Rodney Stone by Arthur Conan Doyle (ebook reader below 3000 TXT) 📕

easier for us to fight the Nile six times over, than to keep our station all winter in the blockade.  But I pray God that we may meet this new fleet of theirs and settle the matter by a pell-mell battle.”

“May I be with you, my lord!” said my father, earnestly.  “But we have already taken too much of your time, and so I beg to thank you for your kindness and to wish you good morning.”

“Good morning, Stone!” said Nelson.  “You shall have your ship, and if I can make this young gentleman one of my officers it shall be done.  But I gather from his dress,” he continued, running his eye over me, “that you have been more fortunate in prize-money than most of your comrades.  For my own part, I never did nor could turn my thoughts to money-making.”

My father explained that I had been under the charge of the famous Sir Charles Tregellis, who was my uncle, and with whom I was now residing.

“Then you need no help from me,” said Nelson, with some bitterness.  “If you have either guineas or interest you can climb over the heads of old sea-officers, though you may not know the poop from the galley, or a carronade from a long nine.  Nevertheless—But what the deuce have we here?”

The footman had suddenly precipitated himself into the room, but stood abashed before the fierce glare of the admiral’s eye.

“Your lordship told me to rush to you if it should come,” he explained, holding out a large blue envelope.

“By Heaven, it is my orders!” cried Nelson, snatching it up and fumbling with it in his awkward, one-handed attempt to break the seals.  Lady Hamilton ran to his assistance, but no sooner had she glanced at the paper inclosed than she burst into a shrill scream, and throwing up her hands and her eyes, she sank backwards in a swoon.  I could not but observe, however, that her fall was very carefully executed, and that she was fortunate enough, in spite of her insensibility, to arrange her drapery and attitude into a graceful and classical design.  But he, the honest seaman, so incapable of deceit or affectation that he could not suspect it in others, ran madly to the bell, shouting for the maid, the doctor, and the smelling-salts, with incoherent words of grief, and such passionate terms of emotion that my father thought it more discreet to twitch me by the sleeve as a signal that we should steal from the room.  There we left him then in the dim-lit London drawing-room, beside himself with pity for this shallow and most artificial woman, while without, at the edge of the Piccadilly curb, there stood the high dark berline ready to start him upon that long journey which was to end in his chase of the French fleet over seven thousand miles of ocean, his meeting with it, his victory, which confined Napoleon’s ambition for ever to the land, and his death, coming, as I would it might come to all of us, at the crowning moment of his life.

p. 234CHAPTER XIV.
ON THE ROAD.

And now the day of the great fight began to approach.  Even the imminent outbreak of war and the renewed threats of Napoleon were secondary things in the eyes of the sportsmen—and the sportsmen in those days made a large half of the population.  In the club of the patrician and the plebeian gin-shop, in the coffee-house of the merchant or the barrack of the soldier, in London or the provinces, the same question was interesting the whole nation.  Every west-country coach brought up word of the fine condition of Crab Wilson, who had returned to his own native air for his training, and was known to be under the immediate care of Captain Barclay, the expert.  On the other hand, although my uncle had not yet named his man, there was no doubt amongst the public that Jim was to be his nominee, and the report of his physique and of his performance found him many backers.  On the whole, however, the betting was in favour of Wilson, for Bristol and the west country stood by him to a man, whilst London opinion was divided.  Three to two were to be had on Wilson at any West End club two days before the battle.

I had twice been down to Crawley to see Jim in his training quarters, where I found him undergoing the severe regimen which was usual.  From early dawn until nightfall he was running, jumping, striking a bladder which swung upon a bar, or sparring with his formidable trainer.  His eyes shone and his skin glowed with exuberent health, and he was so confident of success that my own misgivings vanished as I watched his gallant bearing and listened to his quiet and cheerful words.

“But I wonder that you should come and see me now, Rodney,” said he, when we parted, trying to laugh as he spoke.  “I have become a bruiser and your uncle’s paid man, whilst you are a Corinthian upon town.  If you had not been the best and truest little gentleman in the world, you would have been my patron instead of my friend before now.”

When I looked at this splendid fellow, with his high-bred, clean-cut face, and thought of the fine qualities and gentle, generous impulses which I knew to lie within him, it seemed so absurd that he should speak as though my friendship towards him were a condescension, that I could not help laughing aloud.

“That is all very well, Rodney,” said he, looking hard into my eyes.  “But what does your uncle think about it?”

This was a poser, and I could only answer lamely enough that, much as I was indebted to my uncle, I had known Jim first, and that I was surely old enough to choose my own friends.

Jim’s misgivings were so far correct that my uncle did very strongly object to any intimacy between us; but there were so many other points in which he disapproved of my conduct, that it made the less difference.  I fear that he was already disappointed in me.  I would not develop an eccentricity, although he was good enough to point out several by which I might “come out of the ruck,” as he expressed it, and so catch the attention of the strange world in which he lived.

