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tried a Tory one, moderate Liberal, and out-andout uncompromising Radical. I say, what d'ye think of a religious paper, the Catechism, or some such name' Would Honcyman do as editor? I'm afraid it's all up with the poor cove at the chapel." And I parted with Mr. Sherrick, not a little edified by his talk, and greatly relieved as to Honeyman's fate. The tradesmen of Honeyman's body were appeased; and as for Mr. Moss, when he found that the curate had no effects, and must go before the Insolvent Court, unless Moss chose to take the composition which we were empowered to olfer him, he too was brought to hear reason, and parted with the stamped paper on which was poor Honeyman's signature. Our negotiation had like to have come to an end by Olive's untimely indignation, who offered at one stage of the proceedings to pitch young Moss out of the window; but nothing came of this most ungentlebadlike beayviour on Noocob's part, further than remonstrance and delay in the proceedings; and Honeyman preached a lovely sermon at Lady Whittlesea's the very next Sunday. He had made himself much liked in the sponginghouse, and Mr. Lazarus said, " If he hadn't a got out time enough, I'd a let him out for Sunday, and sent one of my men with him to show him the way ome, you know; for when a gentleman behaves as a gentleman to me, I behave as a gentleman to him."
Mrs. Ridley's account, and it was a long one, was paid without a single question, or the deduction of a farthing; but the Colonel rather sickened of Honeyman's expressions of rapturous gratitude, and received his professions of mingled contrition and delight very coolly. "My boy," says the father to Clive, "you see to what straits debt brings a man, to tamper with truth, to have to cheat the poor. Think of flying beforo a washerwoman, or humbling yourself to a tailor, or eating a poor man's children's bread!" Clive blushed, I thought, and looked rather confused.
"O, father," says he, "I—I'm afraid I owe some money too—not much; but about forty podnd, five-and-twenty for cigars, and fifteen I borrowed of Pendennis, and—and—I've been devilish annoyed about it all this time."
"You stupid boy," says the father, "I knew about the cigars bill, and paid it last week Any thing I have is yours, you know. As long as there is a guinea there is half for you. See that every shilling we owe is paid before—before a week is over. And go down and ask Binnie if I can see him in his study. I want to have some conversation with him." When Clive was gono away, he said to me in a very sweet voice, "In God's name, keep my boy out of debt when I am gone, Arthur. I shall return to India very soon."
"Very soon, Sir! You have another year's leave," said I.
"Yes, but no allowances, you know; and this affair of Honeyman's has pretty nearly emptied the little purse I had set aside for European expenses. They have been very much heavier than I expected. As it is, I overdrew my account at my brother's, and have been obliged to draw
money from my agents in Caleutta. A year sooner or later (unless two of our senior officers had died, when I should have got my promotion and full colonel's pay with it. and proposed to remain in this country)—a year sooner or later, what does it matter! Clive will go away and work at his art, and see the great schools of painting while I am absent. I thought at one time how pleasant it would be to accompany him. But I'homme propose, Pendennis. I fancy now a lad is not the better for being always tied to his parent's apron-string. You young fellows are too clever for me. I haven't learned your ideas or read your books. I feel myself very often an old damper in your company. I will go back, Sir, where I have some friends, and where I am somebody still. I know an honest face or two, white and brown, that will lighten up in the old regiment when they see Tom Neweome again. God bless you, Arthur. You young fellows in this country have such cold ways that we old ones hardly know how to like you at first. James Binnie and I, when we first came home, used to talk you over, and think you laughed at us. But you didn't, I know. God Almighty bless you, and send you a good wife, and make a good man of you. I have bought a watch, which I would like you to wear in remembrance of me and my boy, to whom you were so kind when you were boys together in the old Gray Friars." I took his hand, and uttered some incoherent words of affection and respect. Did not Thomas Neweome merit both from all who knew him!
His resolution being taken, our good Colonel began to make silent but effectual preparations for his coming departure. He was pleased during these last days of his stay to give me even more of his confidence than I had previously enjoyed, and was kind enough to say that he regarded me almost as a son of his own, and hoped I would act as elder brother and guardian to Clive. Ah! who is to guard the guardian! The younger brother had many nobler qualities than belonged to the elder. The world had not hardened Clive, nor even succeeded in spoiling him. I perceive I am diverging from his history into that of another person, and will return to the subject proper of the book.
