CHAPTER XLVI. Chains and Slavery
Remorse for past misdeeds and follies Harry sincerely felt, when hefound himself a prisoner in that dismal lock-up house, and wrath andannoyance at the idea of being subjected to the indignity of arrest; butthe present unpleasantry he felt sure could only be momentary. He hadtwenty friends who would release him from his confinement: to which ofthem should he apply, was the question. Mr. Draper, the man of business,who had been so obsequious to him: his kind uncle the Baronet, who hadoffered to make his house Harry's home, who loved him as a son: hiscousin Castlewood, who had won such large sums from him: his noblefriends at the Chocolate-House, his good Aunt Bernstein--any one ofthese Harry felt sure would give him a help in his trouble, though someof the relatives, perhaps, might administer to him a little scolding forhis imprudence. The main point was, that the matter should be transactedquietly, for Mr. Warrington was anxious that as few as possible of thepublic should know how a gentleman of his prodigious importance had beensubject to such a vulgar process as an arrest. As if the public doesnot end by knowing everything it cares to know. As if the dinner I shallhave to-day, and the hole in the stocking which I wear at this presentwriting, can be kept a secret from some enemy or other who has a mindto pry it out--though my boots are on, and my door was locked when Idressed myself! I mention that hole in the stocking for sake of examplemerely. The world can pry out everything about us which it has a mind toknow. But then there is this consolation, which men will never acceptin their own cases, that the world doesn't care. Consider the amount ofscandal it has been forced to hear in its time, and how weary and blaseit must be of that kind of intelligence. You are taken to prison,and fancy yourself indelibly disgraced? You are bankrupt under oddcircumstances? You drive a queer bargain with your friends and are foundout, and imagine the world will punish you? Psha! Your shame is onlyvanity. Go and talk to the world as if nothing had happened, and nothinghas happened. Tumble down; brush the mud off your clothes; appear witha smiling countenance, and nobody cares. Do you suppose Society is goingto take out its pocket-handkerchief and be inconsolable when you die?Why should it care very much, then, whether your worship graces yourselfor disgraces yourself? Whatever happens it talks, meets, jokes, yawns,has its dinner, pretty much as before. Therefore don't be so conceitedabout yourself as to fancy your private affairs of so much importance,mi fili. Whereas Mr. Harry Warrington chafed and fumed as though all theworld was tingling with the touch of that hand which had been laid onhis sublime shoulder.
"A pretty sensation my arrest must have created at the club!" thoughtHarry. "I suppose that Mr. Selwyn will be cutting all sorts of jokesabout my misfortune, plague take him! Everybody round the table willhave heard of it. March will tremble about the bet I have with him;and, faith, 'twill be difficult to pay him when I lose. They will allbe setting up a whoop of congratulation at the Savage, as they call me,being taken prisoner. How shall I ever be able to appear in the worldagain? Whom shall I ask to come to my help? No," thought he, with hismingled acuteness and simplicity, "I will not send in the first instanceto any of my relations or my noble friends at White's. I will haveSampson's counsel. He has often been in a similar predicament, andwill know how to advise me." Accordingly, as soon as the light of dawnappeared, after an almost intolerable delay--for it seemed to Harry asif the sun had forgotten to visit Cursitor Street in his rounds thatmorning--and as soon as the inmates of the house of bondage werestirring, Mr. Warrington despatched a messenger to his friend in LongAcre, acquainting the chaplain with the calamity just befallen him,and beseeching his reverence to give him the benefit of his advice andconsolation.
Mr. Warrington did not know, to be sure, that to send such a message tothe parson was as if he said, "I am fallen amongst the lions. Comedown, my dear friend, into the pit with me." Harry very likely thoughtSampson's difficulties were over; or, more likely still, was so muchengrossed with his own affairs and perplexities, as to bestow littlethought upon his neighbour's. Having sent off his missive, the captive'smind was somewhat more at ease, and he condescended to call forbreakfast, which was brought to him presently. The attendant who servedhim with his morning repast asked him whether he would order dinner, ortake his meal at Mrs. Bailiff's table with some other gentlemen? No.Mr. Warrington would not order dinner. He should quit the place beforedinner-time, he informed the chamberlain who waited on him in that grimtavern. The man went away, thinking no doubt that this was not the firstyoung gentleman who had announced that he was going away ere two hourswere over. "Well, if your honour does stay, there is good beef andcarrot at two o'clock," says the sceptic, and closes the door on Mr.Harry and his solitary meditations.
