely covert to hold him. Supplied 
 with a good deal of money by a somewhat too liberal father, 
 and possessing some social talents of his own, he was pop- 
 ular wherever he went, and got asked to too many country 
 houses in the autumn and town houses in the spring for 
 him to sit in his chambers waiting for clients who never 
 came. He stuck to our own hunt like a man, though sorely 
 tempted by wide Leicestershire pastures. It was seldom 
 that, in a good run, Harry Marston was not there or there- 
 
"TOO LATE." 99 
 
 abouts, while his fond parent imagined he was poring over 
 dull law books in the Temple, or hearing a masterly expo- 
 sition of a subtle legal technicality from the Judges of 
 Appeal. There seemed to be a general agreement among 
 his friends not to tell, and it was only very occasionally 
 that the squire heard of his son's escapades. 
 
 One winter we missed him from several successive meets, 
 and it was whispered on the whole country side that Hany 
 was really working hard at last. Men who knew his ways 
 in London, and frequented the localities which he had pat- 
 ronised during his idle days, confirmed the report, and 
 assured us that he now never did more than to turn out 
 half-a-dozen rats in his rooms to teach his terriers " manners." 
 " That is handy," remarked Harry, " for I have my sport on 
 the premises ; and, if a client should come, why the rats 
 would bolt as soon as the door was opened, and no one 
 would be any the wiser." All this was confirmed by 
 the son of a well known solicitor, whose father had been 
 anxious to put something in Harry Marston's way. The 
 old attorney rang at the rising junior's bell, and when 
 the door was opened, after some delay, he found three 
 young gentlemen of a somewhat sporting appearance, 
 and a very disreputable looking individual with a box 
 under his arm, a short pipe in his mouth, and a very 
 disagreeable bull-terrier at his heels. Harry merely 
 remarked, " Clients of mine, Mr. Costs ; clients of mine," 
 and tried to get rid of them unostentatiously ; but the 
 
 H 2 
 
100 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 terrier growled, and declined to move from the door, inside 
 which something had taken refuge, while his owner pulled 
 his forelock in so sheepish a manner that Mr. Costs soon 
 understood the state of the case. When young Costs told 
 the story, as we jogged over to meet the hounds one fine 
 February morning, we all felt that Harry was not very 
 much to be pitied for his sedulous application to his work. 
 On that day I determined on trying a special cut of my 
 own through Standish Park and across the London-road, 
 and turned off to the right by myself. The fact was that 
 I was on the back of a new purchase, and thought that it 
 would be as well to see, privately, what sort of an animal 
 I had bought before I exhibited him to the very consid- 
 erable field which would no doubt be assembled. It was a 
 fine-looking horse enough, and had passed sound, but the 
 price asked was so low in proportion to his size, looks, and 
 breeding, that I had very serious doubts as to his being 
 able to jump, and thought that the little fences on the line 
 I selected would enable me to form an opinion without ex- 
 posing myself to the chaff of my friends. It was well I did 
 so, for at a flight of sheep hurdles my new horse resolutely 
 refused, and I had to take him into the middle of a field 
 and give him a bit of my mind, which I did through the 
 medium of a piece of whalebone I happened to carry with 
 me. I succeeded, it appears, in making myself intelligible, 
 for not only were the hurdles crossed without further hesi- 
 tation, but the rather more serious fence between the copse 
 
"TOO LATE." 101 
 
 and the London-road was taken with a b9uud that meant 
 business. As we landed on the grass by the side of the 
 road, I had just time to pull my horse back to avoid collid- 
 ing with a carriage moving slowly along. It was one of 
 old Field's " mourning flies," a vehicle constructed like a 
 large "growler," but painted black and elaborately lined 
 in the same hue. Field was our local builder, livery-stable 
 keeper, carpenter and joiner, undertaker, and general con- 
 tractor, who would provide marquees and refreshments for 
 a cricket match, or build a complete manorial residence. 
 He would supply lunches and ices for a ball, or turn out a 
 first-class funeral. It was his pride that he had buried 
 everybody's father, and many people's grandfathers, while 
 he was not unwilling to relate how he had cleaned out 
 somebody else's drains, and cured another man's smoky 
 chimneys. On the box of this sad equipage was seated 
 Jack, the most popular and civil fly driver within a twenty 
 miles radius ; the Jehu universally sought after to drive 
 nervous elderly ladies or timid young ones to distant balls 
 or dinner parties, one who could be relied on to drink any 
 amount without its affecting either his care, his eyesight, or 
 his civility. He was sure to bring his charges safely back • 
 no one had ever heard of his running into anything, or 
 meeting with any sort of accident ; and his attention to the 
 fair sex on wet or cold nights was positively touching, for 
 it was quite fatherly without ever being familiar. To-day 
 Jack was, of course, carefully dressed in a suit of seedy 
 
102 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 black, with a long crape round his hat, and black worsted 
 gloves on his large hands. He raised one to the salute 
 as T landed, and " hitched " his head towards the inside of 
 the conveyance. Somebody looked out. I could scarcely 
 believe my eyes ! it was, it positively was, Harry Marston ! 
 Harry, dressed up in full mourning, which his overcoat 
 scarcely concealed, and looking as melancholy as the 
 occasion demanded. 
 
 " Where do they meet?" was his first question, without 
 any previous greetings. 
 
 " Halford Gorse." 
 
 " Oh, Halford Gorse, of course ! Just like my infernal 
 luck ! The only place in the whole country where you're 
 sure of a run ! And probably won't come here again 
 this season." 
 
 " Not if we kill," I answered ; " but tell me, Harry, 
 whose funeral are you going to ? " 
 
 " The old woman at the Grange is dead," he replied, 
 looking very grave. " She was my aunt, you know, 
 though no one would have thought it. Only got the 
 telegram last night, for I was down at Brighton, and had 
 to get some black clothes and come here sharp. Halford 
 Gorse, is it ? What beastly luck to be sure ! Why the 
 deuce didn't she live till next Sunday ? " 
 
 " Well, you don't seem very much cut up about her." 
 
 " How should I be ? " he answered. " I don't think I've 
 seen her half-a-dozen times since I was a baby. I say. 
 
TOO LATE." 103 
 
 old man," he continued, " have you a second horse 
 out ? " 
 
 " No," I replied. "Why?" 
 
 " Because, you know, you might have lent him to me 
 just to see them throw off. I should get there quite soon 
 enough ; the funeral is not till twelve o'clock." 
 
 " Nonsense, Harry," I retorted. " You could not ride 
 in those clothes ! Besides, what would people say ? " 
 
 " Oh, nobody knew her," he continued ; " but it's of no 
 use if you have not got a horse, there's an end to it. 
 Confound this beastly funeral ! " 
 
 "Well, good-bye, old chap," I said, waving my hand. 
 Jack shook up the old black horse, who must have been 
 pulling this identical fly for the last twenty years, respect- 
 fully touched his hat, and jogged on. I put my new 
 purchase at the opposite fence and lost sight of the 
 mournful vehicle and its sad occupant. 
 
 Harry was right. Halford Gorse was a famous place. 
 It always held one fox, sometimes two ; and you were sure 
 of a run from it, because there was a deep ditch defended 
 by a black fence all along one side, and there was no 
 bridge over this place. It was, therefore, always clear on 
 that side at least, and our men were too fond of sport to 
 jump the place before the fox had gone away. This 
 February morning was no exception to the rule. Hounds 
 plunged eagerly into the thick furze and underwood, and 
 in less than five minutes old Lively proclaimed that 
 
104 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 Reynard was at home. Then two took up the cry, and 
 in less time than it takes to write this the whole pack 
 echoed the welcome notes. Once round through the 
 close vegetation, and then he broke as usual on the side 
 towards the big ditch. That turn round the gorse was a 
 wise move on the part of Master Reynard, or he would 
 have been chopped in covert. But hounds were not so 
 quick through the furze as he was, so he got a fair start, 
 and had crested the hill before the hounds were fairly 
 out of the covert, exactly a field behind. Then there 
 was rushing for the two best places for jumping the ditch ; 
 there was a scurrying of knowing farmers away to the 
 risht : three or four hard riders turned their horses round 
 and took the jump at a fresh place to avoid the crowd ; 
 one man was in, another came down on the right side 
 of it and scrambled up again ; and in five minutes more 
 about twenty of us had breasted the hill and were taking 
 the small fence into the turnip field on the top, the 
 hounds running mute. 
 
 There was a little hesitation in the next field, which let 
 up some road-riders, then they hit it off and away again, 
 to the left, down a small grassy valley, running at a good 
 hunting pace, and crossing small " grips," which were of 
 little account. There was a stream in the bottom of the 
 valley, and here hounds again checked, the foremost riders 
 holding up their hands. The delay was, however, not long 
 enough to enable the horses to get their wind, for they 
 
"TOO LATE." 105 
 
 were away again directly, through the gravelly bed of the 
 stream and up the hill beyond. It was a long, nasty, 
 treacherous hill. At first I fancied my horse would almost 
 get up to the to]3 in a bound or two ; but the ground was 
 heavy and the hill kept rising and rising the further we 
 went, till the fleetest and freshest horses dropped into a 
 trot, or at best a slow canter. I was wistfully watching 
 the sterns of the tail hounds, fast diminishing in the dis- 
 tance, wondering how I should ever get up to them, when 
 I heard a voice at my elbow saying — 
 
 " Go on ! Go on ! For goodness' sake, go on ! " And 
 looking round there was Harry Marston, hard at work on 
 his horse, whom he was thrashing unmercifully with a cane. 
 
 " Please go on ! For heaven's sake go on ! " he kept 
 saying to the panting brute, as he was labouring up the 
 ascent.- " Go on, or they will get away from us altogether ! 
 Confound you, you brute, go on ! " and gave him another 
 cut with his stick. 
 
 Harry was on a black horse of somewhat uncouth 
 appearance which I had never seen him ride before. He 
 had an old snaffle bridle on him, and the saddle looked 
 very much the worse for wear. One of the stirrup leathers 
 was tied up with a bit of string. Master Harry himself 
 was still in his full mourning costume, with his legs naked 
 up to his knees. 
 
 " Halloa, Marston ! Glad to see you out ! " exclaimed 
 one man. 
 
106 HUNT-EOOM STOEIES. 
 
 " Taking one of the governor's nags out for an airing, I 
 suppose ? " asked another. 
 
 " Came across the liounds by chance, did you ? " inquired 
 a third, gazing at Harry's legs, which were certainly curious 
 objects, 
 
 A shrewd suspicion crossed my mind, but I could not 
 stop to inquire. We had at last topped the beastly hill, 
 and hounds ran streaming down the other side, a 
 gentle slope of fine grass. We put on steam and soon 
 reached the valley, where the fox began to run short. A 
 slight check ; then away across a couple of fields to the 
 right, a turn which was favourable to many. There was a 
 forbidding-looking ragged place in front of me, and I sent 
 the persuaders into my horse to rouse him up. As I came 
 to it I saw some one forcing an unwilling horse — a black 
 one — a little on my left. There was a yell of " Hold up, 
 you brute ! " then a scramble, and what looked very much 
 like a bad fall. But by this time I was busy with myself. 
 Landing safely after a somewhat near shave, I saw the 
 hounds tumbling over each other in the middle of the 
 field in a manner which betrayed that the good fox's end 
 had come. I galloped up, and then recognised in the man 
 who had so nearly fallen our friend Harry Marston. The 
 buttons of his beautiful go-to-meeting frock-coat had 
 burst, and one sleeve was nearly torn off. His hat was 
 crushed in, and the mourning band all ruffled up and 
 scratched with thorns. What was left of his trousers 
 
"TOO LATK" 107 
 
 scarcely reached below his knees, and great splashes of 
 mud disfigured the whole of his sable suit. But there 
 was no opportunity of getting near him to ask questions. 
 The rest of the field galloped up, the fox was thrown to 
 the eager hounds, everybody jumped off his horse and 
 turned the poor animal's head to the wind — in short, 
 there was, for a few minutes, the usual scene of excitement 
 and confusion which concludes a successful run. When it 
 was over, when sandwiches were produced and flasks 
 pulled out, Harry was nowhere to be seen, nor had any 
 one noticed which way he went. I had a sort of notion, 
 and beckoned young Costs. 
 
 " Ai-e you going on ? " I asked. 
 
 " No," said he ; "I have no second horse, and this one 
 has had more than enough. I shall go home." 
 
 " So shall I," I chimed in, " but as it is early we can 
 afford to go a couple of miles out of our way. Let's 
 canter across to the Blue Lion in the London-road. I 
 think we shall have some fun." 
 
 Costs agreed without asking questions. When we 
 reached the Blue Lion, a small roadside public-house, we 
 perceived a dusky vehicle in the yard. It was the 
 identical mourning fly I had passed in the morning. We 
 walked into the bar and asked for gruel for our horses. 
 " I'll get you some in a moment, gentlemen," said a voice, 
 and a man came out from behind the partition, whom we 
 at once recomised as Jack. 
 
108 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 "Where's Mr. Marston, Jack, and what have you. done 
 with your horse ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well, sir, you see, Mr. Marston he was so very anxious 
 to see the 'ounds, sir, that he took my old 'orse out of 
 the fly, sir. And the landlord 'ere, sir, lent him his 
 saddle and bridle, and I don't know where he's got to. 
 Can't have gone very far, though, with that old black." 
 
 "Didn't he. Jack ? " said I. " Well, he was in at the 
 death, and got the old horse along at a pace that must 
 have astonished him. But how about the funeral ? " 
 
 " Doan't know, sir, I'm sure," remarked Jack, scratching 
 his head. " I'm afeerd we be a'most too late now." 
 
 There was the sound of a horse's steps outside. Here 
 came Harry, leading his woe-begone steed, who was so 
 done that he could scarcely put one foot before the other. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour I galloped off to the railway 
 station, with the following telegram : — 
 
 " From Harky Marston to James Marston, Esq. 
 
 " Sorry I missed the train and too late for funeral. 
 Will come on in the evening." 
 
 Harry, however, was truly repentant next day, for on 
 reaching home he heard that the old lady had left him 
 the Grange and a thousand a year to keep it up. He 
 never forgave himself for having missed that train. 
 
THEIR DIARIES. 
 
 The, following are extracts from the diaries Jcept hy a young 
 man and a young lady. The young man is a captain in 
 the SOth Hussars, and the young lady is the daughter of 
 a wealthy railway contractor. The captain follows his 
 regiment, and therefore lives nowhere in particular. The 
 young lady lives at Duncomle Friory, a few miles from 
 the garrison town. 
 
 His. 
 
 Sept. 19. — Want a horse badly for hounds and to do as 
 second charger. Found an attractive one in Sir Thomas 
 Lennard's catalogue ; " Scaramouch, brown, six years old, 
 by Arthur, bold fencer, fast, good manners, has carried a 
 lady, up to thirteen stone." Decided to go and see him. 
 
 Sept. 20. — Went down to Belhus. Scaramouch would 
 suit me exactly, as far as I can tell. Seems willing to 
 face any jump, has a light mouth, capital legs, and a 
 clever head. Feel inclined to go up to a century for him, 
 or even a hundred and twenty. On my way back, finding 
 the only first-class smoking carriage full of ruffians, got 
 
no HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 into one where there were two ladies — an elderly mother, 
 who looked rather cross, and a filly, rising seventeen or 
 thereabouts. Chestnut — I mean fair; healthy and bright 
 looking, and such eyes. I could not take mine off her 
 till they asked for tickets. A splendid mane, too, and 
 well bred, I bet a monkey. 
 
 Hers. 
 
 Sept. 20. — I have always kept a diary since I left Mrs. 
 Appleby. She said it would keep up my English, which 
 otherwise might become slipshod when she would no 
 longer be able to correct it. Keeping a diary is more 
 amusing than translating T^Umaque into Enghsh prose ; 
 but things refuse to happen. So it is not always easy to 
 fill up a page. To-day we went to Aunt Sophy's place in 
 Essex. I played with my little cousins and roamed all 
 over the fields with Tom. Tom is not a bad boy for 
 fifteen, but he's dreadfully shy. On our way back a 
 gentleman got in at Eainham, who looked awfully cross 
 because he could not smoke. He had a cigar in his hand. 
 I saw it and smelt it till it went out, and a little time 
 after the gentleman looked at me very hard ; in fact, he 
 almost stared. I did not look back at him, of course ; 
 but I think he was rather nice-looking, and seemed very 
 good-natured when he left off being cross about the 
 Smoke. He had a black moustache, and was certainly 
 
THEIR DIARIES. Ill 
 
 good style. Mamma smelt the cigar too, and said he was 
 horrid, A fast man, she was sure. Why does mamma 
 object to fast men ? 
 
 His. 
 
 Sept. 24. — At the Belhus Sale. Bought Scaramouch 
 for £75 — very cheap. Looked out for the chestnut girl 
 but could not find her anywhere. Suppose it was a mere 
 chance journey. Wonder where she lives and who she 
 is when she's at home. 
 
 Sept. 26. — Back at Cranborough. Shall be glad when 
 hunting begins, for it's not a lively place. Stables, and 
 guard, and parade, and an occasional escort are not always 
 entertaining. Scaramouch arrived last night, and looks 
 as fit as a fiddle to-day. 
 
 Hers. 
 
 Sept. 24. — Papa says Nellie must not carry me to 
 hounds next season. I am afraid he is right about her 
 legs, for she has stumbled more than once lately, though 
 of course I would not tell. But papa is so good, he says 
 he will look out for another horse for me. 
 
 Sept. 26. — Papa came back from town in great spirits. 
 It seems he met an old friend of his in the train, a 
 colonel whom he had known years ago in India before I 
 was bom, and he says the colonel's regiment is " quartered " 
 at Cranborough. 
 
112 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 His. 
 
 Sept. 29. — Jogging along the London road on Scara- 
 mouch to-day, whom should I meet but the chestnut fill}^ ? 
 She was with a comfortable-looking squire, whom I 
 believe to be old Heavytoft, a magistrate and local swell, 
 and a small boy on a short-legged pony, and there was a 
 respectable-looking groom behind them. I did not much 
 like the looks of the mare she was riding, though as they 
 cantered past us I had not a chance of seeing much of 
 her. She seemed groggy about her fore legs — no action. 
 I should say she was about done, the mare I mean, not 
 the girl. At mess I tried to find out who she is. Nobody 
 was able to tell me; they say there are a lot of fair- 
 haired girls about, and I'm sure she is not one of those 
 they mentioned. She is not a baker's daughter, nor the 
 vet.'s young wife, nor a young lady connected with the 
 stage ! The idea ! And yet that is what the fellows 
 suggested, " Must be one of that lot," they said. " All 
 fair, all rather good-looking, and all ride old screws. In 
 fact, they all ride the same old screw hired from Fetlock." 
 No, they're wrong. 
 
 Hers, 
 
 Sept. 29. — Frank and I went out riding with Mr. 
 Heavytoft. Nellie is getting very bad : even poor old 
 
THEIR DIARIES. 113 
 
 stupid Heavytoft said she was hardly safe. We met the 
 young man that got into our carriage when mamma and 
 I were coming back from Aunt Sophy's. He looked very 
 well on horseback — not at all cross. He had, oh ! such 
 a pretty horse ; and pulled up sharp to look at us. 
 Perhaps it was rude ; but he did not stare in a rude 
 way. I wonder who he is ! 
 
 Sept. 30. — Papa has a^sked^ his friend the colonel to 
 dinner for next Wednesday. We are not to have a party, 
 as they are such old friends. My birthday is October 4, 
 and papa says he will find me a new horse by that time. 
 He won't let me go cub-hunting on Nellie. 
 
 His. 
 
 Oct. 1. — Scaramouch is improving every day, I never 
 rode a horse I liked better. He jumps like a cat, too, and 
 is handy as a glove. Went out cubbing to-day, and 
 jumped him over a couple of nasty blind places, just to 
 see what he was like. 
 
 Oct. 2. — Met the chestnut filly again. She was coming 
 out of Jones's, the draper's in the High-street, as I passed 
 by with Donovan. Donovan's a good fellow, but he need 
 
 not have shouted out loud, " What a d d pretty girl ! " 
 
 She looked up and blushed scarlet, thinking us no doubt 
 a couple of infernal cads, I'm sure I blushed as red as 
 she. The old lady came out behind her, and looked as if 
 she would eat us. They got into a very neat turn out — a 
 
 I 
 
114 HUNT-ROOM STOEIES. 
 
 sort of landau. She is cei'tainly a most lovely girl, and I 
 must find her out. Donovan says we're sure to see her 
 somewhere in the course of the winter, as if I could wait 
 all the winter on the chance. I'll put Jenkins on the 
 scent ; he'll run her to earth if any one can. 
 
 Hers. 
 
 Oct. 2. — We were shopping at Cranborough to-day and 
 went into Jones's ! I came out first and almost knocked 
 up against the same gentleman again — the one that got 
 into the carriage at Rainham. He was walking with 
 another man, who said quite loud, " What a (naughty 
 word) pretty girl ! " I could not help looking up. My 
 old friend was scarlet, evidently ashamed of his companion's 
 remark. He looked so much the more gentlemanly of the 
 two. I wonder if I am pretty ! Mamma said : "There are 
 two of those horrid officers. Whatever you do, child, don't 
 marry an army man." As if I were likely to marry 
 any one, and leave dear papa ! But why does mamma 
 dislike officers ? " 
 
 Oct. 3. — The Colonel dined with us to-day. He is 
 rather an old twaddler ; at least, I don't suppose he is very 
 old, but he twaddles all the same. At dessert papa told 
 him that he was looking out for a horse for me. " Perhaps 
 you know of one. Colonel," suggested my darling papa ; 
 " there must always be one or other going among your 
 officers. I have not been able to find a horse quite to suit 
 
THEIR DIARIES. 115 
 
 Kate (that's me). I want a made hunter, quiet, clever, 
 with good action, and fairly young." 
 
 " I know the very horse for Miss Lee," replied the old 
 Colonel, " but I doubt whether he is for sale. He belongs 
 to one of my captains. I will ask him." After all I am 
 not sure that the Colonel is an old bore, as I at first 
 thought. At any rate he is very good to look out for a 
 horse for me. It would be di'eadful not to have one before 
 the regular season begins ; it's bad enough to lose the 
 cubbing. 
 
 His. 
 
 Oct. 8. — This morning I summoned Jenkins after 
 stables. " Jenkins," I said, " I've seen a young lady 
 about, and I want you to find out where she lives and 
 what her name is." Jenkins winked. " You need not 
 wink, Jenkins, it is a lady this time," " Very well, sir,' 
 answered Jenkins, as grave as a judge. I must admit 
 that he has sometimes had to find out the names and 
 addresses of ladies whom he would simply term " young 
 persons." I went on to describe the carriage my chestnut 
 charmer drives in — a dark blue landau picked out with 
 red, two powerful roans drawing it, a spotted dog behind, 
 a fat coachman and a thin footman in neat liveries on the 
 box. Then I told him of the mare she rode and of the 
 small boy on a short-legged bay pony who rode with her. 
 Jenkins asked leave for the day, and I found him in my 
 room after mess to report progress. The beggar had found 
 
 I 2 
 
116 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 out all about her ! After all, these fellows do more in a 
 day than we could in a month. However, he did not 
 boast of his success. It seems that he had waited all the 
 morning and had discovered nothing ; but this afternoon, 
 loafing along the parade, what should he see but the 
 landau, the roans, and the spotted dog. There was no 
 young lady in it ; only an old one and a small boy' 
 Jenkins can run like a lamplighter, and he followed the 
 trap at a respectful distance till it stopped at a shop. As 
 soon as it had gone on again he asked the shopman who 
 his customers were. According to his own account, he 
 did not ask plump out, but first bought two yards of red 
 ribbon for his sweetheart. He could not think of anything 
 else to buy in a ladies' shop. Of course I paid for the ribbon. 
 And then he was told that the lady was the rich Mrs. Lee, 
 of Buncombe Priory, and that little boy was her only son, 
 and that she had a girl besides, a " sweet pretty girl," the 
 shopman said, and "very civil and nice-spokeu." They 
 thought Mr. Lee had something to do with railways, but 
 they did not know precisely. Jenkins seems to have had 
 a good gossip. At any rate he has found out all about it, 
 and now it is my business to get asked to Buncombe 
 Priory. That is certainly a most charming girl ; I never 
 saw a better seat on horseback in my life. I knew it 
 could not be the baker's daughter, nor the vet.'s wife, nor 
 any other " young person," She must be thoroughbred. 
 What tiny hands she has, to be sure ! 
 
THEIR DIARIES. 117 
 
 Od. 4. — This morning after stables the Colonel asked 
 me whether I wanted to part with Scaramouch. Of course 
 I said I did not. " Well," said the Colonel, " would you 
 not even sell him to a very pretty girl ? " " No," I calmly 
 replied, " not even to a pretty girl." " That is a pity," the 
 Colonel went on, " for I had hoped to oblige my old friend 
 Lee. He wants a really first-class hunter for his daughter, 
 and I think Scaramouch would just suit her. Money is 
 no object. However, do not let us say any more about 
 it." I pricked uj) my ears when he mentioned " his old 
 friend Lee." " Is that Mr. Lee of Duncombe Priory, 
 Colonel ? " I asked. " Yes," he replied ; " do you know 
 him ? He's a real good fellow ; he helped us all through 
 the cholera when I was with the 36th Lancers at 
 Serungabad." " I do not know Mr. Lee ; but to oblige 
 you. Colonel, I do not mind his having Scaramouch, if 
 the horse is likely to suit his daughter." " Thank you, 
 Belvoir," said the Colonel, apparently quite touched at 
 what after all was a piece of hypocrisy on my part. 
 " You're very good. I will tell him about the horse : if 
 Miss Lee likes him, you may depend upon getting any 
 price you ask." What a delightful opportunity to approach 
 that lovely girl ! But how can I sell her the horse ? I 
 could not take money from her. And yet I can't make 
 her a present of him ; she would not accept him. It is 
 awkward. 
 
118 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 Hers. 
 
 Oct. 4, — This afternoon (my birthday) the Colonel 
 called. Mamma and I were at home, papa had gone to 
 town. He said he had called so soon in order to tell me 
 that the officer he had spoken of would part with the 
 horse, and would send it up for me to try. How nice of 
 him ! I told papa about it in the evening. The old dear 
 said that he knew the Colonel would not recommend 
 anything but a first-rate horse, and I might buy this one 
 if I liked him ; he would leave it all to me when the 
 veterinary surgeon had certified him as sound. And 
 before I went up stairs he gave me a cheque for a hundred 
 and twenty, and told me to see whether I could get the 
 horse for the money. I wanted papa to stop here and see 
 him ; but he has to go to France on business, and won't 
 be back for a week, so I have to look out for myself. 
 Mamma says she does not know anything about horses. 
 
 His. 
 
 Oct. 5. — Scaramouch was advertised as " carrying a 
 lady." But I don't always believe in horses' characters 
 when they are printed in catalogues ; so, after parade 
 to-day, I got Jenkins to ride him in the school with a rug 
 round his waist. Scaramouch went quite quietly. But 
 still I had a misgiving. He might fidget, or shy, and 
 throw that lovely girl. So I had a side-saddle put on 
 him, and fastened a rug round my waist, and got on him 
 
THEIR DIARIES. 119 
 
 myself. It was very uncomfortable, and I never cease 
 wondering how women manage to ride at all in such an 
 unnatural position. In the middle of my exercise 
 Donovan came in and burst out laugliing. I certainly 
 must have looked awfully ridiculous. However, in the 
 afternoon I started Jenkins off to lead Scaramouch over 
 to Duncombe Priory (it's only three miles), and then got 
 on old Peony myself to meet him there. It's a fine old 
 place, in the middle of a large park, beautifully kept. I 
 sent my card in, and was at once shown into a room all 
 panelled in oak, and looking very snug and comfortable. 
 Before I had had time to look about much the old lady 
 walked in, with my card in her hand. She looked as stiff 
 as a poker, and bowed ceremoniously. " May I ask what 
 has procured me the honour ? " she inquired, as if she did 
 not care about visitors. I felt rather a fool. " I have 
 come about a horse for Miss Lee," I stammered. " Oh ! 
 I am sure we are much obliged to you. Pray sit down ; 
 my daughter will be in directly." And the next moment 
 the girl came in, looking as majestic as a princess, and as 
 graceful as a nymph. 
 
 " This is Lord Belvoir," said the mother, " of whom 
 Colonel Bruce spoke. He has been good enough to come 
 about the horse for you." I never felt such a fool in my 
 life. As far as my experience goes, mothers generally run 
 after a fellow, particularly if he has a handle to his name, 
 and girls are ready to be made love to. But Mrs. Lee 
 
120 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 almost snubbed me, and her daughter only bowed and 
 ^blushed most becomingly. I said the most stupid thing 
 I possibly could have said. "I think that I have had 
 the pleasure of meeting Miss Lee before." The mother 
 pricked up her ears like an old hunter when he hears the 
 hounds. " Where ? " she asked quite sharply, while Miss 
 Lee blushed more than ever. " You never told me, 
 Kate." I murmured that I had only met Miss Lee on 
 the London road, when out riding, but the old woman 
 looked suspicious, and evidently thought we had had a 
 flirtation somewhere. I only wish I had had the chance ! 
 I don't know how I got on, because somehow every word 
 seemed to stick in my throat, though I am not generally 
 shy with girls. But I could not take my eyes off Kate. 
 Her voice was soft and musical, and I hate a woman with 
 a loud or gruff voice. Her every movement was graceful, 
 and the little struggle she had to conceal her impatience 
 under company manners was pretty to behold. At last 
 I made ber understand that I had brought Scaramouch 
 for her to look at. " How good of you ! " she said. 
 " Mamma, I '11 go and see him at once." Off we went, 
 and I am thankful to say left the old lady behind. She 
 was afraid of the damp autumn air. Miss Lee sent for 
 the old coachman, and petted Scaramouch and gave him 
 sugar, and called him a dear pet, till I wished that I 
 could change places with him. Jenkins clumsily put in 
 a good word for me. "He will carry a lady beautiful, 
 
THEIR DIARIES. 121 
 
 Miss," said my batman. " His lordship rode him in the 
 school for an hour to-day with a rug round his waist 
 to try." Stupid ass ! Of course she said : " Oh ! how 
 kind of you, Lord Belvoir ; " but I know she thought 
 what a fool I must have looked in a lady's saddle with 
 a great rug hanging down. I asked her to keep Scara- 
 mouch for two or three days on trial, and if she liked 
 him, to keep him altogether. It was all arranged, and 
 we seemed to be getting on capitally, when Mrs, Lee 
 appeared with her head wrapped up in a shawl. Her 
 daughter told her how delighted she was with Scaramouch, 
 and what we had arranged. " Well," said Mrs. Lee, " I 
 don 't know anything about horses, and you had better 
 settle it as you please with Lord Belvoir. But what is 
 the horse to cost ? " I had forgotten all about the money, 
 and so, it appears, had she. Kate turned to me and said, 
 in a hesitating sort of voice, "I am dreadfully stupid. 
 Of course, I ought to have asked first. Scaramouch must 
 be a very expensive horse, I am sure." " Oh ! " I replied. 
 " I can settle that with Mr. Lee." " No," she said, "papa 
 has given me a cheque for £120, and I am to do every- 
 thing. I hope that is enough." "A great deal too 
 much," I answered ; " the horse cost £75, and I shall 
 be delighted if you will take him at that price." " But 
 I am sure he is worth more," said Mrs. Lee, gazing at 
 him through her glasses, "though I am not a judge." 
 " I think that is his full value," I repeated ; " and he 
 
122 • HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 is not up to my weight (an awful story) ; lie will be 
 much happier here than with me." At last I went 
 away, not having been able to find anything to talk 
 about except snaffles and martingales, and how much 
 hay and oats he ought to have. I never was half so 
 stupid before. 
 
