Part 16

It has been argued, on high authority, as a reason for retaining the troops in question, that they are the most _constitutional_ force that could be selected; and truly of their general robustness there can be but one opinion. However, if a domestic force of the kind ought to be kept up, would it not be advisable, and humane, and fair, to give the manufacturing body a turn, and form troops of the sedentary weavers and other artisans, who stand so much more in need of out-of-door exercise? The farmer, from the nature of his business, has _Field_ Days enough, to say nothing of the charges and throwings off he enjoys in hunting and coursing, besides riding periodically to and from market, or the neighbouring fairs. Indeed, the true English yeoman is generally, thanks to these sports and employments, so constantly in the saddle, that instead of volunteering into any cavalry, it might be supposed he would be glad to feel his own legs a little, and enjoy the household comforts of the chimney-corner and the elbow-chair. As regards their effectiveness, I have had the pleasure of seeing a troop fire at a target for a subscription silver cup; and it convinced me, that if I had felt inclined to _roast_ them, their own _fire_ was the very best one for my purpose. On another occasion I had the gratification of beholding a charge, and as they succeeded in dispersing themselves, it may be inferred that they might possibly do as much by a mob. Still there seemed hardly excitement enough or amusement enough, except to the spectators, in such playing at soldiers, to induce honest, hearty, fox-hunting farmers, to wish to become veterans. To tell the truth, I have heard before now, repentant grumblings from practical agriculturists, who had too rashly adopted the uniform, and have seen even their horses betray an inclination to back out of the line. The more therefore is my surprise, on all accounts, to hear that the Yeomanry are so unwilling to be dispensed with, and relieved from inactive service; for though the song tells us of a “Soldier tir’d of war’s alarms,” there is no doubt that to a soldier of spirit, the most tiresome thing in the world is to have no alarms at all.

In the mean time I have been at some pains to ascertain the sentiments of the yeowomanry on the subject, and if they all feel in common with Dame, the disbanding will be a most popular measure amongst the farmers’ wives. I had no sooner communicated the news, through the old lady’s trumpet, than she exclaimed, that “it was the best hearing she had had for many a long day! The Sogering work unsettled both men and horses--it took her husband’s head off his business, and it threw herself off the old mare, at the last fair, along of a showman’s trumpet. Besides, it set all the farm servants a-sogering too, and when they went to the Wake, only old Roger came back again to say they had all ’listed. They had more sense, however, than their master, for they all wanted to be disbanded the next morning. As for the master, he’d never been the same man since he put on the uniform; but had got a hectoring swaggering way with him, as if everybody that didn’t agree in politics, and especially about the Corn Bill, was to be bored and slashed with sword and pistol. Then there was the constant dread that in his practising, cut six would either come home to him, or do a mischief to his neighbours; and after a reviewing there was no bearing him, it put him so up in his stirrups, and on coming home he’d think nothing of slivering off all the hollyoaks as he brandished and flourished up the front garden. Another thing, and that was no trifle, was the accidents; she couldn’t tell how it was, whether he thought too much of himself and too little of his horse, but he always got a tumble with the yeomanry, though he’d fox-hunt by the year together without a fall. What was worse, a fall always made him crusty, and when he was crusty, he made a point to get into his cups, which made him more crusty still. Thank God, as yet he had never been of any use to his country, and it was her daily prayer that he might never be called out, as he had so many enemies and old grudges in the neighbourhood, there would be sure to be murder on one side or the other. For my own part,” she concluded, “I think the Parliament is quite right in these hard times to turn the farmers’ swords again into ploughshares, for they have less to care about the rising of rioters than the falling of wheat.” The old lady then hunted out what she called a yeomanry letter from her husband’s brother, and having her permission to make it public, I have thought proper to christen it.

AN UNFAVOURABLE REVIEW.

“You remember Philiphaugh, Sir?”

“Umph!” said the Major, “the less we say about that, John, the better.”

OLD MORTALITY.

_To Mr. Robert Cherry, the Orchard, Kent._

DEAR BOB,--It’s no use your making more stir about the barley. Business has no business to stand before king and country, and I couldn’t go to Ashford Market and the Review at the same time. The Earl called out the Yeomanry for a grand field day at Bumper Daggle Bottom Common, and to say nothing of its being my horse duty to attend I wouldn’t have lost my sight for the whole barley in Kent. Besides the Earl, the great Duke did us the honour to come and see the troops go through everything, and it rained all the time. Except for the crops, a more unfavouring day couldn’t have been picked out for man or beast, and many a nag has got a consequential cough.

