"Button's" and "Will's," an accurate description of his person, his
clothes, and the horse he rode, and a promise of fifty guineas'
reward to any person who would give an account of him (so that he
might be captured) to Captain Count Galgenstein at Birmingham, to
Mr. Murfey at the "Golden Ball" in the Savoy, or Mr. Bates at the
"Blew Anchor in Pickadilly." But Captain Wood, in an enormous
full-bottomed periwig that cost him sixty pounds,* with high red
heels to his shoes, a silver sword, and a gold snuff-box, and a
large wound (obtained, he said, at the siege of Barcelona), which
disfigured much of his countenance, and caused him to cover one eye,
was in small danger, he thought, of being mistaken for Corporal
Brock, the deserter of Cutts's; and strutted along the Mall with as
grave an air as the very best nobleman who appeared there. He was
generally, indeed, voted to be very good company; and as his
expenses were unlimited ("A few convent candlesticks," my dear, he
used to whisper, "melt into a vast number of doubloons"), he
commanded as good society as he chose to ask for: and it was
speedily known as a fact throughout town, that Captain Wood, who had
served under His Majesty Charles III. of Spain, had carried off the
diamond petticoat of Our Lady of Compostella, and lived upon the
proceeds of the fraud. People were good Protestants in those days,
and many a one longed to have been his partner in the pious plunder.
* In the ingenious contemporary history of Moll Flanders, a periwig
is mentioned as costing that sum.
All surmises concerning his wealth, Captain Wood, with much
discretion, encouraged. He contradicted no report, but was quite
ready to confirm all; and when two different rumours were positively
put to him, he used only to laugh, and say, "My dear sir, _I_ don't
make the stories; but I'm not called upon to deny them; and I give
you fair warning, that I shall assent to every one of them; so you
may believe them or not, as you please." And so he had the
reputation of being a gentleman, not only wealthy, but discreet. In
truth, it was almost a pity that worthy Brock had not been a
gentleman born; in which case, doubtless, he would have lived and
died as became his station; for he spent his money like a gentleman,
he loved women like a gentleman, he would fight like a gentleman, he
gambled and got drunk like a gentleman. What did he want else?
Only a matter of six descents, a little money, and an estate, to
render him the equal of St. John or Harley. "Ah, those were merry
days!" would Mr. Brock say,--for he loved, in a good old age, to
recount the story of his London fashionable campaign;--"and when I
think how near I was to become a great man, and to die perhaps a
general, I can't but marvel at the wicked obstinacy of my ill-luck."
"I will tell you what I did, my dear: I had lodgings in Piccadilly,
as if I were a lord; I had two large periwigs, and three suits of
laced clothes; I kept a little black dressed out like a Turk; I
walked daily in the Mall; I dined at the politest ordinary in Covent
Garden; I frequented the best of coffee-houses, and knew all the
pretty fellows of the town; I cracked a bottle with Mr. Addison, and
lent many a piece to Dick Steele (a sad debauched rogue, my dear);
and, above all, I'll tell you what I did--the noblest stroke that
sure ever a gentleman performed in my situation.
"One day, going into 'Will's,' I saw a crowd of gentlemen gathered
together, and heard one of them say, 'Captain Wood! I don't know the
man; but there was a Captain Wood in Southwell's regiment.' Egad, it
was my Lord Peterborough himself who was talking about me. So,
putting off my hat, I made a most gracious conge to my Lord, and
said I knew HIM, and rode behind him at Barcelona on our entry into
that town.
"'No doubt you did, Captain Wood,' says my Lord, taking my hand;
'and no doubt you know me: for many more know Tom Fool, than Tom
Fool knows.' And with this, at which all of us laughed, my Lord
called for a bottle, and he and I sat down and drank it together.
"Well, he was in disgrace, as you know, but he grew mighty fond of
me, and--would you believe it?--nothing would satisfy him but
presenting me at Court! Yes, to Her Sacred Majesty the Queen, and
my Lady Marlborough, who was in high feather. Ay, truly, the
sentinels on duty used to salute me as if I were Corporal John
himself! I was on the high road to fortune. Charley Mordaunt used
to call me Jack, and drink canary at my chambers; I used to make one
at my Lord Treasurer's levee; I had even got Mr. Army-Secretary
Walpole to take a hundred guineas as a compliment: and he had
promised me a majority: when bad luck turned, and all my fine hopes
were overthrown in a twinkling.