Colonel Neweome expressed himself as being particularly touched and pleased with his friend Binnie's conduct, now that the Colonel's departure was determined. "James is one of the most generous of men, Pendennis, and I am proud to be put tinder an obligation to him, and to tell it too. I hired this house, as you are aware, of our speculative friend Mr. Sherrick, and am answerable for the payment of the rent till the expiry of tho lease. James has taken the matter off my hands entirely. Tho place is greatly too large for him, but he says that he likes it, and intends to stay, and that his sister and niece shall be his housekeepers. Clive—(here, perhaps, the speaker's voice drops a little)—Clive will be the son of the house still, honest James says, and God bless him. James is richer than I thought by near a lakh of rupees—and here's a hint for you. Master Arthur. Mr. Binnic has declared to me in confidence that if his niece, Miss Rosey, shall marry a person of whom he approves, he will leave her a considerable part of his fortune."
The Colonel's confidant here said that his own arrangements were made in another quarter, to which statement the Colonel replied knowingly, "I thought so. A little bird has whispered to me the name of a certain Miss A. I knew her grandfather, an accommodating old gentleman, and I borrowed some money from him when I was a subaltern at Calcutta. I tell you in strict confidence, my dear young friend, that I hope and trust a certain young gentleman of your acquaintance may be induced to think how good and pretty and sweet-tempered a girl Miss Mackenzie is, and that she may be brought to like him. If you young men would marry in good time good and virtuous women—as I am sure —ahem !—Miss Amory is—half the temptations of your youth would be avoided. You would neither be dissolute, as many of you seem to me, or cold and selfish, which are worse vices
still. And my prayer is, that my Clive may cast anchor early out of the reach of temptation, and mate with some such kind girl as Binnie's niece. When I first came home I formed other plans for him, which could not be brought to a successful issue; and knowing his ardent disposition, and having kept an eye on the young rogue's conduct, I tremble lest some mischance with a woman should befall him, and long to have him out of danger."
So the kind scheme of the two elders was, that their young ones should marry and be happy ever after, like the Prince and Princess of the Fairy Tale: and dear Mrs. Mackenzie, have I said that at the commencement of her visit to her brother she made almost open love to the Colonel? dear Mrs. Mack was content to forego her own chances so that her darling Rosey might be happy. Wo used to laugh and say, that as soon as Clive's father was gone Joscy would be sent for to join Rosey. But little Josey being under her grandmother's sole influence, took a most gratifying and serious turn; wrote letters, in which she questioned the morality of operas, Towers of London, and wax-works, and, before a year was out, married Elder Bogie, of Mr. M'Craw's church.
Presently was to be read in the " Morning Post" an advertisement of the sale of three horses (the description and pedigree following), "the property of an officer returning to India. Apply to the groom, at the stables, 150 Fitrroy Square."
The Court of Directors invited LieutenantColonel Neweome to an entertainment given to Major-General Sir Ralph Spurrier, K.C.B., appointed Commander-in-Chief at Madras. Clive was asked to this dinner too, " and the governor's health was drunk, Sir," Clive said, " after dinner, and the dear old fellow made such a good speech, in returning thanks!"
He, Clive and I made a pilgrimage to Grey Friars, and had the Green to ourselves, it being the Bartlemytide vacation, and the boys all away. One of the good old Poor Brothers, whom we both recollected, accompanied us round the place; and we sate for a while in Captain Scarsdale's little room (he had been a peninsular officer, who had sold out, and was fain in his old age to retire into this calm retreat). And we talked, as old schoolmates and lovers talk, about subjects interesting to schoolmates and lovers only
One by one the Colonel took leave of his friends, young and old; ran down to Neweome, and gave Mrs Mason a parting benediction; slept a night at Tom Smith's, and passed a day with Jack Brown; went to all the boys' and girls' schools where his little protege? were, so as to be able to talie the very last and most authentic account of the young folks to their parents in India. Spent a week at Marble Hill, and shot partridges there, but for which entertainment, Clive said, the place would have been intolerable; and thence proceeded to Brighton, to pass a little time with good Miss Honeyman. As for Sir Brian's family, when parliament broke up of course they did not stay in town. Barnes, of course, had part of a moor in Scotland, whither his uncle and cousin did not follow him. The rest went abroad. Sir Brian wanted the waters of Aix-la-Chapelle; the brothers parted very good friends; Lady Ann, and all the young people, hSartily wished him farewell. I believe Sir Brian even accompanied the Colonel down stairs from the drawing-room, in Park Lane, and actually came out and saw his brother into his cab (just as he would accompany old Lady Bagges when she came to look at her account at the bank, from the parlor to hercarriage). But as for Ethel, she was not going to be put off with this sort of parting: and the next morning a cab dashed up to Fitzroy Square, and a vailed lady came out thence, and was closeted with Colonel Neweome for five minutes, and when he led her back to the carriage there were tears in his eyes.
