by F.W. [Francis William Maxwell].
Originally published in Belgravia (John Maxwell) vol.3 #10 (Aug 1867).
CHAPTER I.
WHY I WENT TO WIMBLEDON
It was Commemoration time at Oxford. The old city had thrown off all its wonted solemnity, and for this one week was exerting its great powers in endeavours to appear the home of jollity rather than the nurse and imparter of classic lore. The attractions held forth by a programme of the week—containing four or five balls, several fêtes, and innumerable picnics down the river to Nuneham, to say nothing of anticipations of many delightful breakfasts and luncheons in college—had inspired all young ladies owning brothers, cousins, or very dear friends at Oxford, with a sudden desire to visit that city of learning. Few indeed and degenerate were the "dearest papas" possessed of hearts stony enough to refuse the bewitching entreaties of melting eyes and pouting lips to take them up to Oxford, "just for once," to see Commem., and Tom, Fred, or Harry; especially when Tom, Fred, or Harry wrote to the governor and seconded the petition of those melting eyes and pouting lips like a trump. Never before had plans been so successfully arranged, never had the town been so full of visitors. The very weather had assumed its brightest suit, as if to honour the confidence with which the ladies trusted their lovely dresses to its forbearance. Everything was a great success. The glorious thought "no more lectures" lent an additional vivacity to the naturally vivacious "Varsity man. What cared he now for Dons? The whole power of Dondom for a time was shattered. The Dons themselves were divided; divided they were harmless. Those of them whom fortune had blessed with lady relatives or friends, and in whose breasts Nature had planted a courage which enabled them to see a petticoat without running away from it, or discovering that they were late for an important engagement,—these piled their books upon their shelves, and vied sedately with the gayer crowd of undergraduates in the pursuit of pleasure. Others of them, unblessed with the knowledge of that sweet delight only to be found in the society of the fair, had fled in abject terror, far from their familiar haunts, which now were ringing with the silvery tones of light-hearted girlhood. The city of spires was in the hands of the enemy; an edict of banishment had been issued for one week against the dull and the austere.
But there was one heart, at least in Oxford, sad and heavy; one heart in which the note of pleasure found no echo. As I sat leaning out of my window, which overlooked the trim green quad of St. Kenelm's College—as I saw its sacred grass, the constant care and pride of our worthy Bursar, trampled ruthlessly under foot by the trim Balmoral and the heavier heel of man—as I caught the hum of enjoyment wafted upwards to my room of mourning—my soul was filled with bitterness, and too well did I realise how utter that sense of desolation is, which none, save the sorrower in the midst of mirth, can ever feel. And what misfortune had cast so deep a cloud over the buoyant-spirited freshman of two months' standing? What fearful calamity had converted the open smile of yesterday into the gloomy frown of to-day? I will unfold the cause.
Two months before this I had matriculated at St. Kenelm's. Before the solemn words "Admitto te" were pronounced, our principal had exacted a promise from me, and those who with me were seeking to become members of the college, that we should go in for Responsions our first term. It was then the beginning of the glorious summer term, when nature and pleasure were putting forth all their allurements to win the 'Varsity man from his books. I had left school with the reputation of knowing how to wield a bat, and of being able to pull a good oar. This reputation had preceded me to Oxford, and long before my arrival there the cricketing and boating sets of the college had each marked me for its own. The St. Kenelm's eleven was weak, its eight was nearer the bottom of the river than the top. Fired by a desire to win glory for myself and recover the lost prestige of my college, I threw learning to the dogs, and plunged headlong into cricket and aquatics, regardless of the sneers of sarcastic lecturers who believed not in my doctrine, that learning should come by instinct, rather than by the dull drudgery of laborious preparation; regardless too of Smalls, known to the Dons as Responsions, which with ever quickening strides approached their victims. "You muff!" exclaimed my friends, if ever I ventured an opinion that I really ought to look at my books, "don't talk rot; what are Smalls? Absolutely nothing for a man of your abilities to get through. Come down to the river, and don't make a fool of yourself. You'll get through like a bird." The awful day at last arrived and found me quite unprepared for it. I shudder even now when I think of my paper work, and my blood boils and my fingers itch to smash a few examiners, when I remember the exhibition they made of me in vivâ voce. I returned to college, feeling that I had at least realised one of my friend's predictions, and got through like a bird—a plucked one. Bob Miller, a schoolfellow of mine, who was also a St. Kenelm's man, of ten terms' standing, had gone on the hopeless errand of seeing if by a miracle I had scraped through and got my "testamur;" and I, seated at my window, was now awaiting his return, picturing to myself the consequences of my disgrace, my father's rage, the sorrow of my mother and sisters, and—O, fury and madness!—the contemptuous sympathy of dear friends, who confided to one another that they never thought I had much in me.