"You see, my dear, that after we had left that gaby,
Galgenstein,--ha, ha--with a gag in his mouth, and twopence-
halfpenny in his pocket, the honest Count was in the sorriest plight
in the world; owing money here and there to tradesmen, a cool
thousand to the Warwickshire Squire: and all this on eighty pounds
a year! Well, for a little time the tradesmen held their hands;
while the jolly Count moved heaven and earth to catch hold of his
dear Corporal and his dear money-bags over again, and placarded
every town from London to Liverpool with descriptions of my pretty
person. The bird was flown, however,--the money clean gone,--and
when there was no hope of regaining it, what did the creditors do
but clap my gay gentleman into Shrewsbury gaol: where I wish he had
rotted, for my part.
"But no such luck for honest Peter Brock, or Captain Wood, as he was
in those days. One blessed Monday I went to wait on Mr. Secretary,
and he squeezed my hand and whispered to me that I was to be Major
of a regiment in Virginia--the very thing: for you see, my dear, I
didn't care about joining my Lord Duke in Flanders; being pretty
well known to the army there. The Secretary squeezed my hand (it
had a fifty-pound bill in it) and wished me joy, and called me
Major, and bowed me out of his closet into the ante-room; and, as
gay as may be, I went off to the 'Tilt-yard Coffee-house' in
Whitehall, which is much frequented by gentlemen of our profession,
where I bragged not a little of my good luck.
"Amongst the company were several of my acquaintance, and amongst
them a gentleman I did not much care to see, look you! I saw a
uniform that I knew--red and yellow facings--Cutts's, my dear; and
the wearer of this was no other than his Excellency Gustavus
Adolphus Maximilian, whom we all know of!
"He stared me full in the face, right into my eye (t'other one was
patched, you know), and after standing stock-still with his mouth
open, gave a step back, and then a step forward, and then screeched
out, 'It's Brock!'
"'I beg your pardon, sir,' says I; 'did you speak to me?'
"'I'll SWEAR it's Brock,' cries Gal, as soon as he hears my voice,
and laid hold of my cuff (a pretty
bit of Mechlin as ever you saw,
by the way).
"'Sirrah!' says I, drawing it back, and giving my Lord a little
touch of the fist (just at the last button of the waistcoat, my
dear,--a rare place if you wish to prevent a man from speaking too
much: it sent him reeling to the other end of the room). 'Ruffian!'
says I. 'Dog!' says I. 'Insolent puppy and coxcomb! what do you
mean by laying your hand on me?'
"'Faith, Major, you giv him his BILLYFUL,' roared out a long Irish
unattached ensign, that I had treated with many a glass of Nantz at
the tavern. And so, indeed, I had; for the wretch could not speak
for some minutes, and all the officers stood laughing at him, as he
writhed and wriggled hideously.
"'Gentlemen, this is a monstrous scandal,' says one officer. 'Men
of rank and honour at fists like a parcel of carters!'
"'Men of honour!' says the Count, who had fetched up his breath by
this time. (I made for the door, but Macshane held me and said,
'Major, you are not going to shirk him, sure?' Whereupon I gripped
his hand and vowed I would have the dog's life.)
"'Men of honour!' says the Count. 'I tell you the man is a
deserter, a thief, and a swindler! He was my corporal, and ran away
with a thou--'
"'Dog, you lie!' I roared out, and made another cut at him with my
cane; but the gentlemen rushed between us.
"'O bluthanowns!' says honest Macshane, 'the lying scounthrel this
fellow is! Gentlemen, I swear be me honour that Captain Wood was
wounded at Barcelona; and that I saw him there; and that he and I
ran away together at the battle of Almanza, and bad luck to us.'