The ground was very good, with only one leap that nobody took, but the weather was terribly against. It blew equinoxious gales, and rained like watering pots with the rose off. But as somebody said, one cannot always have their reviews cut and dry.

We set out from Ashford at ten, and was two hours getting to Bumper Daggle Bottom Common, but it’s full six mile. The Bumper Daggle’s dress is rather handsome and fighting like--blue, having a turn-up with white, and we might have been called cap-a-pee, but Mr. P., the contractor of our caps, made them all too small for our heads. Luckily the clothes fit, except Mr. Lambert’s, who couldn’t find a jacket big enough; but he scorned to shrink, and wore it loose on his shoulder like a hussar. As for arms, we had all sorts, and as regards horses, I am sorry to say all sorts of legs--what with splints, and quitters, and ring-bone, and grease. The Major’s, I noticed, had a bad spavin, and was no better for being fired with a ramrod, which old Clinker, the blacksmith, forgot to take out of his piece.

We mustard very strong,--about sixty--besides two volunteers, one an invalid, because he had been ordered to ride for exercise, and the other because he had nothing else to do, and he did nothing when he came. We must have been a disagreeable site to eyes as is unaffected towards Government,--though how Hopper’s horse would behave in putting down riots I can’t guess, for he did nothing but make revolutions himself, as if he was still in the thrashing mill. But you know yeomanry an’t reglers, and can’t be expected to be veterans all at once. The worst of our mistakes was about the cullers. Old Ensign Cobb, of the White Horse, has a Political Union club meets at his house, and when he came to unfurl, he had brought the wrong flag: instead of “Royal Bumper Daggle,” it was “No Boromongers.” It made a reglar horse laugh among the cavalry; and old Cobb took such dudgeon at us, he deserted home to the White Horse, and cut the concern without drawing a sword. The Captain ordered Jack Blower to sound the recall to him, but some wag on the rout had stuck a bung up his trumpet; and he gallopped off just as crusty about it as old Cobb. Our next trouble was with Simkin, but you know he is anything but Simkin and Martial. He rid one of his own docked waggon-horses--but for appearance sake had tied on a long regulation false tale, that made his horse kick astonishing, till his four loose shoes flew off like a game at koits. Of course nobody liked to stand nigh him, and he was obliged to be drawn up in single order by himself, but not having any one to talk to, he soon got weary of it, and left the ground. This was some excuse for him--but not for Dale, that deserted from his company,--some said his horse bolted with him, but I’ll swear I seed him spur. Up to this we had only one more deserter, and that was Marks, on his iron-gray mare, for she heard her foal whinnying at home, and attended to that call more than to a deaf and dumb trumpet. Biggs didn’t come at all; he had his nag stole that very morning, as it was waiting for him, pistols and all.

What with these goings off and gaps our ranks got in such disorder that the Earl, tho’ he is a Tory, was obliged to act as a rank Reformer. We got into line middling well, as far as the different sizes of our horses would admit, and the Duke rode up and down us, and I am sorry to say was compelled to a reprimand. Morgan Giles had been at a fox-hunt the day before, and persisted in wearing the brush as a feather in his cap. As fox tails isn’t regulation, his Grace ordered it out, but Morgan was very high, and at last threw up his commission into a tree and trotted home to Wickham Hall, along with private Dick, who, as Morgan’s whipper in, thought he was under obligations to follow his master.

We got thro’ sword exercise decent well,--only Barber shaved Croft’s mare with his saber, which he needn’t have done, as she was clipt before; and Holdsworth slashed off his cob’s off ear. It was cut and run with her in course; and I hope he got safe home. We don’t know what Hawksley might have thrusted, as his sword objected to be called out in wet weather, and stuck to its sheath like pitch; but he went thro’ all the cuts very correct with his umbrella. For my own part, candour compels to state I swished off my left hand man’s feather; but tho’ it might have been worse, and I apologised as well as I could for my horse fretting, he was foolish enough to huff at, and swear was done on purpose, and so gallopped home, I suspect, to write me a calling out challenge. Challenge or not, if I fight him with anything but fists, I’m not one of the Yeomanry. An accident’s an accident, and much more pardonable than Hawksley opening his umbrella plump in the face of the Captain’s blood charger; and ten times more mortifying for an officer to be carried back willy-nilly to Ashford, in the middle of the Review. Luckily before Hawksley frightened any more, he was called off to hold his umbrella over Mrs. H., as Mrs. Morgan had taken in nine ladies, and could not accommodate more in her close carriage, without making it too close.

