Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📕

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?'

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.  "Have A Drop, 

Pen:  It's Recommended By The Faculty,  &C.  Give The Young

One A Glass,  R.,  And Score It Up To Yours Truly."'

I Fancy The Great Man Who Recorded These Words Was More

Afraid Of Mr. Harry Phoca Than Of Any Other Man In The

Garrick Club - Possibly For The Reason That Honest Harry Was

Not The Least Bit Afraid Of Him.  The Shy,  The Proud,  The

Sensitive Satirist Would Steal Quietly Into The Room, 

Avoiding Notice As Though He Wished Himself Invisible.  Phoca

Would Be Warming His Back At The Fire,  And Calling For A

Glass Of 'Foker's Own.'  Seeing The Giant Enter,  He Would

Advance A Step Or Two,  With A Couple Of Extended Fingers,  And

Exclaim,  Quite Affably,  'Ha! Mr. Thackry! Litary Cove!  Glad

To See You,  Sir.  How's Major Dobbings?' And Likely Enough

Would Turn To The Waiter,  And Bid Him,  'Give This Gent A

Glass Of The Same,  And Score It Up To Yours Truly!'  We Have

His Biographer's Word For It,  That He Would Have Winked At

The Duke Of Wellington,  With Just As Little Scruple.

Yes,  Andrew Arcedeckne Was The Original Of Harry Foker; And, 

From The Cut Of His Clothes To His Family Connection,  And To

The Comicality,  The Simplicity,  The Sweetness Of Temper

(Though Hardly Doing Justice To The Loveableness Of The

Little Man),  The Famous Caricature Fits Him To A T.

The Night Before We Left London We Had A Convivial Dinner At

The Garrick - We Three Travellers,  With Albert Smith,  His

Brother,  And John Leech.  It Was A Merry Party,  To Which All

Contributed Good Fellowship And Innocent Jokes.  The Latest

Arrival At The Zoo Was The First Hippopotamus That Had

Reached England,  - A Present From The Khedive.  Someone

Wondered How It Had Been Caught.  I Suggested A Trout-Fly;

Which So Tickled John Leech's Fancy That He Promised To Draw

It For Next Week's 'Punch.'  Albert Smith Went With Us To 

Southampton To See Us Off.

On Our Way To Jamaica We Stopped A Night At Barbadoes To

Coal.  Here I Had The Honour Of Making The Acquaintance Of

The Renowned Caroline Lee! - Miss Car'line,  As The Negroes

Called Her.  She Was So Pleased At The Assurance That Her

Friend Mr. Peter Simple Had Spread Her Fame All The World

Over,  That She Made Us A Bowl Of The Most Delicious Iced

Sangaree; And Speedily Got Up A 'Dignity Ball' For Our

Entertainment.  She Was Rather Too Much Of An Armful To Dance

With Herself,  But There Was No Lack Of Dark Beauties,  (Not A

White Woman Or White Man Except Ourselves In The Room.)  We

Danced Pretty Nearly From Daylight To Daylight.  The Blending

Of Rigid Propriety,  Of The Severest 'Dignity,' With The

Sudden Guffaw And Outburst Of Wildest Spirits And Comic

Humour,  Is Beyond Description,  And Is Only To Be Met With

Amongst These Ebullient Children Of The Sun.

On Our Arrival At Golden Grove,  There Was A Great Turn-Out Of

The Natives To Welcome Their Young Lord And 'Massa.'  Archy

Was Touched And Amused By Their Frantic Loyalty.  But Their

Mode Of Exhibiting It Was Not So Entirely To His Taste.  Not

Only The Young,  But The Old Women Wanted To Hug Him.  'Eigh! 

Dat You,  Massa?  Dat You,  Sar? Me No Believe Him.  Out O' De

Way,  You Trash!  Eigh! Me Too Much Pleased Like Devil.' The

One Constant And Spontaneous Ejaculation Was,  'Yah! Massa Too

Muchy Handsome!  Garamighty!  Buckra Berry Fat!'  The Latter

Attribute Was The Source Of Genuine Admiration; But The

Object Of It Hardly Appreciated Its Recognition,  And Waved

Off His Subjects With A Mixture Of Impatience And Alarm.

We Had Scarcely Been A Week At Golden Grove,  When My Two

Companions And Durham's Servant Were Down With Yellow Fever. 

Being 'Salted,' Perhaps,  I Escaped Scot-Free,  So Helped

Archy's Valet And Mr. Forbes,  His Factor,  To Nurse And To

Carry Out Professional Orders.  As We Were Thirty Miles From

Kingston The Doctor Could Only Come Every Other Day.  The

Responsibility,  Therefore,  Of Attending Three Patients

Smitten With So Deadly A Disease Was No Light Matter.  The

Factor Seemed To Think Discretion The Better Part Of Valour, 

And That Jamaica Rum Was The Best Specific For Keeping His

Up.  All Physicians Were Sangrados In Those Days,  And When

The Kingston Doctor Decided Upon Bleeding,  The Hysterical

State Of The Darky Girls (We Had No Men In The Bungalow

Except Durham's And Archy's Servants) Rendered Them Worse

Than Useless.  It Fell To Me,  Therefore,  To Hold The Basin

While Archy's Man Was Attending To His Master.

Durham,  Who Had Nerves Of Steel,  Bore His Lot With The Grim

Stoicism Which Marked His Character.  But At One Time The

Doctor Considered His State So Serious That He Thought His

Lordship's Family Should Be Informed Of It.  Accordingly I

Wrote To The Last Lord Grey,  His Uncle And Guardian,  Stating

That There Was Little Hope Of His Recovery.  Poor Phoca Was