"You see, my dear, that these Irish have the strongest imaginations
in the world; and that I had actually persuaded poor Mac that he and
I were friends in Spain. Everybody knew Mac, who was a character in
his way, and believed him.
"'Strike a gentleman,' says I. 'I'll have your blood, I will.'
"'This instant,' says the Count, who was boiling with fury; 'and
where you like.'
"'Montague House,' says I. 'Good,' says he. And off we went. In
good time too, for the constables came in at the thought of such a
disturbance, and wanted to take us in charge.
"But the gentlemen present, being military men, would not hear of
this. Out came Mac's rapier, and that of half-a-dozen others; and
the constables were then told to do their duty if they liked, or to
take a crown-piece, and leave us to ourselves. Off they went; and
presently, in a couple of coaches, the Count and his friends, I and
mine, drove off to the fields behind Montague House. Oh that vile
coffee-house! why did I enter it?
"We came to the ground. Honest Macshane was my second, and much
disappointed because the second on the other side would not make a
fight of it, and exchange a few passes with him; but he was an old
major, a cool old hand, as brave as steel, and no fool. Well, the
swords are measured, Galgenstein strips off his doublet, and I my
handsome cut-velvet in like fashion. Galgenstein flings off his
hat, and I handed mine over--the lace on it cost me twenty pounds.
I longed to be at him, for--curse him!--I hate him, and know that he
has no chance with me at sword's-play.
"'You'll not fight in that periwig, sure?' says Macshane. 'Of
course not,' says I, and took it off.
"May all barbers be roasted in flames; may all periwigs, bobwigs,
scratchwigs, and Ramillies cocks, frizzle in purgatory from this day
forth to the end of time! Mine was the ruin of me: what might I
not have been now but for that wig!
"I gave it over to Ensign Macshane, and with it went what I had
quite forgotten, the large patch which I wore over one eye, which
popped out fierce, staring, and lively as was ever any eye in the
world.
"'Come on!' says I, and made a lunge at my Count; but he sprang back
(the dog was as active as a hare, and knew, from old times, that I
was his master with the small-sword), and his second, wondering,
struck up my blade.
"'I will not fight that man,' says he, looking mighty pale. 'I
swear upon my honour that his name is Peter Brock: he was for two
years my corporal, and deserted, running away with a thousand pounds
of my moneys. Look at the fellow! What is the matter with his eye?
why did he wear a patch over it? But stop!' says he. 'I have more
proof. Hand me my pocket-book.' And from it, sure enough, he
produced the infernal proclamation announcing my desertion! 'See if
the fellow has a scar across his left ear' (and I can't say, my
dear, but what I have: it was done by a cursed Dutchman at the
Boyne). 'Tell me if he has not got C.R. in blue upon his right arm'
(and there it is sure enough). 'Yonder swaggering Irishman may be
his accomplice for what I know; but I will have no dealings with Mr.
Brock, save with a constable for a second.'
"'This is an odd story, Captain Wood,' said the old Major who acted
for the Count.
"'A scounthrelly falsehood regarding me and my friend!' shouted out
Mr. Macshane; 'and the Count shall answer for it.'
"'Stop, stop!' says the Major. 'Captain Wood is too gallant a
gentleman, I am sure, not to satisfy the Count; and will show us
that he has no such mark on his arm as only private soldiers put
there.'
"'Captain Wood,' says I, 'will do no such thing, Major. I'll fight
that scoundrel Galgenstein, or you, or any of you, like a man of
honour; but I won't submit to be searched like a thief!'
"'No, in coorse,' said Macshane.
"'I must take my man off the ground,' says the Major.
"'Well, take him, sir,' says I, in a rage; 'and just let me have the
pleasure of telling him that he's a coward and a liar; and that my
lodgings are in Piccadilly, where, if ever he finds courage to meet
me, he may hear of me!'
"'Faugh! I shpit on ye all,' cries my gallant ally Macshane. And
sure enough he kept his word, or all but--suiting the action to it
at any rate.
"And so we gathered up our clothes, and went back in our separate
coaches, and no blood spilt.
"'And is it thrue now,' said Mr. Macshane, when we were alone--'is
it thrue now, all these divvles have been saying?' 'Ensign,' says
I, 'you're a man of the world?'