 Hers. 
 
 Oct. 5. — I have seen him. It is the same man, the 
 very one we met in the train, and on the road, and at 
 Jones's. And he is nicer to talk to than to look at, much 
 nicer. He brought over the horse for me to see, and I 
 saw his card. His name is Belvoir, Lord Belvoir. Mamma 
 does not like lords, and can't bear officers, and I don't 
 think I should like a nasty man, simply because he was a 
 lord. But if it is a nice man, I don't see why his being 
 a. lord should make me dislike him. And I always 
 rather like officers. Anyhow this one was very kind and 
 charming, and I think, I really think, that he is selling 
 his horse only to please poor little me. It is a most 
 delisrhtful horse : I shall ride him to-morrow. Lord Belvoir 
 was so thoughtful, and did not say anything that mamma 
 would not have liked. But mamma has been puzzling 
 all the evening as to where we met him before. She 
 does not remember seeing him when we went to Aunt 
 Sophy's. 
 
 Oct. 6. — I rode Scaramouch this morning : he is such a 
 
THEIR DIARIES. 123 
 
 darling. A baby could manage him, and he seems to 
 understand exactly what I want. So safe and pleasant 
 too. I am to keep him for a few days. 
 
 Oct. 9. — Papa arrived this morning, and looked at 
 Scaramouch, He thinks him too cheap. The Colonel 
 called in the afternoon, and they talked it over. The 
 Colonel said that Lord Belvoir is very well off, and cer- 
 tainly will not take more than the price he mentioned. The 
 Colonel says we had better return the politeness by asking 
 the young man to dinner. A very poor return, I think ; 
 but I hope he will come. Mamma did not seem to 
 care much about inviting him; she says she can't bear 
 soldiers, and a man who is a soldier and a lord as well 
 is sure to give himself airs. We will see. 
 
 Oct. 11. — He has accepted. I am afraid they are going 
 to have a big party to meet him. What a pity ! 
 
 His. 
 
 Oct. 11. — They have asked me to dinner, and I am 
 going. But I fear it will simply be a big spread. Never 
 mind, it will be a chance of knowing her better, and of 
 making arrangements for seeing her oftener in future. 
 
 Heks. 
 
 Oct. 18. — He came last night. Mamma would insist 
 on having fifteen people to dinner. She had arranged 
 that he was to take in Lady Clanronald, because she is 
 
124 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 pretty and lively, and recently married, and a swell ; but 
 he had the cheek to say that he would rather take me 
 in to dinner, and he did. Mamma was awfully angry, 
 but she could not say anything to him ; and papa was so 
 pleased with him that it was of no use talking against him. 
 I was very glad. He is nicer and nicer. He can play 
 and sing as well as ride. We are to go out cubbing 
 together ; but of course Frank will come too, and the 
 coachman. 
 
 Oct. 19. — Mamma says she won't let me go, and con- 
 siders my hunting altogether improper. She never ob- 
 jected to cubbing or anything before. I said I would 
 write and tell him I could not come, but mamma declared 
 she would do it herself And then after all she gave in, 
 though she grumbled a good deal, and told me to be 
 very careful. As if I should fall on Scaramouch ! Is 
 it likely? 
 
 His. 
 
 Oct. 18. — She is the prettiest girl, with the best 
 manners, I have ever met. Not a bit of nonsense about 
 her. Open as the day, straight as a die, simple, and 
 unspoiled. What next ? It was a very good dinner, 
 I believe ; but I paid more attention to her than to the 
 grub. The old woman wanted to shunt me with that 
 flirt Gerty Clanronald. No ! it was not good enough. 
 Going cubbing with her and her little brother on 
 Wednesday. She is very kind to the little devil. 
 
THEIR DIARIES. 125 
 
 Oct. 20. — Called to-day, as a visitc de digestion. Could 
 not decently go sooner, though I would have liked to 
 turn up the very next morning. The old lady does not 
 like me at all. She asked me what church I went to, 
 and whether I took a class at the Sunday school. It is 
 not in my line ; never was. I respect the people who do, 
 but cannot do it myself, and would rather not learn. 
 Felt more stupid than ever. Mrs. Lee would talk of a lot 
 of things I don't understand, and never gave me a chance 
 of a word with Kate. She is going to keep the horse, 
 of course ; I found that much out at any rate. Settled 
 to go cubbing on Wednesday, though the old woman 
 tried to make out that her daughter had a cold, and 
 that it was not safe, and that they were engaged 
 elsewhere, and all sorts of rubbishy 
 
 Hers. 
 
 Oct. 20. — He called to-day, and I almost think he looks 
 as nice in morning dress (" mufti " he calls it) as in 
 uniform. Mamma worried him about church matters, 
 and I think he was wonderfully patient ; answered all 
 her questions, and looked quite good. When he was gone 
 mamma said, " I don't trust that young man. He has the 
 eyes of an unbeliever." I do not know whether unbelievers 
 have bright brown eyes that look right through one, but 
 if so I would almost learn to like them. Why should 
 he be an unbeliever ? 
 
126 HUNT-ROOM STORIES. 
 
 His. 
 
 Oct. 21. — I can't make up my mind about it. It's a 
 big fence, but it's a beautiful country the other side. 
 Yet the filly might refuse ! She is so awfully straight- 
 forward and nice, and not a bit of a flirt. She might not 
 really like me a bit. And the old woman does not, I 
 am sure. Shall I face the fence and go at it ? 
 
 Hers. 
 
 Oct. 22. — We went cubbing this morning. Somehow 
 we lost George and the coachman in Beechwood, and he 
 actually asked me to be his wife. It was very sudden, 
 after so short an acquaintance. I said I must think it 
 over. I wanted to ask papa. 
 
 His. 
 
 Oct. 22. — I went at it, but I rode as clumsily as possible. 
 Heavy hands, no doubt, and went too fast. Nothing is 
 worse than rushing. She asked for time. What does 
 she mean ? Is there another fellow in the hunt,' or 
 does the mater object ? 
 
 Hers. 
 
 Oct. 23. — I never said a word to mamma, but went 
 
 straight to papa. He kissed me, and said I was a good 
 
 girl, and he would find out whether Lord Belvoir was 
 
 worthy of such a prize. Worthy indeed, of poor little me ! 
 
THEIR DIARIES. 127 
 
 He is a great deal too good for me. I said so, and I tiiink 
 I cried a little. But papa told me to dry my tears, and 
 to keep my own council, and then he went off to Cran- 
 borough. And he did not come back till tea, and he and 
 mamma have been having a long private talk. Oh dear, 
 oh dear ! I am afraid she won't let me. 
 
 Theiks. 
 Oct. 21. — We are engagedj-and quite happy. We have 
 been reading each other's diaries. Even mamma approves, 
 and there is nothing more to be said. 
 
YACHTING YAENS. 
 
YACHTING YAENS. 
 
 THE LAST CRUISE. 
 
 (1879.) 
 
 Wet and cold as the summer has been, and destructive 
 to the farmers' hopes, it has not passed entirely away 
 without a few days of sunshine and a few bright, moonlit 
 nights. Pleasure-seekers have, like the farmers, suffered 
 much, even though less seriously ; many have been forced 
 to spend less on their holiday, and many have not taken 
 one at all ; but still the majority have managed to throw 
 off the cares of work for a few weeks at least, and of 
 those who have done so none have, this terrible year, been 
 so favoured as the yachtsman. Not he of the Thames 
 and the Solent, who rejoiceth only in smooth waters 
 and light breezes, but the man who requires no captain 
 with a gold band round his cap to steer the yacht — the 
 one who gathers new life from the spray which splashes 
 his face, and, fearless of a swell, quits the ports " Saun- 
 terer" described as the head-quarters of the yachting 
 fleet of England, and wings his way to more distant 
 
 K 2 
 
132 THE LAST CEUISE. 
 
 shores across rougher seas. For him, this summer, rainy 
 and stormy as it was, has not been entirely joyless. 
 Seldom, indeed, has the sun shone down hotly on a glassy 
 sea, and still more rarely has a light north-easterly blown 
 steadily for days, bringing cloudless skies and wholesome 
 freshness. Heavy rains have followed strong gales, and 
 these, again, have been succeeded by squalls, with oc- 
 casional sunshine. Yet there has been generally wind 
 enough and to spare, and the want of wind is the greatest 
 misfortune which can befall the yachtsman who has not as 
 yet taken refuge in steam. Those who have shared and 
 those who have witnessed the regattas of the year have 
 therefore rejoiced, and few of the races degenerated into 
 drifting matches. But now the glory of the season is 
 over, and with the shortening days the graceful craft are 
 gradually seeking shelter in the creeks and harbours, 
 laying aside their " white wings " for the winter's sleep. 
 
 This year there was no counter-attraction to make the 
 yachtsman send his vessel to "lay up" on the 31st of 
 August. Generally the first half of September brings us, 
 in the south of England, the finest weather of the year ; 
 and even 1879 has been no exception. But these brilliant 
 days are of course devoted to the slaying of partridges ; 
 and many good sailors, being equally enthusiastic sports- 
 men, hasten from the decks to the turnips. This year, 
 however, as there are no birds to slay, the yachting 
 iseason, which began late, has been prolonged for a little ; 
 
THE LAST CRUISE. 133 
 
 and those who had the patience to battle with the heavy 
 showers of July and the fierce storms of August, were 
 rewarded by the gentle breezes and the warm air of early 
 September, As we glide gently over a rippled sea, the 
 full moon shining down from a pure sky, a bright, ever- 
 moving path stretches from the yacht to the horizon. 
 The little wavelets in her wake are caught by the moon's 
 rays, and a thousand tiny pale sapphires fall in quick 
 succession from her bows. There is just enough motion 
 to betray that we are not on shore, but on the ever- 
 changing sea ; no more. The brass stanchions and white 
 man-ropes stand out against the blackness of the ship's 
 shadow ; a tender light falls on the deck and on the 
 sails, softening the colours and toning down the glare 
 of the white canvas. The water flows past with a 
 gurgling murmur, which tells of swiftness, but not of 
 violence ; of quick silence, but not of danger. The 
 lamps from the cabin, tempered by the skylight, mark 
 a ruddy spot in the blue surroundings. We can look 
 out to sea and dream of Naples and the blue grotto of 
 Capri and Masaniello, and lo ! — the dream is continued 
 as the sweet southern fisher-song — 
 
 " In una notte 
 Cosi soave 
 All ! com' & dolce 
 Star sulla nave " — 
 
 sounds across the waters, to mingle with the flickering 
 
134 THE LAST CRUISE. 
 
 moonbeams, and to amaze the solitary hand on yonder 
 pilot cutter. As the last note dies away, the sailors, who 
 had crept a little way aft from the fore hatch to listen, 
 return to their pipes, and the stillness is undisturbed, save 
 by the murmur of the waters and the soft whispers of 
 that couple near the companion-way, which is perhaps 
 exchanging vows to be confirmed under another vault, 
 more confined than that of the starry heavens above. 
 No wonder, for the air is soft and full of love, and there 
 are no indiscreet eyes to peer under the shadow of the 
 mainsail, nor eager ears watchful for every word that falls. 
 Those two are far from the prying gaze of worldly gossips, 
 and the careful scrutiny of dower-hunting mothers. If 
 warm lips are kissed, what then ? We are listening only 
 to gentle rushing waters. If an arm steals round a 
 slender waist, what then ? We are looking away to 
 windward at the moonbeams on the sea. The gurgling 
 ripples hide, perchance, the beating of two hearts which 
 in the rush and clatter of the land would never have 
 heard each other. Perhaps the mainsail conceals what 
 the glare of a ball-room would have betrayed. But 
 what matter ? Can any harm come of a temporary 
 escape from the trammels of an overwrought life, from 
 the weary treadmill of work, and amusements more 
 wearisome than work ? Another moment, and the still- 
 ness is disturbed, for the cry sounds, " Light on the port 
 bow," and the skipper having made out his destination. 
 
THE LAST CEUISE. 135 
 
 cruelly calls out, "Eeady about." Over goes the boom 
 with a crash, and the lovers are rudely disturbed, their snug 
 nest behind the mainsail exposed to the full moonlight. 
 Then the steward from below summons all hands to a 
 prosaic, but necessary, repast. The dream is broken, 
 but let us hope that the reality remains. The vows 
 sealed under the shadow of the sheltering canvas, under 
 the twinkling stars, are surely strong enough to bear 
 the lamplight of the cabin and the tossing of the curlino- 
 waves : they will hold against the ruder billows of the 
 world's contempt, and will brave the storms of the shore, 
 which are more severe, more pitiless, than those of the 
 ocean. 
 
 And as the sun rises, a globe of fire, from the sea, and 
 the mystic light gives way to the red glare of morning ; 
 as the vessel bends to the freshening breeze and the sails 
 fill — the landsman wonders how he could wakefuUy watch 
 through the night without the excitement of dancing, 
 and music, and thronged staircases, and lively epigrams, 
 and hot, crowded supper-rooms. He is neither exhausted 
 nor weary ; a calm contentment steals o'er him, and the 
 waves rock him to sleep in the tiny cabin, to awake in 
 port, at the end of " The Last Cruise." 
 
YACHTING ECCENTRICITIES. 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 ! 
 
 It is now high time to lay our vessel up, and to make 
 everything snug for the winter. The days are getting 
 short and the nights cold. There is not much fun in 
 sailing when you have to shiver on deck in a drizzling 
 mist, and when it becomes necessary to light the cabin 
 fire. Yet some enthusiastic yachtsmen whom I know 
 never desert their vessel even in the winter. They bring 
 her up the Thames to Erith or Greenhithe, and live on 
 board as if they were ashore. They put on dress clothes 
 and go to the play, just catching the last train down at 
 Charing Cross. They often attend evening parties and 
 balls, and seldom ask their friends for a bed, as a cabman 
 can be generally found willing to drive any distance at 
 any hour for a sufficient remuneration. However, when it 
 is possible, they disappear about midnight, to turn up 
 again the next afternoon, making calls like other people, 
 who dwell on terra firma. They sometimes ask friends to 
 dinner, and send their boat to meet them at the pier, 
 when the snug cabin will be found well-warmed and 
 
YACHTING ECCENTRICITIES. 137 
 
 well-lighted, and the yacht almost as " wet " inside as out. 
 I knew a man of this sort who was the happy owner of a 
 fat old thirty-tonner, which was to him house and home. 
 She was, like most of the old boats, ballasted with iron, 
 but on the occasion of a great wine sale, at which many 
 good brands of Burgundy and champagne were sold at 
 very low prices, my friend purchased a great many dozen, 
 and vowed to get rid of the iron, which, as he said, was 
 lumbering up his vessel and occupying a quantity of room 
 which might have been better employed. He took up the 
 floors and substituted for the pigs a hundred and thirty 
 dozen of champagne, sparkling Moselle, and Burgundy. It 
 was asserted that the vessel was afterwards not in such good 
 trim ; but whatever truth there may be in this assertion, it 
 cannot be gainsaid that my friend was in very good trim 
 indeed until all the hundred and thirty dozen had been con- 
 sumed. When any one came on board, the carpet on the 
 main cabin floor was instantly turned back, and some 
 planks, kept loose on purpose, lifted. There were the 
 vintages of France and Germany beautifully laid in rows 
 in a bed of sawdust, filling the vessel from side to side, 
 and extending downwards as far as her keelson. On the 
 port side was sparkling Moselle, on the starboard, cham- 
 pagne. Burgundy amidships. There was therefore no 
 difficulty in putting his hand on the wine required. But 
 a certain difficulty soon arose in connection with this novel 
 and distinctly expensive ballast. The vessel's trim, of 
 
138 YACHTING ECCENTRICITIES. 
 
 course, rapidly altered with the consumption of the fluid, 
 and a few " wet " nights might have made so important a 
 difference that the first breeze would have capsized her, 
 crank as she was aheady. However, my friend's ingenuity 
 was fully equal to the occasion. Every " dead man " was 
 instantly handed to the steward, whose duty it was after 
 he had ascertained by personal and close inspection that 
 no wine was left in the bottle, to re-fill it with water, cork 
 it carefully, and replace it in the hold. The steward, 
 who was not as clever as his master, used at first to push 
 his precautions so far as to seal each bottle up. But this 
 led to unpleasant consequences. Tor having asked a 
 jovial party on board, my friend, having ascertained their 
 wishes with regard to wine, lifted up the cabin floor as 
 usual, and placing two black bottles on the table, ex- 
 claimed, " There ! I am sure you will call that splendid 
 Burgundy." Just then, something or another in the river 
 fouled the yacht, and the host went on deck to exchange 
 polite courtesies with the owner of the guilty craft. 
 While he was absent, his friends, of course, filled their 
 glasses, and when he reappeared th-ey were sitting before 
 some tawny liquid which they did not appear to be 
 enjoying to any extraordinary extent. " Well," exclaimed 
 he, "how do you like the wine? Al, isn't it?" His 
 friends hesitated, but one of them, gaining courage, at 
 last said, " I wish you would try it. I rather fancy there 
 must be something wrong with this bottle." " Try it, of 
 
YACHTING ECCENTRICITIES. 139 
 
 course I will," exclaimed the owner, filling his glass ; " it 
 does look lighter than usual." He had hardly set it to his 
 
 lips when he exclaimed, " Why, d n it, it's sea water. 
 
 Here,, you infernal fool, Jim, what the h — 11 have you 
 been doing ? " and it then appeared that James, in his 
 anxiety to replace the ballast which had been drunk, had 
 at once filled up the bottles of Burgundy without rinsing 
 them. It need hardly bemadded that a more genuine 
 wine was soon produced, and that in future the bottles 
 containing water were no longer sealed. 
 
 There was a piano on board this vessel, and dulcet 
 strains, continued to the small hours, not unfrequently 
 attracted the attention of the watch in surrounding craft, 
 and roused sleepers from their slumbers. On one occasion, 
 the owner of a yacht moored close by became very irate 
 and sent on board to inquire " when that rov/ would be 
 stopped." My friend replied by a very polite message, 
 requesting Mr. S. to come and stop it himself. Very soon 
 we again heard the splashes of oars, and Mr. S. ascended 
 the gangway, swearing audibly, "Where's the owner? 
 It's disgusting that a fellow caii't spend a night on board 
 his vessel without being disturbed by a lot of heathens 
 singing all night. I shall speak to the Thames Conser- 
 vancy." Mr. S. was politely asked below, and on aiTiving 
 there my friend rose with great solemnity, and welcomed 
 
 him on board. "D n you, sir," exclaimed the irate 
 
 S. ; " what the devil — " " I beg your pardon, Mr. S.," 
 
140 YACHTING ECCENTRICITIES. 
 
 answered the host, "will you favour me with sitting 
 down ? I shall be very happy to explain, but before 
 attending to business I must really beg you to take a 
 glass of wine." " But, sir — " " Excuse me, Mr. S. ; 
 pardon my interrupting you, but permit me to introduce 
 my friends to you. Mr. S., Lord A. ; Mr. S., the Marquis 
 of B." Now A, and B. were no more lords than they 
 were legislators ; the titles were purely invented on the 
 spot. But Mr. S. was a little taken aback, and had only 
 just time to mutter, " But, really — " when my friend again 
 broke in, " What wine do you prefer, Mr. S. ? Champagne, 
 Ruinart, pere et fils, or Burgundy (real Romance, I assure 
 you), or Nonpareil Moselle ? All are on the table. Or 
 would you like a drop of the craythur better? Now, no 
 refusal ! We can talk business afterwards. A., old fellow, 
 just hand the Moselle this way. B., dear boy, do fetch 
 Mr. S. a glass." B. rushed to the pantry, bringing back 
 a huge tumbler, and a large thin champagne-glass, while 
 S. could hardly believe his eyes, and felt utterly con- 
 founded by being waited on by a real marquis. " Really, 
 my lord," he began, " I don't know what to say ; allow 
 me — " " Nonsense, sir," chimed in the host ; " we are all 
 equal here. You are a friend of mine, and so I am sure 
 their lordships will treat you as one of themselves." 
 "Certainly," said B., who was gradually recovering his 
 sang froid. " Have a glass of something. / always prefer 
 Burgundy, but Lord A. sticks to fizz. Then we'll have 
 
YACHTING ECCENTRICITIES. 141 
 
 a song." So poor S. was obliged to swallow his anger 
 with a glass brimful of Ruinart; and it may well be 
 imagined that he did not return to the subject which had 
 brought him on board. Very soon the host exclaimed, 
 " Now, Marquis, give us that song you promised us," and 
 S, listened with some amusement and great patience to a 
 noisy music-hall ballad, and himself joined in the chorus, 
 for it made all the difference of course, whether it was 
 roared out by a couple of plebeians or by two real live 
 lords. Glass followed glass, and song followed song. 
 Cigars were pressed on the unwilling S., whose boat had 
 been meanwhile sent back to his family craft with the 
 
 message that Mr. was going to stay on board and 
 
 make a night of it. She soon returned, the men saying 
 that Mrs. S. had sent them for their master. But by this 
 time the poor man was far advanced in his cups. He was 
 shaking hands violently with his hospitable entertainer, 
 saying, " Thank you, old feller — very kind of you — glad to 
 see you on board ; letsh enjoy ourselves — good fellow, the 
 Marquish, so is Lord A., but not such a good feller as the 
 Marquish." So the boat went away without him ; and as 
 the dawn began to steal over the March sky the keen 
 wind became sensible even in the snug cabin, S. was 
 gently lifted by three pair of stalwart arms over the side, 
 still murmuring, " Good feller, the Marquish, very good 
 feller." How he was hauled on board his own yacht, and 
 what reception he met with there, we never ascertained ; 
 
J 42 YACHTING ECCENTRICITIES. 
 
 but he no longer attempted to interfere with our legitimate 
 (?) amusements. 
 
 Another seafaring character I knew had a mania for 
 shooting, which he combined with yachting in all sorts of 
 ingenious ways. A bottle on the bowsprit end was the 
 favourite sport when no birds were to be had. It is not 
 so easy to break one attached to the end of this spar by 
 a line two feet long as might at first be supposed. The 
 yacht pitches or rolls, and the bowsprit does not seem to 
 bob with the yacht, so although the distance is absurdly 
 short, there are more misses than hits. Each competitor 
 used to pay a shilling into a pool, and the best of ten shots 
 took the lot. It was all very well at first, but after a time 
 the deck hands used to get a little tired of climbing out to 
 attach fresh bottles to the end of the bowsprit, and when 
 a little liquor was going, the competitors frequently 
 volunteered to do it themselves. The result was, on more 
 than one occasion, a cold bath, and, though life-buoys 
 were handy, and the boat towing astern, the amusement 
 was hardly to be recommended as absolutely safe. When 
 off the Devonshire coast my friend was, of course, in his 
 element. Popping right and left between the islands he 
 used to bring on board huge bags of gulls, curlews, and 
 every imaginable bird. Hardly one was ever fit to eat, 
 but the vessel was made to resemble a shamble by the 
 process of curing and cleaning the feathers, which he 
 pursued with uninterrupted industry. 
 
THE ORDEAL. 
 
THE ORDEAL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE "APHRODIT E." 
 
 " Heee are the men ! Let them take your things. Be 
 careful of the step, Mrs. Kingsworth, the platform is not 
 high enough. Dubois will look after your maid." 
 
 With these words Mr. Ansdell helped two ladies from the 
 train on the narrow platform of the Southampton Docks 
 Station. The speaker was a middle-aged man, of moderate 
 height, slightly inclined to stoutness. His face was round, 
 jovial, and lighted up by a pair of bright black eyes, which 
 darted quick glances in every direction — eyes watchful and 
 meny, but frank and open. His cheeks and chin were 
 clean shaven, while his grey moustache and the stray 
 locks of hair visible under his yachting cap gave his other- 
 wise youthful appearance the lie. He was dressed in blue 
 serge with the studied carelessness which betrays care. 
 
 The lady he handed out first was Miss Kingsworth, the 
 American beauty who had taken the inclosure at Ascot by 
 storm but a few weeks since. Alma Kingsworth was tall, 
 
 L 
 
146 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 well-grown, and faultlessly dressed in a suit of dark seaside 
 blue, with narrow red braid laid on to relieve the sombreness 
 of tlie costume. A sailor's hat covered with shiny black 
 stuff was set forward on her pretty head, which she carried 
 erect with an air of self-possession and courage which not 
 even her female enemies — for she had no male ones — could 
 call pertness or assurance. She did not wear the huge pile 
 of hair and cushions on the top of her head which is so 
 much affected by some of our Transatlantic cousins; her 
 fair hair was simply twisted into a plain knot. A certain 
 quickness of movement and slenderness without angularity 
 were, possibly, points in which she might differ from a 
 genuine English girl. Most of our young ladies are either 
 well-formed strapping damsels, who promise some day to 
 develop into portly matrons, or they have a tendency to 
 spareness which art has not taught them to convert into 
 supple grace. Alma was certainly slight, and her complexion 
 was paler than might have been thought consistent with 
 perfect health. But she dressed and moved about like a 
 Parisian who has gone through a dozen seasons, although 
 she had only seen one in New York and one in London, 
 She had a nose slightly — very slightly — aquiline, bright 
 hazel eyes with long lashes under well-marked arched 
 eyebrows, a mouth admirably cut, but by no means small, 
 displaying two rows of the whitest teeth, and a chin 
 which was anything but weak. No description, however, 
 can portray the indefinable charm which fascinated the 
 
THE "APHRODITE." 147 
 
 most l)las(i of London men and elicited expressions of 
 admiration even from the 'beauties whom she edipsed. There 
 was something new and strange about her frankness and 
 nalveU, combined with culture and power of conversation, 
 which attracted almost everybody, and many women said 
 that " they could not make her out." In Washington she 
 might have created little sensation, as she was only a very 
 , good example of the best type of American beauties ; but in 
 England we are not yet accustomed to these young ladies, 
 who appear to unite the shrewdness and knowledge of 
 a woman of fifty to the grace and freshness of early 
 girlhood. 
 
 Mrs. Kingsworth, her mother, was nothing but Alma's 
 mother. She would talk nicely and sensibly, nay, sometimes 
 volubly ; she was gentle and pleasant and good-natured, 
 but she let her daughter do exactly as she pleased, sub- 
 mitted entirely to her judgment, and never presumed to 
 have an opinion of her own. She was the widow of an 
 enterprising American financier whose affairs were found 
 in some confusion when he died. There was enough money 
 for the two women to live in comfort, but not enough to 
 keep a large house at Washington, or to entertain in the 
 style Alma would have desired. The young lady was no 
 heiress ; the moderate fortune Mrs. Kingsworth possessed 
 was entirely her own, and what the father had left be- 
 longed to her only brother, who had settled at " 'Frisco " 
 and was supposed to be getting on well. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Mr. Ansdell was also an American ; but a sojourn of many- 
 years in Europe had almost entirely destroyed every trace 
 of his origin. He might have been, and often was, taken for 
 a distinguished Englishman who had spent much time on 
 the Continent. He called himself a cosmopolitan, and was 
 as much at home at the Orleans as in the French Jockey 
 Club : as comfortable in the Prater at Vienna as in Hyde 
 Park. The only country he did not wish to live in was his 
 own ; yet he was kind and hospitable to any Americans 
 sent to him by friends across the water. Mr. Ansdell 
 occupied handsome chambers near St. James's : he was a 
 member of some of the best clubs, and his very large fortune 
 enabled him to run racehorses, and to give his friends the 
 best of shooting in Norfolk without exceeding his income. 
 For some years he had been much sought after by enter- 
 prising mothers of portionless girls, but it had now been 
 long accepted that Mr. Ansdell was a confirmed old bachelor. 
 It was perfectly understood that ladies would be asked to 
 mount his drag and to make use of his box at Ascot, to 
 join his dinner parties at Greenwich, and to tea and straw- 
 berries in his pretty rooms, but that he was not a marrying 
 man. It was only a very silly or very inexperienced 
 person who would, in recent times, have dreamt of setting 
 traps for Mr. Ansdell ; and he was quite sharp enough to 
 avoid them. Years were advancing on him, and young 
 ladies had come to consider him as qviite old, while their 
 mothers Lad to admit that he was certainly elderly. So he 
 
THE "APHRODITE." 149 
 
 could now enjoy himself among his friends, and invite 
 people of both sexes and every age, without arrUre 
 pensde. 
 
 This summer Mr. Ansdell had determined to take a 
 longer trip than usual in his schooner, the Aphrodite. 
 He was a little tired of the Solent, and the " Cowes weet,' 
 and thought that a cruise further to sea would be a 
 pleasant change. The one difficulty was to form an 
 agreeable party, for it is no easy task to bring together 
 half a dozen people who are not likely to fall out when 
 confined for weeks to the limited space of even a large 
 yacht. Mr. Ansdell had no notion of filling his boat with 
 a crowd ; on a pleasure cruise, he thought, every one 
 ought 'to be as comfortable as possible, for discomfort 
 breeds ill-humour and quarrels. Finally, therefore, he 
 invited Charles Clitheroe, a bright young fellow who was 
 supposed to have been in the Foreign Office, but, in fact, 
 had abandoned diplomacy for journalism and literature 
 generally, and had created some sensation by a recent 
 work called " Our Future Faith," in which he had success- 
 fully combined a little philosophy, and a little theology, 
 with a great deal of worldly wit, so that those of the 
 fashionable people who called themselves " thinkers," 
 began to believe that a new Apostle had appeared amongst 
 them. Clitheroe had a small fixed income, and was 
 believed to be making money by his works. The other 
 guest was the Hon. Reginald Audley, the eldest son of 
 
150 THE OEDEAL. 
 
 Lord Edgware. Audley was well off, and would be very 
 rich some day: he was a capital companion, a thorough 
 sportsman, and able to make himself generally pleasant 
 and useful ; his good looks, too, were undeniable. 
 
