foot, and he has drawn my friend, Mr. Binnie, who lives with me. We have
scores of his drawings at my lodgings; and if you will favour us by
dining with us to-day, and these gentlemen, you shall see that you are
not the only person caricatured by Clive here."
"I just took some little dinner upstairs, sir. I am a moderate man, and
can live, if need be, like a Spartan; but to join such good company I
will gladly use the knife and fork again. You will excuse the traveller's
dress? I keep a room here, which I use only occasionally, and am at
present lodging--in the country."
When Honeyman was ready, the Colonel, who had the greatest respect for
the Church, would not hear of going out of the room before the clergyman,
and took his arm to walk. Bayham then fell to Mr. Pendennis's lot, and
they went together. Through Hill Street and Berkeley Square their course
was straight enough; but at Hay Hill, Mr. Bayham made an abrupt tack
larboard, engaging in a labyrinth of stables, and walking a long way
round from Clifford Street, whither we were bound. He hinted at a cab,
but Pendennis refused to ride, being, in truth, anxious to see which way
his eccentric companion would steer. "There are reasons," growled Bayham,
"which need not be explained to one of your experience, why Bond Street
must be avoided by some men peculiarly situated. The smell of Truefitt's
pomatum makes me ill. Tell me, Pendennis, is this Indian warrior a rajah
of large wealth? Could he, do you think, recommend me to a situation in
the East India Company? I would gladly take any honest post in which
fidelity might be useful, genius might be appreciated, and courage
rewarded. Here we are. The hotel seems comfortable. I never was in it
before."
When we entered the Colonel's sitting-room at Nerot's, we found the
waiter engaged in extending the table. "We are a larger party than I
expected," our host said. "I met my brother Brian on horseback leaving
cards at that great house in ------ Street."
"The Russian Embassy," says Mr. Honeyman, who knew the town quite well.
"And he said he was disengaged, and would dine with us," continues the
Colonel.
"Am I to understand, Colonel Newcome," says Mr. Frederick Bayham, "that
you are related to the eminent banker, Sir Brian Newcome, who gives such
uncommonly swell parties in Park Lane?"
"What is a swell party?" asks the Colonel, laughing. "I dined with my
brother last Wednesday; and it was a very grand dinner certainly. The
Governor-General himself could not give a more splendid entertainment.
But, do you know, I scarcely had enough to eat? I don't eat side dishes;
and as for the roast beef of Old England, why, the meat was put on the
table and whisked away like Sancho's inauguration feast at Barataria. We
did not dine till nine o'clock. I like a few glasses of claret and a cosy
talk after dinner; but--well, well"--(no doubt the worthy gentleman was
accusing himself of telling tales out of school and had come to a timely
repentance). "Our dinner, I hope, will be different. Jack Binnie will
take care of that. That fellow is full of anecdote and fun. You will meet
one or two more of our service; Sir Thomas de Boots, who is not a bad
chap over a glass of wine; Mr. Pendennis's chum, Mr. Warrington, and my
nephew, Barnes Newcome--a dry fellow at first, but I dare say he has good
about him when you know him; almost every man has," said the good-natured
philosopher. "Clive, you rogue, mind and be moderate with the champagne,
sir!"
"Champagne's for women," says Clive. "I stick to claret."
"I say, Pendennis," here Bayham remarked, "it is my deliberate opinion
that F. B. has got into a good thing."
Mr. Pendennis seeing there was a great party was for going home to his
chambers to dress. "Hm!" says Mr. Bayham, "don't see the necessity. What
right-minded man looks at the exterior of his neighbour? He looks here,
sir, and examines there," and Bayham tapped his forehead, which was
expansive, and then his heart, which he considered to be in the right
place.
"What is this I hear about dressing?" asks our host. "Dine in your frock,
my good friend, and welcome, if your dress-coat is in the country."
"It is at present at an uncle's," Mr. Bayham said, with great gravity,
"and I take your hospitality as you offer it, Colonel Newcome, cordially
and frankly."