"''Deed and I am, and insign these twenty-two years.'
"'Perhaps you'd like a few pieces?' says I.
"'Faith and I should; for to tell you the secred thrut, I've not
tasted mate these four days.'
"'Well then, Ensign, it IS true,' says I; 'and as for meat, you
shall have some at the first cook-shop.' I bade the coach stop
until he bought a plateful, which he ate in the carriage, for my
time was precious. I just told him the whole story: at which he
laughed, and swore that it was the best piece of GENERALSHIP he ever
heard on. When his belly was full, I took out a couple of guineas
and gave them to him. Mr. Macshane began to cry at this, and kissed
me, and swore he never would
desert me: as, indeed, my dear, I
don't think he will; for we have been the best of friends ever
since, and he's the only man I ever could trust, I think.
"I don't know what put it into my head, but I had a scent of some
mischief in the wind; so stopped the coach a little before I got
home, and, turning into a tavern, begged Macshane to go before me to
my lodging, and see if the coast was clear: which he did; and came
back to me as pale as death, saying that the house was full of
constables. The cursed quarrel at the Tilt-yard had, I suppose, set
the beaks upon me; and a pretty sweep they made of it. Ah, my dear!
five hundred pounds in money, five suits of laced clothes, three
periwigs, besides laced shirts, swords, canes, and snuff-boxes; and
all to go back to that scoundrel Count.
"It was all over with me, I saw--no more being a gentleman for me;
and if I remained to be caught, only a choice between Tyburn and a
file of grenadiers. My love, under such circumstances, a gentleman
can't be particular, and must be prompt; the livery-stable was hard
by where I used to hire my coach to go to Court,--ha! ha!--and was
known as a man of substance. Thither I went immediately. 'Mr.
Warmmash,' says I, 'my gallant friend here and I have a mind for a
ride and a supper at Twickenham, so you must lend us a pair of your
best horses.' Which he did in a twinkling, and off we rode.
"We did not go into the Park, but turned off and cantered smartly up
towards Kilburn; and, when we got into the country, galloped as if
the devil were at our heels. Bless you, my love, it was all done in
a minute: and the Ensign and I found ourselves regular knights of
the road, before we knew where we were almost. Only think of our
finding you and your new husband at the 'Three Rooks'! There's not
a greater fence than the landlady in all the country. It was she
that put us on seizing your husband, and introduced us to the other
two gentlemen, whose names I don't know any more than the dead."
"And what became of the horses?" said Mrs. Catherine to Mr. Brock,
when his tale was finished.
"Rips, madam," said he; "mere rips. We sold them at Stourbridge
fair, and got but thirteen guineas for the two."
"And--and--the Count, Max; where is he, Brock?" sighed she.
"Whew!" whistled Mr. Brock. "What, hankering after him still? My
dear, he is off to Flanders with his regiment; and, I make no doubt,
there have been twenty Countesses of Galgenstein since your time."
"I don't believe any such thing, sir," said Mrs. Catherine, starting
up very angrily.
"If you did, I suppose you'd laudanum him; wouldn't you?"
"Leave the room, fellow," said the lady. But she recollected
herself speedily again; and, clasping her hands, and looking very
wretched at Brock, at the ceiling, at the floor, at her husband
(from whom she violently turned away her head), she began to cry
piteously: to which tears the Corporal set up a gentle
accompaniment of whistling, as they trickled one after another down
her nose.
I don't think they were tears of repentance; but of regret for the
time when she had her first love, and her fine clothes, and her
white hat and blue feather. Of the two, the Corporal's whistle was
much more innocent than the girl's sobbing: he was a rogue; but a
good-natured old fellow when his humour was not crossed. Surely our
novel-writers make a great mistake in divesting their rascals of all
gentle human qualities: they have such--and the only sad point to
think of is, in all private concerns of life, abstract feelings, and
dealings with friends, and so on, how dreadfully like a rascal is to
an honest man. The man who murdered the Italian boy, set him first
to play with his children whom he loved, and who doubtless deplored
his loss.