I was roused from the painful reverie into which I had fallen by the entrance of Miller, whose melancholy visage showed me too plainly that my doom was sealed. Not being unprepared for this, I assumed a mournfully joyful expression of countenance, and remarked carelessly,
"Well, Bob, old boy, I suppose that those confounded examiners liked me so much that they desire the pleasure of my company at their next exam?"
"I am sorry to say that they do, Will; but, hang it, man, you mustn't mind it, for it is not the least disgrace to get ploughed for Smalls. I believe that the examiners take a pleasure in ploughing the best men just to encourage them to do better. Why, they ploughed me, and I do not think I made any great mistakes; did you?"
"O Lord, yes; I murdered everything hopelessly; you know I hadn't even looked at my books. I translated [GREEK], 'on the back of a mule.'"
"Did you? I forget just now what it ought to be. Tell me."
"Something about a mountain glade, I believe, though my rendering made far better sense; but the stupid fools did not take that into account."
"O, they never have the least consideration for a man's feelings. Have you got a weed, old boy?"
"I beg your pardon, this infernal affair has made me forget my duties. Help yourself, they're on that shelf. I don't care a pin for my plough, you see, as far as I am concerned; but my governor will be in the devil's own rage about it. He expected great things of me when I came up. I declare I am afraid to face him."
"Why, you don't mean to say that you told him you were going in for it, did you? That was weak. I never tell a soul at home that I am in for anything till I'm through; and then, if I get through, I get great honour, and if I'm ploughed they know nothing about it. When are you going down?"
"I did intend to do so to-night; but I think now that I shall stop up longer."
"I tell you what you had better do, Will. I'm in the 'Varsity twelve again this year, and we go up to Wimbledon next week. The 'Bluebottles' have sent us an invitation to camp with them, and there will be no trouble about food or tents or anything of that kind. They want supernumeraries to make themselves useful about camp; so you can come up as one. We shall be there a fortnight, and shall have a very festive time of it. By then your governor's heart will have softened towards you, and in the mean time you can pave the way to his good graces by a few judicious epistles. What do you say?"
"The very thing, old boy!" I cried rapturously; "it will answer beautifully, and I want to get a glimpse of camp life."
"Very well, then; it's settled that you come. I shall stop up here till we have to go to Wimbledon, for I want some rifle-practice. You stop too, and we'll go down together."
I consented; and after discussing the affair, and arranging our plans over a claret-cup, donned our flannels and proceeded down to the river.
CHAPTER II.
WHAT I DID AT WIMBLEDON.
It was a lovely summer afternoon when Bob Miller and I got out of the train at Putney station on our way to the camp. The platform was crowded with Volunteers from all parts of the kingdom, who had come down with us to take part in the great national meeting. Well has the camp bard immortalised those noble men:
"Some were short, some were tall,
Some were big, some were small;
Some were black, some were blue,
Others a kind of greenish hue;"
and, carried away by the poetic transports of his soul, concluded his strains in the mystic burst of admiration:
"Whack fol de rydee, O!"