 These five, all warranted to be good sailors, composed 
 the Aphrodite party. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 EAELY DAYS. 
 
 *' How nice the men look," remarked Mrs. Kingsworth, 
 taking Mr. Ansdell's proffered arm; "I hope they will 
 take care of our boxes." 
 
 "Dubois will look after them," replied Mr. Ansdell. 
 " He is very careful, and knows how to deal with ladies' 
 things. Don't be anxious. Is your maid a good sailor? " 
 
 "We hope so," answered the lady. "Alma engaged her 
 before we went to Paris in the winter, and she was not 
 ill when we crossed." 
 
 " Where is she ? " 
 
 " Brayger is looking to the luggage with Mr. Ansdell's 
 servant," Alma interposed. "We can leave them to take 
 care of themselves and it." 
 
 The still surface of Southampton Water was glowing 
 in the evening sun when they reached the pier. The 
 taper masts of the yachts stood out black against the 
 golden sky, and the burgees were hanging down almost 
 motionless. A six-oared gig was waiting at the steps, 
 
152 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 her hull brightly varnished, the Squadron burgee gaily 
 enamelled on her bow, her stern sheets comfortably filled 
 with cushions, and her crew, all in white, with " Aphro- 
 dite" marked on the front of their jerseys, and appearing 
 in gold on the ribbons of their straw hats. They saluted 
 respectfully as the party approached. "Shove off," said 
 Mr. Ansdell, when he had taken up the steering lines 
 and the ladies were settled comfortably on either side 
 of him with their bags, shawls, and sunshades. "Give 
 way ! 
 
 And at the word the five oars, hitherto held up in one 
 vertical line, dropped into the water simultaneously, and 
 the gig shot out from under the shade of the pier into 
 the bright surface beyond. 
 
 " Which is the ApJirodite ? " asked Alma. 
 " That schooner to your left, just behind the steamer 
 with a yellow funnel," answered Mr. Ansdell, 
 
 " Oh ! I see her. Look, mamma," exclaimed the girl, 
 " how pretty the yacht is ! " 
 
 The Aphrodite was indeed a vessel of which any one 
 might be proud. She was a fore and aft schooner of 
 about a hundred and seventy tons, a powerful craft holding 
 a medium place between the old-fashioned heavy cruiser 
 and the modern racing machine. She had a large free- 
 board, but a gold line and the graceful curves of her 
 bow and stern took off from her height out of water, A 
 little golden goddess, her figure-head, seemed to float over 
 
EARLY DAYS. 153 
 
 the ripple of the tide caused by her cutwater. The 
 ladder was out, and the captain, with a gold band round 
 his cap, stood at the gangway ready to hand the ladies 
 the white man-ropes. As they pulled up alongside, and 
 Mr. Ansdell said, " Way enough," Alma recognised in 
 two figures standing behind the captain, Clitheroe and 
 Audley, both of whom she had met before. The former 
 pushed forward eagerly to ^hake hands as soon as she 
 stepped on the deck, while Audley was busy handing 
 up all the small requisites, which had been stowed in 
 the stern sheets. Not till everything had been taken 
 below, and the gig was hauled up on the davits, did he 
 approach the group on the quarter-deck, where the four 
 were all talking in an animated manner. Alma and her 
 mother greeted him warmly, and Mr. Ansdell then offered 
 to show the ladies their cabins, which were comfortable 
 and private. In the steerage was a small retreat for 
 Mrs. Brayger, the indispensable maid, who shortly after- 
 wards came alongside in the steam cutter with the heavy 
 luggage. Until dinner time the sunny decks of the 
 Aphrodite were dotted with black trunks of all sizes and 
 shapes ; and it was late ere even a semblance of order 
 was brought about, though the mate and a " fatigue party " 
 did their best to meet Brayger's wishes. That lady was 
 scandalised at the limited space at her disposal, and 
 retired to her supper in no very amiable mood. Mean- 
 while a very merry dinner was going on in the bright 
 
154 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 main cabin, brilliantly lighted and decorated with flowers. 
 Dubois waited on them; he was a brisk, good-natured 
 Frenchman, who had been all over the world, and, unlike 
 most of his fellow-countrymen, did his work as well in 
 a rough sea-way as in harbour. A cook and a cabin-boy 
 made up the staff. The principal subject of discussion at 
 dinner was their next destination ; and after some doubts 
 and suggestions, it was resolved to begin with a cruise to 
 the westward, the wind being in a favourable quarter. 
 
 " High water is at eleven to-morrow," said Mr. Ansdell, 
 when dinner was over ; " we ought to get under way about 
 nine. Look over your things, ladies, and see if there is 
 anything you want from shore before we start. We must 
 send for provisions, and leave directions at the post-office 
 for forwarding letters." 
 
 Of course, next morning, there turned out to be a long 
 list of wants, and it was suggested that Alma should go on 
 shore with Brayger and the mate. But Mr. Ansdell was 
 too old a hand to permit this. He knew that if Miss 
 Kingsworth began shopping, they would certainly miss the 
 tide or have to leave her behind. So, after some badinage, 
 she gave way, and agreed that she could, if she were 
 obliged, entrust her commissions to Brayger. But that 
 was worse still. Brayger, uncontrolled, was sure to run 
 amuck in the High-street, and spend all day Above Bar. 
 Some one in authority must go with her ; but who ? 
 Audley volunteered at once ; and with many expressions 
 
EARLY DAYS. 155 
 
 of doubt as to his intelligence being sufficient for the task, 
 he at_last stepped into the boat with the ungracious Abigail. 
 Mr, Ansdell went below to write some last letters ; Mrs. 
 Kingsworth attempted to put things straight in the ladies' 
 cabin with the assistance of the boy ; and Mr. Clitheroe sat 
 on deck and smoked, and talked philosophy and theology to 
 Alma, who listened and talked also, while the men loosened 
 the covers from the sails, and hove the anchor short, and 
 hauled the tackle out of the sailroom, and got number two 
 jib ready, for it was very fine and sunny ; and after Mr. 
 Ansdell had poked his head out of the companion and 
 gazed anxiously to the pier more than once, and after the 
 captain had looked at his watch a dozen times and had 
 glanced towards shore, shading his face with his hand, a 
 boat at last appeared, laden almost to the gunwale, and 
 Audley climbed on deck, wiping his forehead and saying 
 " Well ; I've got back at last ; but I never thought we 
 should. Your maid wanted to buy a wardrobe with plate- 
 glass doors, to hang your dresses in. She said it would 
 stand on deck all riacht." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 BOTH. 
 
 A WEEK had passed, and the Aphrodite had called in 
 at Weymouth, had been laid to off Lulworth Cove, 
 while they explored it in the steam-cutter, had brought up 
 in Torbay, and had remained in Dartmouth a couple of 
 days for them to steam up the lovely Dart and drive to 
 the borders of the wild moor. So far, scarcely a cloud had 
 disturbed the serenity of the sky or of their party. Of 
 course it was evident that both the young men admired 
 Alma, but then every one admired Alma, and there was no 
 reason to suppose that either of them had been seriously 
 smitten. It was a splendid evening when, with a light air 
 off shore, the Aphrodite was heading for the Start under all 
 sail. Her boom was well over the quarter, and her deck 
 sloped but slightly to leeward as the towering white canvas 
 drove her through the calm sea. Tiny waves rustled 
 past her curved sides, and only the gentle flowing of the 
 water told that they were moving through it. It was the 
 pleasant hour after dinner when, as usual, Audley or Mr. 
 Ansdell took the helm so that they might have the quarter 
 
BOTH. 157 
 
 deck to themselves. Far away forward, sepai'ated by a 
 long length of deck glowing red in the evening light, were 
 a couple of hands looking out ; the rest were all " keeping 
 their watch below " — the servants at supper, and the 
 captain entertaining the party with forecastle yarns. Soon 
 Audley took the helm out of the owner's hand, saying, 
 " Now smoke your cigar quietly, Mr. Ansdell ; I'll keep 
 her going." 
 
 The ladies were reclining in comfortable deck chairs, 
 Mr. Ansdell and Clitheroe lighted their cigars, and all 
 became silent, feeling the soothing influence of the scene. 
 As the darkness increased a bright flash suddenly appeared 
 out on the beam. " What is that ? " asked Alma, half 
 alarmed. 
 
 " Only the Start lighthouse," answered Audley. " If 
 you look to the left, just ahead of the fore rigging, you 
 will see the Eddystone directly." 
 
 Just then Dubois put his head up. " Tea is ready, if 
 you please, madam," he said, addressing Mrs. Kingsworth ; 
 " will you have it on deck or below ? " 
 
 " I am getting a little chilly," said the lady, " and will 
 go below." She rose and moved to the companion, Mr. 
 Ansdell following. The other two also got up, leaving 
 Audley at the helm. The companion was nearly amid- 
 ships, and before Alma reached it, Clitheroe said, " Don't go 
 below yet, Miss Kingsworth ! You are not cold, are you ? " 
 
 " Oh no," replied the girl. 
 
158 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 " Then come and look at the lighthouse for a minute." ■ 
 
 They moved over to the weather side and leant against 
 the bulwarks. 
 
 " It is very beautiful," murmured Alma, gazing on the 
 dark waters, over which, in the distance, flashed the 
 brilliant light, while the stars were appearing one by 
 one, and the high Devonshire cliffs loomed black against 
 the sky. 
 
 " That light guides our way, though we are not steering 
 towards it," said Clitheroe. " If we were to make straight 
 for it, the Aphrodite would go to pieces on the rocks. It 
 is like man's ideal." 
 
 " How ? " inquired Alma. 
 
 " Why, thus," replied the young man. " We strive and 
 strive for our ideal, but the best of us fortunately don't 
 reach it. If we did, we should go to pieces on the rocks 
 of overweening pride and gratified conceit. Some do ; and 
 see what pompous, overbearing beasts they are. Morally 
 they are shipwrecked." 
 
 " A funny notion," said Alma. " And it depends upon 
 the direction of the ideal. I do not think the comparison 
 quite successful." 
 
 " Perhaps not. Perhaps," continued Clitheroe, " I should 
 say that the light rather resembles a beautiful and clever 
 woman, who lights up the path of an aspiring man. She 
 shows him which way he should go, though the way need 
 not necessarily lead to her." 
 
BOTH. 159 
 
 " That is better," remarked Alma. " He continues in 
 the right track as long as the light remains in view, 
 and then he drifts off again. At least most men seem 
 to do that, and many pilots, too, I believe." 
 
 " Yes, but not all. The light may be obscured for a 
 moment, but it reappears again ; and even if it did 
 not, the mariner would know its bearing." 
 
 " Mariners may, but how about the men ? " 
 
 "The men?" said Clitheroe. "Oh! no doubt they 
 are mostly quite as foolish as you fancy them. But 
 not all. Miss Kingsworth, not all. I, for instance — for- 
 give my being egotistical — have been groping about for 
 years seeking my beacon, my guiding star." 
 
 ** Have you ? " asked Alma, quite seriously. " By 
 your last book, I should have thought you had long 
 since discovered it ; at any rate I hope you will soon 
 find it." 
 
 " I Jiam found it, Miss Kingsworth ! At last I have 
 found that brilliant light which, if I can only keep it 
 in view, will illumine my path in the world. Miss 
 Kingsworth," he continued, seizing her hand, "can you 
 not guess whom I mean ? The ideal I have so long 
 sought for is now by my side ! Alma ! will you remain 
 by it ? " 
 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Clitheroe ? " gasped the 
 astonished girl. 
 
 "In the language of the world, I mean, will you be 
 
160 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 my wife ? " said Clitheroe, " In my own language, will 
 you guide my path in literature, may I look to you to 
 inspire me, may I regard you as my ideal and my 
 goddess ? I am not at all insane," he continued, volubly^ 
 "and know what I am asking. I feel that I have 
 done something in the world, but I could do more^ 
 much more, with such a one to help me as you." 
 
 " I'm afraid I could not help much," answered Alma 
 withdrawing her hand, half amused at his egotism. 
 
 " Ah, but wait ! listen. The fate I ask you to share 
 is not that of a mere Bohemian ! You would be rich 
 in many pleasures, if not in money. I have achieved 
 but the first rung of the ladder ; but if you help me 
 to ascend it, you will ascend it with me. Your life 
 would be spent in its proper sphere ; all that is clever 
 and interesting and beautiful would surround you." 
 
 " Let us go down stairs," said Alma, who never could 
 remember the proper nautical expression, 
 
 " What ! without your giving me an answer ? " ex- 
 claimed Clitheroe. " Miss Kingsworth — Alma ! I adore 
 you; tell me that you do not reject me." 
 
 " I want my tea ! " the girl remarked. 
 
 " Tea ! " And he could not help throwing a certain 
 contempt into the word, " While I am struggling for 
 my light, my star, my very life ! Miss Kingsworth, please 
 o'ive me a word — and do not let it be No ! " 
 
 " Well," replied Alma, as she placed her little foot 
 
BOTH. 161 
 
 on the first step of the comptoion ; " I won't say No, 
 then, I will think it over. You have taken me by- 
 surprise, and I am not prepared to answer to-night. I 
 will tell you another evening." 
 
 " When ? " cried Clitheroe, seizing her hand almost 
 roughly. 
 
 "Well, this day week, then," answered the girl, 
 disappearing. 
 
 Five minutes later, both the young men appeared in the 
 main cabin, the mate having relieved Audley, who, from 
 his position at the helm, had not been able to tell what 
 had been going on. But Alma was very silent, and 
 watched Clitheroe closely. He talked just as usual, in 
 the tone of somewhat cynical fun usual to him, and 
 amused the party by an account of the last thought- 
 reading humbug's exposure. 
 
 The ladies retired early, and Audley remarked to 
 Mr. Ansdell when they paced the deck for a final 
 constitutional : 
 
 " The weather is likely to' change before morning. 
 The wind has fallen altogether, and I doubt whether 
 we shall get into Plymouth Sound till next ebb, if then. 
 We are drifting astern fast." 
 
 " How is the glass ? " inquired Mr. Ansdell. 
 
 " Fallen nearly half an inch since lunch. The skipper 
 has noticed it," continued Audley. " See ! " 
 
 A group of men were silently at work in the main 
 
 M 
 
162 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 rigging, and another lot forward. Shouting and stamping 
 at night were particularly obnoxious to Mr. Ansdell, 
 and they lowered the big topsails, and let down the 
 heavy yards, as quietly as if they had been feather- 
 beds. Jibs were shifted, and soon the foresail was 
 noiselessly hauled down, tied, and covered. 
 
 " May as well make all snug, sir," said the captain, 
 coming aft. " The sails are doing her no good, as there's 
 no wind at all. It's no use their flapping and heaving 
 about." 
 
 "Quite right, Osborne," remarked Mr. Ansdell; "and 
 it looks like a hard breeze before morning." 
 
 " I doubt we might get a little wind," answered the 
 seaman, looking out over the port beam. " However, 
 we'll be comfortable enough now." 
 
 In the night Audley was awakened by the tramp of 
 footsteps over his head, and turned out to see what was 
 going on. He was met by a violent pelt of rain, and 
 could scarcely see his hand before him. They were 
 housing topmasts, and putting a reef down in the mainsail. 
 There was not much wind yet, but the captain was 
 mindful of the old adage — 
 
 " When the rain comes before the wind 
 Stand by and well yonr topsails mind." 
 
 Out of the showers the Start light still shone at 
 intervals, and it was now over the starboard bow, proving 
 that they had drifted astern several miles. 
 
BOTH. 163 
 
 The morning was rough and gloomy. The Aphrodite 
 was phmging violently against a short, angry sea, and the 
 wind being strong from the south-west, the captain was 
 making short tacks on and off. They were, however, 
 gradually working to the westward. Breakfast was served 
 under difficulties ; Brayger was groaning in her cabin, and 
 Clitheroe did not appear at all, though he sent a message 
 to say he was not at all sick-^quite an unnecessary piece 
 of information, as no one believed it. Mr. Ansdell and 
 Mrs. Kingsworth declared that they would spend the 
 morning in the cabin ; but Audley donned his sou' -wester, 
 sea-boots, and waterproof, and went to take a turn at the 
 tiller. In a short time he was surprised to see Alma 
 emerge from the companion. 
 
 " I am tired of that cabin," she said, staggering aft 
 with the assistance of one of the men who had sprung 
 to help her. " May I stop on deck, Mr, Audley ? " 
 
 " Certainly, if you do not mind getting wet. Wait a 
 moment : I will make you comfortable." 
 
 He called out for some one to take the ship, and then 
 lashed a chair against the bulwark. " Sit there," he 
 said, helping her across the slippery deck. And then, as a 
 sea struck the weather beam and the spray came flying 
 over, he got an oilskin and covered her up altogether, so 
 that no water could possibly hurt her. Then he sat down 
 on the wet boards at her feet, and though the Aphrodite 
 plunged, and the seas came over every two minutes, 
 
 M 2 
 
164 THE OEDEAL. 
 
 and though the wind howled and the boom creaked 
 Audley felt happier than he had been for some time. 
 
 He could not refrain from a disparaging remark about 
 Clitheroe, who had not yet appeared. Miss Kingsworth 
 rather stood up for him. " We are not all fitted for the 
 same pursuits, Mr. Audley," she remarked. 
 
 " No indeed we are not/' he assented, cleverly changing 
 the subject ; "I have often thought how different must 
 be your own life in New York, for instance, to that of 
 English ladies at home." 
 
 " Very different indeed," said Alma. " We are all town 
 mice in New York and Washington, though we may go to 
 the seaside or to the mountains in the hot months." 
 
 ** Have you considered. Miss Kingsworth," continued 
 Audley, " how you would like to settle down in England 
 in a comfortable country home on an estate of your 
 own ? " 
 
 " No," answered Alma, simply ; " I have never thought 
 about it." 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Audley. 
 
 " Well, I suppose, because it is not likely to happen," 
 replied the girl ; " why should I bother my head about 
 such a thing ? " 
 
 " Because you can realise it at any moment, if you 
 like," said Audley. 
 
 Alma opened her eyes wider, notwithstanding the salt 
 sea water which still occasionally came over. 
 
BOTH. 165 
 
 "Dear MisS' Kingsworth," Audley went on, hesitating 
 a little, " I had not intended, perhaps, to speak quite 
 so soon, but " 
 
 Alma did not help him by a word. 
 
 " But the chance is too good to be lost," he burst out. 
 
 " Because I am tied up here like a mummy," exclaimed 
 Alma, now guessing what was coming.' " Oh, don't go 
 on, Mr. Audley." 
 
 "Yes; now I must," answered he. "I — I love you 
 very dearly. Miss Kingsworth, and if you will only like 
 me a little, you will make me the happiest man alive ! " 
 
 There ! he had taken the plunge, and it was not so 
 awful, after all. 
 
 " I am surprised," began Alma — but he interrupted her : 
 
 " Oh ! " he went on, " I am not half clever enough 
 for you, I know, and not good enough. But I will try 
 and make you happy. My father and mother would be 
 delighted to have such a daughter, and we should do all 
 we could for you and your mother, so that you might like 
 England better than America. Dear Alma, will you say 
 yes ? " 
 
 " Beg your pardon, sir," interrupted the captain, at a 
 most inopportune moment, " will you kindly move the 
 lady to the starboard side ? We're going about ; we can 
 weather the head of the breakwater now." 
 
 The spell was broken. Audley had to assist Alma to 
 
166 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 rise, and to remove the tight oilskiu. She became her 
 own mistress again, and at once tried to bolt for the 
 companion. 
 
 " Will you not answer me ? " he asked imploringly. 
 
 " I can't to-day. Wait for a week," she replied, 
 descending the stairs. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Some rough days followed ; the Aphrodite rode them out 
 quietly in the Tamar, and our party spent their time very 
 pleasantly, though not as privately as the young men 
 might have wished. For there were friends of Audley's 
 on the Channel Fleet, just then anchored in the Sound, 
 and there were friends of Mr. Ansdell in the neighbour- 
 hood. So they had to dine ashore ; and there was a ball 
 on board the Lord Warden, and an afternoon party in 
 a charming house in the valley of the Tavy, and there 
 were other dissipations of a like nature. Alma had to 
 rebuke each of her lovers once, and once only, for not 
 patiently waiting till the week had expired. They were 
 both on the tenterhooks of anxiety, and neither suspected 
 that the other had proposed. 
 
 At last the barometer rose, the sky cleared, and sailing 
 orders were given. It was on the morning of the seventh 
 day that the A^fhrodite was heeling over to a fine northerly 
 wind, making her eight knots an hour as she ran along 
 
168 • THE ORDEAL. 
 
 the Cornish coast, bound for the Scilly Islands. That 
 evening Clitheroe would come for his answer; next 
 morning at latest she would have to give a reply to 
 Audley. Alma was in sore perplexity. After breakfast 
 she whispered to Mr. Ansdell — 
 
 " Will you come on deck ? I have something to ask 
 
 you." 
 
 Her courteous host, of course, at once assented. 
 
 " I want your advice, Mr. Ansdell," she said, taking his 
 arm, and leading him to the comfortable place close to 
 the davits, where the friendly foresail concealed them 
 from view. 
 
 " I will give it with pleasure, if I can do any good," 
 replied Ansdell. " What is it, dear Miss Kingsworth ? " 
 
 Alma blushed. " It's a delicate matter," she began. 
 
 Ansdell's quick black eyes looked into hers. 
 
 " What ? " he asked. " Which of them ? " 
 
 She was almost glad that he understood so quickly. 
 But it was not easy to reply. 
 
 " Well," he inquired, after a pause, " which of my 
 young friends has proposed to you ? He is a lucky dog, 
 at all events, for I see by your face that you are almost 
 inclined to say Yes." 
 
 " But I can't marry both of them ! " Alma suddenly 
 blurted out. 
 
 " Both ? of course not ! Have hoth of them asked you ? 
 Well, I can't be surprised, considering how entirely 
 
THE ORDEAL, 169 
 
 fascinating you are. Why I am nearly fifty, and yet 
 I assure you you are the most charming girl I have 
 ever met, with all my exj)erience." 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " asked Alma ; " without 
 compliments, am I really so nice ? " 
 
 " Upon my word of honour, I mean it," answered Mr. 
 Ansdell. "You are the very nicest girl I have ever 
 known. But what about these two young men ? Have 
 you accepted either ? " 
 
 Alma shook her head. 
 
 " Have you told your mother ? " • 
 
 "Yes, but mother* says I am to do as I like. She 
 won't exercise her authority one bit," 
 
 " And what do you say ? " gontinued Mr, Ansdell. 
 
 " I can't say anything," replied Alma. 
 
 " But surely you like one better than the other ? " 
 
 "I don't think I do," the girl went on. "I like both 
 very much. But I can't make up my mind which I like 
 better." 
 
 " Then refuse both," suggested Mr. Ansdell. 
 
 " I am afraid I have not the courage to do that," replied 
 Alma. " It would hurt them so much." 
 
 " Oh, never mind their feelings," exclaimed the gentle- 
 man, " It is my fault for bringing them here ; I might 
 have foreseen the consequences, I am sorry to have 
 
 . * American ladies seldom say " Mamma.'' 
 
170 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 caused you this annoyance. We must put them ashore 
 at Falmouth." 
 
 "I would not hear of it," said Alma. "No! I think 
 I like them both, and I believe either could make ' me 
 happy. How shall I decide ? " 
 
 " Take Audley," suggested Ansdell. " He has the best 
 position." Alma shook her head. 
 
 "No, I cannot decide on such a ground. Oh dear, I 
 wish we had ordeals now, as in olden times ! I wish 
 young men had to tight with each other for the girl. 
 That would save all trouble. I should like to marry the 
 one that really loves me best ; and I have to answer 
 to-night. It is dreadful." 
 
 " Wait a minute ! " exclaimed Ansdell. " I have a 
 plan. We will find an ordeal. You shall fall over- 
 board, and the one that jumps in to save you shall be 
 the happy man." 
 
 " But we might both be drowned ! " observed Alma. 
 " Otherwise it would be delightful." 
 
 " There is not the slightest danger, if you will leave 
 it to me," replied Ansdell. " You can swim, of course ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Alma, " fairly well." 
 
 " Then," continued Ansdell, " if you arrange your dress 
 as I tell you, and conceal a life belt under it, there is 
 not the remotest chance of either you or your preserver 
 coming to grief." 
 
 The American then explained his plan, and Alma 
 
THE ORDEAL. 17 1 
 
 clapped her hands when she understood it, exclaimin^j- 
 joyfully : " Oh, that is delightful ! And whoever saves me 
 shall know nothing of the trick till we are married." 
 
 When Audley and Clitheroe came on deck after lunch 
 the former was rather surprised to see the foresail stowed 
 and three reefs down in the mainsail. The weather was 
 fine and the wind lighter than ever. The mate told him 
 Mr. Ansdell had ordered theni to reduce sail during lunch, 
 so that there might be less motion, and of course Audley 
 had no right to interfere. Soon the ladies came on deck, 
 and Mr. Ansdell himself took the helm. Alma did not 
 come aft, but went to the lee davits, where the two young- 
 men joined her. 
 
 " I should like to look into this boat," said she ; " I 
 wonder whether it is the same one we came from the 
 ball in." And with these words she put her little foot 
 on the rail, and, catching hold of the davits, swung 
 herself up. 
 
 " Take care. Miss Kingsworth," cried Audley ; " you will 
 fall overboard." 
 
 The vessel was, of course, heeling over on the lee side. 
 It was not far to the water, and scarcely had Audley 
 cried out when there was a shriek and a splash. All 
 was confusion, or apparent confusion, in a moment. " She 
 is in the water," yelled Clitheroe, frantically. " The lady's 
 overboard," cried the men on the forecastle. 
 
 " Steady ! " shouted Ansdell, who had put the helm 
 
172 THE OEDEAL. 
 
 .hard down. " Lower away, boys," cried the captain, as 
 the vessel shot into the wind. And in five seconds the 
 men, standing ready at the weather davits, had the boat 
 in the water. 
 
 But the two young gentlemen had not waited so long. 
 There were two successive splashes, and two cries of 
 " Man overboard ! " 
 
 Clitheroe jumped over the bulwarks, and not being 
 able to swim a yard, sank for a moment and then drifted 
 away to leeward. Audley knew better ; he made for 
 the taffrail and almost caught Alma as the schooner 
 came round. But before he could seize her he was him- 
 self hauled on board the boat, -while Alma was calmly 
 and gently beating the water with her hands, and waiting 
 for the certain rescue. 
 
 " Give me a rope," she said, and was helped over the 
 gunwale without any trouble. 
 
 It was more difficult to secure Clitheroe. He was nearly 
 sinking for the third time, and his struggles were getting 
 feeble when they hauled him in at last. 
 
 Nobody could quite make out Alma's coolness. When 
 all had been brought safely to the yacht, and Clitheroe 
 had regained consciousness, she returned to the deck, 
 where she found Mr. Ansdell. 
 
 " Don't be anxious about me ! " she said, in reply to 
 his inquiries. " I have only had a bath, and now I've put 
 on dry clothes I'm quite comfortable. And Dubois says 
 
THE ORDEAL. 173 
 
 Mr. Clitheroe will be all right again before dinner. But, 
 Mr. Ansdell, this is worse than ever ! " 
 
 " So it is," admitted Ansdell; "they both jumped in." 
 
 " Yes," answered Alma ; " and what is more, the stupid 
 one of the two was the cleverest about it, and the clever 
 one nearly got drowned himself." 
 
 " I think Clitheroe showed the most affection for you," 
 remarked Ansdell. 
 
 " No," answered Alma ; " for Mr. Audley did all he 
 could. It is not a proof of affection to be an idiot. I 
 must think." 
 
 She thought for a minute or two, and blushes appeared 
 on her fair face, and disappeared as rapidly. 
 
 At last she spoke. 
 
 " Mr. Ansdell," she said, looking at the good little 
 man's face, " you said this morning that I was the nicest 
 girl you ever met." 
 
 " So I did, and it is true," replied he. 
 
 " Then," she answered, " I have made up my mind. 
 I shall refuse both ! " 
 
 " Will you really ? " asked Ansdell, taking her hand. 
 "They are both good fellows, you know, both young 
 and good looking." 
 
 " I don't care about their youth and good looks," replied 
 the girl ; " I won't marry either." 
 
 " And you will leave the Aphrodite fancy free ? " he 
 asked. 
 
174 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 " Nearly/' she answered, looking down. 
 
 " But not quite ? " he said, taking her other hand. 
 * * * * 
 
 " Audley, old man, and Clitheroe," said Mr. Ansdell 
 when they were all three on deck together after dinner. 
 " I am so much obliged to you for what you did to-day. 
 You behaved like real good fellows." He shook hands 
 with them as they murmured deprecatingly. " Of course 
 you must both come to my wedding." 
 
 " Your wedding ? " they asked with one voice, 
 " Yes, Alma has asked me to invite you. It will be 
 early in September. Can you give up your shooting for 
 a day or two ? " 
 
THE CKUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
THE CKUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FIVE OF US. 
 
 People who take up these pages must not be surprised 
 at the name we gave our vessel. It will be explained 
 in due time. First it behoves to tell how and why we 
 got her at all. We • were five. We were extremely 
 fond of boating on the river. To launch our four-oar 
 and have a good pull from Teddington Lock to Sunbury 
 and back we were not afraid of braving even the traffic 
 arrangements (?) of the South Western Railway on a 
 Saturday afternoon. Week by week during several suc- 
 cessive London seasons we had to elbow our way through 
 the crowds which encumber the station at Waterloo 
 and fight for room in a stuffy carriage ; and only on wet 
 afternoons could we hope to find a seat. When our 
 annual holiday came round we took small but extremely 
 expensive quarters somewhere up the river. We spent 
 our time either in the water or on it, and in our rush 
 
 N 
 
178 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 for the element so dear to Englishmen we resembled 
 
 nothing so much as a brood of young ducks when 
 
 they leave their careful foster-mother screaming in vain 
 
 on the bank. We were very proud of our four-oar. 
 
 None but really trained crews could beat us, and we 
 
 had serious thoughts of entering at Henley. But after 
 
 a few seasons we got tired of the dust, scramble, and 
 
 crowd of an almost daily railway journey, we began to 
 
 grumble at the charges of our waterside landlady, and 
 
 the scenery of the Thames no longer awakened the same 
 
 enthusiasm as in our earlier years. One of our crew proved 
 
 unfaithful. He declined to share our lodgings at Pipnell- 
 
 on-Thames, and started for the Continent. He actually 
 
 crossed the Channel and bathed at Ostend. In the water 
 
 he made the aquaintance of a delightful man, a real sailor, 
 
 who owned a yacht. Repeated joint immersions cemented 
 
 a friendship commenced under watery auspices, and the 
 
 yacht owner gave our chum a run to Dover in his boat. 
 
