All
the musical celebrities were present to hear the youthful
prodigy. Two quartetts were played, Ernst leading one and
Joachim the other. After it was over, everyone was
enraptured, but no one more so than Ernst, who unhesitatingly
predicted the fame which the great artist has so eminently
achieved.
One more amusing little story belongs to my experiences of
these days. Having two brothers and a brother-in-law in the
Guards, I used to dine often at the Tower, or the Bank, or
St. James's. At the Bank of England there is always at night
an officer's guard. There is no mess, as the officer is
alone. But the Bank provides dinner for two, in case the
officer should invite a friend. On the occasion I speak of,
my brother-in-law, Sir Archibald Macdonald, was on duty. The
soup and fish were excellent, but we were young and hungry,
and the usual leg of mutton was always a dish to be looked
forward to.
When its cover was removed by the waiter we looked in vain;
there was plenty of gravy, but no mutton. Our surprise was
even greater than our dismay, for the waiter swore 'So 'elp
his gawd' that he saw the cook put the leg on the dish, and
that he himself put the cover on the leg. 'And what did you
do with it then?' questioned my host. 'Nothing, S'Archibald.
Brought it straight in 'ere.' 'Do you mean to tell me it was
never out of your hands between this and the kitchen?'
'Never, but for the moment I put it down outside the door to
change the plates.' 'And was there nobody in the passage?'
'Not a soul, except the sentry.' 'I see,' said my host, who
was a quick-witted man. 'Send the sergeant here.' The
sergeant came. The facts were related, and the order given
to parade the entire guard, sentry included, in the passage.
The sentry was interrogated first. 'No, he had not seen
nobody in the passage.' 'No one had touched the dish?'
'Nobody as ever he seed.' Then came the orders: 'Attention.
Ground arms. Take off your bear-skins.' And the truth -
I.E., the missing leg - was at once revealed; the sentry had
popped it into his shako. For long after that day, when the
guard either for the Tower or Bank marched through the
streets, the little blackguard boys used to run beside it and
cry, 'Who stole the leg o' mutton?'
CHAPTER XVI
PROBABLY the most important historical event of the year '49
was the discovery of gold in California, or rather, the great
Western Exodus in pursuit of it. A restless desire possessed
me to see something of America, especially of the Far West.
I had an hereditary love of sport, and had read and heard
wonderful tales of bison, and grisly bears, and wapitis. No
books had so fascinated me, when a boy, as the 'Deer-slayer,'
the 'Pathfinder,' and the beloved 'Last of the Mohicans.'
Here then was a new field for adventure. I would go to
California, and hunt my way across the continent. Ruxton's
'Life in the Far West' inspired a belief in self-reliance and
independence only rivalled by Robinson Crusoe. If I could
not find a companion, I would go alone. Little did I dream
of the fortune which was in store for me, or how nearly I
missed carrying out the scheme so wildly contemplated, or
indeed, any scheme at all.
The only friend I could meet with both willing and able to
join me was the last Lord Durham. He could not undertake to
go to California; but he had been to New York during his
father's reign in Canada, and liked the idea of revisiting
the States. He proposed that we should spend the winter in
the West Indies, and after some buffalo-shooting on the
plains, return to England in the autumn.
The notion of the West Indies gave rise to an off-shoot.
Both Durham and I were members of the old Garrick, then but a
small club in Covent Garden. Amongst our mutual friends was
Andrew Arcedeckne - pronounced Archdeacon - a character to
whom attaches a peculiar literary interest, of which anon.
Arcedeckne - Archy, as he was commonly called - was about a
couple of years older than we were. He was the owner of
Glevering Hall, Suffolk, and nephew of Lord Huntingfield.
These particulars, as well as those of his person, are note-
worthy, as it will soon appear.
Archy - 'Merry Andrew,' as I used to call him, - owned one of
the finest estates in Jamaica - Golden Grove. When he heard
of our intended trip, he at once volunteered to go with us.
He had never seen Golden Grove, but had often wished to visit
it. Thus it came to pass that we three secured our cabins in
one of the West India mailers, and left England in December
1849.
To return to our little Suffolk squire. The description of
his figure, as before said, is all-important, though the
world is familiar with it, as drawn by the pencil of a master
caricaturist. Arcedeckne was about five feet three inches,
round as a cask, with a small singularly round face and head,
closely cropped hair, and large soft eyes, - in a word, so
like a seal, that he was as often called 'Phoca' as Archy.
Do you recognise the portrait? Do you need the help of
'Glevering Hall' (how curious the suggestion!). And would
you not like to hear him talk? Here is a specimen in his
best manner. Surely it must have been taken down by a
shorthand writer, or a phonograph:
MR. HARRY FOKER LOQUITUR: 'He inquired for Rincer and the
cold in his nose, told Mrs. Rincer a riddle, asked Miss
Rincer when she would be prepared to marry him, and paid his
compliments to Miss Brett, another young lady in the bar, all
in a minute of time, and with a liveliness and facetiousness
which set all these young ladies in a giggle.
