Part 28 (1/2)
”Rum punch, and las.h.i.+ngs of it,” chimed in Archer; ”but suppose you were to tell Fairlegh all that has pa.s.sed since he came away, or let me do it for you, whichever you like best.”
”Oh! you tell him, by all means,--I like to encourage ingenuous youth; fire away, Archer, my boy!”
-177--Thus urged, Archer informed me that upon my departure there had been a somewhat stormy discussion, in which the events of the evening were freely canva.s.sed; and at last they came to a unanimous decision that any man was at liberty to withdraw, if a toast was proposed to which he objected, and that, if the toastmaster preferred giving it up rather than allow him to leave the party, he had a perfect right to do so. This being the case, they decided that Wilford, having been in the wrong, ought to confess he had spoken hastily, and that, if he would do so, and would add that he had meant nothing offensive either to me or Oaklands, there the matter might rest. This for a long time he positively refused to do; at length, finding he could get no one to support him, he said that, as I had owned I was wrong in attempting to prevent his expressing his opinion, he considered that, in all other respects, I had behaved in a gentlemanly way; therefore, if he had said anything which implied the contrary, he was willing to withdraw it. But, in regard to Mr. Oaklands, he considered he had interfered in a very uncalled-for manner; and he could only repeat, if that gentleman felt himself aggrieved by anything he had said, the remedy was in his own hands. As soon as he had spoken he withdrew.
The question was again debated, and at length they came to the conclusion that what Wilford had said amounted to an ample apology as far as I was concerned, which I was bound to accept; and that Oaklands, having agreed to consider the quarrel mine, could not take any further notice of it; therefore, the affair was at an end.
”Well,” said I, as he finished his recital, ”I must ever feel grateful to you both for the trouble you have taken on my account, and the kind feeling you have shown towards me throughout. I will not pretend to deny that I am very glad the matter has been amicably arranged, for, circ.u.mstanced as I am, with everything depending upon my own exertions, a duel would have been ruin to me; but I must say I think the whole business thoroughly unsatisfactory, and it is only my conviction that a duel would make matters worse, instead of mending them, which leads me to agree to the arrangement. I sincerely hope Oaklands will not hear what Wilford said about him, for he is fearfully irritated against him already.”
”I'll tell you what it is,” interrupted Lawless; ”it's my belief that Wilford's behaviour to you to-night was only a.s.sumed for the sake of provoking Oaklands. -178--Master Stephen hates him as he does the very devil himself, and would like nothing better than to pick a quarrel with him, have him out, and, putting a brace of slugs into him, leave him--”
”Quivering on a daisy,” said Archer, completing the sentence. ”Really I think,” he continued, ”what Lawless says is very true; you see Oaklands'
careless, nonchalant manner, which is always exactly the same whether he is talking to a beggar or a lord, gives continual offence to Wilford, who has contrived somehow to exact a sort of deference and respect from all the men with whom he a.s.sociates till he actually seems to consider it his right. Then, Wilford's overbearing manner irritates Oaklands; and so, whenever they have met, the breach has gone on widening, till now they positively hate one another.”
”How is it you are so intimate with him?” asked I; ”for n.o.body seems really to like him.”
”Well, hang me if I can tell,” replied Lawless; ”but, you see he has some good points about him, after all; for instance, I never saw him out with the hounds yet that he didn't take a good place, aye, and keep it too, however long the run and difficult the country. I killed the best horse I had in my stables trying to follow him one day in Leicesters.h.i.+re last season; my horse fell with me going over the last fence, and never rose again. Wilford, and one of the whips, who was merely a feather-weight, were the only men in at the death. I offered him three hundred guineas for the horse he rode, but he only gave me one of his pleasant looks, and said it wasn't for sale.”
”You've seen that jet-black mare he rides now, haven't you, Fairlegh?”
asked Archer.
”Yes; what a magnificent creature it is!” was my reply.
”Did you ever hear how he came by it?”
On my answering in the negative, Archer continued: ”Well, I wonder at that, for it was in everybody's mouth at one time: it's worth hearing, if it were but to show the determined character of the man. The mare belonged to Lord Foxington, Lord Sellborough's eldest son. I believe he gave five hundred guineas for her. She was a splendid animal, high-couraged, but temperate. In fact, when you were on her she hadn't a fault, but in the stable she was a perfect devil; there was only one man who dared go near her, and he had been with her from the time she was a filly: so that, when Foxington bought the mare -179--he was forced to hire the groom too. The most difficult thing of all was putting on the bridle; it was generally half an hour's work before she would let even this groom do it. After dinner one day Foxington began talking about this animal, saying what a brute she was to handle, and adding what I have just told you, as to the impossibility of putting on the bridle, when Wilford, who was present, made some remark, which showed he did not believe in the impossibility. Upon which Foxington inquired whether he doubted the fact he had just heard? Wilford replied that he was sure his lords.h.i.+p fully believed in the truth of what he had just stated; but, for his own part, he had so often found impossibilities of this nature yield to a little courage and determination, that he confessed he was somewhat sceptical. Now, it so happened that Foxington, soon after he bought the mare, had thought just as Wilford did, and determined that he would put the bridle on. Accordingly he attempted it, and the matter ended by his getting regularly driven out ol the stable by the animal, with a tolerably severe bite in the fleshy part of his shoulder.