 The results, which he admitted made him feel rather 
 
 queer, were momentous. For in the first place, our 
 
 summer boating had been a dead failure. It rained 
 
 all through August, while he was writing of cloudless 
 
 days and rippling seas at Ostend. Then the boat was 
 
 nothing without our bow oar. The little cox, who only 
 
 pulled eight stone, could not take his place, and of the 
 
 volunteers who joined us none understood our stroke 
 
 nor our jokes. They were alawys out of time and 
 
FIVE OF US. 179 
 
 swore that we rowed badly; we swore back, and then 
 they turned sulky. Finally, our misfortunes came to a 
 crisis when we went out one day without a cox at all. 
 We got jammed in between a steam launch and a barge, 
 had to leave our favourite boat in a hurry, and lost, not 
 only our and Messenger's pride, but also our jackets and 
 their contents, which we had taken with us in view of 
 lunch. When the traveller returned triumphant, he 
 found us grumbling over our bills at Pipnell and 
 lamenting over the cedar splinters which an enterprising 
 waterman had rescued out of the Thames mud at a 
 price far exceeding their value. 
 
 "What are you fellows growling at?" said he. "Boat- 
 ing is poor fun, after all, you are nothing but a lot 
 of fresh-water sailors. Why, not one of you could splice 
 a halliard or luff the jib-sheet." 
 
 We were much impressed by the nautical knowledge 
 displayed in the last sentence. We did not know 
 in the least what " luffing a jib-sheet " meant (nor, 
 it appears, does any one else) ; but of course we 
 thought it must be very tremendous. We looked at 
 each other, and one of us ventured timidly to remark, 
 " You used to like it yourself." 
 
 " Of course," answered the traveller, " before I knew of 
 anything else. But now I have been to sea (he said 
 this in the deep bass adopted by the late T. P. Cooke 
 in nautical transpontine dramas), I feel that I was 
 
 N 2 
 
180 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 born to be a real sailor, not a sort of fresh-water horse- 
 marine. Every Englishman is, in fact, born a sailor, if 
 he only knew it. It is not your fault ; you fellows have 
 never had a chance. But it is the only real thing. 
 You will never want to pull on a river again when you 
 have once sailed at sea." 
 
 " I daresay not," remarked our stroke ; " but I cannot 
 give up my place at Doubloon and Dollar's bank to go 
 away as a common sailor. " And I chimed in, " No. 
 I certainly don't intend to leave the Cat and Dog Tax 
 office. They don't pay much, but I like it ; and I can 
 always have a day when I want one." 
 
 " What rot you are talking. The idea of going 
 before the mast ! " (we did not quite know what this 
 meant, but expected it was the same thing as "walking 
 the plank.") " No ! You should go to sea like gentle- 
 men. We ought to have our yacht instead of that 
 miserable paper thing of Messenger," at the same 
 time kicking the venerated remains of our dear old 
 boat as if they had been dirt. " Then we are inde- 
 pendent of landladies and bills. We can come and 
 go when we like. We take our hotel with us. No 
 one can prevent us crossing the blue waters in any 
 direction we please ; we become, in fact, free men ; un- 
 trammelled by considerations of dress, of locks and lock- 
 keepers." And then he took his hat off, lifted up his 
 nose and seemed to sniff the briny as he waved his hand. 
 
FIVE OF US. 181 
 
 '* That is what we ought to do next year, instead of 
 simmering at Pipnell, and being crushed by beastly 
 barges or run into by steam launches." 
 
 At last our. little coxswain spoke. He was a small 
 man, gentle, good-tempered, and rather shy, but sensible 
 withal. "It is all very well, Smythe," said he, "to talk 
 big about yachting, and the flag waving in the breeze. 
 I should like it as well as you, perhaps better, for I 
 was not seasick when I went to Margate with my aunt 
 seven years ago, and I am sure you would have been, if 
 you had been there." (An indignant start and scowl from 
 Smythe. The cox had touched him in a sensitive place.) 
 " But yachting is very expensive indeed. How are 
 we to afford it ? " " Yes," said the rest of us in chorus, 
 " we should like it very much, but we can't afford it." 
 
 " You are wrong," replied Smythe. " I know all about 
 it from my friend Seasalt. His is a splendid craft — a 
 schooner of seventy tons, and we should not think of 
 such a big one. But he tells me that it is cheaper 
 than staying about at hotels. He positively saves money 
 by yachting. He gets his wine out of bond and catches 
 a lot of fish, so he has not much to buy when he does 
 run in somewhere. All you have to do is to buy a 
 yacht cheap; keeping her is nothing." 
 
 And so the discussion went on, to be resumed many 
 times as the autumn evenings waxed longer. We never 
 met without speaking of the topic nearest our hearts 
 
182 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 What should we do next season ? Should we get Messenger 
 to build us a new boat and return to Pipnell or Stye- 
 combe ? or should we adopt Smythe's suggestion and go 
 in for the sea, the deep blue sea ? One evening we were 
 surprised by Smythe, who had never shown any talent 
 for music, sitting down to the piano and accompanying 
 himself singing — 
 
 " When we lay, 
 In the Bay 
 Of Biscay, oh ! " 
 
 There was no resisting this. The song settled the matter, 
 "We decided to go yachting next summer. We held a 
 solemn meeting at the Barnacle Club — a very smart, 
 but very young, institution which Smythe had recently 
 joined, and of which the object was to follow, at a re- 
 spectful distance, the noble example set by the Royal 
 Yacht Squadron. The whole air of the Barnacle Club 
 was distinctly and decidedly nautical, though it was not 
 a hundred yards from Piccadilly. There was a builder's 
 model of a yacht hung in the hall ; there was a tele- 
 scope on the table of the reading-room; the walls were 
 decorated with list of yachts and yacht-owners, codes of 
 signals, and pictures of regattas. The secretary wore 
 a blue pilot coat with gilt buttons ; among the ordinary 
 "society" hats on the pegs there peered out two real 
 unmistakable sailor hats. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE BARNACLE CLUB. 
 
 We felt awestruck as we ascended the stairs (com- 
 panion, Smythe said), to the strangers' room, and felt that 
 we were entering on a new and unknown world. This 
 time the discussion was not long, for we were all agreed. 
 We were to buy a yacht and sail in her. We unani- 
 mously elected Smythe the captain, or, as our stroke 
 called it in a moment of ill-timed facetiousness which 
 jarred on our highly-strained nerves, "head boss." He 
 graciously took the chair, and, pushing pens and paper 
 towards Sturge. our little cox, begged him to perform 
 the functions of secretary. We became still more im- 
 pressed, for the thing began to look like a board meeting, 
 and Goggles (No. 3), who was sub-manager for a Joint Stock 
 Company, and had a wholesome horror of board meetings, 
 whispered that he did not like it. However, Smythe 
 explained that we must have a distinct understanding 
 about ways and means and that it was better to put the 
 arrangements down in black and white. We fully agreed 
 
184 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 to this, and then proceeded to discuss matters. It was at 
 last agreed that Smythe should have full power to choose 
 and purchase a suitable yacht for us, but that he was 
 not to exceed the limit of 200^. We then each wrote 
 him a letter promising to pay him 401. when called upon. 
 Our president pointed out that we were now in the best 
 position to find a good and cheap vessel, as in the winter 
 plenty of yachts were to be had at moderate prices. 
 " But," said he, as he closed the meeting and rang the 
 bell for beer, " I intend to be very careful. I shall 
 justify the trust you have reposed in me ; you shall have 
 a beautiful vessel for your money, gentlemen." And then 
 we fell to talking of our summer cruise, of the ports we 
 would touch at, the splendid regattas we would attend, 
 the ladies we would take out, and the importance in 
 their eyes the possession of a yacht would give us. We 
 separated full of nautical dreams, and walked home 
 with something of a sea swagger. 
 
 For the next few weeks whenever we saw Smythe 
 he was busy scanning advertisements in the paper or 
 writing letters to yacht agents stating his requirements. 
 To our surprise and disappointment we found that the 
 sum which we had voted with so much liberality, which 
 it would cost us each some sacrifice to raise, and which 
 we thought so splendid, did not dazzle agents or owners 
 at all. In fact Smythe admitted that having inquired 
 the price of sundry well known racing or cruising yachts 
 
THE BARNACLE CLUB. 185 
 
 advertised for sale, the sum demanded for them far 
 exceeded what we could afford ; yet our requirements 
 were but simple. We wanted a yacht with five sleeping 
 berths at least, and a spacious saloon ; she must be a fast 
 and weatherly vessel, and above all handsome (of course 
 Smythe made these conditions, and told us they were 
 necessary ; we could not have mentioned anything in 
 particular). Weeks slipped away ; our president was more 
 absorbed than ever in looking for yachts, and seemed even 
 further from success, when one afternoon each of us 
 received an urgent summons to the Barnacle Club, which 
 we all reached, panting, several minutes before the time. 
 
 " I have found exactly what we want," said Smythe, 
 " Here it is. Read." We eagerly scanned the following 
 advertisement : 
 
 T^O BE SOLD, at a gi-eat sacrifice (owner going abroad), the beautiful 
 -^ cutter yaclit Ocean Queen. She is 28 tons O.M., makes up five berths, 
 and is a splendid sea boat. Has won several cups. Inquire, &c. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen," continued our president, " I have 
 made the necessary inquiries, and find that the vessel 
 is exactly what we desire. She is on the Clyde. I 
 therefore beg you will authorise me to go and look at 
 her, and vote me ten pounds for expenses at once." 
 
CHAPTEK III. 
 
 HOW WE BOUGHT THE "OCEAN QUEEN." 
 
 "We were startled, but soon each produced two pounds 
 towards Smythe's expenses, and we accompanied him to 
 Euston, wishing him God-speed. The next "evening we 
 received a telegram : " The Ocean Queen suits us, I have 
 purchased her. Return to-morrow." And on the third 
 morning at six o'clock we were all waiting on the platform 
 in the chill February twilight to hear of our new acquisition. 
 Our ambassador turned out of the train rather sleepy 
 and cross; we could not get much information from 
 him, and he merely requested us to come to his rooms 
 in the evening after dinner, when he would be thoroughly 
 rested and tell us all about it. We felt ourselves 
 rather ill-treated, as we had all got up in the middle 
 of the night for nothing at all, and did not know what 
 to do with the time until ten o'clock. However, we could 
 extract nothing from Smythe in answer to our urgent 
 inquiries of, " How about the Ocean Queen ? " " Has she 
 plenty of cabins?" "Is she pretty?" "Is she fast?" 
 
HOW WE BOUGHT THE "OCEAN QUEEN." 187 
 
 and so on, except : " Oh yes, she is all right. Can't 
 you leave a fellow alone when he has spent two 
 nights out of bed for you chaps?" Finally we all went 
 home to bed. We could not sleep, thinking of the 
 Ocean Queen, and of the pleasures of cruising in her. 
 What a lovely name to be sure ! We pictured to our- 
 selves a majestic craft proudly riding the waves and 
 excelling all her surroundings in size, beauty and speed. 
 We did not quite know what a "cutter" was, and we 
 did not like to ask. Had a cutter two masts, three, or 
 four ? We never supposed an Ocean Queen could only 
 have one. Had such a possibility been suggested we 
 should have laughed it to scorn. We had read and 
 heard much of the luxury with which yachts are fitted 
 up — of the silk settees, beautiful panels, and gorgeous 
 hangings of these floating palaces. We dozed and 
 dreamed of amber curtains, satin couches, and gilt mirrors ; 
 of six stalwart men in open blue jackets and hats with 
 brims turned up rowing us in a beautiful blue boat 
 
 with cushioned seats. Of Miss H and Lady Alice 
 
 F calling our attention on the pier to that lovely 
 
 yacht just sailing in and of our proud reply, "Yes, she 
 is lovely ! It is the Ocean Queen, our yacht ; " and of 
 the admiring glances that would be shot out of still 
 more lovely eyes. So' we dreamed on through the day, 
 doing our work I fear with but little thought of the 
 interests of Messrs. Doubloon, Dollar, and Co., or of 
 
188 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 the rights of the Cat and Dog Tax office, sketching 
 fancy yachts and lovely faces on our blotting papers, 
 and looking forward to our cruise with feelings of pride 
 and exultation. At last the offices closed ; we were 
 free. We dined hastily ; none of us had any appetite ; 
 we felt that at such a crisis of our lives we were above 
 eating and drinking. We arrived at Smythe's room 
 all too soon ; he was still asleep, and had given strict 
 orders that he was not to be disturbed. We took half 
 an hour's walk and returned ; he was still asleep. We 
 took another walk, and again came back ; but Smythe 
 slept on. This time we could stand it no longer ; we dropped 
 the fire-irons in his sitting room till he turned out in a 
 beastly temper, asking, " What all this infernal row was 
 about ? " Little Sturge had the pluck to speak up. 
 
 " Look here, old fellow," said he, " you have been spending 
 our money, and we. want to know all about it." Fearing 
 this remark would irritate the majestic Smythe, who, we saw, 
 was about to make a sharp reply, we attempted to put 
 matters in a different light. Goggles cried out that he had 
 come to ask him to dine with us, forgetting that we had all 
 pretended to have dined an hour before. He was mollified, 
 accepted, put on his coat, and led the way down stairs. He 
 suggested Simpson's ; so in the crowded Strand, where five 
 men can certainly not walk abreast, conversation on the 
 subject nearest our hearts was impossible. When dinner 
 had been ordered and partly eaten, after our curiosity had 
 
HOW WE BOUGHT THE "OCEAN QUEEN." 189 
 
 been baulked a hundred times by Smythe's incessant demand 
 for Worcester sauce, bread, mustard, wine, or some other 
 unnecessary trifle, our plenipotentiary at last consented to 
 tackle the subject in a doubtful manner. " So you have 
 bought the Ocean Queen ?" " Yes I have bought her." " What 
 sort of a vessel is it ? " asked Beacon, who was tacitly 
 appointed to be spokesman of the party. "It!" cried 
 Smythe, horrified ; " don't say that anywhere else, or you 
 will be laughed at — a yacht is she ! " " Very well, what 
 sort of a vessel is she ? " " Well," said Smythe, " she is 
 a very nice boat." " Is she big ? " " N — no, not very big," 
 answered our president ; " you could not expect a very big 
 yacht to be only twenty-eight tons." 'J Well, but is there 
 plenty of room on board for all of us ? " " Well, of course," 
 replied Smythe, rather hesitatingly, we thought, "you 
 can't expect as much room on board ship as you have on 
 land." " Of course not," we all agreed. " But," continued 
 he, gaining confidence as he spoke, ''she is for her size a 
 roomy yacht— a decidedly roomy yacht." We were all 
 much pleased. "How many masts has she?" asked 
 Beacon. " Masts ? Why, of course only one. She is 
 a cutter, and cutters have only one mast." Then, seeing a 
 look of disappointment on our faces, he added, " All good 
 yachts are cutters. They are much faster than any other 
 rig. Schooners are quite going out of fashion." Again 
 a ripple of contentment passed over our faces. Sturge only 
 remained solemn, and said he had reckoned on at least 
 
190 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 three masts to dazzle Lady Alice F , with whom he 
 
 was desperately smitten. The persevering Beacon went 
 on. " Did you have a sail in her ? " " How could II" 
 exclaimed Smythe. " Why, her sails are not bent ! " " What 
 does it matter whether they are bent or straight ? " asked 
 Beacon. Tired of being questioned Smythe proposed an 
 adjournment to cigars and coffee, when, soothed by a huge 
 regalia, which Goggles offered him, he at last condescended 
 to give us a continuous narrative. The fact was, he told 
 us, we had been expecting rather too much for our three 
 hundred pounds. "300^." we all exclaimed; "why! we 
 only agreed to 200/." " But I have given 300Z. for the 
 Ocean Queen, and slje is dirt cheap at the money. 1 know 
 how to buy a yacht, I can tell you ; " and as he said this he 
 glared fiercely around, challenging contradiction. Little 
 Sturge was not to be beaten. " That makes sixty pounds 
 apiece, which is more than we can manage; you had no right 
 to go beyond the limit." We all nodded assent. " Very 
 well," said Smythe grandly, " if you fellows haggle over a 
 paltry twenty pounds, I shall pay for her myself, and sell 
 her at a profit when I bring her round to the island — unless, 
 indeed," concluded he reflectively, " I prefer to keep her. 
 Perhaps I shall." This was taking the bull by the horns 
 indeed. Here was a man willing to take the whole huge 
 responsibility on himself, and talking of sailing the Ocean 
 Queen alone in his glory, while we wretches were craning at 
 a miserable contribution of twenty pounds. We consulted 
 
HOW WE BOUGHT THE " OCEAN^QUEEN." 191 
 
 each other by glances — they were sufficient. Sturge only 
 looked doubtful, hardly knowing how to raise the sum in 
 question. " Very well," said Beacon, " we agree to pay sixty 
 pounds each; now tell us all about the yacht." " You see," 
 began Smythe again, obviously more communicative as 
 soon as the ticklish money question was settled, " good 
 yachts, I find, fetch from 201. to 30^. per ton. Now I have 
 bought this boat at twelve pounds; she wants a few shillings 
 — quite a trifle — spent on her ; then, after we have had our 
 cruise, we can easily sell her for much more than we gave. 
 But, as I told you before, we expected rather too much." 
 " She is very fast," interrupted Beacon, who had been study- 
 ing the record of regattas past. " Has she won the Queen's 
 Cup at Cowes 1 " " Not quite that. I understand she has 
 won a prize in the Orkneys, and another in the Isle of Skye, 
 but I don't think she would be quite fast enough for the 
 Squadron regatta; besides, she does not belong to the club. 
 But," he added hastily, seeing our disappointment, 
 " there is no telling ; she looks very quick, and may win 
 many races for us. She has two berths in the main cabin, 
 two in the ladies cabin." At this we pricked up our ears. 
 She must be a very grand boat indeed to have a 
 " ladies " cabin ! Why, there were few houses in London 
 containing sitting rooms exclusively for ladies. " And one 
 forward for the steward, but of course we shall use that for 
 ourselves, as we don't want a steward." We nodded, not 
 
192 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 knowing what else to do. "She is not fitted out; yachts 
 never are in winter, but I have seen all her inventory, and 
 it is very complete." This was about all Smyths could tell 
 us. Each of us purchased Hunt's list. We looked out the 
 Ocean Queen, and found that she had been built twenty 
 years ago, so she was decidedly old ; but Smythe told us 
 there was nothing like a good old-fashioned boat. So we 
 took his word for it. Now we had to become members of 
 a yacht club. Smythe proposed Goggles at the Barnacle, 
 getting a chance acquaintance to second him. Then all 
 were elected in due course, except little Sturge, who re- 
 solutely refused to add five guineas to the 60/. already spent 
 for the yacht. But as we all liked him, and could ill spare 
 his obligingness and his sound common sense, we used to 
 take him into the Barnacle turn and turn about, till the 
 porter let him pass without question, and he became 
 de facto if not cle jure, member of the club. We could not 
 think of fitting out the Ocean Queen till summer, and the 
 time passed wearily. " Why not beg an additional day or 
 two at Whitsuntide, get the yacht fitted out, and sail to 
 Cowes with her ? " ' We did so. We got a crew, but de- 
 termined to do, much of the work ourselves. Two men 
 were therefore considered sufficient. We were to start 
 from town on Friday evening, and the morning brought the 
 welcome news that she was ready. So we wandered off to 
 Leadenhall Street, and each purchased pilot coats, to which 
 
HOW WE BOUGHT THE "OCEAN QUEEN." 193 
 
 the club buttons were sewn in our presence, and at 
 8 P.M. we all met in sailor hats and deck shoes at King's 
 Cross, ready to start for the north, and eager to inspect 
 our new purchase, to inhale ocean breezes, and to try 
 our "sea legs," 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE "OCEAN QUEEN." 
 
 We found it very cold on our way to Glasgow. To 
 sleep comfortably in a railway carriage there ought not 
 to be more than four persons in it — one in each corner. 
 Now we were five, and Sturge, being the smallest, did 
 not get a corner, and was unmercifully kicked by Smythe 
 and Beacon, besides being growled at for always getting 
 in the way. Of course we had second-class tickets, and 
 fondly hoped that the looks of surprise with which the 
 porters and guards noticed our sailor hats and seafaring 
 "get up" denoted admiration. Perhaps they did, although 
 at Newcastle in the early dawn we heard some disagree- 
 able fellow in a rough jersey talk to one of the officials 
 about horse-marines. After this, sleep fled from my 
 eyelids and from those of little Sturge. While the others 
 snored he told me about Lady Alice, and poured into my 
 sympathising ears his tale of constant affection. She 
 was kind to him, said he, but not otherwise than to her 
 pug dog. She let him fetch and carry for her, and took 
 
THE "OCEAN QUEEN." 195 
 
 all his little attentions as a matter of course. When 
 she wanted an escort she sent for Sturge, but when 
 she found one she liked better she sent him away again. 
 There had been a party at Mrs. Erthoyle's, the rich 
 American, a few nights ago. Lady Alice was there, and 
 Sturge asked for a dance. He was graciously allowed to 
 put his name down. But when he came to claim it, his 
 partner was engaged in an animated conversation with 
 Colonel Wildauk of the Guards, and said, "Oh, Mr. 
 Sturge, go and dance with poor Miss Wallflower ; she 
 has not found a single partner yet. I want to talk to 
 Colonel Wildauk," and dismissed him without even a 
 glance of compassion. In vain did he hang about door- 
 ways all the evening to obtain but a few moments from 
 Lady Alice. One partner after another claimed her, and 
 his cup of misery was filled by seeing her " sit out " three 
 dances with that abominable colonel in the conservatory. 
 "I think I shall flirt," concluded Sturge, "with Clara 
 Meadows. I know they hate each other; perhaps she 
 will notice it." 
 
 Poor Sturge ! The notion of his flirting desperately with 
 any one ! " Suppose we invite Clara Meadows on board 
 the Ocean Queen" I suggested. " The very thing ! " cried 
 Sturge ; " Lady AHce will get savage, and then perhaps 
 she may remember that I am not quite a worm." " But 
 we should have to ask that terrible Mrs. Meadows too," 
 said I, "unless we got her brother to chaperone her 
 
 o 2 
 
196 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 — he is a nice lad." " So we might," he assented ; " you 
 fellows must try and help me." 
 
 Old Seabag, who was awake by this time and had 
 heard the conversation, promised his support, and we 
 relapsed into sleepy silence, which was only interrupted 
 by the ticket-collector at Glasgow. 
 
 We were too impatient to go to an hotel for beds and 
 
 breakfast, so instantly took train for Greenock, chartered 
 
 a cab, and drove off to the Clyde. We found the builder's 
 
 yard after a very long drive and some trouble. The gates 
 
 were just being opened, and one or two sleepy men were 
 
 dropping in to work. On the left of the gate was a little 
 
 wooden office, then a shed full of old ropes, blocks, bits of 
 
 wood of curious shapes, and a quantity of rubbish. In 
 
 front of us was a muddy bank sloping down to the dirty 
 
 river. On the bank two clumsy-looking boats were 
 
 drawn up; they appeared about the size of a Brighton 
 
 wherry. On the right a larger vessel was in the water, 
 
 with a rickety plank as a gangway. The whole place 
 
 looked seedy in the chill, cloudy morning, the vessels 
 
 appeared disreputable, the men hardly recovered from a 
 
 night's carouse. We asked for Mr. Carvel. He was not 
 
 expected for a couple of hours. We then inquired for 
 
 the Ocean Queen. " Ocean Queen" repeated the man, 
 
 dubiously; "I don't know her. Andrew," he called 
 
 out, " which is the Ocean Queen ? " " Why, here she is/' 
 
 answered the second man, "straight before you," pointing 
 
THE "OCEAN QUEEN." 197 
 
 to the smaller of the two very ill-looking boats on the 
 mud. " The — the Ocean Queen^' we all exclaimed ; 
 " impossible ! Why, that is a nasty, ugly, little fishing- 
 boat." So we turned inquiringly to Smythe, who had, 
 however, unaccountably disappeared. Andrew grinned, 
 " That is the Ocean Queen, to be sure," he said. " Would 
 the gentlemen like to go on board ? — we can rig up a 
 gangway directly." 
 
 Although still convinced that there must be some mis- 
 take, we agreed, and looked for Smythe, while the two 
 men were dragging some planks and a ladder down the 
 mud. We found him pretending to be very busy lighting 
 his pipe in the far corner of the shed. " What is this ? " 
 we all howled; "surely you do not mean to say that 
 horrid, clumsy little cockle-shell is the Ocean Queen? 
 You don't mean to say you paid 300^. for that thing • 
 Why our Thames boat was longer than that ! " 
 Smythe looked guilty, but attempted to cover his con- 
 fusion under the cloak of audacity. " You do not know 
 anything about it," said he ; " she is a very nice vessel, 
 and looks very different in the water." " That is all 
 very well," said Beacon, "but she will not grow any 
 bigger when she is in the water, and any fool can see 
 that she is not worth 300/. I never would have bought 
 such a thing. Why we sha'n't all be able to get on board 
 her ourselves, still less can we ask any one ! Now if you 
 had given 300Z. for that other vessel on the right, we 
 
198 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 might perhaps have been satisfied," and he pointed to the 
 larger one, whose fine taper masts and slender rigging had 
 pleased us. " Perhaps we could get her." " Perhaps so," 
 agreed Smythe ; " we will inquire." We walked down 
 to the men who had just placed a ladder against the 
 Ocean Queen's side, and asked about the vessel that had 
 taken our fancy. " That is one of the steamers that runs 
 down the river ; she is having new boilers put in." " What 
 do you think she is worth ? " continued Beacon, deter- 
 mined to get to the bottom of it. "A'm sure a don't 
 know," replied the man; "perhaps 5,000/., perhaps 
 6,000/." "Five thousand pounds !" we exclaimed. "Ay, 
 to be sure," he answered. " Why, she is barque rigged, 
 more than 200 feet long, and has powerful big engines." 
 We were quite shut up. Little Sturge was the first to 
 climb on board our new purchase. He stepped aside 
 from the ladder and looked round silently. We all 
 carefully followed ; but our captain was in too great 
 a hurry. In his desire to display his familiarity with all 
 things nautical, he ascended the ladder as if he had been 
 running up stairs at home. It first shook, then swayed 
 violently from side to side, and^ finally the foot, slipping 
 off the plank which gave it a bearing, fell into the mud. 
 We were standing on the deck of the Ocean Queen looking 
 on in dismay. There was Smythe sitting in the ooze, 
 dazed, but apparently not hurt. The slime was gradually 
 rising round the hole his fall had made ; we saw it 
 
THE "OCEAN QUEEN." 199 
 
 ascending up his beautiful navy blue trousers, while a 
 huge splash of green mud disfigured that irreproachable 
 sailor's knot, which after the night's journey had been 
 carefully adjusted with the help of a pocket-mirror. The 
 mud had carried off his new sailor hat, which was 
 bobbing up and down on the brown waters of the Clyde, 
 evidently leaking, notwithstanding its oilskin cover, and 
 likely to founder unless very-soon picked up. Several 
 men now rushed to the rescue ; he was evidently more 
 affected by the unexpected change in his appearance than 
 by the fall itself. He was helped off to the little office, to 
 be made as presentable as possible, while we examined the 
 yacht. Now that Smythe was out of the way, we felt no 
 hesitation in giving vent to our exasperated feelings, 
 which were hardly modified when we looked round the 
 tiny craft. We had dreamt of walking up and down the 
 quarter-deck on stormy nights, occasionally giving stern 
 orders to the man at the wheel. There was, as far as we 
 could see, no quarter-deck to walk on; nothing but a 
 narrow strip of clean white planking between the side 
 of the ladder and the steep which led " down stairs " (we 
 could say "down stairs" in peace and comfort now, as 
 Smythe was safe in the wooden office being cleaned). 
 There was certainly no wheel, only an iron bar like a 
 pump handle turned sideways. This, we presumed, was 
 the tiller. There could be no walking up and down on 
 stormy nights, as a step either way would take one into 
 
200 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 the sea, and walking lengthways appeared equally impos- 
 sible, for there were a lot of windows, ropes, sticks, and 
 other impediments in the way. Besides, there was nothing 
 but quite a low ledge to prevent one falling overboard 
 with the slightest motion. Sturge, and perhaps others, 
 had thought of cosy flirtations in quiet corners, concealed 
 by a friendly sail. Why, there was not a corner on the 
 Ocean Queen, and every bit of her was in full view. As 
 to a quiet flirtation, such a thing could not be dreamt 
 of, for she looked quite crowded already with no one on 
 board except ourselves. It took us all our time even now 
 not to get into each other's way, and to avoid following 
 Smythe's example of falling into the mud. We were 
 thoroughly disgusted. However, we proceeded to go 
 " down stairs." Sturge, being the smallest, crawled down 
 first, but old Seabag, who followed him, knocked his head 
 violently against something or other, and disappeared with 
 a run and a subdued but powerful exclamation. The 
 third man followed sideways, and Beacon finished by 
 backing down carefully doubled up. We landed in a 
 little cabin with a sofa on each side and a table in the 
 middle. We all cautiously remained in crouching posi- 
 tions, as there was no room to stand upright. There 
 were no silk hangings, no beautifully painted panels, 
 and only one wretched little looking-glass. The sides 
 were coarsely grained in imitation oak. The sofas were 
 covered with faded chintz. We collapsed on them, two 
 
THE "OCEAN QUEEN." 201 
 
 on each side ; there was a dead silence for a few minutes. 
 At last Sturge spoke. "Damn!" said he. "This is 
 a sell," remarked Beacon. "Confound that fellow 
 Smythe," added Seabag. " Call this a yacht ! " cried 
 Goggles, "why, there is not room to turn round." "How 
 can five fellows sleep here ? " asked Sturge again. " Let 
 us look; there must be more room than this," said 
 Beacon. We looked. There was. We found a door 
 on each side of the fire-place. Neither of these doors 
 would open. But on returning to the deck and looking 
 through the skylight we made out two more small cabins, 
 each with one berth. Nothing could possibly be plainer 
 and less attractive than the decorations of the Ocean 
 Queen. We crept down a square hole into the sailors' 
 part of the yacht (called the four xl), and found a close 
 stuffy little place, with a thing like a doll's stove against 
 one side. We passed into the two cabins, observing, how- 
 ever, a cupboard full of dishes and glasses. Leaning 
 against the doors we butted them open, and thus reached 
 the " drawing-room " once more, where we sat down in 
 mute despair. " What on earth are we to do ? " asked 
 Seabag. " You mean what are to do on the water," 
 said Beacon, who thought he was a wit. " Don't talk 
 nonsense," said Sturge ; " now we have paid for the ship 
 we must make the best of it." " Of her," corrected 
 Goggles. "Very well, of her — we must try and make 
 the best of her." "I suppose we must," we assented. 
 