Upon sallying forth from the station, we were immediately beset by a host of charioteers, all of whom eagerly professed the delight they should feel at being permitted to drive us to camp. "'Ere yer are, yer 'onours," cried the driver of a dilapidated shandridan, against the shafts of which calmly slept one of those remarkable animals whose breed has been defined as a cross between a Rosinante and a gridiron; "take yer 'onours to the camp for a bob a 'ead." "Don't yer trust 'im, sir," warningly observed a veteran Jehu, upon whose ruby nose there grew in graceful profusion a number of little purple cabbages; "jump in ere, gemmen, jest room for two." Five men packed in his vehicle, which had been originally designed for a small four, protested furiously against this, and announced their intention of getting out if an immediate start were not effected. "The wan, yer 'onours, the wan?" asked a cad, pointing to the remains of an ancient greengrocer's wagon; "sixpence hup." "'Ansom, capting, 'ansom?" insinuatingly inquired the pilot of one of those two-wheeled machines who had just driven up. "Here, Will, this will do; jump in," cried Miller, bringing his carpet-bag down upon the head of a man who had darted forward to anticipate us in possession of the desired vehicle. "Beg pardon, sir, but this is our cab." "What d'ye mean, sir, by that?" "What I say, sir." "You've assaulted me grossly, sir." "O, you be hanged, sir! Drive on, cabby;" and away we sped up the hill, leaving the assaulted one foaming out his wrongs to a policeman who had witnessed the affair and strolled up as soon us he had seen us off.
A quick drive up hill brought us on to the beautiful common of Wimbledon. In the distance, far away across an undulating tract of heath, could be seen a long line of hoarding extending right across the common. Over it peeped the tops of the tents, gleaming snowy white in the hot afternoon sun.
"Pretty sight, isn't it?" said Miller, noticing my admiring glances. "That hoarding rather spoils it, though. You see the windmill away to the left there? The Bluebottles are camping to the right of it, where that big flag is. That long blue building is Jennings's; you know Jennings? No? He is the great refreshment man. We shall turn off here soon, and go over the common. Ah, here we are!—Drive straight into camp, cabby, and go to the quartermaster-sergeant's tent.—Doesn't camp look well, eh? See, there's our post-office, and there's the telegraph-station; we've got all the comforts of a town. The head-quarters are round the windmill. That's the notice-board over there, where the orders for the day are posted. Our camp is at the end of this street of tents. There's a jolly tent, isn't it? The luxurious owner has positively got a carpet and chest of drawers, to say nothing of that small family bedstead. He's been here before, I'll bet. Closely packed those fellows are, are they not?—four in a tent. It must be preciously hot and squabbly. That's a pretty tent with the rockwork and flowers outside. The man in it is an artist, perhaps. Here we are at the quartermaster-sergeant's tent. Jump out, old boy, and carry your own traps; our camp is before you."
Having paid our cabman handsomely, and sent him away perfectly satisfied with a third of the fare which he had demanded, we entered the camp of our friends. Dinner was evidently going on, as several Bluebottles, with bare arms and lobster-coloured faces, were busily engaged peeping into immense pots steaming over a fire in the ground, and harpooning therein legs of mutton and huge pieces of beef, which were transferred to tin dishes of a vast size, and carried off in triumph into the mess-tent. Our approach was seen from the tent, and an envoy rushed out to meet us.
"How d'ye do? How d'ye do? All your men are here, and have been expecting you for an age. Come in and get something to eat. Stick your carpet-bags down; they'll be quite safe. Up at the end of the tent you can get what you want. Take care of yourselves, and make yourselves happy." With which amiable injunction our friend rushed off again, leaving us to follow his advice, and look about us.