Wilford's remark, therefore, as may be imagined, rather nettled him; and he inquired, somewhat tartly, whether Wilford believed he could put the bridle on? and, if so, whether he were willing to try? Wilford replied, in his usual cool tone, that he had an idea he could do so, but that he had no particular inclination to try, as it would probably be some trouble, and the weather was too hot to render active exertion desirable. At this Foxington laughed derisively, saying that it sounded very like a put-off. 'Not at all,' returned Wilford; 'and to show you that I never say a thing without being ready to act up to it, I am willing to stake five hundred guineas against the mare herself that I go up to her and put the bridle on without any a.s.sistance, and without a stick or anything whatsoever in my hands.' Foxington accepted the bet gladly, reckoning himself safe to pocket the five hundred guineas.
The affair was to come off the next morning at Foxington's stables, at eleven o'clock. His lords.h.i.+p had invited all the men who had been present when the bet was made to come and witness the event, expecting a complete triumph over Wilford. While they were standing about waiting Foxington told them of his own attempt, and his conviction, from the experience he had then gained, that the thing could not be done; and the general opinion was that Wilford, under the influence of wine, had foolishly boasted of a thing which he would -180--not be able to accomplish, and was certain to lose his money. As the time drew near, and he did not make his appearance, an idea began to gain ground that he meant to s.h.i.+rk the affair altogether; and Foxington was becoming exceedingly irate, when, just as the clock was on the stroke of eleven, the sound of a horse's feet was heard, and Wilford cantered quietly up, looking as if he felt no personal interest whatever in the event. On his arrival they proceeded at once to the stable in which the mare stood.
She was kept in a loose box, with her clothes on, but her head entirely free.
”I ought, by-the-by,” said Archer, interrupting himself, ”to have told you that I had the account from a man who was there at the time, and saw the whole thing.
”Well, as soon as they went into the stable, the mare left off feeding, and, turning round so as to face them, stood with her ears p.r.i.c.ked up, gazing wildly at them. Wilford just glanced at her, and then leisurely divested himself of his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, turned up the wristbands of his s.h.i.+rt, and, taking the bridle from the groom, announced that he was ready. As soon as the door was open, Wilford fixed his eyes sternly on the mare, and walked towards her. To the surprise of every one the animal allowed him to approach quietly and pat her, without showing any symptoms of vice. Men began to exchange inquiring glances with each other, and those who had betted heavily against him trembled for their money; but Foxington, who was better acquainted with the animal, exclaimed, 'Wait a minute, he has not tried to touch her head yet'. Wilford now moved his hand forward along the neck, patting her, and speaking soothingly to her as he advanced; but, as he approached the head, she became impatient and fidgety, and when he attempted to take hold of the ear, in order to put on the bridle, she flung up her head, reared, and ran back a few steps, where she stood, shaking her mane and pawing the ground. After remaining in this position a few seconds, she suddenly laid back her ears, and, showing the whites of her eyes, ran at Wilford with her mouth wide open, and as soon as she got within distance made a ferocious bite at him. By springing on one side with great agility he just contrived to avoid it; then, dropping the bridle, he threw himself into a sparring att.i.tude (you know he's a capital boxer), and, as the mare again ran at him, hit out, and, striking her just on a particular spot by the ear, brought her down like a bullock. As soon as she recovered her legs she renewed the attack, and Wilford -181--received her as before, delivering his blow with the same coolness and precision. When the animal rose the second time she seemed partially stunned, and stood for a moment with her head hanging down and her ears drooping; but on Wilford's making a step towards her she again plunged forward, and attempted to seize him with her teeth. Once more did Wilford evade her bite by springing on one side, and seizing his opportunity succeeded in planting his. .h.i.t, and, for the third time, felled her to the ground. When she again rose, however, she showed no disposition to renew the attack, but stood trembling violently, with the perspiration running down her sides. She now allowed Wilford to approach her, to stroke her head, pull her ears, and finally to put the bridle on, and lead her out, completely conquered; and so my Lord Foxington lost the best horse in his stables, and Wilford gained his bet, and added to his character for invincibility, which, by the way, he cared about much the most.”
”It was a bold deed,” returned I, as Archer concluded his story, ”but one does not like a man the better for having done it; there seems to me a degree of wanton cruelty in punis.h.i.+ng an animal so severely, unless he had been actually forced to do it. Public executioners may be necessary for the prevention of crime; but that is no reason why one need volunteer as an amateur hangman.”
”Everybody thought it an uncommonly plucky thing at the time, and there was an immense fuss made with him afterwards,” replied Archer.--”Why, Lawless, are you asleep? rouse up, man--to bed--to bed. Good-night, Fairlegh, you'll sleep all the better for knowing you are not to be shot at c.o.c.k-crow.”
So saying, he took Lawless by the arm and marched him off, though, it must be confessed, his gait, as he descended the stairs, was somewhat unsteady.-182--
CHAPTER XXIII -- WHAT HARRY AND I FOUND WHEN WE LOST OUR WAY
”It is too true an evil--gone she is.
Unhappy girl! Ah! who would be a father!”
”Far in the lane a lonely hut he found, No tenant ventured on th' unwholesome ground, Here smokes his forge: he bares his sinewy arm, And early strokes the sounding anvil warm; Around his shop the steely sparkles Hew, As for the steed he shaped the bending shoe.”