202 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 " It will take a long time to get used to this wretched 
 little cabin." "It is not quite so bad when you come 
 to look closer," said Goggles ; " see, that fire-place, with 
 its encaustic tiles, is really pretty." " And look," added 
 Sturge, who had been investigating matters, "what a 
 lot of cupboards there are in all sorts of places. It is 
 really quite convenient." " But where shall we sleep ? " 
 asked Beacon. " I have not the slightest idea," old 
 
 Seabag replied. "D n that fellow Smythe." "He 
 
 shall sleep on deck," suggested Beacon. " Of course he 
 must," we all cried; "he got us into the mess and he 
 must suffer for it." " But I am very hungry," suggested 
 Sturge. "Suppose we drive to an hotel to breakfast?" 
 We all jumped up, and bumped our heads violently 
 against the ceiling. However, we crawled on deck. 
 Just as Beacon was going to slip down the ladder Sturge 
 stopped him. "I say, you fellows, we must call this 
 wretched boat something else. We should only make 
 asses of ourselves if we keep her present name. Every 
 one would laugh at us." " So they would," we all agreed, 
 "We will think of another name less ambitious — say 
 the Moonshine." Which was adopted by acclamation. Thus 
 we got on shore, fetched the dirty and now very silent 
 Smythe, and drove off to the hotel. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A START. 
 
 It was a cold raw morning such as is not unusual in 
 Scotland at the end of May, and we were glad of a warm 
 breakfast after our disturbed night and unsatisfactory 
 inspection of the late Ocean Queen. A certain feeling of g6ne 
 prevailed among our party. We all felt profoundly dis- 
 satisfied with Smythe, and yet we did not know what to 
 do next. We were obliged to continue to consult him, 
 although we felt we had been grossly misled by his advice. 
 If trial cruise there was to be, we were bound to start 
 that very day ; yet how were we to do everything that was 
 bound to be done before we could go ? We had no idea of 
 what was wanted, and the only thing that we were sure of 
 was that we five would find it very awkward for any length 
 of time on board the Moonshine. Still, having come all the 
 way from London for a cruise, we were ashamed to turn back 
 and sell the boat. Sturge whispered to me that he did not 
 dare to retire from the position he had taken up. Old 
 Seabag had been bragging about " our yacht " all over 
 
204 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 London ; Smythe had astonished a number of his fellow 
 clerks with accounts of the perils of the ocean. All of us had 
 "made the running " with partners at sundry small dances, 
 and had talked big of our yachting during the summer. 
 The favourite dodge was to ask the young lady where she 
 was going after the season. This inevitably led to the 
 counter question, " What are you going to do ? " " Oh " was 
 the equally inevitable reply, " I suppose we shall be about 
 Cowes and Byde a good deal. We are going yachting; we 
 have a vessel called the Ocean Queen. Perhaps we shall 
 go over to France, or we may possibly just run across to 
 Norway." To resign the halo prematurely assumed, and 
 to appear in the character of an ordinary braggart, who had 
 said he was going to sail and then did not ; to lay oneself 
 open to the well-founded suspicion of never having had a 
 yacht at all, and to be put down as an impostor, was a 
 catastrophe none of us would face. Of two evils choose the 
 least. We felt we were in for it, and must go to sea in the 
 Moonshine, small though she was and uncomfortable. All 
 this was not said aloud. Our breakfast was remarkably 
 silent. But no doubt such thoughts occupied all our 
 minds. We had engaged a room for our ablutions. After 
 breakfast Sturge said, " I am going to fetch my pipe ; come 
 along. Beacon," The others followed shortly, except 
 Smythe, who felt himself tacitly sent to Coventry, and 
 accepted his position with a resignation which would have 
 been touching if it had not been irritating. We felt that 
 
A START. 205 
 
 the man who had got us into the mess should make some 
 effort to get us out of it, and not sit there silently and eat 
 his breakfast calmly as if it were not his fault. He ought 
 to have been up and doing, though what he ought to have 
 done, and how he ought to have done it, none of us could 
 have told. However, we all assembled in the washing 
 room. Beacon sat down on a portmanteau, Sturge made 
 vain efforts to light his pipe. Old Seabag stretched him- 
 self on the bed, with a cigar in his mouth, regardless of 
 his dirty boots. The place was littered with towels, pea- 
 jackets, glazed hats, soap, open travelling-bags, newspapers, 
 cigar boxes, and books on yachting. " We must really 
 make up our minds," began little Sturge. "This is a 
 most miserable position." 
 
 " Better give it up and go home," suggested old Seabag. 
 " It would be the best plan," admitted Goggles. " But," 
 said Beacon, " I asked my mother and sisters to come 
 out yachting with us this summer." Goggles pricked up 
 his ears. Beacon had two nice-looking sisters, " We shall 
 be miserable on board that cockle-shell," said Seabag. 
 " Why, there is not room to stretch one's legs." " I don't 
 think it will be so bad when we get used to it," remarked 
 Sturge, his mind full of Lady Alice, " besides, we need 
 not always sleep on board." " No more we need," said 
 Goggles, "we can rough it a little at first, but in the 
 summer we can always get a bed at an hotel in the 
 Island." " What island ? " asked Seabag. " The Wight, 
 
206 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 of course," replied Goggles, who had evidently kept his 
 ears open at the Barnacle Club. " Oh," acquiesced Seabag. 
 " But it will be expensive," remarked Beacon. " You need 
 not complain," said Sturge ; " your people will always 
 put you up. Besides, we shall lose all our trouble, and 
 perhaps a lot of money, if we try to sell the Ocean Queen. 
 I don't believe we should get 300Z. for her." "No one 
 would be such a fool except Smythe," said Goggles. 
 " But, then, what is to be done?" asked Beacon. "Get 
 a crew and go to sea," answered little Sturge firmly. 
 " It is all very well to say get a crew and go to sea, but 
 how are we to do it ? " " Smythe must do it." " Smythe 
 is an infernal fool," growled Seabag from the bed. No 
 one ventured to oppose this assertion, which seemed self- 
 evident. " But we shall want something to eat," re- 
 marked Beacon. " And to drink," added Goggles. "And 
 to smoke," added Seabag. " Well, we had better make 
 haste," said Sturge, who was evidently taking the lead. 
 " Let us go and tell Smythe that he must set to work." 
 " I sha'n't," grumbled Seabag sulkily. " I should like to 
 kick him." " So should I," we all chimed in cheerfully. 
 " But we want him." " Well," admitted Beacon " if we 
 go, we do." "And the fact is," said Sturge, who was 
 never afraid of speaking out, " we have all been bragging 
 so much about our yachting that we can't afford to go 
 home." "I have not bragged," contradicted Seabag. 
 "Yes, you have," asserted Beacon; "you are an old 
 
A START. 207- 
 
 fool. Perhaps you have not been bragging to the 
 women, but you have taken it out with the men. You 
 have been coaching up the nautical dictionary for 
 months." "At any rate," retorted Seabag, "I have not 
 made an ass of myself by asking a lot of girls to sail 
 in a beastly little boat like this." 
 
 But Sturge had practically won. Seabag's position 
 was felt to be a matter of form only. We were all 
 deeply compromised, and we knew it. None of us could 
 afford to go back, so we all agreed to go on. Sturge 
 knocked the ashes out of his pipe and said resolutely, 
 " Let us go back to the coffee-room and speak to Smythe." 
 Some one suggested that the coffee-room was too public, 
 so it was resolved to call Smythe, and Sturge volunteered 
 to fetch him. Soon the culprit appeared. Seabag, who 
 had not moved from the bed, greeted him with the 
 remark that he was a stupid blunderer. " I am not," 
 answered the accused. " None of you fellows know any- 
 thing about it. I have made a capital bargain for you, 
 and now you are all grumbling because I did not buy an 
 ocean steamer for 300^." " She is a great deal too small 
 for us," said Goggles. " Then you should have given me 
 more money," said Smythe. " You said she would suit us 
 exactly," said Beacon. " So she will." answered Smythe, 
 "when you get used to her; you cannot be as comfort- 
 able on board ship as on shore." " We have asked no end 
 of people for the summer," remarked Sturge ; " where are 
 
208 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 we to put them ? " "I did not tell you to ask them," 
 was the answer. This was true. We felt we were 
 getting the worst of it. We found that recriminations 
 would be worse than useless. So Goggles continued : 
 " We have determined to go on." " Of course," said 
 Smythe, " whoever thought of going back ? " "I did," 
 growled Seabag, " I am tired of the whole thing already." 
 " Then go," said Smythe. " Pay me back my money 
 and I will." This was felt to be impossible, so Sturge 
 interrupted — " Now, don't get quarrelling. Look here, we 
 all want to sail the ship round and enjoy ourselves. Let 
 us work together, and not begin fighting." We grumbled 
 assent. " So," continued he, " we had better get a crew, 
 and plenty to eat and drink." This being agreed on 
 we settled down more calmly to discuss details. It was 
 arranged that Smythe was to look out for the three men who 
 would be necessary, as he had been informed, to navigate 
 the vessel. Three, as we were told, were sufficient. " We 
 ought to have four," said he ; " but of course we shall be 
 our own skippers." We all felt the nautical spirit coming 
 over us again. " Of course," we assented. Smythe would 
 also look after the various necessaries for sailing, such 
 as charts, flags, and so on. Beacon was to see our things 
 brought on board, and the cabins made tidy. Goggles 
 was to purchase drinkables. Seabag was to provide food. 
 Sturge would be mate and general aide-de-camp. Thus 
 we broke up in harmony, paid our bills, and departed. 
 
A START. 209 
 
 As the day wore on we found a number of minor 
 difficulties cropping up. The Moonshine was on the 
 mud, and could not be floated till the afternoon. The 
 men had to be hunted up in all sorts of back slums. We 
 never found one at the address given us, which was in 
 itself not easy to find. He was always either out fishing, 
 or doing an odd job at some dock three miles off, or, 
 at least, in the public-house round the corner. When 
 they were at last found they hesitated about going at 
 all. One was engaged for Monday; another had some 
 lobster-pots at Dunoon he was obliged to look after ; a third 
 was obliged to go to kirk on Sunday. In short, we had 
 to discover and converse with ten at least before we found 
 three who agreed to start on what appeared to us ex- 
 orbitant terms ; but we were assured that they were usual 
 on the Clyde. Towards four in the afternoon we got 
 them on board. Their appearance was anything but 
 prepossessing. One named Andrew was a sandy-haired, 
 weather-beaten, thick-set fellow, who came in his shirt- 
 sleeves, with a ragged old waterproof over his arm, one 
 brace torn, locks unkempt, and a very dirty grey night- 
 cap drawn over his eyes. The second, Bob, was tall, dark, 
 lanky, silent, sullen. He was a little cleaner than Andrew, 
 but never removed a horrible cutty pipe from his mouth, 
 and steadily spat in every direction. The third, Jim, was 
 not to be found for a long time. He had "signed articles," 
 as he himself expressed the coDsent he appeared to have 
 
 p 
 
210 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 given most unwillingly, but did not come at the time 
 appointed. "We all went to look for him, and as none 
 of us had ever seen him before except Smythe, it was no 
 easy matter to find him. We went into every public- 
 house and inquired whether there was a man of the name 
 of Jim who had engaged to join the Ocean Queen. In 
 some establishments we met with a sulky but unanimous 
 growl. In others one more inclined to chaff than the 
 rest would ask us sundry questions about Jim and the 
 Ocean Queen. Was the man we were looking for hump- 
 backed, with a wooden leg ? Was it James Macfarlane, 
 who had sailed formerly with the Flying Dutchman? 
 Was the Ocean Queen a man-of-war. and were we admirals 
 of the fleet? At a sailors' boarding-house a man 
 volunteered to say where Jim was. He told Goggles 
 to take the second turning to the right, then the third 
 to the left, then go straight on till he saw a church, 
 then the fourth to the right over a railway bridge, then 
 the fifth house on the left was Jim's. If not at home 
 we should find him in Davy Jones's locker, " for," added 
 the informant, "Tim was always very fond of Davy Jones." 
 Poor Goggles carefully put down all these directions in 
 his note-book, and read them over to the man before starting 
 on his errand. " The fourth to the right over the railway 
 bridge ? " he inquired. " That's it," agreed his informant. 
 Goggles started, and when at last Jim was discovered 
 by the builder's foreman, and brought to the yard in 
 
A START. 211 
 
 a condition I should be sorry to qualify as " half seas 
 over," for he appeared to me not half, but entirely 
 drunk. Goggles was nowhere to be found. Of course 
 there was fresh delay, more searching and more growling, 
 during which the delinquent Jim fell fast asleep on the, 
 cabin sofa. Goggles at last turned up in a cab. He had 
 not gone far when he found himself in a blind alley, 
 so that he was unable to carry out the directions given 
 him. He had inquired for " Davy Jones's locker," upon 
 which a pugnacious Scotchman had threatened to knock 
 him down. Another swore at him, and walked off. So 
 he was afraid to make further inquiries, and after walking 
 many miles had hailed the first cab he saw. 
 
 At last, then, everything was ready. The Moonshine 
 was fastened somehow to something floating in the river 
 near the boat-builder's yard. We all got on board by 
 successive trips in her boat, which appeared to be a most 
 unsafe and dangerous litlle thing for the sea. But we 
 were used to outriggers, and did not mind a crank crafc 
 as long as we were in the river. Seabag ru,hed off to 
 fetch some forgotten article of food, and soon reappeared 
 with a huge ham in one hand and a cold roast leg of 
 mutton in the other. He had been sharper than we 
 should have expected ; for seeing the disorder which 
 prevailed, he doubted our being able to cook any dinner 
 on the first night, and had provided accordingly. An 
 important question was now put by Andrew. " Who 
 
 r 2 
 
212 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 is the captain ? " asked he. " Which of you gentlemen 
 is going to sail her ? " We looked at Smythe. None of 
 us felt competent to undertake the office, and yet Smythe 
 was silent. " Mr. Smythe, of course," answered Beacon, 
 pointing to him ; " that is the captain." Smythe said 
 hesitatingly, " Really, some one else had better." 
 " Nonsense," interrupted Goggles, " of course you are 
 the only oiie of us that knows anything about it." 
 " Well, I will do my best," acquiesced Smythe. Andrew 
 had been looking on with one eye screwed up. "Do 
 you want to get under way, sir ? " asked he. " Certainly," 
 said Smythe. " Very well, sir, then we had better get 
 the foresail up before we let go our moorings, otherwise 
 we shall run foul of some of this shipping." " All right," 
 said Smythe. The foresail was got up somehow. " Now," 
 said Andrew, " take the helm and keep her well into 
 the wind, sir, while I let go. Bob, stand by the main 
 halyard. That Jim, sir," added he, " ain't no manner 
 of use." Nor was he, for Goggles had been busy put- 
 ting the eatables away in the cabin, and had attempted 
 to rouse him from the sofa. Jim had not even conde- 
 scended to open his eyes, but had simply declared that 
 he would pitch any (expletive) body overboard who did 
 not leave him alone. So Goggles had wisely left him 
 alone, postponing further action until reinforced from 
 the deck. Meanwhile, we were watching Andrew. He 
 let go something or other, and we saw a barrel bobbing 
 
A START. 213 
 
 just under the Ocean Queens bowsprit. Then somehow 
 we went all over on one side. Andrew shouted out, 
 " Luff, sir, Juff, or the crutch will be overboard ! " 
 
 But Smythe did not appear to understand, for the ship 
 seemed to turn round quickly and fly through the water,^ 
 The next moment a great heavy thing came crashing 
 over, knocked Smythe on the shoulder violently, and 
 sent him flying into the water on one side, while some 
 bits of wood which had held it up flew over on the other. 
 We all shouted. Smythe rose to the surface spluttering ; 
 of course we all knew he could swim, so there was no 
 particular danger. But meanwhile the yacht seemed to 
 be flying away from him. Andrew rushed to the tiller. 
 " Get the fore sheet over," shouted he. " Out of the way, 
 gentlemen ! " 
 
 The vessel very soon stopped, and Andrew called out to 
 Bob to take the tiller. It was all the work of but a few 
 minutes. But Smythe seemed to be drifting further 
 and further away. Sturge and Beacon had both got 
 their coats off ready for a plunge when Andrew called out, 
 " Hold on, gents, don't jump in ; I'll get him with the 
 boat." The dirty old fellow jumped into the boat, 
 and in a minute more was pulling to where we saw 
 poor Smythe battling with the tide, and making vain 
 efforts to approach the vessel. Long before Andrew got up 
 to him a shore boat had hauled him in. He was brought 
 on alongside, very wet, but otherwise unhurt. " Did not 
 
214 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 you see the boom a coming over ? " asked Andrew, as lie 
 helped him on board. " Any fool must have known that it 
 must come over to leeward when you was letting her fall 
 off that way." " Five shilling^!, please, sir," said the boat- 
 man who had rescued him. " Please pay," said Smythe 
 disconsolately to Sturge ; " I have not got a sixpence left." 
 And then he resigned the office of captain to Andrew, 
 whom we unanimously confirmed in that capacity. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FIRST CRUISE. 
 
 " There is but a light air from the easterly," said 
 Andrew, " and if you gentlemen want to get out to sea 
 to-night we had better look sharp." 
 
 We proceeded to help Bob at some horrible rope which 
 broke our nails and took the skin off our hands. " One 
 gentleman aft ! " cried Andrew. Of course we did not know 
 what he meant. " One gentleman aft ! " shouted he again. 
 No one moved. 
 
 " If there's a sailor amongst you," he cried at last in 
 despair, " let him come here and get the peak clear of 
 the topping lifts." 
 
 This appeal was more effectual than any former ones. 
 For although there certainly was not a sailor amongst us, 
 Beacon suddenly guessed that he wanted some one at the 
 back part of the ship, and rushed there. He soon found 
 out what was wanted. Meanwhile a great row was going 
 on in the cabin. Smythe wanted to change his wet 
 clothes, and Jim was resting his weary head on our 
 
216 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 ex-captain's dressing-bag. He tried to draw it away from 
 under the sleeper's head. Jim growled. He tried again, 
 upon which Jim half rose and .threatened to knock the 
 " drowned rat " down. The wet chief assumed a posture 
 of self-defence, which was sorely disturbed by the vessel 
 heeling over to the wind (the sails being now set) so that 
 Smythe's head went straight into Jim's chest. Jim shook 
 him off, and composed himself to sleep again. Smythe 
 picked himself up and made another dart at the bag, upon 
 which the sailor reluctantly got up, saying, "Well, if you 
 are determined to fight you shall have it ! " (I omit the 
 verbal ornaments) and hitting poor Smythe straight 
 between the eyes, sent him crashing over the table on to 
 the opposite sofa with a great bang, which brought us all 
 below. Jim was sitting on the sofa ready for anything. 
 
 " Why," expostulated he in a drunken voice, " don't you 
 let a fellow alone ? I ain't doing no harm. Let a man 
 
 have his sleep when he wants it ; if you don't, by it 
 
 will be worse for you." 
 
 We none of us cared to have a fight in the cabin. It 
 was very low, and we constantly kept knocking our heads 
 against the beams. It was full of bags, portmanteaus, 
 bottles, and tins ; so there was no chance of a fair field. 
 Besides, the ship was heeling over very much, and none of 
 us felt quite safe on his feet. We therefore retired, and 
 appealed to our new captain,' poor Smythe meanwhile 
 shivering all over, getting more miserable every moment. 
 
THE FIRST CRUISE. 217 
 
 " Won't get off the sofa, won't he ? " said Andrew. " Ah 
 well, you must not be too hard upon him. A sailor's life is 
 a very hard one, gentlemen, and he is bound to take a drop 
 of spirits now and then." 
 
 " But we want our things," expostulated Sturge, " and we 
 can't have that drunken fellow in the cabin." 
 
 " He don't seem partickler drunk," said Andrew, " only 
 a bit sleepy-like. I'll see what I can do with him. Will 
 one of you gentlemen take the helm ? Keep her free, and 
 mind you don't run into any of those vessels." 
 
 Beacon took the helm, nervously indeed, but still he took 
 it. He was not quite devoid of intelligence. He looked 
 at the brass box containing the compass. It pointed 
 north-west. " Now," said he, " one of you fellows keep 
 looking at the compass and tell me if I am right. I must 
 keep the same course." 
 
 Sturge undertook the office. Beacon kept shifting the 
 tiller a little to the right or left according as Sturge directed 
 him. But meanwhile we had forgotten another danger. 
 Bob, who had I suppose been putting his things to rights, 
 suddenly appeared on deck and shouted out, " Port, sir, 
 port ; that barque will run into you." And sure enough 
 there was a great three-masted ship close to us, which we 
 had never noticed, so busy were we learning to steer. 
 Beacon ported ; he had presence of mind to guess what was 
 the right thing in time, but only just, for in another 
 moment we were close alongside the great clumsy 
 
218 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 merchant vessel, which seemed to tower ever so high 
 above our little boat. Bob quickly held some fenders over- 
 board, while the crew of the merchantman abused us for a 
 lot of land-lubbers, saying that as they were close hauled 
 and we were going free we ought to have kept out of their 
 way. This was of course quite beyond us, but we were 
 much relieved when Andrew came up and said he had 
 coaxed Jim into his " bunk " — whatever that was. Jim had 
 at last disappeared, and Smythe finding one of the small 
 cabins too cramped for his toilet, was busy changing his 
 wet clothes in the " drawing-room." By this time we had 
 found out that Smythe knew no more than we did, and 
 were, therefore, inclined to be rather hard on him. From 
 the position of chief he had formerly held he had fallen 
 to be a butt and a scapegoat. Not even his sound wetting- 
 could induce us to look on him kindly, 
 
 " What do you mean by messing about the cabin with 
 your wet clothes ! " growled Seabag, 
 
 " You had no business to undress here," cried Beacon. 
 
 " Go into your own cabin," halloed Goggles. 
 
 " But which is my cabin ? " asked Smythe piteously. 
 
 Which indeed ? Here was a question. There were, includ- 
 ing the sofas, but four sleeping- places for five of us. We 
 could not seriously make Smythe sleep on deck after he 
 had been half drowned twice in one day. We could not 
 " make up a bed on the floor," after the manner of seaside 
 lodgings, as there was no floor available to make up a bed 
 
THE FIRST CRUISE. 219 
 
 on. While Smythe was dressing we discussed the ques- 
 tion. No one was inclined to try the " forecastle " with 
 drunken Jim, dirty Andrew, and spitting Bob ; besides, 
 there was no spare bed there. At last Beacon said — 
 
 " One of us must kec^) watch." ^ 
 
 "But who?" 
 
 " Oh, we must toss. Or is there a pack of cards ? " No 
 one had brought any cards. JBut after some trouble we 
 found a pencil, and having written five numbers on bits of 
 paper. Beacon screwed them up, shook them in his hat, 
 and the others drew. No. 1 was to have the choice of 
 what Smythe, who had now recovered his spirits with his 
 dry clothes, nautically called watches. The night was 
 divided into five parts of two hours each, from ten to eight, 
 and one of us was to be on deck during jeach of these sets. 
 Sturge drew No. 1, and chose from six to eight in the 
 morning. Smythe, poor fellow, was further punished by 
 No. 5 ; so he had to take from two till four, which had been 
 left to the last. While all this was going on we were 
 dropping down the Clyde fast. Evening was approaching, 
 and our appetites increasing. Jim was snoring in the fore- 
 castle. Bob lying on his stomach on deck, lifting his head 
 up occasionally to look out ; the captain was at the helm. 
 We were really sailing. But now arose a difficulty. 
 Andrew could not steer all night, that was clear. None 
 of us would trust Smythe, and Beacon declined the re- 
 sponsibility. Andrew called down into the cabin while 
 
220 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 we were all trying to tidy up and prepare for supper, and 
 asked "whether we had a glass of spirits, as he was begin- 
 ning to feel cold." We found a bottle of whiskey, but no 
 corkscrew and no glass. At last we prized it open and 
 gave him the cup of Goggle's flask. 
 
 Having drunk it down in one gulp he said, " The tide 
 is running very slack, gentlemen ; we had better think 
 of anchoring soon." 
 
 " Why anchor ? " we exclaimed. 
 
 "Because, if we don't, the flood will take us back 
 pretty near as far as we have come, the wind being so 
 light." 
 
 " But, if we anchor every night, we shall be a week 
 getting round to the Isle of Wight," said Smythe. 
 
 " Well," asked the captain, " you surely don't expect 
 to get all round England in less time than that ? " 
 
 " We do though," answered Goggles. " I have got to 
 be at my office on Wednesday." 
 
 " And I must be at the bank by Thursday at latest," 
 added Sturge. 
 
 " Then you had better get ashore, and go by train," 
 said Andrew. " If you was to get fair winds all the way, 
 you couldn't get round in much less than five days." 
 
 This was a tremendous blow. We all turned on 
 Smythe fiercely. 
 
 " Why, you said we could sail round in four days." 
 
 " So we ought," answered he. " We ought to sail six 
 
THE FIRST CRUISE. 221 
 
 miles an hour at least. I have measured the distance 
 on the map, and it is less than 600 miles. So we ought 
 to do it in less than 100 hours." 
 
 " You can't reckon that way, governor," corrected 
 Andrew. " The yacht ain't a steamer. Some days we 
 might run 100 miles or more, and other days we might 
 not do forty." 
 
 Here Smythe was wrong again ; this time awfully and 
 unpardonably wrong. 
 
 " You ought to have known better," we said. 
 
 " I am sure we can get round in four or five days," he 
 maintained stoutly, " if we don't anchor at night. That 
 fellow," continued he sotto voce, " only wants to stop because 
 he is lazy and prefers a quiet night's rest. Make him 
 go on, and I am sure we shall get to the Isle of Wight 
 by Wednesday." 
 
 But we had had enough of Smythe' s advice. We 
 determined, by a large majority, to do as the captain 
 suggested, and in a very few minutes the rattle of the 
 chain told us that the day's cruise was ended. Notwith- 
 standing our various misfortunes we all felt jolly. The 
 vessel rose and fell gently with the incoming tide. There 
 was hardly a breath of wind, but what there was was 
 charged with sea salt and ozone — health-giving and 
 hungry. Twilight stole over us gently. The cabin was 
 getting dark. Goggles, who had been appointed to attend 
 the cuisine, shouted for a light. We all re-echoed the 
 
222 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 call. There were hanging candle-lamps in the cabins, but 
 no candles in them. 
 
 " Where are the candles ? " cried Beacon. 
 
 " Somewhere about, I suppose," said Sturge. 
 
 We all began hunting in the various cupboards, corners, 
 and shelves. We could find no candles. At last Beacon 
 asked the very pertinent question — 
 
 " Did any one buy any ? " i 
 
 " I did not," said Smythe. " I had to attend to the ship 
 and charts." 
 
 " Nor did I," said Sturge. " I had to find the crew ; 
 and a nice job I had of it." 
 
 " Of course / did not," said Seabag. " I bought a dozen 
 tins of preserved meat, condensed milk, and cold mutton 
 and ham. I actually got pepper and salt too." 
 
 " But no candles," interrupted Beacon. 
 
 " Why should I ? We don't eat caudles." 
 
 " I got wine, whiskey, and beer," said Goggles ; " but I had 
 nothinsf to do with candles. That was Beacon's business." 
 
 We were all of the same opinion. Beacon had nothing 
 to do but to get our traps on board, so he ought to have 
 provided candles. But he had not done so. Fortunately 
 May nights in Scotland are short, but we could not see 
 to eat our suppers below. The leg of mutton was there- 
 fore dragged on deck, and we made a dinner table of the 
 skylight. We drank beer out of the cups of our flasks, 
 and found them too small. We cut huge hunches of 
 
THE FIRST CRUISE. 223 
 
 bread and used them for plates. We found two knives 
 only on board, and so bad to make shift with any weapon 
 that was handy. Andrew came up in the middle of our 
 festivities. He screwed up one eye and looked at us, 
 hitched up his torn brace, and looked again. 
 
 " I'm sure I hope you will enjoy your dinner 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Why should we not?", asked Goggles, alarmed, 
 pausing, with a penknife in mid-air, on which a piece of 
 mutton was impaled. 
 
 " I dinna ken," answered Andrew ; " but I only hope 
 you will." And he screwed up one eye quite tight. 
 
 " Confound the fellow ! " growled Seabag. " He is quite 
 taking away my appetite. I wish he would remove 
 himself and his dirty night-cap." 
 
 " Is it the correct thing," whispered Sturge, " to give 
 the crew something to eat ? He looks as if he expected it." 
 
 " No," answered Smythe ; " they find themselves." 
 
 " But he seems very hungry," interceded Sturge ; " and 
 he has been steering all day." 
 
 "Well," said Beacon, " we can spare some. Here you 
 are, Andrew," he cried out. " Would you like some 
 mutton ? " 
 
 " Thank ye, sir," said Andrew, pulling a formidable 
 clasp knife out and cutting a huge hole in the proffered 
 leg. " Here's to your good health," as he drank the beer 
 offered. 
 
224 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 Goggles took advantage of the skipper having sat down 
 to eat with us to ask — 
 
 "Why did you say before that you hoped we should 
 enjoy our dinner to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Because, to be sure I do hope so," was, however, all 
 he could get out of him, 
 
 Either Andrew had no deeper meaning, or he would not 
 admit one. Goggles had to drop the matter ; but it preyed 
 on his mind, for before he went to sleep in the little cabin 
 which had fallen to his lot he still called out to us — 
 
 " Why did that dirty fellow hope we should enjoy our 
 dinner to-morrow ? I am sure he meant something." 
 
 "Perhaps he did," answered Smythe, from the main 
 cabin. 
 
 " Hold your row ! " called out Seabag from the second 
 berth. 
 
 " What are you fellows making such a noise about ? " 
 asked Beacon from the deck. 
 
 So all was still for two short hours as the tide rippled 
 against the sides of the Moonshine and lifted her gently 
 up and down. But the time was of short duration. 
 
 We were all startled out of our first sleep by a lively 
 altercation between Beacon and Goggles. " Get up, will 
 you ! " said Beacon. " I have done my watch. I want 
 to go to bed." 
 
 " See you blowed first," answered Goggles turning 
 over to the other side. 
 
THE FIRST CRUISE. 225 
 
 "I say, this is not fair!" exclaimed Beacon. "Here 
 have I been shivering on deck since ten o'clock, and 
 now Goggles won't let me go to bed." 
 