The mess-tent was a long booth-like structure, tastefully ornamented inside with flags; down it ran two tables, roughly constructed of plain deal boards, doubtless the work of the mechanically-disposed members of the corps. Seated at these were some seventy or eighty men, chatting and joking gaily with each other, doing at the same time ample justice to the abundant but somewhat rude fare before them. Plates and glasses there were none; but in their stead were tin platters, ingeniously devised with a view to holding either liquids or solids, and pannikins, out of which beer, sherry, and champagne were quaffed indifferently. At one end was a table drawn across the tent, forming a kind of refreshment-counter, laden with provisions; behind this stood the staff upon whom devolved the duty of administering to the wants of their friends. Our own men were scattered up and down the tables, their light uniforms forming a pretty contrast with the somewhat sombre trappings of the Bluebottles. Interchanging friendly nods with these, we took up our position at the table, and securing for ourselves vast quantities of meat and vegetables, plied our knives and forks with a vigour that raised us considerably in the good opinions of our hospitable entertainers.
The loud report of a gun, a signal for the recommencement of firing, broke up the dinner-party. Some rushed off to shoot in prizes; others to try their luck at the pool or carton targets; others, who had nothing particular to do, proceeded to their tents to do it, the operation in most cases consisting in throwing oneself on a bed, and, pipe in mouth, devoting the passing hour to calm perusal of a novel or newspaper; whilst Miller and I went off to inspect our quarters, and to make the necessary arrangements for our stay.
Distance lent enchantment to the view in the case of our tent; for although its appearance from afar was singularly neat and inviting, yet upon a nearer approach the neatness vanished, and gloomy thoughts of sleepless nights disquieted the soul enamoured of nocturnal repose. The tent had been pitched with a greater regard for uniformity with the others than for the comfort of its occupants. A colony of misguided ants had originally settled upon the spot now covered by it, and, having devoured every blade of grass around the settlement, had departed again in search of happier regions, abandoning their penetralia to the earwig and the beetle, which delightful animals were careering in playful sportiveness all over the place. The furniture of the tent was not luxurious; it consisted solely of two minute iron bedsteads, suggestive of anything rather than one's ability to lie down on them. One of these proved to be broken; and as all the others had been engaged, nothing was left but for one of us to make his bed upon the ground. Miller refused to decide the ownership of the coveted bedstead by a toss, and insisted obstinately on his right of possession, on the ground of being a shooting man, and. consequently requiring care. Eventually I yielded to his argument as graciously as I could, and hailing a camp boy, he despatched him to procure for us mattresses, pillows, and blankets. In a few minutes the boy returned, dragging after him a couple of long bags filled with the stiffest of straw, and carrying under each arm a smaller bag stuffed with the same material.
"Surely they don't call these things mattresses and pillows?" asked I in alarm.
"O yes, they do; and very comfortable they are too, after a few hours, when you've made a hole in the middle," replied Miller reassuringly.
"Where are the sheets and blankets, though?" I inquired.
"Sheets! you effeminate beggar, we never hear of such things in camp, much less see them.—Now, boy, where are the blankets?"
"Please, sir, there ain't none," answered the boy sadly. "They was put in 'ere this mornin', and some gentleman must have taken 'em out since."
"O, confound it! here's a nuisance! Are there no more?"
"No, sir, 'cept in t'other tents."
"What an infernal shame! Fellows really ought to know better.—What are we to do, boy?"
"Don't know, sir," said the young scamp, adding with a peculiar grin, "p'r'aps you might borrow some from t'other tents, sir."
"Ah, by Jove! so we may.—Look here, young un; you go and get me three blankets, and I'll give you a shilling."
"I'll give you the same for the same number," added I.
The boy promptly vanished, and after a short absence, returned bearing the six desired articles. Giving him the promised tips, we sent him off rejoicing, and proceeded to make our beds,—a work of no great difficulty, as may be imagined. We then procured a lantern, a hand-basin, a small tin pan dignified by the name of a bath, a looking-glass, and some sacks to serve for carpets and to cover the ancient habitations of the ants.
