Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Vol. 108 January 19 1895 by Various Burnand F C Francis Cowley Editor

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OF VOLUME FIRST.

CHAP.

THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE.

GAZELLES AND MIDGES--THE MIDGE'S WINGS ARE SINGED.

Born an Irishman, the son of an Irishwoman; educated in Scotland, the country of my father, an ancient mariner, who, as master and supercargo, had sailed his own ship for many years in the Virginia trade; removed to England at the age of seventeen, in consequence of his death; I had, by the time I arrived at majority, passed four years of my mercantile apprenticeship in my paternal uncle's counting-house, an extensive merchant in that modern Tyre, the enterprising town of Liverpool; during which period, young as I was, I had already made four voyages in different vessels of his to foreign parts--to the West Indies, the Brazils, the Costa Firme, and the United States of America.

Being naturally a rambling, harumscarum sort of a young chap, this sort of life jumped better with my disposition than being perched on the top of a tall mahogany tripod, poring over invoices, daybooks, journals, and ledgers, with the shining ebony-coloured desk jammed into the pit of my stomach below, and its arbour of bright brass rods constantly perverting the integrity of my curls above; so at the period when the scene opens, I had with much ado prevailed on my uncle to let me proceed once more on a cruise, instead of a senior clerk, in charge of two of his ships, bound to the African coast, to trade for ivory and gold dust, and to fill up with palm oil and hardwood timbers.

I had no small difficulty in carrying this point, as the extreme insalubrity of the climate, the chance of being plundered by the semi-piratical foreign slavers, to say nothing of the danger of a treacherous attack on the part of the natives themselves, weighed heavily against my going in my worthy uncle's mind; but I had set my heart on it, and where "there's a will, there's a way."

I will not conceal, however, that after all, when it came to the point, I do not believe he would have allowed me to depart, had it not been for a prank of mine, which put him into a towering passion with me about this time.

On the occasion of a rejoicing for one of our great victories, being hand-and-glove with all the skippers and mates of the vessels belonging to the concern, I smuggled up to our house on Everton Terrace, unknown to my uncle, two boat guns, six-pounder carronades, and a lot of fire-works, by bribing the brewer's man to carry them for me in his cart. Having achieved this part of my plan, with the aid of two young tars, I contrived to mount the guns in the summer-house, immediately beneath the dining-room window; and having loaded them, I set fire to slow matches, fitted to the touch-holes, just as the dinner bell rang; and then calmly took my place at table, facing mine uncle.

The old gentleman was rather a quiet-going codger, and during meals seldom annoyed his neighbours with too much conversation--in the present case, he had eaten his soup, his bit of fish, and was just raising his first glass of wine to his lips--when bang went one of my carronades, and smash fell the glass--the madeira flowing all down his lap. He had not recovered his equanimity, when bang went gun No. 2, and up shot a whole constellation of rockets and Roman candles, from the garden, whereat he fairly sprang off his chair, as if the explosion had taken place in the cushion of it, or he had been hoisted out of his socket by some sort of catamaran.

The guns I could account for, but the erratic course of this missile surprised me exceedingly. At one fell swoop, it had cleared the sideboard of glasses, decanters, silver waiters, and the sinumbra lamp; driven my revered uncle to the top of the table for refuge; and then, as if still unsatisfied with all this mischief, it began to jump about under it, blazing and hissing like a fiery serpent, first in this corner, then under that chair; while old Peregrine, the waiting-man , and I were dancing after it; knocking our heads together, and breaking our shins against chairs and the edges of the table, making glasses and decanters ring again, in a vain endeavour to seize hold of the stick. The row soon brought up the other servants, groom, cook, housemaid, &c. &c. &c., towards whom, as if possessed with some spirit of mischief, it fizzed through the door, in its transit, nearly taking one of the female domestics in reverse, whereat they all began to scream as if they had been murdered; then up stairs it rattled, as if desirous of visiting the drawing-room floor, poking its snout into every cranny, hissing and wriggling its tail, and putting the entire array to flight with its vagaries. It was too absurd to see a whole household of grown people thus chasing a live sky-rocket like so many children--"up stairs, down stairs, and in my lady's chamber"--so presently we were all, excepting the rocket itself, brought to a stand still, by fits of laughter.