After sword exercise we shot pistols, and I must say, very well and distinct; only, old Dunn didn’t fire; but he’s deaf as a post, and I wonder how he was called out. Talking of volleys, I am sorry to say we fired one before without word of command; but it was all thro’ Day on his shooting pony putting up a partridge, and in the heat of the moment letting fly, and as he is our fugleman we all did the same. Lucky for the bird it was very strong on the wing, or the troop must have brought it down; howsomever the Earl looked very grave, and said something that Day didn’t choose to take from him, being a qualified man, and taking out a reglar license, so he went off to his own ground, where he might shoot without being called to account. Contrary to reason and expectation, there was very few horses shied at the firing; but we saw Bluff lying full length, and was afraid it was a bust; but we found his horse, being a very quiet one, had run away from the noise. He was throwd on his back in the mud, but refused to leave the ground. Being a man of spirit, and military inclind, he got up behind Bates; but Bates’s horse objecting to such back-gammon, reared and threw doublets. As his knees was broke, Bates and Bluff was forced to lead him away, and the troop lost two more men, tho’ for once against their own wills.

As for Roper he had bragged how he could stand fire, but seeing a great light over the village, he set off full Swing to look after his ricks and barns.

The next thing to be done was charging, and between you and me, I was most anxious about that, as many of us could only ride up to a certain _pitch_. As you’ve often been throwd you’ll know what I mean: to tell the truth, when the word came, I seed some lay hold of their saddles, but Barnes had better have laid hold of anything else in the world, for it turn’d round with him at the first start. Simpkin fell at the same time insensibly, but the doctor dismounted and was very happy to attend him without making any charge whatever. All the rest went off gallantly, either gallopping or cantering, tho’ as they say at Canterbury races, their was some wonderful tailing on account of the difference of the nags. Grimsby’s mare was the last of the lot, and for her backwardness in charging we called her the Mare of Bristol, but he took the jest no better than Cobb did, and when we wheel’d to the right he was left. Between friends, I was not sorry when the word came to pull up,--such crossing, and josling, and foul riding; but two farmers seemed to like it, for they never halted when the rest did, but gallopped on out of sight. I have since heard they had matched their two nags the day before to run two miles for a sovereign; I don’t think a sovereign should divert a man from his king: but I can’t write the result as they newer came back,--I suppose on account of the wet. The rains, to speak cavalry like, had got beyond bearing rains; and when we formed line again it was like a laundress’s clothes line, for there wasn’t a dry shirt on it. One man on a lame horse rode particularly restive, and objected in such critical weather to a long review. He wouldn’t be cholera morbus’d, he said, for Duke or Devil, but should put his horse up, and go home by the blue Stage; by way of answer he was ordered to give up his arms and his jacket, which he did very off hand, as it was wet thro’. Howsomever it was thought prudent to dispense with us till fine weather, so we was formed into a circle--9 bobble square, and the Duke thanked us in a short speech for being so regular, and loyal, and soldier-like, after which every man that had kept his seat gave three cheers.

On the whole the thing might have been very gratifying, but on reviewing the Field day, the asthmas and agues are uncommonly numerous, and to say nothing of the horses that are amiss with coffs and colds--there are three dead and seven lame for life. The Earl has been very much blamed under the rose among the privates, for fixing on a Hunting day, which I forgot to say, carried away a dozen that were mounted on their hunters. I am sorry to say there was so few left at the end of all, as to suffer themselves to be hissed into the town by the little boys and gals, and called the Horse Gomerils; and that consequently the corpse, as a body, is as good as defunct. Not that there were many resign’d at the end of the review, as his Lordship gave a grand dinner on the following day to the troop: but I am sorry to say, a great many was so unhandsome as to throw up the very day after. The common excuse among them was something of not liking to wet their swords against their countrymen.

For my own part as the yomanry cannot go on, I shall stick to it honorably, and as any man of spirit would do in my case; but dont be afraid of my attending Market, come what will, and selling the barley at the best quotation.

I am, dear Brother, Your’s and the Colonel’s to command, JAMES CHERRY.

P.S.--I forgot to tell what will make you laugh. Barlow wouldn’t ride with spurs, because, he said, they made his horse prick his ears. Our poor corps, small as it is, I understand is like to act in divisions. Some wish to be infantry instead of cavalry; and the farmers from the hop grounds want to be Polish Lancers.