“You are an active young fellow, nephew,” said he.  “Do you not think that you could engage to climb round the furniture of an ordinary room without setting foot upon the ground?  Some little tour-de-force of the sort is in excellent taste.  There was a captain in the Guards who attained considerable social success by doing it for a small wager.  Lady Lieven, who is exceedingly exigeant, used to invite him to her evenings merely that he might exhibit it.”

I had to assure him that the feat would be beyond me.

“You are just a little difficile,” said he, shrugging his shoulders.  “As my nephew, you might have taken your position by perpetuating my own delicacy of taste.  If you had made bad taste your enemy, the world of fashion would willingly have looked upon you as an arbiter by virtue of your family traditions, and you might without a struggle have stepped into the position to which this young upstart Brummell aspires.  But you have no instinct in that direction.  You are incapable of minute attention to detail.  Look at your shoes!  Look at your cravat!  Look at your watch-chain!  Two links are enough to show.  I have shown three, but it was an indiscretion.  At this moment I can see no less than five of yours.  I regret it, nephew, but I do not think that you are destined to attain that position which I have a right to expect from my blood relation.”

“I am sorry to be a disappointment to you, sir,” said I.

“It is your misfortune not to have come under my influence earlier,” said he.  “I might then have moulded you so as to have satisfied even my own aspirations.  I had a younger brother whose case was a similar one.  I did what I could for him, but he would wear ribbons in his shoes, and he publicly mistook white Burgundy for Rhine wine.  Eventually the poor fellow took to books, and lived and died in a country vicarage.  He was a good man, but he was commonplace, and there is no place in society for commonplace people.”

“Then I fear, sir, that there is none for me,” said I.  “But my father has every hope that Lord Nelson will find me a position in the fleet.  If I have been a failure in town, I am none the less conscious of your kindness in trying to advance my interests, and I hope that, should I receive my commission, I may be a credit to you yet.”

“It is possible that you may attain the very spot which I had marked out for you, but by another road,” said my uncle.  “There are many men in town, such as Lord St. Vincent, Lord Hood, and others, who move in the most respectable circles, although they have nothing but their services in the Navy to recommend them.”

It was on the afternoon of the day before the fight that this conversation took place between my uncle and myself in the dainty sanctum of his Jermyn-Street house.  He was clad, I remember, in his flowing brocade dressing-gown, as was his custom before he set off for his club, and his foot was extended upon a stool—for Abernethy had just been in to treat him for an incipient attack of the gout.  It may have been the pain, or it may have been his disappointment at my career, but his manner was more testy than was usual with him, and I fear that there was something of a sneer in his smile as he spoke of my deficiencies.  For my own part I was relieved at the explanation, for my father had left London in the full conviction that a vacancy would speedily be found for us both, and the one thing which had weighed upon my mind was that I might have found it hard to leave my uncle without interfering with the plans which he had formed.  I was heart-weary of this empty life, for which I was so ill-fashioned, and weary also of that intolerant talk which would make a coterie of frivolous women and foolish fops the central point of the universe.  Something of my uncle’s sneer may have flickered upon my lips as I heard him allude with supercilious surprise to the presence in those sacrosanct circles of the men who had stood between the country and destruction.

“By the way, nephew,” said he, “gout or no gout, and whether Abernethy likes it or not, we must be down at Crawley to-night.  The battle will take place upon Crawley Downs.  Sir Lothian Hume and his man are at Reigate.  I have reserved beds at the George for both of us.  The crush will, it is said, exceed anything ever known.  The smell of these country inns is always most offensive to me—mais que voulez-vous?  Berkeley Craven was saying in the club last night that there is not a bed within twenty miles of Crawley which is not bespoke, and that they are charging three guineas for the night.  I hope that your young friend, if I must describe him as such, will fulfil the promise which he has shown, for I have rather more upon the event than I care to lose.  Sir Lothian has been plunging also—he made a single bye-bet of five thousand to three upon Wilson in Limmer’s yesterday.  From what I hear of his affairs it will be a serious matter for him if we should pull it off.  Well, Lorimer?”

“A person to see you, Sir Charles,” said the new valet.

“You know that I never see any one until my dressing is complete.”

“He insists upon seeing you, sir.  He pushed open the door.”

“Pushed it open!  What d’you mean, Lorimer?  Why didn’t you put him out?”

A smile passed over the servant’s face.  At the same moment there came a deep voice from the passage.

“You show me in this instant, young man, d’ye ’ear?  Let me see your master, or it’ll be the worse for you.”

I thought that I had heard the voice before, but when, over the shoulder of the valet, I caught a glimpse of a large, fleshy, bull-face, with a flattened Michael Angelo nose in the centre of it, I knew at once that it was my neighbour at the supper party.

“It’s Warr, the prizefighter, sir,” said I.

“Yes, sir,” said our visitor, pushing his huge form into the room.  “It’s Bill Warr, landlord of the One Ton public-’ouse, Jermyn Street, and the gamest man upon the list.  There’s only one thing that ever beat me, Sir Charles, and that was my flesh, which creeps over me that amazin’ fast that I’ve always got four stone that ’as no business there.  Why, sir, I’ve