Although it was clear the heroic firework was not to be captured alive, yet, at length, like the vapouring of a passionate man, it spluttered itself out, and was captured, stick and all, by the old cook, whose propriety it had invaded; and I returned to the dining-room.

My uncle had by this time reseated himself at the table, looking as black as thunder, with old Peregrine planted once more behind his chair, as stiff as if he had literally swallowed the rocketstick. I sat down, feeling not a little awkward; the dead silence becoming every moment more and more irksome. The old gentleman seemed to suffer under this, as well as myself, and to have come to the conclusion that it would be more sociable, even to break out into a regular scold, than hold his tongue any longer.

"So, Master Benjamin, a new piece of practical wit of yours, I presume."

"Indeed, my dear sir, I am very sorry--the guns I plead guilty to; but who can have fired the rockets?"

"Ah--as if you did not know"--quoth uncle Peter.

"Indeed, uncle, I do not, unless the fusees have caught from the wadding of these cursed guns;" which, in fact, was the case--"I am sure I wish they had been at the bottom of the Mersey since they have made you angry, uncle."

Another dead lull--presently the old servant, who had gone to the lobby to deliver the message, returned into the room, and as he placed a fresh bottle of wine on the table, he said--"The man says Mrs Pigwell has got a sad fright, sir--taken in labour, sir."

"There, Master Benjamin, there--I am sure I wish you had gone to the coast of Africa before this had happened--I was an old soft hearted fool to stand in the way."

"Well, my dear uncle, it is not too late yet"--said I, a good deal piqued. Not a word from him--"I am sorry to see you have taken such offence where none was meant. It was a piece of folly, I admit, and I am sincerely sorry for it." Still silent--"Jennings is still at anchor down below--I can easily be ready to-morrow, and there is no appearance of the wind changing--so, pray, do let me go."

"You may go to the devil, sir, for me"--and off he started, fizzing, worse than the rocket itself, with rage to his dressing-room, where he often used to pass an hour or two in the evenings alone.

I sat still, guzzling my wine in great wrath.--Enter Peregrine again. I was always a favourite with the old fellow, although he had been seriously angry at first, when he saw that my absurd prank had put his old master so cruelly out. Now, however, I perceived he was anxious to make up for it.

I saw no more of my uncle that night, and when we met next morning at breakfast, I was rejoiced to find the gale had blown itself out.

When I sat down, he looked across the table at me, as if expecting me to speak, but as I held my peace, the good old man opened the conference himself.

"She has got twins, sir."

"The deuce! twins!"

"Two girls and a boy."

We walked down to the counting-house together as lovingly as ever, but my star was now in the ascendant, for there we found Captain Jennings, who informed my uncle that he had been obliged that morning to land Mr Williamson, the clerk, who was about proceeding in charge of the expedition, in consequence of his having been taken alarmingly ill.

This was most unfortunate, as the wind appeared on the eve of coming fair.

"We shall have a breeze before next flood, that will take us right round the Head--I hope you won't detain us in the river, sir?" quoth Jennings.

My uncle was puzzled what to do, as it so happened that none of the other youngsters at the moment in the employ had ever been away in such a capacity before; so I availed myself of the opportunity to push my request home, and it was finally fixed that forenoon that I should take Mr Williamson's place.

A very old friend of my deceased father's, Sir Oliver Oakplank, was at this time the senior officer on the African coast, and as the time was approaching when, according to the usual routine of that service, he would be departing on the round voyage for Jamaica and Havanna, before proceeding to England to refit, it was determined, if I could arrange the lading of our ships in time, that I should take a passage with him, for the twofold object of seeing an uncle, by my mother's side, who was settled in Jamaica, and from whom I had expectations; and making certain speculations in colonial produce at Havanna.