I have just learned Ballard, and nine more of the men, was ordered to keep the ground; but it seems they left before the Troop came on it. They say in excuse, they stood in the rain till they were ready to drop; and as we didn’t come an hour after time, they thought everything was postponed. “None but the brave,” they said, “deserve the fair;” and till it _was_ fair, they wouldn’t attend again.

The mare you lent Ballard, I am sorry to say, got kicked in several places, and had her shoulder put out; we was advised to give her a swim in the sea, and I am still more sorry to say, in swimming her we drowned her. As for my own nag, I am afraid he has got string-halt; but one comfort is, I think it diverts him from kicking.

I’M GOING TO BOMBAY.

“Nothing venture, nothing have.”--OLD PROVERB.

“Every Indiaman has at least two mates.”

FALCONER’S MARINE GUIDE.

I.

My hair is brown, my eyes are blue, And reckon’d rather bright; I’m shapely, if they tell me true, And just the proper height; My skin has been admired in verse, And called as fair as day-- If I _am_ fair, so much the worse, I’m going to Bombay!

II.

At school I passed with some éclât; I learned my French in France; De Wint gave lessons how to draw, And D’Egville how to dance;-- Crevelli taught me how to sing, And Cramer how to play-- It really is the strangest thing-- I’m going to Bombay!

III.

I’ve been to Bath and Cheltenham Wells, But not their springs to sip-- To Ramsgate--not to pick up shells,-- To Brighton--not to dip. I’ve tour’d the Lakes, and scour’d the coast From Scarboro’ to Torquay-- But tho’ of time I’ve made the most, I’m going to Bombay!

IV.

By Pa and Ma I’m daily told To marry now’s my time, For though I’m very far from old, I’m rather in my prime. They say while we have any sun, We ought to make our hay-- And India has so hot an one, I’m going to Bombay!

V.

My cousin writes from Hyderapot My only chance to snatch, And says the climate is so hot, It’s sure to light a match.-- She’s married to a son of Mars, With very handsome pay, And swears I ought to thank my stars I’m going to Bombay!

VI.

She says that I shall much delight To taste their Indian treats, But what she likes may turn me quite, Their strange outlandish meats.-- If I can eat rupees, who knows? Or dine, the Indian way, On doolies and on bungalows-- I’m going to Bombay!

VII.

She says that I shall much enjoy,-- I don’t know what she means,-- To take the air and buy some toy, In my own palankeens,-- I like to drive my pony-chair, Or ride our dapple gray-- But elephants are horses there-- I’m going to Bombay!

VIII.

Farewell, farewell, my parents dear, My friends, farewell to them! And oh, what costs a sadder tear, Good-bye to Mr. M!-- If I should find an Indian vault, Or fall a tiger’s prey, Or steep in salt, it’s all _his_ fault, I’m going to Bombay!

IX.

That fine new teak-built ship, the Fox, A, 1--Commander Bird, Now lying in the London Docks, Will sail on May the Third; Apply for passage or for freight, To Nichol, Scott, and Gray-- Pa has applied and seal’d my fate-- I’m going to Bombay!

X.

My heart is full--my trunks as well; My mind and caps made up, My corsets shap’d by Mrs. Bell, Are premised ere I sup; With boots and shoes, Rivarta’s best, And dresses by Ducé, And a special license in my chest-- I’m going to Bombay!

“LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP.”

“Fallen, fallen, fallen.”--DRYDEN.

My father being what is called a serious tallow-chandler, having supplied the Baptist Meeting-house of Nantwich with _dips_ for many years, intended to make me a field-preaching minister. Alas! _my_ books were plays, _my_ sermons soliloquies. You would not have wondered, had you seen me then, with my large dark eyes, my permanent nose, and a mouth to which my picture does but scanty justice. In large theatres these may be but secondary considerations; but a figure symmetrical as mine must have been seen through all space. Accordingly, I eloped with the young lady who used to rehearse my heroines with me, and came to London, where, after we had studied together till I was in debt, and she, as “ladies wish to be who love their lords,” I began applying to the managers for leave to make my _debût_. I will not describe to you the neglect and rudeness I experienced! It did not abate my enthusiasm: but so true it is, “while the grass grows”--the proverb is somewhat musty,--that I had soon nothing but musty bread on which to feed my hopes, and hopeful wife. One burning spring day I roved as far as the fields near Greenwich, and, book in hand, went through Romeo, though but to a shy audience, for the sheep all took to their trotters, and the crows to their wings, and not without _caws_. (That joke _was_ mine, let who will have claimed it.)

Suddenly somebody hissed; it could not be the sheep, and no geese were near. At that instant a very elegant man, stepping from behind a tree, thus accosted me:--