Mrs. Mackenzie joked about the transaction (having watched it from the dining-room windows), and asked tho Colonel who his sweetheart was? Neweome replied very sternly,, that he hoped no one would ever speak lightly of that Vol. IX.—No. 50 —P
young lady, whom he loved as his own daughter; and I thought Rosey looked vexed at the praises thus bestowed. This was the day before we all went down to Brighton. Miss Honeyman's lodgings were taken for Mr. Binnie and his ladies. Clive and her dearest Colonel had apartments next door. Charles Honeyman came down and preached one of his very best sermons. Fred Bayham was there, and looked particularly grand and noble on the pier and the cliff. I am inclined to think he had had some explanation with Thomas Neweome, which had placed F. B. in a state of at least temporary prosperity. Whom did he not benefit whom he knew, and what eye that saw him did not bless him? F. B. was greatly affected at Charles's sermon, of which our party of course could see the allusions. Tears actually rolled down his brown checks; for Fred was a man very easily moved, and as it were a softened sinner. Little Rosey and her mother sobbed audibly, greatly to the surprise of stout oM Miss Honeyman, who had no idea of such watery exhibitions, and to the discomfiture of poor Newcome, who was annoyed to have his praises even hinted in that sacred edifice. Good Mr. James Binnie came for once to church; and, however variously their feelings might be exhibited or repressed, I think there was not one of the little circle there assembled who did not bring to the place a humble prayer and a gentle heart. Lt was the last Sabbath-bell our dear friend was to hear for many a day on his native shore. The great sea washed the beach as we came out, blue with the reflection of the skies, and its innumerable waves crested with sunshine. I see the good man and his boy yet clinging to him as they pace together by the shore.
The Colonel was very much pleased by a visit from Mr. Ridley, and the communication which he made (my Lord Todmorden has a mansion and park in Sussex, whence Mr. Ridley came to pay his duty to Colonel Neweome). He said he "never could forget the kindness with which the Colonel had treated him. His lordship have taken a young man, which Mr. Ridley had brought him up under his own eye, and can answer for him, Mr. R. says, with impunity; and which he is to be his lordship's own man for the future. And his lordship have appointed me his steward, and having, as he always hev been, been most liberal in point of sellary. And me and Mrs. Ridley was thinking, Sir, most respectfully, with regard to our son, Mr. John James Ridley—as good and honest a young man, which I am proud to say it, that if Mr. Clive goes abroad we shall be most proud and happy if John James went with him. And the money which you have paid us so handsome, Colonel, he shall have it; which it was the excellent ideer of Miss Cann; and my lord have ordered a pictur of John James in the most libral manner, and have asked my son to dinner, Sir, at his lordship's own table, which I have faithfully served him five-and-thirty years." Ridley's voice fairly broke down at this part of his speech, which evidently was a studied composition, and he uttered no more of it, for the Colonel cordially shoo1 Iiim by the hand, and Clive jumped up clapping his, and saying that it was the greatest wish of his heart that J. J. and he should be companions in France and Italy. "But I did not like to ask my dear old father," he said, "who has had so many calls on his purse, and besides, I knew that J. J. was too independent to come as my follower."