As I had the credit of being a sharpish sort of a shaver, and by no means indiscreet, although fond of fun, I had much greater license allowed me in my written instructions than my uncle was in the habit of conceding to any of my fellow quill-drivers, who had been previously despatched on similar missions. I had in fact a roving commission as to my operations generally. The very evening on which I got leave to go, the ship rounded the Rock Perch, and nothing particular occurred until we arrived at the scene of our trading. aded villagers reposed, amidst the possibly congenial surroundings of broken perambulators, superannuated folding-doors, and half-forgotten wide-awake hats. I rather regretted the fate of the picture, as it seemed to me that it might have served as a not invaluable advertisement. As a large proportion of the forensic world knows, I not infrequently during the Yuletide season entertain some of my friends at the Bar, and I should have been pleased to have been able to point to the canvas as a sort of testimonial. However, the painting had disappeared, and there was nothing more to be said about it.

"Mr. WILKINS," I said, on my departure for the Temple, "I shall esteem it a favour if you will be so good as to employ your leisure to-day in repainting the waterbutts, sweeping the kitchen chimney, putting glass in the conservatory, regilding the mirror in the study, and, if you have time, dusting my testimonial."

"Certainly, Sir," replied my valued acquaintance, and before I had closed the hall door, the sounds of the rumbling sticks told me that he had already commenced to remove the superfluous soot from the culinary smoke-hole.

I had rather an arduous day at Pump-Handle Court. I had quite an accumulation of circulars, and a consent brief that required very careful attention. The latter was not endorsed with my name, but I saw to it on behalf of a colleague. After I had spent some hours in the little frequented realms of the Temple, I returned to Justinian Gardens, which I need scarcely tell an experienced cabman is in the neighbourhood of that continually rising locality--Earl's Court. The door was opened by Mr. WILKINS in person, who anticipated the turning of the proprietorial latch-key.

"You mean my commission?"

"I do, Sir. It came down with a run. You see, Sir, you have had him rather heavily framed. Unfortunately, Sir, when I passed the polish brush over him the nail did not hold, and it gave suddenly. The picture made a nasty mark on the wall, and smashed up when he got to the flooring. I would have reframed him, but all the shops close early on a Thursday, and I can get no glass."

"Well, what have you done?" I asked, in a tone of some annoyance, for I pride myself on my commission, and am proud of showing it to my friends.

"Well, Sir, I went up to the box-room to see if I could find anything that would do, and have looked up an affair that I think will meet with your approval."

"I did my best, Sir. I washed the canvas with soap and water, and put the polishing brush over the frame. Of course the subject ain't worth much, but for a stop-gap it isn't bad. Now is it?"

I then found that Mr. WILKINS had hidden the faulty hall paper with the picture that had been presented to me by the gentleman who had raised a claim to the throne of the Celestial Empire. Secretly pleased that I could now have an opportunity of referring to the gratitude of my client to my learned and distinguished friend, APPLEBLOSSOM, Q.C., who had promised to dine with me that evening, I readily accepted the apologies of the penitent WILKINS.

"Hullo, BRIEFLESS," he exclaimed; "where did you get that Old BOOTS?"

I told my story of the grateful client, and young BANDS, who I fancy is thinking of reading in my chambers, regarded me with increased respect.

"Why, is it very valuable?" I asked. "I am not much of an art connoisseur, and I frankly confess I know very little of Old SHOES."

I did look at the donkey's ears and mane, and, with the assistance of young BANDS, went into an ecstasy. The ears of the animal were certainly magnificent.

When I returned, Mr. WILKINS , having finished the rebuilding of the pantry and the whitewashing of the bath-room, had departed. He does not waste his time, and only charges me for the hours he actually expends in honest labour. I hurried to the spot where my Old BOOTS was temporarily resting before removal to the far-famed auction-rooms in King Street, St. James's. I turned pale.

"Why, what is this?" I asked, trembling with emotion.

"Your commission, dear," said my better seven-eighths. "It looks better than the picture, although I must say the donkey improves on acquaintance. It really was very well painted. I am quite sorry Mr. WILKINS has taken it away."

"WILKINS taken it away?" I gasped out.

"Yes. He said that you didn't seem to care for it, so he went off to try and sell it."

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