 " People say ' turn in ' on board ship," called out 
 Smythe, though only half awake. 
 
 " Well then, make him turn out," returned Beacon. 
 
 "Oh, fight it out between yourselves," said another 
 sleepy voice, " and leave us alone." 
 
 There was some fierce wrangling, during which Goggles 
 knocked his head against the low ceiling. At last he 
 made room for Beacon, and sneaked up on deck with 
 a number of ulsters and rugs. But the most singular 
 thing was that he began his " watch " by instantly 
 falling asleep, and slept so soundly that he did not call 
 anybody else up all night. Thus we all had a quiet 
 rest till the sun shone in through the skylight and 
 the livelier motion of the ship sent us all out to breathe 
 the brisk morning air. 
 
 It was time to be stirring if we ever intended to reach 
 the Channel. So we all thought ; but there was no 
 sign of the crew. They were all fast asleep. Sturge 
 roused them out of the smelly close forecastle, and old 
 Andrew came tumbling up, looking dirtier than ever, 
 and trying in vain to secure his braces, which had 
 evidently grown no stronger over night. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT SEA, 
 
 We were very anxious to be away, to feel the real 
 " briny " under our feet, to sniff the ocean breeze. As yet 
 we were almost land-locked, the horizon was not boundless, 
 and the chimneys of Greenock were still visible in the 
 north-east just below the sun. But Andrew did not 
 seem to be in any hurry. His great anxiety was to scrub 
 the deck, for he evidently cared more about washing 
 the deck than himself. Very few minutes after the men 
 had tumbled up they were dashing buckets of water all 
 about.. Some retired expeditiously, but Sturge and 
 Beacon, more sensible than the rest, thought that the 
 ablutions might as well be combined, and performed their 
 toilet suh Jove frigido — pailfuls of brackish water being 
 capital substitutes for the morning tub. Smythe wanted 
 to get out in the boat and bathe. " But," expostulated 
 Goggles, " surely you had enough water yesterday. Don't 
 make us lose any more time," So he gave it up, and 
 eventually we all followed the example of the other two, 
 
AT SEA. 227 
 
 and got douche baths on deck. To dress, however, proved 
 no easy task. Our things were very much mixed up. 
 Old Seabag's portmanteau was under a mass of tins and 
 biscuit boxes, Beacon's bag was nowhere to be found, and 
 Smythe, having already changed twice on the previous 
 day, had very little left to put on. Sturge slipped into 
 Goggles's lower garments, which were much too large for 
 him, and the owner, never suspecting any one else of 
 taking them, went crashing and banging from one cabin 
 into another, and turning everything topsy-turvy in a 
 vain search for the indispensable article, finally, till Sturge 
 confessed, rolling his legs up in a shawl. When things 
 began to get a little straight everybody clamoured for 
 breakfast, and of course old Seabag, the caterer, was told 
 to look after it, with Sturge to help. Andrew had 
 fortunately not forgotten the fresh water, so while the 
 crew were getting ready to sail, the kettle was filled, 
 and we all set to hunting for breakfast requisites, ultimately 
 succeeding in finding a teapot with a broken handle, a 
 cracked jug, and a number of cups of different patterns 
 and in various stages of decrepitude. To light the fire 
 was the first and apparently most difficult operation, 
 for we heard various growls and grumblings issuing from 
 the forecastle. Meanwhile the whilom Captain Smythe 
 was helping to heave away at the anchor, and Beacon, 
 the only one who had so far shown any sailor-like qualities, 
 was standing by the main halyards. A heel over and 
 
 Q2 
 
228 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 a rush of water told that we were at last away, but 
 at the same moment a terrible noise was heard forward. 
 We tumbled through the pantry just in time to see 
 the kettle upset, and the water pouring over the prostrate 
 Seabag in little jets. He was, it appears, just putting 
 it on the painfully lighted fire when the first puff caught 
 the Moonshine and upset him ; he dropped the kettle, and 
 Avas punished accordingly. Jim, who was perfectly sober, 
 but painfully haggard, peered into the darkness from 
 above, asking what was the matter. We made him 
 come down to mop up and watch the fire, old Seabag 
 meanwhile retiring in a very bad temper to the recesses 
 of one of the sleeping cabins. But ill humour was 
 soon forgotten as we collected on the deck to see the 
 yacht tearing through the water with a fresh north-easterly 
 breeze on her quarter ; the beautiful hills clad in the 
 verdure of early spring on the port bow (we called it 
 " left hand ") and a few mountain tops still covered 
 with a sprinkling of snow on the right. It was cool, 
 nay, decidedly cold, and we all felt a yearning for our 
 hot breakfasts. We were rapidly running down with 
 wind and tide in our favour, and Andrew said with a slight 
 twinkle in one eye, "Better get your sea legs ready, 
 gents ; there'll be a bit of a toss outside." We all 
 declared that our sea legs were quite ready and were 
 anxious for a bit of a toss — though perhaps we did not 
 feel quite as sanguine as we pretended to be. 
 
AT SEA. 229 
 
 Now there was a shout from below, " Tea is ready, 
 gentlemen ! " and we found on going down that Jim 
 had turned out the breakfast table in better order than 
 could have been expected from his performances of the 
 previous day. It is true that the table was all on one 
 side, and looked as if everything must slide off, but that 
 was not his fault. Seabag, Smythe, and Beacon chose the 
 right ; they had the table about level with their noses, 
 and every now and then seemed to disappear under it. 
 Goggles and Sturge were on the left, with their breakfast 
 somewhere about their knees. Strange to say, a tin 
 opener had not been forgotten. Seabag produced it 
 triumphantly when some one suggested sardines as a 
 welcome addition to our milkless tea, stale bread, and 
 very middling butter. It took a long time, however, to 
 prize the box open, and the table began to rock viciously 
 from side to side. A sudden jerk followed by a big splash 
 made Smythe drop his cup, tea and all, over Beacon, 
 crying out, " We've struck ! " He rushed up the steep 
 companion ladder with blanched face and trembling limbs, 
 while we waited with a calmness more apparent than real. 
 
 " What has happened ? " he cried to Bob, who was 
 steering and spitting. 
 
 " Nothing in partickler," answered Bob, cleverly squirt- 
 ing a bit of tobacco over the vessel's side. 
 
 " But what was that ? " 
 
 ''What?" asked Bob. 
 
230 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 "That shock just now," cried out Smythe, who was 
 holding on to the companion. 
 
 " Only a bit of a sea," said the steersman. " Here's 
 another ; " and as he spoke we felt another bang and 
 heard another souse ; on which Smythe came stumbling 
 down looking wet and white. 
 
 " It is a very rough sea," quoth he, " I think I have 
 had enough breakfast," and hastily seizing an ulster he 
 clambered up again, while we who had gradually mastered 
 the sardine tin continued our repast. Every now and 
 then a cup would skate over into some one's lap, or a 
 wily fish elude the grasp of the hungry yachtsman ; but 
 we got through our meal somehow, and resumed our con- 
 versation on the charms of a cruise, and the delights of 
 an after-breakfast pipe, which of course had always been 
 an institution amongst us. But when breakfast was done 
 no one seemed in a great hurry to begin to smoke. 
 Some ominous sounds came from the deck, and Goggles 
 said "He'd just look and see what was the matter." 
 The ominous sounds increased in intensity, and we then 
 began to look into each other's faces doubtfully, like men 
 on the brink of a great danger. Was it possible — nay, 
 the suggestion was too horrible — was it credible that 
 some one above was seasick ? No ; surely it must be Bob 
 making more noise than usual over his tobacco. Seabag 
 and Beacon were now on the right, Sturge alone on the 
 left. Little Sturge gradually dropped his head back, 
 
' Old Andrew was at the helm." 
 
 Pnge 231. 
 
AT SEA. 231 
 
 reclining, as he said, comfortably " to get a good rest." 
 Then very slowly he drew his legs up, and before long 
 was lying at full length on the sofa, suspiciously silent 
 and thoughtful. The conversation dropped. Beacon 
 slowly pulled his pipe out. He passed the tobacco to 
 old Seabag, who said slowly, " I do not think T shall 
 smoke just now," and leaning his head on his elbow 
 also assumed a pensive attitude. 
 
 "Have a pipe, Sturge," said old Beacon, lighting a 
 match ; " it will do you good, old boy." 
 
 "There's nothing the matter with me," whispered 
 Sturge, "but I am rather sleepy. I wish you would 
 leave me alone." 
 
 " All right," answered Beacon, cheerily. " I'll see 
 what's going on on deck." 
 
 And on deck he went. Here was a goodly sight. 
 Old Andrew was at the helm again, his eye twinkling 
 more than usual. The vessel was ploughing her way 
 through a bright green sea, the waves were tipped with 
 white, and every now and then a bit of one came over 
 her with a hard rattle as of shot. The bowsprit was 
 bobbing up and down, the deck was wet and slippery, 
 and curled up against the low bulwark lay something 
 wrapped up in an ulster. It was not inanimate for 
 fitful groans and curious noises escaped from the 
 bundle ; but it was certainly not lively, for even a green 
 sea which came curling over just then only called forth 
 
232 THE CKUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 a slight shudder and a deeper groan. Could this be 
 the noble Smythe, our whilom captain ? Hardly ; yet it 
 was. On the hatch crouched another figure, also deeply 
 enveloped in the folds of a great coat. Only a portion 
 of a haggard face was visible — the jaw was hanging, 
 the cheeks hollow ; and into this ghastly apparition the 
 festive Goggles had in a few short minutes been 
 transformed. 
 
 "Sick, are you?" asked Beacon jocosely, digging the 
 prostrate Smythe in the ribs. But even at this supreme 
 time Smythe's audacity did not forsake him. He was still 
 anxious to preserve the prestige which he had in fact lost 
 long before, and answered feebly, " No, I am not sick ; I'm 
 only lying down. I'm very bad. Ugh ! " 
 
 This was too much for the ghastly Goggles. " I'll bet 
 he was ! " he exclaimed. " What an awful humbug ! He's 
 as sick as a cat, and so am I ; you should have seen him 
 just now. Now, leave us alone ; and get away with that 
 filthy pipe." Smythe tried still to deny the soft impeach- 
 ment, but in vain, for inclining his head overboard he took 
 no further interest in the proceedings. Beacon calmly 
 took the helm out of Andrew's hand, saying, " How is her 
 head ? South-west by south. All right," and performed 
 a feat at which we all stared in astonishment. He was 
 not only not sea-sick, but he actually steered the Moon- 
 shine without letting his pipe out. Andrew had become 
 rather sceptical about our seamanship, and for a time 
 
AT SEA. 233 
 
 busied himself in coiling up ropes and making things what 
 he called " shipshape " on deck, evidently fearful of some 
 catastrophe. But after a time, finding that Beacon appa- 
 rently knew all about it — which he did not — he disap- 
 peared below, the pensive Jim alone lying on his stomach 
 close to the mast, and every now and then raising his head 
 to look out. Little Sturge fell asleep, and in his sleep 
 gradually got used to the motion. Seabag would not 
 admit that he felt queer, but stuck to the sofa on the 
 well-worn plea of fatigue. Goggles and Smythe re- 
 mained groaning on deck, while Beacon gloated over 
 their miseries, reserving, however, more active chaff for 
 a future occasion. 
 
CHAPTER VIIl. 
 
 BETTER. 
 
 Thus the morning wore on, the toss becoming more and 
 more decided as the wind increased in force and we left the 
 land further behind us — astern, we ought to say. Smythe 
 spent his time in a state of abject misery. Goggles was 
 almost as bad, but still well enough to sneer occasionally. 
 Sturge remained on the lee-side sofa of the main cabin. 
 Old Seabag at first occupied the other sofa, but finding 
 himself shot off on five successive occasions at last also 
 appeared on deck. 
 
 "I don't think very much of yachting, after all," he 
 remarked to Beacon, who, having slid over to leeward 
 on the wet deck more than once had resigned the tiller. 
 
 " Yachting be blowed !" growled poor Goggles. " I 
 wish I were in town again." " How about lunch ? " was 
 the only remark Beacon vouchsafed. " You fellows must 
 be hungry. At any rate I should think Smythe and 
 Goggles must have digested their breakfast by this 
 time." 
 
BETTER. 235 
 
 This was a cruel sneer ; but in fact even the sea-sick ones 
 were beginning to feel a certain emptiness which required 
 to be met in some way. Smythe alone was in a state of 
 utter prostration. Finally Beacon had to get lunch, and 
 worked away at opening sundry tins and a bottle of beer 
 with a zeal which made the rest of us almost burst with 
 envy. Easterly winds in May are not particularly balmy 
 in the northern portion of the Irish Channel. Those who 
 were ill were shivering ; those who were still well tried to 
 walk up and down the small deck in vain. Yet it was a 
 glorious sight for one not affected by the motion. Our 
 course was now sou'-sou'-west ; the wind was therefore well 
 abaft the beam. With all plain sail set we went tearing 
 through the green water at a famous pace. Far on the 
 horizon was a bluish bank of fog : it was the Isle of Man. 
 No other land was in sight; a few distant sails only, 
 glistening in the sunshine, dotted the surface of the heav- 
 ing deep. But we could not enjoy all this. There was 
 a disagreeable wriggle about the Moonshine which seemed 
 to us still worse than any pitching, and when we asked 
 Andrew the cause of it, he said : " She's only trying to 
 shoot up into the wind." We thought she was a great 
 fool for thus trying, and not leaving us alone in peace. 
 
 " Let go that lee runner, and ease off the main sheet," 
 shouted Andrew : and Beacon, who was watching intently, 
 helped also to loosen a bundle of ropes — in nautical language 
 he gave her more main sheet. Faster still she went, 
 
236 THE CEUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 and still the waves which came after us seemed to grow 
 bigger and bigger. 
 
 Evening was drawing on. Beacon resumed the helm ; 
 but scarcely had he done so when there came a shout from 
 Jim, who was, as usual, " looking out " forward. 
 
 " Take care, sir ! she'll gybe. LufF, sir, luff ! " And 
 the next moment the big mainsail was all shivering, and 
 with a tremendous bang the boom flew over to the other 
 side. Fortunately Beacon saw the mistake he had made 
 before it was quite too late ; he grasped the main sheet 
 like grim death, while both Goggles and Sturge, with a 
 sudden return of energy, took in the slack. Thus the 
 boom did not go far, and the jerk was diminished. But 
 it was sufficient to shake the vessel all through, and to 
 bring up Andrew with curses not loud but deep. 
 
 "Bob'll take her, sir," he said. So Beacon retired, and 
 proceeded to prepare for dinner, since no one else could 
 undertake the duties of cook and steward. 
 
 The repast was scarcely a merry one. There was some 
 greasy soup out of a tin, some cold mutton, and other 
 hors d'ceuvre. But our appetites were extremely poor. 
 Only Beacon and Seabag sat down to dinner formally. 
 Old Andrew had not forgotten the gibe. Putting his head 
 down the companion he said, " Didn't I wish ye as good 
 an appetite to-day as ye had yesterday, gentlemen ? " Then 
 there was comparative peace for a time, for the wind fell 
 with the sun. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE CATASTROPHE. 
 
 There was a good deal of fuss and commotion in the 
 forecastle towards eight o'clock. First Jim took the tiller, 
 while Andrew and Bob consulted forward. Then Andrew 
 came aft and sent Jim forward. Then, again, Bob took 
 the skipper's place. 
 
 "What is the matter?" at last inquired Beacon of 
 the latter. 
 
 " I canna find the side lights," answered he. " I'm 
 just thinking there are nane on board." 
 
 It was some time before we understood the situation. 
 At last it dawned upon us that sailing vessels have to 
 caiTy a red light on one side and a green on the other 
 when under way at night, and that we had neither, and 
 were therefore infringing the sailing regulations. 
 
 " Weel," remarked Andrew at last, the search having 
 proved entirely fruitless, " we must keep a good luik-out ; 
 but I dinna like it." 
 
 We were all exhausted by the cold or sickness. We 
 
238 THE CRUISE OF THE "MOONSHINE." 
 
 were therefore anxious to turn in. As Smythe refused 
 to move from his position, we covered him up with 
 all the wraps we could spare, and made ourselves 
 comfortable. 
 
 " We shall have a fine night, thank heaven," exclaimed 
 Goggles, as he looked around. 
 
 " I hope to goodness it won't blow before we have to 
 get up," said Seabag. 
 
 But old Andrew did not look quite comfortable. " I 
 wish we had them side lights. There's a sea fog 
 coming on." 
 
 Fog or not we were all soon fast asleep, the ship being 
 left entirely in the care of the crew. 
 
 Our rest was rudely and suddenly disturbed. We sat 
 up in our "bunks." There was shouting and yelling on 
 deck. 
 
 " Port your helm ! " screamed one voice. 
 
 " She don't see us ! " cried another. 
 , " Starboard ! Hard a starboard, will you ? " cried a 
 third. " Give her another hail ! " 
 
 And then an unearthly howl from all three brought 
 us all up trembling in our night garments. 
 
 There was a thick white mist which seemed to freeze 
 our very bones. One of the men with a foot against 
 the tiller, which was hard-a-starboard, was yelling at 
 the very top of his voice with his hands to his mouth. 
 Three other figures were screaming by his side. We 
 
THE CATASTROPHE. 239 
 
 gazed into the white darkness. For a moment we could 
 not make out anything. Then there seemed to be 
 something black, as high as a house, looming over us. 
 A flash of a red light, then a crash, which sent us 
 flying over to the other side of the Moonshine, and then 
 suddenly a rush of cold water over our heads, and a 
 blank ! 
 
 " Eight of you all told, did you say ? " was the first 
 remark heard on our recovering consciousness. 
 
 There appeared to be an afiirmative grunt from some- 
 where, and then the cheery observation, " All right ; 
 
 then there's no one lost. But why the d had you 
 
 no lights ? " and so on. We had been run into by the 
 good steamer Merlin, bound from Douglas for Liverpool. 
 We were at this moment in very comfortable berths. 
 But a few hours ago we had been in imminent danger 
 of our lives. The Merlin was, it seems, going dead slow, 
 on account of the fog, otherwise we must all have been 
 drowned. As it was, her tremendous size and weight 
 had sunk our tiny craft, but the men had clung to the 
 rigging, and the steamer did not go right over us. 
 Smythe had seized a rope, and was conscious enough to 
 hold on until he was taken off. Beacon had got hold 
 of the solitary life-buoy. The rest of us were probably 
 knocked insensible, but we were all picked up some- 
 how, and the usual restoratives used with effect. As to 
 
240 THE CRUISE OF THE " MOONSHINE." 
 
 the Moonshine, she was at the bottom of the sea. We 
 were in a sorry plight ; all our clothes and our money 
 had gone down with the ship. Smythe was the only 
 one who had not undressed, and was possessed of eight 
 and sixpence ; he, the cause of all our misfortunes, had 
 saved his watch. The captain of the Merlin, though 
 very kind, chaffed us most unmercifully. 
 
 He took us to Liverpool, where we arrived at noon the 
 next day, and lent us a most curious medley of clothes to 
 go ashore in. We telegraphed to our friends, and had to 
 wait at a third-rate hotel till replies and the necessary 
 funds came. We had to buy clothes at a cheap outfitter's 
 on the Mersey ; and our hopes of a summer cruise with 
 the ladies were over. Sturge was particularly doleful : 
 " That beast of a colonel will have it all his own way," 
 he sighed ; " there is not a chance of cutting him out 
 now." But we had more serious cares than to bother 
 about Sturge's love affairs : we had to compensate the 
 men for the loss of their outfit. It turned out that the 
 stockings and under garments worn by a sailor are as 
 expensive as those sold by any West-end hosier. 
 
 We consoled ourselves with the thought that all this 
 expenditure was only of a temporary nature ; that the 
 Insurance Company would repay the whole in full. For 
 little Sturge, (be it said to his credit, he was the only one 
 who thought of it), had insured the vessel for rather more 
 than she had cost before we left London. What was our 
 
THE CATASTROPHE. 241 
 
 hoiTor on applying for our money to be told that as we 
 had not complied with the sailing rules we were not 
 entitled to sixpence. So it was ; and it appeared that we 
 had had two days' sail, during which time the majority of 
 us were seasick, and no end of trouble, at a cost of not less 
 than £400. We were not inclined to go to law and send 
 good money after bad. We took the paltry £100 the 
 Insurance Company offered us, find swore that we would 
 never trust Smythe again. This was the end of the 
 cruise of the Moonshine. 
 
HUNTING FKOM TOWN. 
 
 B 2 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 Old-fashioned sportsmen are rather in the habit of 
 looking down upon the men whom business or pleasure 
 keeps in London during the greater part of the year, and 
 who, if they want to hunt at all, take train from town in 
 the morning and return the same night. They declare that 
 half the pleasure of the sport is lost if you do not belong to 
 the country where you hunt, if you were not almost born 
 and bred there, and if you do not know every squarson and 
 eveiy farmer within a radius oftwenty miles of the kennels. 
 No doubt the country gentleman (I speak now of the in- 
 dividual, not of the newspaper, of the name) who was, 
 with the surrounding yeomen, the originator of fox-hunting, 
 still has, to a great extent, the best of it. Every meet 
 becomes for him a festive gathering, a " small and early," 
 without the gene of dress clothes and company manners. 
 His friends are all there, and though some may also be 
 present who are not his friends, he can get out of their way 
 
246 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 if he likes with much greater facility than he could at a 
 ball or dinner party. It is easy enough to shake off a bore 
 in the field if your heart is in the right place and your 
 horse can jump. But it is not easy to get rid of a tiresome 
 neighbour at a country banquet. The country gentleman 
 too, whether he be young or old, is sure to find what some 
 of the society weeklies call his " lady friends " at the 
 covert side. Even if they do not all ride to hounds, the 
 majority will certainly come out to have a look at them, 
 and if hunting gives plenty of opportunities to get rid of 
 foes, it presents equally good ones for improving one's ac- 
 quaintance with fair friends, again premising that one has 
 a good horse and a stout heart. Even in a " quick thing " 
 it is so easy to please the adored one by breaking the top 
 bar of a stiff flight of posts and rails, or by holding open an 
 obstinate gate, or by picking up a whip which has dropped, 
 or in many other ways which are familiar enough to the 
 man used to "moving adventures by flood and field." In 
 a slow run, and when sport is poor, the lover who is timid 
 with ladies but bold at his fences has a hundred chances 
 which are never vouchsafed to him whose field is confined 
 to the ball-room. Given a somewhat fidgety horse, or one 
 which the canny rider secretly goads into fidgeting, and 
 there is no limit to the progress which a single afternoon 
 with a provincial pack will enable our swain to make. He 
 can show off his figure, his legs, his seat, his arms, even his 
 head, for he has unlimited opportunities for display ; and he 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN. 247 
 
 can do all this without appearing to "put any side on." 
 To jump a five-barred gate when hounds are not running, 
 and there is a good " gallery," may not be very rational, but 
 it is a coup which may very possibly capture the tender 
 heart of the country beauty. But let him not follow the 
 example of a rash friend of ours, who, being anxious thus to 
 obtain the applause of the spectators, especially of one fair 
 lady, charged a stile, with the, result that the horse did 
 not rise at all, but attempted to gallop through it, and 
 tumbling head over heels deposited the young hero in 
 a very dirty road. 
 
 But to return from this somewhat long digression, the 
 man who " hunts from London " will scarcely ever be on 
 the same pleasant terms of easy familiarity with almost 
 every one out as he who dwells amongst them. He may 
 have a few friends who have come down from town like 
 himself, and will after a few seasons no doubt have 
 made some in the country. But he is not one of the 
 family, and as neither his birth, parentage, breeding, 
 and fortune are known to every farmer like those of the 
 country squire, he will, even after several years, still 
 only be Mr. So-and-So from London. Some of the social 
 pleasures of hunting he will therefore undoubtedly lose, 
 and it will be many years before he is as familiar with the 
 country, and knows the probable line of the fox, as well 
 as the comparatively rough farmer, who turns out on a 
 powerful horse scarcely in condition, with drab breeches and 
 
248 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 gaiters, and a " pot " hat. But non cuivis contingit adire 
 Corintlmm. It is not every one who can be born and bred 
 in a hunting country, and live in it all his hunting life. 
 There are many lovers of the chase who would not if they 
 could, and there are still more who could not if they would. 
 Agriculture is scarcely in so blooming a condition as to be 
 able to support the younger sons of country gentlemen in 
 idleness, or even in comparative idleness, and many elder 
 sons, too, have to seek their fortunes in cities. Again, the 
 son of the citizen, the descendant of the man who has made 
 much money in trade and manufacture, naturally, by the 
 process ingrained in every Englishman, strives to emancipate 
 himself from the trammels of town, and to return to the 
 sweet country air whence his ancestors came, perhaps six 
 generations back. He will certainly begin by "hunting 
 from town," and possibly the sport may lead him to settle 
 where he can enjoy it best. Many other classes have within 
 recent years, and thanks to the facilities offered by the 
 railway companies, joined the ranks who " hunt from town." 
 There is the overworked merchant or City man, whom his 
 doctor has warned that if he continues to spend six days a 
 week in his office without exercise, liver complaint will kill 
 him. Somebody suggests hunting, and Croesus, whose 
 equestrian preformances have hitherto been confined to the 
 Row in the season from 6 to 7 p.m. on a quiet cob, or to 
 the mule ride inseparable from a journey to Switzerland, 
 purchases a couple of horses and tries the noble sport, with 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN! 249 
 
 the most satisfactory result. There is the successful lawyer 
 who wants to get rid of the cobwebs left by abstruse cases, 
 and to let the winter breezes cool his hot head. There is 
 the biscuit baker, the gelatine man, and the inventor of 
 some non-intoxicating drink, all of whom though per-- 
 haps not members of the most aristocratic circles, can 
 ride a little bit ; and now that their ingenuity and 
 industry have enabled them -to do so without extra- 
 vagance, resolve to join the cheery crowd who follow 
 hounds. There are the horse-dealers and horse-dealers' 
 sons, who come out on business, but often forget their 
 business in the excitement of a good burst, and 
 thoroughly enjoy their day, even though they have not 
 succeeded in selling a horse dear nor in buying one cheap. 
 There are many worse men than these hard-riding horse- 
 dealers. They are among the best pilots an ambitious 
 stranger can have, for their business prevents them shirking 
 anything, and yet they are anxious not to take too much 
 out of their horses. To ascend a little higher in the scale, 
 we must not forget that the hunting " specials " from town 
 and the " slip " carriages, very frequently carry our legis- 
 lators, hereditary and elected, whose presence in London 
 affairs of state demand in the evening, but who can afford 
 to spend a few hours of the day in that sport which is, as 
 Mr. Jorrocks says, "The image of war with none of its 
 guilt, and only (what proportion we will leave blank for 
 our readers to fill up) a fraction of its dangers." 
 
250 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 It would be idle to assert that these, and many other sets 
 of men we could mention, all hunt for the mere show of the 
 thing, or for health alone. A large number of them love 
 the sport for its own sake — ay, and follow the chase with 
 the same interest and the same knowledge as many a squire 
 who has never left his county. If they have fewer 
 opportunities than he has of studying the habits of the wily 
 fox, the peculiarities of the country, the effect of weather on 
 scent, and many other matters which might appear to be 
 minutice to the outsider, but are of the utmost importance 
 to one who would hunt as distinguished from him who 
 merely rides to hounds, London men should be pitied for 
 the misfortune which keeps them away from the country 
 for the greater part of the year, rather than chaffed for 
 coming to follow hounds over it whenever they get a chance. 
 Fortunately the prejudice against them is gradually wearing 
 off in most countries. It undoubtedly originated in the 
 circumstance that some years ago, when railway com- 
 munication was less perfect, a few hard-riding young fellows 
 who knew nothing of hunting, but could afford, or fancied 
 they could afford, to spend any amount of money on their 
 horses, used to train or drive down to certain packs, and ride 
 regardless of hounds and scent ; while others, less wealthy, 
 and in a lower social position, took advantage of Saturday 
 meets near the metropolis to practise on hired hacks which 
 would have been more harmlessly employed in a riding- 
 school. It is during this period that the Old Berkeley 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN. 251 
 
 Master ceased advertising his meets, and his example was, 
 
 unfortunately, followed by a few others, who had less excuse. 
 
 We say unfortunately, because though no genuine sportsman 
 
 can rejoice at seeing an unruly rabble surrounding a covert 
 
 and carefully heading Reynard back every time he tries to 
 
 get away, yet we find after some years' experience that 
 
 crowds are apt to be equally uncontrollable whether they 
 
 collect twenty miles from the metropolis or two hundred. 
 
 In fact, of the two, we almost prefer the London amateur 
 
 horseman. He very often knows just enough about hunting 
 
 to obey orders, while the provincial occasionally thinks he 
 
 knows more than the Master, or is so keen on the sport that 
 
 he forgets discipline and order in his anxiety to view the fox 
 
 or the stag. We therefore think that some of the packs 
 
 hunting within, say, an hour and a half's ride of London, 
 
 would not do badly if they, like their neighbours, advertised 
 
 their meets. Men who will twice or thrice a week get up 
 
 in the dark and face a long journey down in order to hunt 
 
 in a favourite country seldom spoil sport. On the contrary, 
 
 their subscriptions (which they seldom refuse if politely 
 
 asked for them) would serve materially to promote it. In 
 
 these periods of agricultural depression many Masters can 
 
 no longer rely on local support alone, and the majority of 
 
 London men are very willing to contribute to the expenses 
 
 of the pack with which they hunt. 
 
II 
 
 The man who would enjoy both town and country 
 pleasures cannot expect to have quite as easy a time 
 of it as he who is satisfied with one or the other. The 
 country squire who hunts three days a week may, and 
 often has, a long way to drive or ride to covert, but then 
 one transaction covers the whole business. He steps 
 from his hall door into his dog-cart and from the cart on 
 to the back of his hunter. He has probably not had 
 occasion to rise any earlier than usual — certainly not by 
 candle-light, except perhaps for a few mornings about 
 Christmas. The hour of eleven, which is now the usual 
 one for meets all over the country, allows even the most 
 distant sportsmen ample time to dress by daylight, unless 
 they spend an unconscionable time over outward adorn- 
 ment. The squire need but seldom rise before eight. 
 He can breakfast comfortably without being anxious 
 about catching a train, and can smoke his cigar, quietly 
 ensconced in a warm ulster on his cart or on the back of his 
 steady cob. Not so the London man. At the best of times 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN. 253 
 
 winter morniDgs in town are dark, and the hour at which 
 he is obliged to rise makes artificial light necessary for 
 many successive weeks. It is very disgusting to have to 
 get up in what appears to be the middle of the night in 
 pursuit of pleasure, and those who do it regularly — par- 
 ticularly after a heavy dinner party or a long rubber on the 
 previous evening — may be credited with genuine love of 
 sport. London servants are not generally early risers, and 
 their temper is scarcely improved by having to get bath, 
 hot water, and breakfast for their masters before the cold 
 gloomy dawn of a winter morning. There will almost 
 certainly be sundry little domestic obstacles raised in the 
 best-conducted establishments. Perhaps the wife does not 
 sympathise, and then the case is serious indeed, for it is ten 
 to one that the choice will be between train and breakfast. 
 If you eat the latter you will miss the former, and if you 
 determine to catch the former you must do without the 
 latter. A resolute will and persistence in hunting, not- 
 withstanding every inconvenience, will alone bring the lady 
 round to a more wholesome frame of mind, and convince 
 her that she had better make the best of a bad job and assist 
 her husband to get away comfortably, since go he will. 
 But it is possible that Nimrod is a bachelor, and then, un- 
 less blessed with one of those model servants often told of 
 in novels but seldom met with in real life, his chance of 
 finding everything ready for him when he wakes, and when, 
 his toilet completed, he yearns for breakfast, is small indeed. 
 