Having set our tent in order, we got our rifles and proceeded to the pool-targets, with the full determination of making our fortunes. The targets must have been very bad ones, for out of ten shots each, Miller only scored five centres and I two. As every shot cost us a shilling, and centres were worth but sixpence each, we unanimously voted the whole thing a delusion and a snare, and determined to recover our losses at the running-deer. With a view to economy, we took but four tickets each to begin with. After a couple of misses, to my great delight I succeeded in smiting the animal; delight, alas, doomed soon to be changed into sorrow, for the perjured villains of markers declared that I had hit the haunch, and for this achievement I was fined half-a-crown. My next shot hit the deer after it had passed the post, and cost me another half-crown. Perfectly convinced by this time that the whole system of Wimbledon shooting was a gigantic swindle, and Miller, who had had three outers given him, coinciding with me in this belief, we shouldered our rifles and returned sadly to our quarters, where we lighted our pipes and meditated profoundly on the uncertainty of human success, until the evening gun roared forth an order to cease firing for the day, and admonished us to seek our evening repast—a cold repetition of dinner, with the possible substitution of tea for beer or wine.
Having finished our meal, we proceeded to unbrail our tent, and to fasten it up for the night, a necessary precaution against the falling of the evening dew. This operation having been performed satisfactorily, we strolled about the camps, amusing ourselves by inspecting the feats of the athletic portion of the community, until the bugle's cheerful note sent forth a sweet invitation to grog and conviviality. Returning to the mess-tent we found most of the men assembled and busily engaged in quaffing a fiery compound, which the members of the staff were pouring from huge tin cans into the universal pannikins. Wonderfully potent were its effects in the promotion of jollity; wonderful were the voices which it induced to join in choruses. Under its influence Jones remembered part of a verse of one of his childhood's lays, and made a desperate attempt to sing it to us; whilst Brown endeavoured to assist him when at loss for tune or word, without the slightest knowledge of either. Under its influence, too, did Smith, the unromantic Smith, roll up his eyes to the region of cherubs, and burst forth into an English version of "Ah, che la morte;" and we—the others in the tent generally—were, I fear, impelled by spirits not altogether animal to introduce at every pause a most dismal chorus, frantically regardless of tune and time. Song succeeded song in rapid succession, and fast disappeared the fun-promoting contents of the huge cans, until the bugle's wretched sound squeaked out a warning that we had but ten minutes more allowed us for getting into bed and putting our lights out. Uniting in a voice-cracking and heartrending verse of "God save the Queen," we wished each other a hasty good-night, and sought our respective tents each as he best could.
Some wonderful natural convulsion appeared to be taking place as we issued forth from the mess-tent, causing the tents to whirl round and round, and then dart from side to side, in the most surprising manner, rendering it a work of no slight difficulty to catch them. Fortunately I was perfectly sober, so bided my time; and when I saw our tent make a slight pause in its wild career past us, with a mighty spring I threw myself upon it, and, grasping one of its ropes with both hands, held on firmly in spite of all its attempts to shake me off. The convulsion soon passed over, and Miller, who was very drunk, pulled me into the tent, and implored me to get into bed. Knowing how hopeless it was to reason with one in his unfortunate state, I complied with his request, and tumbled in just as the camp-guard was threatening to cut our tent-ropes if the light were not extinguished immediately.
No one who has not slept in camp, on the ground, can at all appreciate my sufferings during that first night. Every straw in mattress and pillow seemed to be standing on end, and seeking for a tender place in which to stab me. Every beetle and earwig seemed to imagine that my blankets were put there for the convenience of itself and family, and to regard my intrusion as worthy of the severest punishment. If I turned, I rolled off my narrow mattress; if I stretched my cramped limbs, my feet protruded far from under the short blankets. I dared not strike a light, as it was against the rules to do so after ten minutes past eleven. I dared not sing or lecture Miller on the impropriety of his conduct, for either would excite the rage of our sleeping neighbours. At last, after four hours' painful tossing about, varied by an occasional massacre of my enemies, my uneasiness gradually subsided into repose, the presence of my bed-fellows became less and less perceptible, and the much-coveted boon of sleep fell upon my wearied eyelids.