Honest Mr. Binnie made his appearance a short time before the appointed
hour for receiving the guests, arrayed in a tight little pair of
trousers, and white silk stockings and pumps, his bald head shining like
a billiard-ball, his jolly gills rosy with good-humour. He was bent on
pleasure. "Hey, lads!" says he; "but we'll make a night of it. We haven't
had a night since the farewell dinner off Plymouth."
"And a jolly night it was, James," ejaculates the Colonel.
"Egad, what a song that Tom Norris sings!"
"And your 'Jock o' Hazeldean' is as good as a play, Jack."
"And I think you beat iny one I iver hard in 'Tom Bowling,' yourself,
Tom!" cries the Colonel's delighted chum. Mr. Pendennis opened the eyes
of astonishment at the idea of the possibility of renewing these
festivities, but he kept the lips of prudence closed. And now the
carriages began to drive up, and the guests of Colonel Newcome to arrive.
CHAPTER XIII
In which Thomas Newcome sings his Last Song
The earliest comers were the first mate and the medical officer of the
ship in which the two gentlemen had come to England. The mate was a
Scotchman: the doctor was a Scotchman; of the gentlemen from the Oriental
Club, three were Scotchmen.
The Southrons, with one exception, were the last to arrive, and for a
while we stood looking out of the windows awaiting their coming. The
first mate pulled out a penknife and arranged his nails. The doctor and
Mr. Binnie talked of the progress of medicine. Binnie had walked the
hospitals of Edinburgh before getting his civil appointment to India. The
three gentlemen from Hanover Square and the Colonel had plenty to say
about Tom Smith of the Cavalry, and Harry Hall of the Engineers: how
Topham was going to marry poor little Bob Wallis's widow; how many lakhs
Barber had brought home, and the like. The tall grey-headed Englishman,
who had been in the East too, in the King's service, joined for a while
in this conversation, but presently left it, and came and talked with
Clive; "I knew your father in India," said the gentleman to the lad;
"there is not a more gallant or respected officer in that service. I have
a boy too, a stepson, who has just gone into the army; he is older than
you, he was born at the end of the Waterloo year, and so was a great
friend of his and mine, who was at your school, Sir Rawdon Crawley."
"He was in Gown Boys, I know," says the boy; "succeeded his uncle Pitt,
fourth Baronet. I don't know how his mother--her who wrote the hymns, you
know, and goes to Mr. Honeyman's chapel--comes to be Rebecca, Lady
Crawley. His father, Colonel Rawdon Crawley, died at Coventry Island, in
August, 182-, and his uncle
, Sir Pitt, not till September here. I
remember, we used to talk about it at Grey Friars, when I was quite a
little chap; and there were bets whether Crawley, I mean the young one,
was a Baronet or not."
"When I sailed to Rigy, Cornel," the first mate was speaking--nor can any
spelling nor combination of letters of which I am master, reproduce this
gentleman's accent when he was talking his best--"I racklackt they used
always to sairve us a drem before denner. And as your frinds are kipping
the denner, and as I've no watch to-night, I'll jist do as we used to do
at Rigy. James, my fine fellow, jist look alive and breng me a small
glass of brandy, will ye? Did ye iver try a brandy cocktail, Cornel? Whin
I sailed on the New York line, we used jest to make bits before denner
and--thank ye, James:" and he tossed off a glass of brandy.
Here a waiter announces, in a loud voice, "Sir Thomas de Boots," and the
General enters, scowling round the room according to his fashion, very
red in the face, very tight in the girth, splendidly attired with a
choking white neckcloth, a voluminous waistcoat, and his orders on.
"Stars and garters, by jingo!" cries Mr. Frederick Bayham; "I say,
Pendennis, have you any idea, is the Duke coming? I wouldn't have come in
these Bluchers if I had known it. Confound it, no--Hoby himself, my own
bootmaker, wouldn't have allowed poor F. B. to appear in Bluchers, if he
had known that I was going to meet the Duke. My linen's all right,
anyhow;"
F. B. breathed a thankful prayer for that. Indeed, who but the very
curious could tell that not F. B.'s, but C. H.'s--Charles Honeyman's--was
the mark upon that decorous linen?