254 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 The toast will not appear until the cab is at the door, and 
 as the baker has not yet gone his rounds there will be 
 nothing but stale bread ; the water did not boil when the 
 tea was made, and the result is a tepid fluid scarcely coloured; 
 the milkman has not made his call, and the cat (?) lapped 
 up what was put by for the morning. One tiny trouble 
 after another crops up, until our poor friend is almost dis- 
 heartened, and feels inclined to go to bed again, postponing 
 sport to another day. However, bolder thoughts prevail, 
 and at last he climbs into a hansom, which is probably the 
 last of the night cabs, and which the tired horse can scarcely 
 drag. He reaches the station barely in time, and it is quite 
 likely that in the scramble his creamy tojDs have been 
 splashed, or the mirror-like surface of his boots dulled by 
 the rude contact of a cab- wheel. However, he just manages 
 to bundle into a first-class can'iage, which is probably 
 occupied by persons strongly objecting to smoke. There was 
 no time for selection, and it is a blessing to have caught the 
 train at all. His spirits are as low as they well can be. It 
 is scarcely light yet ; everything looks dull, black and dreary. 
 He feels as if he had had only half the necessary quantity 
 of sleep, and no breakfast at all. There is a deep con- 
 sciousness of misery, not untempered by indigestion, dis- 
 comfort, and damp. It is cold, and the foot- warmers do not 
 deserve the name ; in the hurry of starting, too, the warm 
 rug was forgotten. The solace of tobacco is denied, and to 
 sleep is impossible, as the carriage is crowded, and the boots 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN. 255 
 
 must be carefully preserved immaculate. In short, he who 
 hunts from town is not unlikely to consider the whole thing 
 a huge mistake. If he has had to " box " his horse as well 
 (a proceeding which we would warn our friends to get done 
 for them whenever they can) his feet will probably be still 
 colder, and his temper worse. 
 
 The train stops at the great junction on the outskirts 
 of the Metropolis, and then speeds along till it fairly 
 reaches the open country. The scene changes, the black 
 fog is left behind, the lamp above drags out a lingering 
 competition with the increasing daylight, green fields 
 appear, and at last a bright ray of real sunshine lights up 
 the river over which the train is speeding. The sportsman 
 wakes from the uneasy slumber into which he had sunk, 
 and sees wide pastures, cattle munching the short grass, 
 sheep scudding away as the train passes, and trees glowing 
 in all the varying shades of brown, red, and yellow. A 
 subdued, but bright enough light is cast over the whole 
 from the sun, struggling as it is with thin mists which are 
 curling up from the reeds by yonder stream, and are still 
 settled motionless in the hollow, over which the train 
 rattles on the iron viaduct. See, yonder, a huge waggon, 
 with four burly horses, toiling up the ascent, and as we 
 mark their gallant efforts the train plunges into a tunnel 
 underneath the hill they are striving to climb. Once 
 emerged, and all traces of the great city are left behind. 
 The sun has at last conquered the autumn mists, and his 
 
256 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 slanting rays fall on the white chalk slope of the railway 
 cutting. They fall, too, on the closed window of the 
 carriage, which some one at last puts down, admitting the 
 mild yet bracing air, and letting out the London fog which 
 had filled it. A new spirit comes over the man who 
 " hunts from London." He looks out eagerly, calculating 
 how he would get over that brook if he had to face it, or 
 how he would avoid that wire-bound hedge, if hounds ran 
 through it. His thoughts no longer dwell on his disturbed 
 night's rest, nor on his scanty breakfast. " We shall make 
 it up at the Royal George," he thinks, and indeed this 
 hostelry is always full of chops, eggs, or toast, or devilled 
 kidneys. Or if there is no inn handy, there is sure to be 
 some friendly squire or hospitable farmer en route, who 
 will gladly make up for the deficiencies of a London 
 household. - " What a jolly morning I scent is sure to be 
 STOod. I wonder which covert we shall draw first ? Will 
 it be Langton Spinney or Squire Braxton's Wood ? Will 
 he run up to the wolds, where we are sure to have a run 
 over light ploughs and small fences, or will he make for 
 the big woodlands at Wheatley, and give us no end of 
 trouble to rout him out ? But then, when he does go, he is 
 sure to make for the vale, and the grass, and the big 
 oxers." Such are the thoughts which now flit across his 
 brain, no longer troubled with London cobwebs. The 
 train slackens speed, and at last pulls up at the well-known 
 platform. " Hullo, Jack, are you there ? Just look after 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN. f57 
 
 my traps, will you?" he calls out, as he sees the son of 
 mine host of the Royal George assisting his father's 
 customers to alight. Outside the station a number of 
 horses are fidgeting, pricking their anxious ears at the 
 sound of the engine's whistle. " Has Mr. Smith come- 
 down ? " " How are you, Brown ? " " Nice morning, 
 isn't it, Jones ? " " Steady, man ! " " Steady, old woman ! " 
 "Fresh, is she ?" "Never mind, she'll have enough to do 
 before the day is over." " Jack, what has your father got 
 for breakfast ? " Such or such like are the interjective 
 remarks which our whilom silent, dull London man utters 
 quickly and in the height of good spirits. Away, then, to 
 the Royal George, where something substantial and the 
 presence of sympathising friends make all past troubles 
 disappear entirely from memory. But there is no time to 
 be wasted over breakfast : it is five miles to covert, and 
 the squire is punctual. So away all go, cantering along 
 the side of the road, the only ones who tarry being those 
 who keep a " galloping hack " and have sent their two on. 
 The very birds seem to greet the- worker weary of London 
 noise and London smoke, as they chirrup in the boughs 
 above him. One friend after another comes up, and is 
 greeted with waves of the hand or jovial threats of the 
 hunting-whip, and in a short time a few black spots are 
 seen bobbing over the distant hedge. " There are the 
 hounds ! " cries one, as the horses of all break from a jog- 
 trot into a canter, and as they come up to the cross-roads^ 
 
 s 
 
258 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 Harry the second whip, is holding the gate open for the 
 beauties, who rush through with eager noses and waving 
 sterns, recognising the old favourite covert whence they 
 have so often driven their fox into the open to die a 
 victim to their scent and speed. 
 
 Seeing him, then, at the meet, who shall say that 
 the " man who hunts from town " has the worst of the 
 bargain ? 
 
III. 
 
 November mornings in London are often dark — even 
 in the country they are sometimes dark, too. It is one of 
 the darkest of November mornings in London. The 
 servant comes in at eight o'clock and opens the shutters 
 and draws the blinds, but he lets in no sunshine, though 
 the sun should rise at half-past seven ; no light, though 
 the window looks south-east. There is a brown expanse 
 to gaze on, with a near chimney-pot, looming black 
 through it, as if it were the Monument half a mile off; 
 the view goes no further. It surely cannot be a hunting 
 morning; what a fool the fellow is to lay out all the 
 riding clothes, and to place the top-boots by the fire he 
 has just lighted ! This must be one of those days on 
 which the keenest sportsman feels that an extra half 
 hour in bed is justifiable, for hounds would surely not 
 come out in such a fog ! And if they did, no one could 
 see them. 
 
 " Past eight o'clock, sir," says the man at last, finding 
 that his manoeuvres, which generally suffice to rouse 
 
 s 2 
 
260 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 you into the liveliest motions, have not so far produced 
 any effect whatever, " and the train starts at 9.15, sir !" 
 
 Still half-asleep you are just about to turn over for 
 another doze, and mutter, "Shan't hunt; no use." 
 
 But scarcely are the words spoken when memory, or 
 perhaps a dream, recalls a similar morning last winter, 
 when, driving up to the station in a fog black as ink, you 
 felt a fool for your pains, and would have returned home 
 had it not been for the persuasions of some friends 
 booted for the same apparently bootless errand. On that 
 day it was difficult to get out of bed, and the prospect 
 seemed more hopeless than even to-day ; yet, ten miles 
 out, the sun was shining brightly, and you had the best 
 run you can remember — forty minutes, the latter part of 
 it very fast, killed in the open, and cut down your field. 
 Why should not a similar reward await you to-day ? 
 From bed to tub is a short distance, and can be quickly 
 accomplished ; but tlie water is undoubtedly most dis- 
 agreeable this morning. It is getting late, too : no time 
 to dally over a parting, or to dwell lovingly over the fold 
 of a tie. Only twenty minutes left for breakfast and the 
 drive to Euston : call a cab, sharp, or your efforts will 
 have been vain. Under such circumstances eating with 
 any satisfaction to yourself is impossible; besides, that 
 final brandy-and-soda last night, and those strong cigars in 
 the small hours, do not improve the morning's appetite. 
 After an evening begun at a dinner of twenty people, and 
 
HUNTING FEOM TOWN. 261 
 
 finished in the Club smoking-room, a late, calm, and 
 thoughtful breakfast is the natural consequence, not a 
 hurried scramble like this. The tea is too hot, the 
 broiled kidney not hot enough ; there is no cayenne to 
 help it down. . " 
 
 " The cab is at the door, please, sir." Away you go, a 
 bit of toast in one hand and a pair of gloves in the other, 
 while the servant stuffs in a railway rug — very necessary 
 on a nasty raw morning like this. The streets are greasy, 
 the horse is slow, and the cabman cross. Perhaps he has 
 been out all night, or perhaps he also has been to a 
 " swarry " among his pals, and has wound up the previous 
 evening with tobacco and strong liquors. Surely, if his 
 liver were not out of order, he would not decline to urge 
 on his steed for a " fare " who promises an extra shilling. 
 But he does, and the cab crawls up to the station in time 
 to hear the guard whistling off the train. You plunge 
 out,- and dart up the platform, forgetting to pay the 
 cabman. The 9.15 is moving, but a carriage door is still 
 open, and you take a run in, landing with a jerk on the 
 toes of an elderly gentleman who has just made himself 
 comfortable, and, with laudable self-control, abstains from 
 bad language. Bad language, however, is audible on 
 the platform, down which runs breathless a man encum- 
 bered with a huge many-caped coat, a metal badge flying 
 behind him. It is the Jehu ! " Stop that swindler ! " he 
 cries, using very strong expressions ; " 'e ain't paid me ; 
 
262 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 and he promised me an extra bob ! " You tread on the 
 old gentleman's toes again in your attempt to protrude 
 your body from the window, and just in time you succeed 
 in throwing two florins on the platform — double the man's 
 fare, even allowing for " the extra bob ; " but there was no 
 time to think, and you did not want your fellow-passenger, 
 who already regards you with undisguised aversion, to 
 consider you an immoral rogue as well as an ill-mannered 
 cub. Before you can find your proper seat the train has 
 plunged under Primrose Hill, but the feeble light shows 
 that you have entered a second-class compartment. 
 Never mind, it will do as far as Willesden. The train 
 moves slowly on account of the fog. Willesden at last 
 is reached, " First smoking ? Look sharp, sir ; going on 
 directly ; late abeady," and you are hustled into a carriage 
 which is not a smoking compartment, and where the 
 occupiers, on inquiry, strongly object to the fragrant 
 weed. Settling down without the consolation of a 
 cigarette, and not even possessing a newspaper, you notice 
 a horrible streak of mud all down one boot, top and* 
 all — probably a mark of the cab- wheel — and your thoughts 
 become dismal. Nor are they made more cheerful by 
 the white mist which hangs over the country like a 
 veil. The Standard can be procured at the next station, 
 but a penny will not remove that cold, wet fog which 
 penetrates into the carriage and makes you shiver under 
 your rug. At Mugford, your destination, there is no one 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN. 263 
 
 to meet you on the platform, nor does a single one of your 
 usual companions emerge from the train. 
 
 "Hardly expected you this morning, sir," your groom 
 says, touching his cap, as you enter the stables. " A'most 
 too thick, we thought," 
 
 However, The Knight is soon saddled, and you start 
 on your Avay to Beech Grove, a trysting-place not often 
 fixed on, but which you suppose to be about six miles off. 
 The fog has not cleared. White, cloud-like masses he in 
 the centre of the meadows ; fringes, like sails blown into 
 tatters, float from the hedgerows ; the few wayfarers you 
 meet emerge suddenly close to your horse's head before 
 you suspected their approach ; the sound of the infrequent 
 cart-wheels is deadened, and you have to be careful not to 
 miss your road. It seems little short of insanity to think 
 of hunting on a morning like this ; if you had not come 
 all the way from town, of course you would turn back. 
 But there is no up train till two, so the day is lost at any 
 rate ; you may as well go on. Still jogging on through 
 'the fog, you reflect on the disadvantages of hunting from 
 London, and wish you could manage to live in the country 
 so as not to be entrapped into such a fool's errand. Your 
 thoughts are rudely interrupted by The Knight's stum- 
 bling very nearly down on his head, on a loose stone. 
 Never was such a beastly bad hack as The Knight; he 
 pushes the same stone along for twenty yards and then 
 tumbles over it. " Hold up, you brute ! " and you punish 
 
264 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 the poor Knight with a dig of the spurs. He is a good- 
 tempered animal, but this rouses him, and he begins to 
 pull, and will neither walk nor trot, but insists on dancing 
 along the road sideways, under the impression that hounds 
 are running just the other side of that fence. He can't 
 see them on account of the fog, but no doubt you can, 
 being higher up and a clever man ; while he (so he thinks 
 to himself) is only a stupid horse. But you see no hounds 
 — you wish you did ; and you begin to think that you 
 ought to be near the lane which they told you leads to 
 Beech Grove. There is no doubt that you have passed 
 Oxley Heath ; then you recollect that there ought to be a 
 turning to the left, but you did not notice it in the fog, 
 and cannot remember whether you passed it or not. 
 You must ask some one. But whom ? There is no one 
 to ask. On you go, yearning for a human being or a 
 sign-post — the latter for choice. It is past eleven, and 
 there ought to be some indication of hounds, some life 
 about the neighbourhood. Yet all appears still as death, 
 and the mist is thicker than ever. You fancy you know 
 the country fairly well ; but all landmarks are hidden 
 in the mist. At last there is a welcome scrunch of 
 wheels. A butcher's cart flashes out of the fog and 
 passes you at full trot ; you shout an inquiry, the man 
 nods, points in a vague way to the right with his whip, 
 and disappears in the cotton-like atmosphere. Still on, for 
 what appears to be another mile or so. It is very cold 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN. 265 
 
 and disagreeable; your feet are like icicles, and your 
 boots dull as ditch-water — splashed, too, as well, for you 
 can't avoid puddles on a morning like this. Hurrah ! 
 a gleam of sunshine breaks down from the sky. The 
 mist does not clear, but it is hghter and more transparent. 
 There, too, hanging almost overhead, is an undoubted 
 public-house sign. A halloa brings the landlady out, 
 "Beech Grove? You have passed it a mile and a half 
 back. Just past Squire Horn's house, through the gate 
 to the left." 
 
 There is another weary trudge, and The Knight, think- 
 ing he is going home, pulls and fidgets. But the mist is 
 gradually clearing off the ground and condensing into 
 cold clouds higher up, so you make out your way, and 
 a road-mender shows you the line of gates. They are 
 all closed, and you cannot open the rusty latches. You 
 have to get off your horse, and, as he stands over sixteen 
 hands and is rather fresh, it is a job to get on again ; 
 besides, the ground is poached at every gate, and your 
 boots are soon one mass of mud. At last you reach a 
 wood, apparently a large one. The lane leads through 
 it; on the left is a gate, against which leans a young 
 man, half squire, half farmer. " Is this Beech Grove 1 ' 
 you ask. 
 
 " Beech Grove is just over there," he replies ; " but 
 the hounds are sure to draw this way. You can't do 
 better than wait here." 
 
266 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 You are thankful indeed, and soon a couple of hounds 
 emerge into the lane, and then more, carefully hunting 
 through the underwood. The welcome scarlet of the 
 huntsman gleams through the withered leaves of the 
 oaks, and then some of the field come squelching up 
 the wet ride. The boughs are shedding heavy drops, 
 and the dried foliage is dripping under the weight of 
 the water that has settled on it. But hounds are hunting, 
 and you follow up one ride and down another, squelching 
 like the rest of them, and more than once covered with a 
 perfect downpour from the branches. At last the welcome 
 notes strike the ear. They are on a fox, and pretty close 
 to him, as it appears. Away then to the right, through 
 the wood you force your way. The Knight almost pulling 
 you out of your saddle. Bang ! goes your hat against the 
 branch of a tree, and you feel a little cool stream of water 
 trickling down your neck, while you replace the injured 
 head-gear and struggle to make the horse go youQ' pace 
 and not his. The scent fails. " Back, back ! " cries the 
 huntsman ; back it is, through underwood, up the rides to the 
 lane again, then into the covert, across some more squelchy 
 and boggy ground. Thus matters go on for an hour ; the 
 fox will not break, and yet the hounds are on him, so there 
 is nothing for it but patience. Gradually you weary of 
 tearing through the underwood, scratching you face, 
 knocking your hat about, bumping against trunks, and 
 blunderins: over roots. You return to the lane to wait 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN. 267 
 
 on events, and hope that the fox will break at last. 
 Several others are also sick of covert hunting, and walk 
 up and down as gently as their horses will let them. 
 After a couple of false alarms, in one of which The 
 Knight shies at a pheasant which rockets up from under 
 his forefeet, and nearly crushes your leg against a tree, 
 you resolve to bide your time and not be tempted again. 
 Having had no breakfast to speak of, you feel hungry, 
 and open your sandwich case, but take The Knight into 
 a quiet corner, out of sight of the other horses, to keep 
 him from fidgeting. When you come back there is no 
 one in sight, but you hear the horn in a distant part 
 of the wood. Down a ride you go at full gallop, and 
 after a scamper of five minutes are delighted to see a 
 horseman turning the next corner in front. After him, 
 for your life ! He takes a bend to the right ; you also ; 
 you see another man in front of him, you catch them 
 up, and the first question they ask is, "Where are the 
 hounds ? " 
 
 Where, indeed ! The wood is large and straggling, and 
 you have no idea on which side the fox broke, if indeed 
 he has broken at all. It is no use stopping here, at 
 any rate ; so on you go. The ride brings you to the 
 end of the wood, and there is a nasty-looking stile 
 between you and the open. Before trying it you may 
 as well be sure that you are not galloping away from 
 the hounds instead of towards them. Hark ! there is 
 
268 HUNTING FROM TOWN. 
 
 the horn in the distance; at any rate you are going in 
 the right direction. There must be no hesitation now. 
 One of your companions turns his horse and hojjs over ; 
 you follow, and find yourself in a low-lying meadow 
 beneath a steep, grass-covered hill. You both tear up 
 as hard as you can go. It is a long pull, and the horses 
 are pretty well blown before at last you reach the ridge. 
 There is a wide expanse of country before you ; a for- 
 midable post and rails separates you from the next 
 field. You look, but see nothing of hounds. Your 
 companion looks; he also sees nothing at first. At last 
 he raises his arm and points away to the far distance. 
 There, a couple of miles off, you can dimly make out 
 a number of dots moving rapidly across a wide plough. 
 There are many fields and a deep valley between you 
 and them. You do not know what may have to be 
 crossed before you get to them, and you are sure to 
 lose sight of even these dots the moment you leave 
 your exalted position. 
 
 " Is it any use going after them ? " you ask despairingly. 
 
 " Not a bit," replies your friend. " That's an old fox, 
 to be sure. He's bound for Morton's Hollow I expect, 
 right the other side of the country. We can't get over 
 those rails. Come this way." 
 
 And you turn to the left through a farmyard, follow 
 your leader at a gallop down one lane and up another, 
 through some gates, and into the road. Here he pulls 
 
HUNTING FROM TOWN. 269 
 
 up. " I am going home," he says ; " my little mare has 
 lost a shoe. If you want to catch them, keep along 
 the road." 
 
 You do ; first at a gallop, then at a canter, and finally 
 at a trot. At last you give it up, and pull The Knight 
 into a walk. The few people you meet ask you where 
 the hounds are. You ride slowly and sadly back to 
 Mugford, ten miles off. While -iv^aiting for the train two 
 friends ride up. " Best run I can remember," cries one ; 
 " splendid country, capital scent, and a kill at the end." 
 
 " Fifty minutes, and only two short checks," says the 
 other. 
 
 " Weren't you in it, old chap ? " asks the first. " Sorry 
 for you ! " . 
 
 " No," you say decisively, " I wasn't in it. Hunting 
 from town is a fraud." 
 
SELLING THE SPIES. 
 
 " Yes, we have two good nags," remarked Wetherall, as 
 we were smoking our cheroots in the verandah after mess, 
 " but I don't see my way to getting any price about either." 
 
 " It's very awkward," I answered. "The whole canton- 
 ment knows all about it if you only take a morning 
 gallop." 
 
 "Yes," said Wetherall; "and the worst of it is, that 
 every fellow in the town knows it as well. Do you 
 remember our Derby last year ? " 
 
 " Rather," said I ; " and a good win it was, too. Why 
 you had them all beaten at the distance, and Rocket 
 pulled up fresh as paint." 
 
 " I did not mean the race itself," remarked my friend, 
 confederate, and jockey (for Wetherall was all three), 
 " but the lotteries and the betting. Why, they ran him up 
 to such a price at the Assembly-rooms that you could not 
 think of giving it ! That junior partner in Smith, Wells, 
 and Co.'s bought the ticket for five hundred ! " 
 
 " And," I chimed in, " they wanted me to lay seven to 
 four on him a week before the race." ' 
 
SELLING THE SPIES. 271 
 
 " Seven to four on an untried one in a field of a dozen !" 
 sneered Wetlierall. " As if any owner would be such an 
 ass ! How much did you win in bets after all ? " 
 
 " About a hundred and fifty rupees," I replied. 
 
 "And I won eighty!" exclaimed he. "A nice lot, to 
 be sure. Not enough to pay the syce's wages nor the 
 gram for the horses. Why, the clerks at the Bank of 
 Beloochistan made more than that. What is the use of 
 racing on those terms ? " 
 
 " Not much, except for the honour and glory of the 
 thing," I replied. " We must try and keep things darker 
 this time." 
 
 " How ? " asked Wetherall. 
 
 " Is there not a bit of grass somewhere in the jungle 
 where we can train them ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Not enough for a gallop anywhere," answered my 
 friend. " I have been riding all over the country to find 
 a place, but there is not room for a hundred yards' sprint. 
 Nothing but paddy-fields or thick jungle. There's nothing 
 but the race-course, and you know how that's watched." 
 
 I did indeed, by bitter experience. Ten months ago I 
 had had a promising colt for the local Derby, which was 
 annually competed for by untried horses only. Of course I 
 wanted to find out whether he was really any good, and 
 so Wetherall and I had waited for an opportunity of 
 having a private trial. In the early morning the race- 
 course was always occupied by trainers, horses, and syces. 
 
272 SELLING THE SPIES. 
 
 and surrounded by natives looking on at the gallops. In 
 the evening there were people driving and riding, and 
 just as many natives as in the morning. So we had gone 
 there at tiffin-time — two o'clock — with a blazing tropical 
 sun pouring down on the Maidan. We secured our solar 
 topees tightly on our heads, for fear of sunstroke, and pre- 
 pared to ride the Derby course. Wetherall was on an old 
 crock who was an infallible trial horse ; he had won handi- 
 caps and minor jDlates for us at every meeting, and we 
 knew his form to an ounce. This animal, named Catas- 
 trophe, carried the Derby weight of ten stone. I was 
 mounted on the untried one, and pulled just eleven. We 
 were to start by consent. Before doing so Wetherall rose 
 in his stirrups and looked round. It was fearfully hot, 
 and the distance was quivering in the sunshine. Not a 
 soul was to be seen. " All right," said he ; " away we go." 
 And away we went. Catastrophe made the running at 
 first, but I kept my colt close to his quarters. When 
 half the course was covered I let Rocket have his head 
 a little, and crept to the front. At the distance I looked 
 over my shoulder and saw Wetherall raising his whip. 
 Then I put my hands down and shot forward. It was 
 not a race at all. Rocket won as he liked, though he was 
 giving a stone. We were delighted, and turned for home 
 in high spirits. We pulled up for a minute under the big 
 trees by the grand stand to take breath and wipe our 
 foreheads, when Wetherall caught sight of two white- 
 
SELLING THE SPIES. 273 
 
 robed figures dodging round the corner of the building. 
 He was off in a second to find out who they were. Joining 
 me afterwards, he swore that he had recognised one as the 
 syce of Agabeg, a rich Armenian ; but I pooh-poohed the 
 idea. However, he must have been right, for when 1 
 wanted to back my nomination for the Derby on that very 
 evening, I could only get six to four at the club, and next 
 day Rocket was at evens. We were entirely forestalled ; 
 there was not a chance of getting any odds at all, and it 
 was evident that the trial had been watched from end 
 to end. 
 
 Now in England there is a chance for an owner to pull 
 off several races, because there are plenty of meetings ; 
 but the Junghabad folks had only one annual three 
 days' racing, and a couple of smaller meetings in the 
 Mofussil. The sport could not therefore be at all profit- 
 able ; in fact it was bound to result in loss, however good 
 one's horses, unless an occasional " long shot " could be 
 obtained. How to keep the stable secrets from the 
 ubiquitous natives was a puzzle which cost Wetherall and 
 myself many an anxious hour. You can't train horses 
 on a hard road, nor round a compound of half an acre. 
 The parade-ground and the race-course were the only 
 available open spaces, and both were equally public. We 
 pondered and talked over the matter without arriving at 
 any definite result. I had two untried ones for the 
 approaching meeting. The "Derby" was run on the 
 
274 SELLING THE SPIES. 
 
 Wednesday, and the "St. Leger"on Friday in the same week. 
 A winner of the Derby carried a stone extra in the Leger, 
 the second seven pounds extra. My entries for these races 
 were, I believed, good ones — both pure-bred Arabs, and 
 likely to make an example of the cocktail tattoos which 
 were generally produced as maidens. One, " Wanderer," was 
 a long, low grey, with sloping shoulders and capital legs, 
 but rather poor behind ; the other, " Rajah," was a more 
 compact horse, with the most perfect quarters I have ever 
 seen even in an Arab. He had the broad forehead, pro- 
 jecting eyes, and fine coat characteristic of his race, and 
 he was a bright bay. Wanderer had been seen about in the 
 cantonment, for of course we could not keep the horses 
 perpetually in the stable ; but Rajah was persistently 
 lame, and had done no work up to within four weeks of 
 the races. 
 
 Our only vet. in Junghabad was a frightful gossip, so 
 we had not dared to consult him about Rajah. Had we 
 done so, the points of the horse would have been all over 
 the place in twenty-four hours. So Wetherall and I tried 
 some amateur doctoring. We failed to detect the seat of 
 the lameness, beyond that it was somewhere in the off fore- 
 leg. We bandaged, we fomented, we rubbed his legs with 
 embrocation — all to no purpose. There was no apparent 
 heat nor pain anywhere, and yet Rajah was as lame as a 
 cat. One evening, after we had spent an hour at the 
 stables as usual, and had done no good, I was pondering 
 
SELLING THE SPIES. 275 
 
 over a cigar and the prospects, while Wetherall turned 
 ovar the leaves of Youatt on the Horse,. 
 
 Suddenly he jumped up and threw the book down. 
 " I've got it," he cried, and then shouting " Qui hye ! " 
 he ordered the bearer to bring a lantern. 
 
 " What is it all about ? " I asked. " What is the 
 matter ? " 
 
 "T think I know," he answered. "What fools we have 
 been ! But I won't tell you till I see whether I am 
 right. Come on to the stables." 
 
 We went. Rajah was comfortable enough in his 
 box, chewing the last of his evening grain, but resting 
 the off fore-leg as usual. 
 
 " Hold the lantern, please," said Wetherall. " Cast 
 the light on the ground if you can. Steady, old boy, 
 hold up." 
 
 Suiting the action to the words he picked up the 
 horse's fore-leg, and carefully examined the foot by 
 the light of the lantern. 
 
 "I'm right, by Jove!" he exclaimed at last. "It's 
 thrush." 
 
 " Thrush ? " I asked in wonderment. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "nothing else. Rajah has been 
 for weeks in that dirty shed of the Barracootan chap 
 you bought him of, and they never cleaned out the 
 place nor looked after his feet. What owls we have 
 been, to be sure ! " 
 
 T 2 
 
276 SELLING THE SPIES. 
 
 Owls, indeed, to worry the poor horse with band- 
 ages, and ointments, and applications of every nostrum 
 under the sun, and never to look at his feet ! But 
 what could be expected of two youngsters whose 
 united ages did not exceed fifty ? Of course we 
 thought "we knew everything concerning horses ; but 
 then most men of that age think so also. How- 
 ever, the difficulty was now practically at an end. We 
 studied Youatt together, and at once applied the 
 recommended remedies But the horse's complaint sug- 
 gested a method of getting round the touts, and of 
 thus obtaining a chance of a few satisfactory bets. 
 
 Next morning just before sunrise our string was out 
 as usual on the race-course. There was Wanderer, and 
 last year's Derby winner, Rocket, and a sharp little 
 pony in training for the dwarf races, and old Dowager, 
 the tall, leggy, steeple-chase mare preparing for the 
 cross-country events. But this time Rajah was also 
 brought out, though he was so lame that he could 
 scarcely hobble on to the course. While I led 
 Wanderer's gallop on Rocket, a curious crowd 
 surrounded the bay, whose first appearance it was. 
 " Kabardah ! " cried his syce, when any one came too 
 near the horse, " he kicks, sahib." This was an 
 innocent ruse to prevent outsiders investigating his 
 condition too closely. When Wetherall and I came 
 back from our gallop there was a little chaff about 
 
SELLING THE SPIES. 277 
 
 the Arab. Sandy, an enterprising young Scotch mer- 
 chant, who was the Leviathan bookmaker at Jimgh- 
 abad, several bank clerks, and a number of other 
 civilians and soldiers interested in sport, were standing 
 round, or riding up and down, and watching the . 
 various canters. 
 