CHAPTER III.
WHY I LEFT WIMBLEDON.
"You catch hold of his head, and I'll take his feet."
Methought in my dreams that I heard a gruff voice utter these words; and then I experienced a sensation of being lifted up and carried through the air. The sensation was brief, its conclusion unpleasant, for I was roughly awakened by being dropped, and, starting up, found myself on the ground in front of my tent, and two stalwart Bluebottles standing beside me with pails of water in their hands. Before I could utter a word, splash came the contents of one pail over me, quickly followed by those of the other.
"Now, sir," observed the gruff voice of my dreams, "perhaps you'll get up. The bugle sounded half an hour ago, and you've to be on parade soon. Don't let us find you in bed again.—Come on, Dick;" and away went the tormentors in search of fresh victims, laughing at the hearty imprecations which I vented on their departing heads.
Before nearly every tent might be seen one or more of its inmates going through the performance of morning ablutions, the fashionable way of doing which appeared to consist in standing in one's bath, and getting a friend to pour buckets of water over one's head. An obliging Bluebottle having performed this good office for me, I hastily dried myself, dressed, and rushed off to parade, where I appeared just in time to answer to my name.
Parade lasted till breakfast was ready, and furnished us with appetites which enabled each man to devour enough for a hungry half-dozen. After breakfast our tents had to be made neat for the camp-inspector's visit. This duty was hardly completed when the gun fired, and the work of the day commenced. As I had come down to Wimbledon as a supernumerary, I was obliged to report myself to the chef of the Bluebottle cuisine, and volunteer my services. Could I cook? As I had seen no cereal delicacies turned out by our friends, and believed that camp cookery implied nothing but roast and boiled joints and vegetables, I thought that I could. Would I then get those joints on for dinner? All our other men were busy, and the chef anxious to write a letter. Certainly I would. Brown and Jones could help me, and, as they knew nothing about culinary matters, would obey my commands implicitly. There were some cherries to be stewed for dinner—about a bushel of them; would I see about them, and put plenty of sugar to them? O yes, I would not forget; and off hurried our worthy chef, rejoicing at having found so able an assistant.
It was a moment of fearful indecision when, after his departure, Brown inquired if the meat had not better be put on. Although I felt confident of my ability to roast a joint when it was in the roasting-pan and on the fire, and moreover was certain that I could boil a piece of meat if somebody else would put it safely into the pot, still I felt by no means sure that I could determine what was intended for the pan and what for the pot. But it was no time for hesitation; my reputation as a cook was at stake; so, assuming the air of a Soyer, I graciously replied that it had better be put on, and that whilst they were doing it I would fetch fuel.
"But we don't know what is to be done," shouted the wretched men as I moved off.
Covering my disgust with the garb of joyfulness, I paused, and asked what the joints were.
"A big piece of beef, two legs of mutton, and a quarter of lamb."
"Roast the beef and boil all the rest," commanded I.
"Shall we boil them all in one pot?" asked the lazy Jones.
"O yes; it will save trouble, and the lamb will flavour the mutton," I replied with a cheerful smile.
Having seen all the joints placed over the fire, I sent Brown for the coals, and, sitting down, enjoyed a comfortable half-hour's smoke; at the expiration of which I set to work again, and placing the cherries in the stew-pan, covered them with coarse yellow sugar, which stood by me in a small tub. The stately form of our chef was now seen approaching, and when within hailing distance, an inquiry was puffed forth concerning our progress.