Colonel Newcome introduced Sir Thomas to every one in the room, as he had
introduced us all to each other previously, and as Sir Thomas looked at
one after another, his face was kind enough to assume an expression which
seemed to ask, "And who the devil are you, sir?" as clearly as though the
General himself had given utterance to the words. With the gentleman in
the window talking to Clive he seemed to have some acquaintance, and said
not unkindly, "How d'you do, Dobbin?"
The carriage of Sir Brian Newcome now drove up, from which the Baronet
descended in state, leaning upon the arm of the Apollo in plush and
powder, who closed the shutters of the great coach, and mounted by the
side of the coachman, laced and periwigged. The Bench of Bishops has
given up its wigs; cannot the box, too, be made to resign that insane
decoration? Is it necessary for our comfort, that the men who do our work
in stable or household should be dressed like Merry-Andrews? Enter Sir
Brian Newcome, smiling blandly: he greets his brother affectionately, Sir
Thomas gaily; he nods and smiles to Clive, and graciously permits Mr.
Pendennis to take hold of two fingers of his extended right hand. That
gentleman is charmed, of course, with the condescension. What man could
be otherwise than happy to be allowed a momentary embrace of two such
precious fingers? When a gentleman so favours me, I always ask, mentally,
why he has taken the trouble at all, and regret that I have not had the
presence of mind to poke one finger against his two. If I were worth ten
thousand a year, I cannot help inwardly reflecting, and kept a large
account in Threadneedle Street, I cannot help thinking he would have
favoured me with the whole palm.
The arrival of these two grandees has somehow cast a solemnity over the
company. The weather is talked about: brilliant in itself, it does not
occasion very brilliant remarks among Colonel Newcome's guests. Sir Brian
really thinks it must be as hot as it is in India. Sir Thomas de Boots,
swelling in his white waistcoat, in the armholes of which his thumbs are
engaged, smiles scornfully, and wishes Sir Brian had ever felt a good
sweltering day in the hot winds in India. Sir Brian withdraws the
untenable proposition that London is as hot as Calcutta. Mr. Binnie looks
at his watch, and at the Colonel. "We have only your nephew, Tom, to wait
for," he says; "I think we may make so bold as to order the dinner,"--a
proposal heartily seconded by Mr. Frederick Bayham.
The dinner appears steaming, borne by steaming waiters. The grandees take
their places, one on each side of the Colonel. He begs Mr. Honeyman to
say grace, and stands reverentially during that brief ceremony, while de
Boots looks queerly at him from over his napkin. All the young men take
their places at the farther end of the table, round about Mr. Binnie; and
at the end of the second course Mr. Barnes Newcome makes his appearance.
Mr. Barnes does not show the slightest degree of disturbance, although he
disturbs all the company. Soup and fish are brought for him, and meat,
which he leisurely eats, while twelve other gentlemen are kept waiting.
We mark Mr. Binnie's twinkling eyes, as they watch the young man. "Eh,"
he seems to say, "but that's just about as free-and-easy a young chap as
ever I set eyes on." And so Mr. Barnes was a cool young chap. That dish
is so good, he must really have some more. He discusses the second supply
leisurely; and turning round simpering to his neighbour, says, "I really
hope I'm not keeping everybody waiting."
"Hem!" grunts the neighbour, Mr. Bayham; "it doesn't much matter, for we
had all pretty well done dinner." Barnes takes a note of Mr. Bayham's
dress--his long frock-coat, the ribbon round his neck; and surveys him
with an admirable impudence. "Who are these people," thinks he, "my uncle
has got together?" He bows graciously to the honest Colonel, who asks him
to take wine. He is so insufferably affable, that every man near him
would like to give him a beating.
All the time of the dinner the host was challenging everybody to drink
wine, in his honest old-fashioned way, and Mr. Binnie seconding the chief
entertainer. Such was the way in England and Scotland when they were
young men. And when Binnie, asking Sir Brian, receives for reply from the
Baronet--"Thank you, no, my dear sir. I have exceeded already, positively
exceeded," the poor discomfited gentleman hardly knows whither to apply:
but, luckily, Tom Norris, the first mate, comes to his rescue, and cries
out, "Mr. Binnie, I've not had enough, and I'll drink a glass of anything
ye like with ye." The fact is, that Mr. Norris has had enough. He has
drunk bumpers to the health of every member of the company; his glass has
been filled scores of times by watchful waiters. So has Mr. Bayham
absorbed great quantities of drink; but without any visible effect on
that veteran toper. So has young Clive taken more than is good for him.