The Colonel's berth has been duly secured ere now. This time he makes the overland journey; and his passage is to Alexandria, taken in one of the noble ships of the Peninsular and Oriental Company. His kit is as simple as a subaltern's; I believe, but for Clive's friendly compulsion, he would have carried back no other than the old uniform which has served him for so many years. Clive and his father traveled to Southampton together by themselves. F. B. and I took the Southampton coach: we had asked leave to see the last of him, and say a "God bless you" to our dear old friend. So the day came when the vessel was to sail. We saw his cabin, and witnessed all the bustle and stir on board the good ship on a day of departure. Our thoughts, however, were fixed but on one person—the case, no doubt, with hundreds more on such a day. There was many a group of friends closing wistfully together on the sunny deck, and saying the last words of blessing and farewell. The bustle of the ship passes dimly round about them; the hurrying noise of crew and officers running on their duty; the tramp and song of the men at the capstan bars; the bells ringing, as the hour for departure comes nearer and nearer, as mother and son, father and daughter, husband and wife, hold hands yet for a little while. We saw Clive and his father talking together by the wheel. Then they went below; and a passenger, her husband, asked me to give my arm to an almost fainting lady, and to lead her off the ship. Bayham followed us, carrying their two children in his arms, as the husband turned away, and walked aft. The last bell was ringing, and they were crying, "Now for the shore." The whole ship had begun to throb ere this, and its great wheels to beat the water, and the chimnies had flung out their black signals for sailing. We were as yet close on the dock, and we saw Clive coming up from below, looking very pale; the plank was drawn after him as he stepped on land.
Then, with three great cheers from the dock, and from the crew in the bows, and from the passengers on the quarter-deck, the noble ship strikes the first stroke of her destined race, and swims away toward tho ocean. "There he is, there he is," shouts Fred Bayham, waving his hat. "God bless him, God bless him!" I scarce perceived, at the ship's side, beckoning an adieu, our dear old friend, when the lady, whose husband had bidden me to lead her away from the ship, fainted in my arms. Poor soul! Her, too, has fate stricken. Ah, pangs of hearts torn asunder, passionate regrets, cruel, cruel partings! Shall you not end one day, ere many years; when the tears shall be wiped from all eyes, and there shall be neither sorrow nor pain?
DOCTOR PABLO. \
AYOUNG ship-surgeon who had made several voyages, set out about thirty-five years ago, on board a rotten old three-master, commanded by a worn-out captain. The ship was named Lc Cultivateur, and the young surgeon was named Paul de la Gironiere. He came of Breton race; feared nothing, and loved adventure.
After touching in sundry ports, the old threemaster reached the Philippine Islands, and anchored near the little town of Cavita, in the bay of Manilla. There, the young doctor obtained leave to live ashore until the vessel sailed again; and having found lodgings in the town, he began to amuse himself in the open air with his gun. He mixed with the natives, and picked up what he could of their language, increasing at the same time his knowledge of Spanish.
At the end of four months—in September, eighteen hundred and twenty—cholera broke out at Manilla, and soon spread over the island. Mortality was terrible among the Indians; and, as often happens with Indians, and used to happen often among Europeans when people were more ignorant than they are now, the belief arose that somebody was poisoning the wells. No suspicion fell upon the Spanish masters of the island, who were dying with the rest; but there were several French ships in the harbor, and it was therefore settled that the wells were poisoned by the French.
On the ninth of October a horrible massacre began at Manilla and Cavita. The old captain of the Cultivateur was one of the first victims. Almost all the French residents in Manilla were assassinated, and their houses pillaged and destroyed.
Monsieur Paul the doctor, who was known on shore as Doctor Pablo, contrived to escape in good time to his ship. As soon as he was on board, his services were wanted by the mate of an American vessel, who had received a poniard wound. That having been dressed, the doctor next heard from several French captains that one of their number, Captain Drouant, from Marseilles, was still on shore. There remained but an hour of twilight; he might possibly be saved. The bold young Breton therefore went ashore again in a canoe, and, when he landed, bade the sailors abide by the boat until he or Captain Drouant should come to them. He then began his search ; and, at a little place called Puesta Baga, perceived a group of three or four hundred Indians. Among them they had the unlucky captain, pale as a ghost; whom a wild Indian, with a kris in his hand, held by the shoulder. Down rushed Doctor Pablo on the group, thrust the wild Indian to the right and Captain Drouant to the left, and pointing out where the boat was, bade the captain run and save himself. The captain ran, and the Indians were too much surprised at the presumption of his rescuer to take immediate heed of the departure of their victim; so the captain reached the boat, and pulled away from shore.
But how was Doctor Pablo to escape? The Indian whom he had thrust aside, ran at him with uplifted arm; him the young surgeon met by a blow on the head with a little cane. The man ran back to his companions, amazed and wrathful. Knives were drawn on all sides, and a circle was formed about the mad white man; one would not strike alone, but a score or two would strike together. The circle was closing, when an Indian soldier, armed with a musket, jumped into the midst. Holding his musket by the muzzle, he swung it violently round at arm's length, and the revolving but-end soon cleared a wide space. "Fly, sir!" the soldier said; "nobody will touch a hair of you while I am here."