"How are you getting on, my boys? How d'ye get on? All the meat on the fire,eh? That's right. What a comfort to have someone to help one who really can cook! How is it, though, that you've only got two pots on the fire? What's in this one? O, hang it, my good fellow; you've positively let Brown and Jones put the quarter of lamb into the boiling-pot with the mutton, and, confound it all, one leg of mutton should have been roasted! What an infernal mess you've made of it! I thought you said you could cook. Here, pull them all out again. How is the beef getting on? Why, great Heavens, sir, you are roasting a bit of salt-beef! This is too bad, sir; you've spoilt the whole dinner, sir. What the devil is that yellow stuff? Cherries? What are you doing to them? Why, sir, d—n me, sir, if you've not smothered them in sand! For God's sake, sir, go away, and don't come near me again."
That day I dined at Jennings's, away from the deeply-wronged Bluebottles. The consequences of that morning were, however, fatal to my dignity. I was degraded into "a water-party," and my sole occupation consisted in reading novels and smoking in my tent, only rising to the summonses to meals, and the cry, "Water-party wanted!" when I, and others upon whom the duty devolved, pulled the water-cart to a spring, filled it, and pulled it back again.
Several days passed, each exactly like the one preceding it, and found me contentedly occupying my lowly position. The daily repetition of the same duties, the same meals, the same evenings, and the same old songs, was, however, at last beginning to make me rather tired of camp life. The weather too had changed, owing to a picnic that had been given, and everything began to look as wretched as the combined powers of rain and wind could make it.
One night,—a night ever to be remembered by me,—soon after we had sought our couches, a furious storm of wind and rain arose. We had forgotten to slacken our ropes, and the fearful thought occurred to me that if it were not done soon our pegs would be drawn by the rain, and the tent itself be blown away by the wind. I touched the canvas; it was as tight as a drum. I could hear the ropes creaking, and knew that no time was to be lost in loosening them; but with a very natural objection to leaving my bed and turning out in such weather, I determined to try if Miller might not be induced to undertake the task.
"I say, Bob, old fellow, don't you hear the cords straining? The pegs are coming up. Bob, don't you hear?" A prolonged snore from Miller was the only response. The wind was now blowing a hurricane, and the rain threatened every instant to beat in the sides of our tent. To add to my wretchedness, one of the pegs, within a yard of my head, suddenly gave way, and the wind, rushing in under the canvas, pierced me to the very marrow with its sleety blast. Something must be done, that miserable peg must be refastened, even if I have to turn out myself. "Bob," I gently murmured in a propitiatory tone of voice. There was no answer. Alas, thought I, he is comfortably asleep. The idea of such a thing made me feel more wretchedly savage than ever, and I wished most devoutly at that moment, with the strange feeling of impotent rage which so often makes man indignant with his fellows for presuming to escape a calamity in which he himself is involved, that the storm would seize my dear friend up and cast him into a furze-bush. The breach was widening, two other pegs had given way, and the rain was beating into the tent directly across my bed. What a fool I was not to go up to town this afternoon when the rain came on. Shiveringly I prepared to take the fatal leap out of bed and to face my doom. Were there no means of escape? None save through Miller, and he was asleep. How I wished that I was too! Was he really asleep; perhaps he was only foxing. He must be; no one could sleep with his blankets flying about like that. And he thinks that I am going to turn out in this weather to please him, does he? He is preciously mistaken, if he does. "Bob!" I shrieked, "Bob, Bob!" A heavy snore was heard above the noise of the storm. "Confound you, I know that you're awake," I roared; "if you are not, this boot will preciously soon wake you."
"What is the row?" asked the wretch, with a sham yawn, just in time to save himself from my fury and boot.
"You're a nice fellow to go on like that," I savagely answered; "see, here are several pegs up, and if they are not fastened down soon we shall be blown away. Do get up and do them, there's a brick. I should not ask you to do it, but I have such a fearfully bad cold, and am afraid of turning out in this rain and getting my head wet. Besides, you had the mallet last and put it somewhere; now do oblige me for once, old boy; it won't take you a second."
"O yes, I like that," replied Bob; "you'd nothing the matter with you this afternoon, and I heard you saying only this evening that you never caught cold. I'm not going out in this storm to fasten up your side of the tent, if I know it; mine is all right."