His cheeks are flushed and burning; he is chattering and laughing loudly
at his end of the table. Mr. Warrington eyes the lad with some curiosity;
and then regards Mr. Barnes with a look of scorn, which does not scorch
that affable young person.
I am obliged to confess that the mate of the Indiaman, at an early period
of the dessert, and when nobody had asked him for any such public
expression of his opinion, insisted on rising a
nd proposing the health of
Colonel Newcome, whose virtues he lauded outrageously, and whom he
pronounced to be one of the best of mortal men. Sir Brian looked very
much alarmed at the commencement of this speech, which the mate delivered
with immense shrieks and gesticulation: but the Baronet recovered during
the course of the rambling oration, and at its conclusion gracefully
tapped the table with one of those patronising fingers; and lifting up a
glass containing at least a thimbleful of claret, said, "My dear brother,
I drink your health with all my heart, I'm su-ah." The youthful Barnes
had uttered many "Hear, hears!" during the discourse, with an irony
which, with every fresh glass of wine he drank, he cared less to conceal.
And though Barnes had come late he had drunk largely, making up for lost
time.
Those ironical cheers, and all his cousin's behaviour during dinner, had
struck young Clive, who was growing very angry. He growled out remarks
uncomplimentary to Barnes. His eyes, as he looked towards his kinsman,
flashed out challenges, of which we who were watching him could see the
warlike purport. Warrington looked at Bayham and Pendennis with glances
of apprehension. We saw that danger was brooding, unless the one young
man could be restrained from his impertinence, and the other from his
wine.
Colonel Newcome said a very few words in reply to his honest friend the
chief mate, and there the matter might have ended: but I am sorry to say
Mr. Binnie now thought it necessary to rise and deliver himself of some
remarks regarding the King's service, coupled with the name of
Major-General Sir Thomas de Boots, K.C.B., etc.--the receipt of which
that gallant officer was obliged to acknowledge in a confusion amounting
almost to apoplexy. The glasses went whack whack upon the hospitable
board; the evening set in for public speaking. Encouraged by his last
effort, Mr. Binnie now proposed Sir Brian Newcome's health; and that
Baronet rose and uttered an exceedingly lengthy speech, delivered with
his wine-glass on his bosom.
Then that sad rogue Bayham must get up, and call earnestly and
respectfully for silence and the chairman's hearty sympathy, for the few
observations which he had to propose. "Our armies had been drunk with
proper enthusiasm--such men as he beheld around him deserved the applause
of all honest hearts, and merited the cheers with which their names had
been received. ('Hear, hear!' from Barnes Newcome sarcastically. 'Hear,
hear, HEAR!' fiercely from Clive.) But whilst we applauded our army,
should we forget a profession still more exalted? Yes, still more
exalted, I say in the face of the gallant General opposite; and that
profession, I need not say, is the Church. (Applause.) Gentlemen, we have
among us one who, while partaking largely of the dainties on this festive
board, drinking freely of the sparkling wine-cup which our gallant
hospitality administers to us, sanctifies by his presence the feast of
which he partakes, inaugurates with appropriate benedictions, and graces
it, I may say, both before and after meat. Gentlemen, Charles Honeyman
was the friend of my childhood, his father the instructor of my early
days. If Frederick Bayham's latter life has been chequered by misfortune,
it may be that I have forgotten the precepts which the venerable parent
of Charles Honeyman poured into an inattentive ear. He too, as a child,
was not exempt from faults; as a young man, I am told, not quite free
from youthful indiscretions. But in this present Anno Domini, we hail
Charles Honeyman as a precept and an example, as a decus fidei and a
lumen ecclesiae (as I told him in the confidence of the private circle
this morning, and ere I ever thought to publish my opinion in this