 " He's too fat," said Wetherall, " and I'm afraid he's 
 not quite sound. We are going to give him a breather. 
 Please make room." 
 
 Kajah was saddled over his clothes, and Wetherall 
 mounted. The poor beast cantered on three legs, and 
 made, of course, a miserable exhibition. Wetherall 
 soon pulled up to a walk, and while the Arab was 
 hobbling round the course I was exposed to a good 
 deal of chaff. 
 
 " I don't think much of your second string, old 
 man," said Sandy. "Wanderer's a good one, but this 
 poor beast will never be able to gallop a yard." 
 
 " I'm afraid not," I sighed. 
 
 " Do you want to back him for the Derby ? " asked 
 Sandy. 
 
 "What odds will you lay? I'll take a hundred to 
 one in gold mohurs on the off chance." 
 
 " Too much," answered Sandy ; " he might get sound 
 after all." 
 
 " Anything is possible," remarked Mr. Powis, a middle- 
 aged civihan, "but I don't think it's probable." 
 
278 SELLING THE SPI^S. 
 
 A good deal of this sort of talk went on, and at last 
 Sandy, encouraged by the sarcastic observations of my 
 brother officers on our "second string," laid me five 
 hundred rupees to ten about the horse for the Derby, 
 and the same for the Leger. When Wetherall joined us 
 the excitement grew, for he at once asked what price any 
 one would lay him about Wanderer. In fact we both 
 made a great show of wanting to back the grey, and 
 our anxiety to do so convinced all that we did not 
 think much of Rajah's chance. But we could not get 
 anything better than even money, so a single small 
 bet of fifty rupees for the Derby was all the business 
 we really did, although others backed him more warmly. 
 
 During the next few days the remedies began to 
 produce a satisfactory result, and Rajah improved 
 rapidly. We did not, however, allow him to gallop on 
 the race-course ; had we done so the bubble would at 
 once have burst, and his price in the lottery would 
 have been absurd. Yet it was indispensable to try 
 him, otherwise we might make some fearful mistake. 
 And it was just as indispensable to train him. Walking 
 exercise would not get him into proper condition for 
 the races. But how ? The puzzle was still as puzzling 
 as before. 
 
 At last one evening I had a literally luminous idea. 
 I was sitting on the verandah about nine o'clock, 
 gazing vacantly into the compound, which was lighted 
 
SELLING THE SPIES. 279 
 
 up in patches by the ahnost horizontal rays of a 
 moon in her first quarter. A number of our men were 
 about, and several strangers also, so I had the discretion 
 to hold my peace for the moment. But later on I took 
 Wetherall aside and informed him of my j)lan. Next 
 evening we both dined quietly at my bungalow, getting 
 off mess, and at eight o'clock we sneaked down to the 
 stables. We saddled Rajah, who was now quite sound, 
 and old Dowager, and rode off to the race-course, kfeeping 
 as much as possible in the shadow of the big jack-trees. 
 The great maidan was sparkling in the moonlight, but 
 absolutely deserted. The Europeans were still at dinner, 
 the natives cooking their curries for supper. Along the 
 road which fringed the course-side a hired gharry was 
 occasionally heard to rumble, but this we did not mind, 
 as the sharpest gharry wallah would, in the fickle moon- 
 beams, have failed to recognise a horse galloping over 
 the race- course half a mile off. We set them both going, 
 and gave Rajah, who was now quite sound, a good doing. 
 Next day, the moon being of course later, we dined 
 at mess as usual, and sneaked off afterwards. In order 
 not to attract attention I let Wetherall take the horse 
 to the course alone, and returned to the mess-room as soon 
 as I had helped to saddle him — for of course at that 
 hour the syces were in their own huts and not at all 
 likely to appear in the stable. This we continued for 
 ten days, and our pet Rajah improved rapidly. He 
 
280 SELLING THE SPIES. 
 
 could now gallop the Derby course at a fair pace without 
 distress, and we thought it about time to try him. Mean- 
 while we had brought him out nearly every morning with 
 the others, his off fore-leg being still bandaged very 
 carefully. We did not remove his clothes, but walked 
 him gently round the course. His " doing " over-night 
 had generally been sufficient to take any superfluous 
 steam out of him, so he was quiet enough, and nobody 
 suspected that he was daily becoming more and more 
 fit to go. On the contrary, while the odds we were asked 
 to lay on Wanderer gradually expanded to two to one, 
 we could have had almost any price about the bay. But 
 we were afraid to bet any more until we knew something 
 about his speed ourselves. 
 
 It was three days after full moon, and within five 
 of the races. We left the mess-room at ten o'clock, and 
 turned in at once. I, for one, was too excited to sleep. 
 I heard the clock strike each successive hour till two ; 
 then I woke Wetherall. We donned our wide breeches 
 and loose boots, and sneaked off to the stable. We 
 could hear the syces snoring in their huts. We had 
 taken care that dogs should be tied up, and they made 
 no noise. Wanderer and Rajah were quickly saddled 
 and led out of the compound with cloths over their 
 noses for fear they should whinny after the manner of 
 Arabs. We rode along the ditch behind each other, so 
 that the patrol might not see us. Until we reached the 
 
SELLING THE SPIES. 281 
 
 course we were able to keep entirely in the shadow. 
 There, of course, we had to face the plain all bathed 
 in the glorious white light of a tropical moon. We 
 could have read the smallest print without difficulty, 
 and every object stood out clear and distinct, I swept 
 the plain with my race-glass. There was no one visible 
 except the distant sentry at the powder magazine, a 
 long way off. So we rode ta the starting point, myself 
 on Rajah, Wetherall on Wanderer. In a low voice I 
 asked my friend whether he was ready. Receiving an 
 affirmative reply, I said in a whisper, " Go ! " and away 
 he went at full tear. I found no difficulty in keeping 
 Rajah within hail, and we began to breast the hill, about 
 one-third of the way round, almost together. Here I 
 took a pull on account of the bay's backward condition, 
 but as soon as we reached the top I set him going again, 
 and closed with Wanderer at the turn for home. " Don't 
 punish him," I hastily whispered to Wetherall; "you 
 might spoil his temper for next Wednesday." My friend 
 just nodded. We neither of us had spurs, but we 
 pressed the flanks of the horses with our heels. Both 
 did their best, and raced from the distance in earnest. 
 I believe Wanderer won by about half a length, but 
 as I was giving nearly a stone, we came to the conclusion 
 that Rajah was quite as good as the grey. On our return 
 home we separated. I was hailed by the patrol, but on 
 being recognised, the sergeant probably thought that I 
 
282 SELLING THE SPIES. 
 
 had been " on the spree " somewhere, and no questions were 
 asked. Wetherall got back unnoticed. Next day our 
 commissioner — a half caste who had the entree of most 
 of the best Mogul houses — was told to get all the 
 money he could about Rajah both for the Derby and 
 the Leger. He laid out about a thousand rupees, but 
 the average was only about fifteen to one, and we had 
 reason to suspect that he was not running quite straight. 
 Still, the English community had no notion of what 
 was going on. At the lotteries on the first night of 
 the races it was customary to make a declaration for 
 the Derby if a man had more than one horse entered. 
 I declared to win with Wanderer, and to make things 
 comfortable, put the pen through Rajah's name. 
 
 " You may as well scratch him for the Leger at once," 
 suggested Mr. Powis. 
 
 There was a laugh. Our secret had, so far, been 
 evidently well kept. We did not buy in the grey for the 
 Derby, as his chance was run up to seven hundred rupees 
 by the keen bidding of the young merchants and enterpris- 
 ing Moguls. So we made up our mind to lose money by 
 the Derby. As a fact we did, for we had backed Rajah 
 so heavily for both races that the bets we lost almost 
 equalled the value of the stakes, which Wanderer won in 
 a common canter. 
 
 He was at once installed favourite for the St. Leger, 
 notwithstanding his overweight. Neither Wetherall nor 
 
SELLING THE SPIES. 283 
 
 I backed him for sixpence. At the assembly rooms on 
 the Thursday evening I was asked for my declaration. I 
 at once announced Rajah as the Simon Pure of the stable, 
 and there was a general howl. 
 
 " We have all backed Wanderer," shouted one. 
 
 " You have sold us," cried another ; " it is not fair." 
 
 " Then the horse's lameness is a do," said another. 
 
 " I call it a swindle," remarked Sandy, who was 
 celebrated for his sharp practice. 
 
 " Listen, gentlemen," I said, when the hubbub had some- 
 what subsided, " I have swindled no one. You backed the 
 horse you thought the best on your own judgment. I 
 have never said that Rajah was lame." 
 
 "No," interrupted Sandy, "but you acted an untruth, 
 if you did not tell one." 
 
 " Perhaps I played a little comedy on you, gentlemen, 
 which I had a perfect right to do, considering how my 
 horses have been watched and spied on day after day. I 
 have a right to do as I please with my own. But I tell 
 you what. Nobody shall have a right to complain. Both 
 horses shall run on their merits. I believe Wanderer has 
 no chance of carrying the extra stone against his stable 
 companion, but he shall win if he can," 
 
 " How do we know that he will be fairly ridden ? " 
 asked some one. 
 
 " You shall have a chance of doing what no owner has 
 
284 SELLING THE SPIES. 
 
 allowed any one to do before," I answered, " You shall 
 select a committee among yourselves, and the committee 
 shall pick out a rider — a gentleman-rider, of course, as no 
 others are accepted. The selected one shall have the horse 
 brought to his own stable at once, so that you may be 
 sure that there is no foul play, and he shall ride the 
 public favourite for the public money." 
 
 " That's fair ! " cried one. 
 
 " Bravo ! " said another. 
 
 My success intoxicated me. In a hasty moment of 
 fervour I added — • 
 
 "And look here! To satisfy all of you, Rajah shall 
 put up fourteen pounds extra, just as if he had won 
 the Derby." 
 
 " You must be screwed, or mad," whispered Wetherall 
 to me. " He will never do it. You are throwing forty 
 thousand rupees away." 
 
 " All right, old man," I said, " I will pay your losses if 
 we can't pull it off. Are you afraid to ride him ? " 
 
 "I can't win," answered Wetherall, "not, at least, under 
 these conditions." 
 
 " Then I will ride him myself," I replied, " and you will 
 see who is right." 
 
 Mr. Burgess, a lieutenant in the gallant 126th, was 
 selected as the popular champion. He was undoubtedly 
 one of the best riders in the station, and willingly gave up 
 
SELLING THE SPIES. 285 
 
 his mount on an outsider to steer the favourite, who was 
 immediately transferred to his stables. Burgess, I believe, 
 sat up all night with the horse, so fearful was he lest some 
 trick might be played. As to myself, as soon as I reached 
 my bungalow I bitterly repented my hasty offer. To lose 
 all my own bets would be bad enough ; to pay Wetherall's 
 losses as I had promised would mean almost ruin. And 
 how could I expect to beat the fast grey at even weights ? 
 It appeared very unlikely, particularly with so good a man 
 on his back as Burgess. 
 
 The eventful afternoon drew on, and the bell was rung 
 for the St. Leger. The occurrence of the previous 
 evening had of course become generally known, and 
 the declaration of fourteen pounds overweight for Rajah 
 was stuck up on the board. Never had there been 
 such a crowd on the Junghabad race-course. We had 
 some difficulty in making our way through it when we 
 came out of the saddling inclosure. Wanderer looked 
 a picture, but he laid his ears back and kicked occa- 
 sionally in an unpleasant manner. His temper was 
 never of the sweetest, and he hated crowds. Possibly, 
 too, he was by this time rather sick of the race-course. 
 Rajah, on the contrary, was as gentle and quiet as a 
 lamb. We got off to a good start, a little chestnut 
 called Alompra, who had been second in the Derby, 
 making the running for Burgess. I kept well forward, so 
 
286 SELLING THE SPIES. 
 
 as not to get messed up by one or other of the fourteen 
 competitors, and rode as steadily as I could, while my 
 heart went pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat. Going up the hill several 
 fell back, and when he had breasted it Alompra was 
 still leading, a weedy brown was doing his best to keep 
 the second place, I followed, and Burgess was on my 
 quarters. At the second or upper turn, when a mile had 
 been covered, the brown shut up entirely and Alompra 
 fell back, while Wanderer crept up on the inside. I 
 still sat as quiet as I could, and stole a glance at 
 Burgess's pale, determined face as we galloped neck 
 and neck. At the turn for home Wanderer, with the 
 inside berth, went to the front, and led about half a 
 length. I gave Rajah one touch with the whip, and closed 
 up again. When we reached the distance we reached 
 the crowd as well, which was leaning forward in serried 
 masses to see the finish, I began riding in earnest, but 
 did not use the whip nor the spurs. I just managed 
 to keep Rajah's head level with Burgess's knee, but I 
 feared that I could do no more. There was a tre- 
 mendous yell from the crowd as we neared the grand 
 stand. Wanderer seemed to falter, and Burgess raised 
 his whip. I heard the hissing cuts close to my ear, 
 and then I saw the grey's ears laid back, and heard a 
 deep curse from Burgess's lips. In another second Rajah 
 had Avon by a length. 
 
SELLING THE SPIES. 287 
 
 I hardly knew how it had happened, but Wetherall, 
 who seized both my hands when the clerk of the scales 
 said "All right," told me that Wanderer had probably 
 been frightened by the crowd, and had bored into the 
 rails, nearly smashing Burgess's leg. 
 
 This was how we sold the spies. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 traits OF JOHN KNOX; AND GENERAL INDEX. With Portrait 
 Illustrations. 8vo, cloth, 9s. 
 
 EARLY KINGS OF NORWAY : 
 
 portraits of JOHN KNOX. 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 also AN ESSAY ON THE 
 
 Crown 8vo, with Portrait Illustrations, 
 
 PEOPLE'S EDITION. 
 
 In 3J vols., small Crown 8vo. Price 2s. each vol., bound in cloth ; or in sets of 
 J7 vols, in ig, cloth gilt, for £3 14s. 
 
 SARTOR RESARTUS. 
 
 FRENCH REVOLUTION. 3 vols. 
 
 LIFE OF JOHN STERLING. 
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL'S LET- 
 TERS AND SPEECHES. 5 vols. 
 
 ON HEROES AND HERO 
 
 WORSHIP. 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 
 
 CRITICAL AND MISCELLA- 
 NEOUS ESSAYS. 7 vols. 
 
 LATTER-DAY PAMPHLETS. 
 LIFE OF SCIHLLEK. 
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 10 vols. 
 WILHELM MEISTER. 3 vols. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM MU- 
 S.«US, TIECK, AND RICHTER. 
 
 2 vols. 
 
 THE EARLY KINGS OF NOR- 
 WAY ; E.ssay on the Portraits of Knox ; 
 and General Index. 
 
 SIXPENNY EDITION. 
 
 4/0, sfived. 
 SARTOR RESARTUS. Eightieth Thousand. 
 HEROES AND HERO WORSHIP. 
 ESSAYS : Burns, Johnson, Scott, The Diamond 
 
 Necklace. 
 The above are also to be had in i vol., 2s. 6d. 
 
 B 2 
 
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 DICKENS'S (CHARLES) WORKS. 
 
 ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 
 
 In Demy 8vo. 
 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. With Illustrations 
 
 by S. L. Fildes, and a Portrait engraved by Baker. Cloth, 7s. 6d. 
 
 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. With Forty Illustrations by Marcus 
 
 Stone. Cloth, ^i is. 
 
 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. With Forty-three Illustrations 
 
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 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. With Forty Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 Cloth, £1 IS. 
 
 SKETCHES BY " BOZ." With Forty Illustrations by George 
 
 Cruikshank. Cloth, I,t. is. 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. With Forty Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 Cloth, £\ IS. 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON. With Forty Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 Cloth, ;£l IS. 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD. With Forty Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 Cloth, £,\ IS. 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE. With Forty Illustrations by Phiz. Cloth, 
 
 1,-S. IS. 
 
 LITTLE DORRIT. With Forty Illustrations by Phiz. Cloth, 
 
 £,x IS. 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. With Seventy-five Illus- 
 
 trations by George Cattermole and H. K. Browne. A New Edition. Uniform with 
 the other volumes, ;^i is. 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE : a Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty. With 
 
 Seventy-eight Illustrations by George Cattermole and H. K. Browne. Uniform with 
 the other volumes, £x is. 
 
 CHRISTMAS BOOKS: Containing— The Christmas Carol; 
 
 The Cricket on the Hearth ; The Chimes ; The Battle of Life ; The Haunted House. 
 With all the original Illustrations. Cloth, 12s. 
 
 OLIVER TWIST and TALE OF TWO CITIES. In one 
 
 volume. Cloth, £\ is. 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. Separately. With Twenty-four Illustrations 
 
 by George Cruikshank. Cloth, iis. 
 
 A TALE OF TWO CITIES. Separately. With Sixteen Illus- 
 
 trations by Phiz. Cloth, gs. 
 
 •^* The remainder of Dickens* i Works were not originally printed in Demy Svo, 
 
CHAPMAN &> HALL, LIMITED. 
 
 21 
 
 DICKENS'S (CHARLES) WORKS- Continued. 
 
 LIBRARY EDITION. 
 
 In Post 8vo. With the Original Illustrations, jo vols. , cloth, £12. 
 
 s. d. 
 
 PICKWICK PAPERS 43 Illustrns., 2 vols. 16 o 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 39 „ 2 vols. 16 o 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 40 ,, 2 vols. 16 o 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP & REPRINTED PIECES 36 ,, 2 vols. 16 o 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE and HARD TIMES 36 ,, 2 vols. 16 o 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE 40 ,, 2 vols. 16 o 
 
 LITTLE DORRIT 40 ,, 2 vols. 16 o 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON 38 ,, 2 vols. 16 o 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD 38 ,, 2 vols. 16 o 
 
 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 40 ,, 2 vols. 16 o 
 
 SKETCHES BY "BOZ" 39 „ i vol. 8 o 
 
 OLIVER TWIST 24 „ i vol. 8 o 
 
 CHRISTMAS BOOKS 17 „ i vol. 8 o 
 
 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 16 ,. i vol. 8 o 
 
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS 8 ,, i vol. 8 o 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY & AMERICAN NOTES 8 ,, i vol. 8 o 
 
 UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER 8 „ i vol. 8 o 
 
 CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND 8 „ i vol. 8 o 
 
 EDWIN DROOD and MISCELLANIES 12 „ i vol. 8 o 
 
 CHRISTMAS STORIES from "Household Words," &c. 14 ,, 1 vol. 8 o 
 
 THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS. ByJoHN Forster. With Illustrations. 
 
 Uniform with this Edition, i vol. los. 6d. 
 
 THE "CHARLES DICKENS" EDITION. 
 
 In Crown 8vo. In 21 vols., cloth, with Illustrations, £j i6s. 
 
 s. d. 
 
 PICKWICK PAPERS 8 Illustrations 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 8 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON 8 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY ... 8 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD 8 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE 8 
 
 LITTLE DORRIT 8 
 
 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 8 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE 8 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 8 
 
 A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND 4 
 
 EDWIN DROOD and OTHER STORIES 8 
 
 CHRISTMAS STORIES, from " Household Words " ... 8 
 
 SKETCHES BY "BOZ" 8 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES and REPRINTED PIECES ... 8 
 
 CHRISTMAS BOOKS 8 
 
 OLIVER TWIST 8 
 
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS 8 
 
 TALE OF TWO CITIES 8 
 
 HARD TIMES and PICTURES FROM ITALY ... 8 
 
 UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER 4 
 
 THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS. Numerous Illustrations. 2 vols. 
 THE LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS.., 2 vols. 
 
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 DICKENS'S (CHARLES) yNQ^Y.^— Continued. 
 
 THE ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY EDITION. 
 
 Complete in jo Volumes. Demy 8vo, los. each ; or set, £ij^ 
 
 This Edition is printed on a finer paper and in a larger type than has been 
 employed in any previous edition. The type has been cast especially for it, and 
 the page is of a size to admit of the introduction of all the original illustrations. 
 
 No such attractive issue has been made of the writings of Mr. Dickens, which, 
 various as have been the forms of publication adapted to the demands of an ever 
 widely-increasing popularity, have never yet been worthily presented in a really 
 handsome library form. 
 
 The collection comprises all the minor writings it was Mr. Dickens's wish to 
 preserve. 
 
 SKETCHES BY " BOZ." With 40 Illustrations by George Cruikshank. 
 
 PICKWICK PAPERS. 2 vols. With 42 Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. With 24 Illustrations by Cruikshank. 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 2 vols. With 40 Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP and REPRINTED PIECES. 2 vols. With Illus- 
 trations by Cattermole, &c. 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE and HARD TIMES. 2 vols. With lUostralions by 
 Cattermole, &c. 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 2 vols. With 4 Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES and PICTURES FROM ITALY, i vol With 8 
 Illustrations. 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON. 2 vols. With 40 Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD. 2 vols. With 40 Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE. 2 vols. With 40 Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 LITTLE DORRIT. 2 vols. With 40 Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 A TALE OF TWO CITIES. With 16 Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER. With 8 Illustrations by Marcus Stone. 
 
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS. With 8 Illustrations by Marcus Stone. 
 
 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 2 vols. With 40 Illustrations by Marcus Stone. 
 
 CHRISTMAS BOOKS. With 17 Illustrations by Sir Edwin Landseer. R.A., 
 Maclise, R.A., &c. &c. 
 
 HISTORY OF ENGLAND. With 8 Illustrations by Marcus Stone. 
 
 CHRISTMAS STORIES. (From "Household Words" and "All the Year 
 Round.") With 14 Illustrations. 
 
 EDWIN DROOD AND OTHER STORIES. With 12 lUustratioos by.S. I* 
 Fildes. 
 
CHAPMAN &^ HALL, LIMITED. 23 
 
 DICKENS'S (CHARLES) WORKS— Contimted. 
 
 HOUSEHOLD EDITION. 
 
 Complete in 22 Volttmes, Crown i^o, cloih, £^ Zs. 6d. 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, with 59 Illustrations-, cloth, 5s. 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD, with 60 Illustrations and a Portrait, cloth. 53. 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE, with 61 Illustrations, cloth, 5s. 
 
 LITTLE DORRIT, with 58 Illustrations, cloth, 5s. 
 
 PICKWICK PAPERS, with 56 Illustrations, cloth, 5s. 
 
 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND, with 58 Illustrations, cloth, 53. 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, with 59 Illustrations, cloth, 53. 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON, with 61 Illustrations, cloth, 5s. 
 
 EDWIN DROOD ; REPRINTED PIECES ; and other Stories, with 30 Illustra- 
 tions, cloth, 5s. 
 
 THE LIFE OF DICKENS. By John Forster. With 40 Illustrations. Cloth, 53. 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE, with 46 Illustrations, cloth, 4s. 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, with 32 Illustrations, cloth, 4s. 
 
 CHRISTMAS STORIES, with 23 Illustrations, cloth, 4s. 
 
 OLIVER TWIST, with 28 Illustrations, cloth, 3s. 
 
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS, with 26 Illustrations, cloth, 3s. 
 
 SKETCHES BY " BOZ," with 36 Illustrations, cloth, 3s. 
 
 UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER, with 26 Illustrations, cloth, 3s. 
 
 CHRISTMAS BOOKS, with 28 Illustrations, cloth, 3s. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND, with 15 Illustrations, cloth, 3s. 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES and PICTURES FROM ITALY, wiUi 18 IIIustMtfions, 
 
 cloth, 3s. 
 A TALE OF TWO CITIES, with 25 Illustrations, cloth, 3s. 
 HARD TIMES, with 20 Illustrations, cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 MR. DICKENS'S READINGS. 
 Fcap, 8vo, sewed. 
 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL IN PROSE. 
 
 IS. 
 
 CRICKET ON THE HEARTH, is. 
 CHIMES : A GOBLIN STORY, is. 
 
 STORY OF LITTLE DOMBEY. is. 
 POOR TRAVELLER, BOOTS AT 
 
 THE HOLLY-TRES INN. a&d 
 
 MRS. GAMP. IS. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL, with the Original Coloured Plates, 
 being a reprint of the Original Edition. Small 8vq, red cloth, gilt edges, 55. 
 
24 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 DICKENS'S (CHARLES) V^Q^YJS>— Continued. 
 
 THE POPULAR LIBRARY EDITION 
 
 OF THE WORKS OF 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS, 
 
 In 30 Vols., large crown Sfo, price £6 ; separate Vols. 4J. each. 
 
 An Edition printed on good paper, containing Illustrations selected from 
 the Household Edition, on Plate Paper. Each Volume has about 450 pages 
 and 16 full-page Illustrations. 
 
 SKETCHES BY "BOZ." 
 PICKWICK. 2 vols. 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 2 vols. 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 2 vols. 
 DOMBEY AND SON. 2 vols. 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD. 2 vols. 
 CHRISTMAS BOOKS. 
 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 2 vols. 
 CHRISTMAS STORIES. 
 BLEAK HOUSE. 2 vols. 
 LITTLE DORRIT. 2 vols. 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP AND 
 REPRINTED PIECES. 2 vols. 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE. 2 vols. 
 
 UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVEL- 
 LER. 
 
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 
 
 TALE OF TWO CITIES. 
 
 CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENG- 
 LAND. 
 
 EDWIN DROOD AND MISCEL- 
 LANIES. 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY AND 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 The Cheapest and Hajidiest Edition of 
 
 THE WORKS OF CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 The Pocket-Volume Edition of Charles Dickens's Works. 
 In 30 Vols, small fcap. %vo, £2 5s. 
 
 New a7td Cheap Issue of 
 
 THE WORKS OF CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 In pocket volumes. 
 PICKWICK PAPERS, with 8 Illustrations, cloth, 2S. 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, with 8 Illustrations, cloth, 2s. 
 OLIVER TWIST, with 8 Illustrations, cloth, is. 
 SKETCHES BY " BOZ," with 8 Illustrations, cloth, is. 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, with 8 Illustrations, cloth, 2S. 
 BARNABY RUDGE, with 16 Illustrations, cloth, 2S. 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES AND PICTURES FROM ITALY, with 8 Illustrations, cloth,"is.6d. 
 CHRISTMAS BOOKS, with 8 Illustrations, cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 SIXPENNY REPRINTS. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL and THE 
 HAUNTED MAN. 
 
 By Charles Dickens. Illustrated. 
 
 READINGS FROM^"tHE WORKS OF 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 As selected and read by himself and now published for the first time. Illustrated. 
 
 (III.) 
 
 THE CHIMES: A Goblin Story, and THE 
 CRICKET ON THE HEARTH. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 
CHAPMAN &> HALL, LIMITED. 25 
 
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CHAPMAN ^ HALL, LIMITED. 3» 
 
 ^ ^istorg of ^rt in Chaliin^a &^00jiria. 
 
 By GEORGES PERROT and CHARLES CHIPIEZ. 
 
 Translated by Walter Armstrong, B.A., Oxon. With 452 Illustrations. 
 2 vols, royal 8vo, £2 2s. 
 
 " It is profusely illustrated, not merely with representations of the actual remains preserved 
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 men familiar with the magnificent collection of Assyrian antiquities preserved in the British 
 Museum the volume should be especially welcome. We may further mention that an English 
 translation by Mr. Walter Armstrong, with the numerous illustrations of the original, has 
 just been published by Messrs. Chapman and Hall." — Times. 
 
 "The only dissatisfaction that we can feel in turning over the two beautiful volumes in 
 illustration of Chaldsean and Assyrian Art, by MM. Perrot and Chipiez, is in the reflection, 
 that in this, as in so many other publications of a similar scope and nature, it is a foreign name 
 that we see on the title page, and a translation only which we can lay to our national credit. 
 The predominance of really important works on Archeology which have to be transl.ated for the 
 larger reading public of England, and the comparative scarcity of original English works of a 
 similar calibre, is a reproach to us which we would fain see removed ... it is most frequently 
 to French and German writers that we are indebted for the best light and the most interesting 
 criticisms on the arts of antiquity. Mr. Armstrong s translation is very well done. ' — Builder. 
 
 "Thework is a valuable addition to archseological literature, and the thanks of the whole 
 civilised world are due to the authors who have so carefully compiled the history of the arts of two 
 peoples, often forgotten, but who were in reality the founders of Western civilisation." — Graphic. 
 
 ^)i0t0r2 of Jlnmnt (EgBptiatt Jlrt. 
 
 By GEORGES PERROT AND CHARLES CHIPIEZ. 
 
 Translated from the French by W. Armstrong. Containing 616 En- 
 gravings, drawn after the Original, or from Authentic Documents. 
 2 vols, imperial 8vo, £2 2s. 
 
 " The study of EgjiJtology is one which grows from day to day, and which has now reached 
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 ment to an extent which had never hitherto been attempted, and which, before the latest 
 researches of Mariette and Maspero, would have been impossible. Without waiting for the 
 illustrious authors to complete their great undertaking, Mr. W. Armstrong has very properly 
 seized their first instalment, and has presented to the English public all that has yet appeared 
 of a most useful and fascinating work._ To translate such a book, however, is a task that 
 needs the revision of a specialist, and this Mr. Armstrong has felt, for he has not sent out his 
 version to the world without the sanction of Dr. Birch and Mr. Reginald Stuart Poole. The 
 result is in every way satisfactory to his readers. Mr. Armstrong adds, in an appendix, a 
 description of that startling discovery which occurred just after the French original of these 
 volumes left the press — namely, the finding of 38 royal mummies, with their sepulchral furniture, 
 in a subterranean chamber at Thebes. It forms a brilliant ending to a work of great value 
 and beauty." — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 The Saturday Revie^v, speaking of the French edition, says : " To say that this magni- 
 ficent work is the best history of Egj-ptian art that we possess, is to state one of the least 
 of its titles to the admiration of all lovers of antiquity, Egyptian or other. No previous 
 
 work can be compared with it for method or completeness Not only are the best 
 
 engravings from the older authorities utilised, but numerous unpublished designs have been 
 inserted. M. Chipiez has added greatly to the value of a work, in which the trained eye of 
 the architect is everywhere visible, by his restorations of various buildings and modes of con- 
 struction ; and the engravings in colours of the wall paintings are a notice.ible feature in a 
 work which is in every way remarkable. This history of Egyptian art is an invaluable 
 treasure-house for the student ; and, we may add, there are few more delightful volumes 
 for the cultivated idle who live at ease to turn over— every page is full of artistic interest." 
 
32 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHAPMAN ^ HALL, LIMITED. 
 
 THE FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW. 
 
 Edited by T. H, S. ESGOTT. 
 
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