In truth a way was opened, by which the young man was quietly permitted to depart; as he went, the soldier cried after him, "You cared for my wife when she was ill, and refused money; now you are paid."
Captain Drouant having taken the canoe. Monsieur Paul had no course left him but to go to his old home in Cavita. On the way he met a crowd of workers from the arsenal, who had set out with hatchets to attack the ships. Among these, too, there was a friend, who pinned him to a wall, concealed his person until his companions were gone by, and then urged him to promise that he would not go on board the ships, but hide on shore.
The Doctor's case was little improved when he reached home. There came a knocking at the door, and a whispering outside, of "Doctor Pablo." It was the friendly voice of a Chinese storekeeper.
"What have you to say, Yang-Po V
"Doctor Pablo, save yourself. The Indians intend attacking you this night."
Doctor Pablo would not save himself by flight; he thought it best to barricade his doors with furniture, to load his pistols, and to abide the issue.
Wearied by a day of anxiety, excitement, and severe physical labor, the beleaguered Frenchman found it difficult to keep awake and watchful, through the first hours of the night. At eleven o'clock there came again a knocking, hurriedly repeated.
"Who is there?"
"We are friends. The Indians are behind us. Escape through the roof at the back, and you will find us in the street of the Campanario."
He took this good advice, and had not long escaped before the house was searched and pillaged. His new friends sheltered him for the night, and were about to convey him to his ship on the succeeding morning, when one of them brought him a letter signed by all the captains in harbor, saying that being in momentary fear of attack, they had determined to heave anchor, and stand out to sea; but that two of them, Drouant and Perroux, would have to leave on land part of their provisions, their sails, and their water, unless he would send those stores off by means of a canoe which was sent with the letter, and was subject to his orders.
"The safety of two ships," said the young surgeon, "depends on sending off this water and these stores."
"Your own safety," his friends replied, "depends on getting off yourself, and that immediately."
"I am resolved to see after the stores.""Then go alone, for we will not escort you to destruction."
Doctor Pablo did go alone, and found upon the shore a crowd of Indians watching the ships. He believed that by not fearing them he would remove nearly all cause for fear, and therefore went boldly up to them, saying, "Which of you would like to earn some money! I will give any man a piastre for a day's work." There was a silence. Presently one said, "You do not seem to be afraid of us!" "Why, no," he replied, drawing his two pistols; "you see I stake only one life against two." The men were at his service in a minute; two hundred were chosen; a note was penciled and sent off by the canoe to summon all the ship's boats to convey the stores. A quantity of money belonging to Captain Drouant was taken to the beach secretly by the pocketful, and deposited in a corner of one of the boats. All went well; there was only one unlucky accident. When Captain Perroux's sails were being repaired, one of the men engaged in the work had died of cholera, and the rest, fearing infection, had wrapped him up hurriedly in a small sail and run away. The Indians, in moving the sail-cloths, uncovered the body, and were at once in an uproar. This was, they said, a French plot for poisoning the air and spreading the infection. "Nonsense, men!" said Pablo. "Afraid of a poor devil dead of cholera! So be it. I'll soon relieve you of him." Then, with a great display of coolness which he did not altogether feel, he wrapped the body again in a piece of the sail-cloth, and, lifting it up in his arms, he carried it down to the shore. He caused a hole to be dug, and laid the body in the grave himself. When it was covered up, he erected a rude cross over the spot. After that, the loading went on without further hindrance.
Having paid the Indians, and given them a cask of brandy, Doctor Pablo went to the ship with the last cargo of water, and there—as he had taken little or no refreshment during the last twenty-four hours—his work being now done, he began to feel exhausted. He was exhausted in more senses than one, for he was near the end of his worldly as well as of his bodily resources. All his goods and the small hoards that he had made, were either destroyed or stolen; he owned nothing but what he had upon him— a check shirt, canvas trowsers, and a calico waistcoat, with a small fortune of thirty-two piastres in his pockets. When he had recovered from his faintness and had taken a little food, he bethought him of an English captain in the Bay who owed him a hundred piastres; as the vessels were all on the point of departure, he must set off in a small boat at once to get them. Now this captain, one of the perfidious sons of Albion I am sorry to say, replied to the young doctor's demand that he owed him nothing, and threatened to throw him overboard. So, in sooth, he