"But you put the mallet somewhere, and I can't find it in the dark."
"It is just outside; you must have seen me put it down."
"All right, my friend," exclaimed I sarcastically, "stop till you want me to oblige you, and then see how gladly I shall do it."
With many a deeply-muttered imprecation upon my beloved companion, I divested myself of the only garment I had on, and courageously prepared to brave the fury of the night. The rain had caused the canvas to contract to such a degree that it was quite impossible to unfasten the entrance hooks, and the only practicable mode of exit was through the breach made by the failing of the pegs. Through this I crawled, barking my shins against every object against which it was possible to do so. Regaining my legs, I groped for and found the mallet without any difficulty, having seen Miller deposit it at the entrance, as he suspected. The wind had lulled slightly, and the rain was coming down in torrents, converting the camp into a vast muddy marsh. Having found the pegs, I drove them firmly into the ground, in such a way as would render the repetition of their extraction by the rain impossible; and then after loosening the ropes on my side of the tent was about to crawl into the tent again, when I heard Miller's voice asking me if I would slacken his ropes and drive his pegs in tighter for him. An indignant refusal was on the tip of my tongue, but a brilliant idea suppressed it. Cheerfully assenting I walked round to his side of the tent, and tightened his ropes still more. I then knocked his pegs from side to side until their holes in the ground were sufficiently enlarged for my purpose, and, after having thrown away the mallet that he might not find it, I crawled into the tent again, dried myself as well as I could, and covering myself with my wet blankets, prepared to seek repose and leave my friend to his fate.
My benevolent plans for the discomfiture of my companion seemed doomed to be frustrated, for the wind gradually subsided, until its howl could no longer be heard intermingling with the heavy patter of the rain. Tired by my inactivity during the day, and rendered sleepy by the al-fresco shower-bath I had had, I fell at last into a delightful slumber which must have lasted for more than an hour. I was awakened by a fearful yell from Miller. Starting up I beheld with horror how my wickedness was recoiling on my own head. The wind had risen again and seemed to be blowing with redoubled fury. It had forced up the pegs which I had so cleverly loosened, and rushing in under the tent, shook it with a fury that threatened its instant overthrow. I had just time to curse the spirit of revenge that had urged me on to my own destruction, when, with a mighty roar and whirl, the storm-wind tore the tent from the ground, and tossing it aloft like a feather, dashed it down some fifty yards from the spot where Miller and I, overwhelmed at the magnitude of our calamity, stared at each other aghast. What was to be done? In such a wind it would have been impossible for us alone to pitch the tent, even had we got the mallet. Down upon all-fours in the slush we went, and groped about for our clothes. Miller, having attired himself first, rushed off to seek shelter in a friend's tent, and I, as soon as I had huddled on my dripping garments, crept into the mess-tent, up and down which I paced to warm myself, and to reflect upon the course I should pursue.
Some two hours after this, when the rosy-fingered child of the zenith was chasing away the murky night-clouds, and robing the face of heaven with her azure veil, an early milkman, slowly wending his way to the Wimbledon Camp under his chalky burden, started in terrified amazement at sight of a Being whom he encountered at the foot of the lovely hill of Putney. This wretched Being's eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were pale, save where dark streaks of mud bedaubed his expressive countenance. Under a thick coat of the same coloured mud there peeped out in places a tunic, like unto that worn by the martial youths of Oxford University. On his head was a dark-blue volunteer cap, the peak of which flapped in melancholy flaccidness over his left ear; in his right hand he clutched a rifle, in his left a carpet-bag. The cheerful rustic placed his cans upon the ground, and touching his csp reverentially, in tones of intense interest, said, "Are you going to the camp, sir?"
Slowly and mournfully that strange Being raised his eyes to the milkman's honest countenance, and, in a voice of the most poignant misery, whispered, "Never, never more."
Reader, that Being was myself waiting for the first train to London.