Harry's messenger to Mr. Sampson brought back a message from thatgentleman to say that he would be with his patron as soon as might be:but ten o'clock came, eleven o'clock, noon, and no Sampson. No Sampsonarrived, but about twelve Gumbo with a portmanteau of his master'sclothes, who flung himself, roaring with grief, at Harry's feet: andwith a thousand vows of fidelity, expressed himself ready to die, tosell himself into slavery over again, to do anything to rescue hisbeloved Master Harry from this calamitous position. Harry was touchedwith the lad's expressions of affection, and told him to get up fromthe ground where he was grovelling on his knees, embracing his master's."All you have to do, sir, is to give me my clothes to dress, and to holdyour tongue about this business. Mind you, not a word, sir, about it toanybody!" says Mr. Warrington, severely.
"Oh no, sir, never to nobody!" says Gumbo, looking most solemnly, andproceeded to dress his master carefully, who had need of a change and atoilette after his yesterday's sudden capture, and night's dismal rest.Accordingly Gumbo flung a dash of powder in Harry's hair, and arrayedhis master carefully and elegantly, so that he made Mr. Warrington lookas fine and splendid as if he had been stepping into his chair to go toSt. James's.
Indeed all that love and servility could do Mr. Gumbo faithfully did forhis master, for whom he had an extreme regard and attachment. But therewere certain things beyond Gumbo's power. He could not undo things whichwere done already; and he could not help lying and excusing himself whenpressed upon points disagreeable to himself. The language of slaves islies (I mean black slaves and white). The creature slinks away and hideswith subterfuges, as a hunted animal runs to his covert at the sightof man, the tyrant and pursuer. Strange relics of feudality, andconsequence of our ever-so-old social life! Our domestics (are they notmen, too, and brethren?) are all hypocrites before us. They never speaknaturally to us, or the whole truth. We should be indignant: we shouldsay, confound their impudence: we should turn them out of doors if theydid. But quo me rapis, O my unbridled hobby?
Well, the truth is, that as for swearing not to say a word about hismaster's arrest--such an oath as that was impossible to keep for, witha heart full of grief, indeed, but with a tongue that never could ceasewagging, bragging, joking, and lying, Mr. Gumbo had announced thewoeful circumstance to a prodigious number of his acquaintances already,chiefly gentlemen of the shoulder-knot and worsted lace. We haveseen how he carried the news to Colonel Lambert's and Lord Wrotham'sservants: he had proclaimed it at the footman's club to which hebelonged, and which was frequented by the gentlemen of some of the firstnobility. He had subsequently condescended to partake of a mug of alein Sir Miles Warrington's butler's room, and there had repeated andembellished the story. Then he had gone off to Madame Bernstein'speople, with some of whom he was on terms of affectionate intercourse,and had informed that domestic circle of his grief and, his master beingcaptured, and there being no earthly call for his personal services thatevening, Gumbo had stepped up to Lord Castlewood's, and informed thegentry there of the incident which had just come to pass. So when,laying his hand on his heart, and with gushing floods of tears, Gumbosays, in reply to his master's injunction, "Oh no, master! nebber tonobody!" we are in a condition to judge of the degree of credibilitywhich ought to be given to the lad's statement.
The black had long completed his master's toilet: the drea
ry breakfastwas over: slow as the hours went to the prisoner, still they werepassing one after another, but no Sampson came in accordance with thepromise sent in the morning. At length, some time after noon, therearrived, not Sampson, but a billet from him, sealed with a moist wafer,and with the ink almost yet wet. The unlucky divine's letter ran asfollows:
"Oh, sir, dear sir, I have done all that a man can at the command andin the behalf of his patron! You did not know, sir, to what you weresubjecting me, did you? Else, if I was to go to prison, why did I notshare yours, and why am I in a lock-up house three doors off?
"Yes. Such is the fact. As I was hastening to you, knowing full well thedanger to which I was subject:--but what danger will I not affront atthe call of such a benefactor as Mr. Warrington hath been to me?--I wasseized by two villains who had a writ against me, and who have lodged meat Naboth's, hard by, and so close to your honour, that we could almosthear each other across the garden walls of the respective houses wherewe are confined.
"I had much and of importance to say, which I do not care to write downon paper regarding your affairs. May they mend! May my cursed fortunes,too, better themselves, is the prayer of--
"Your honour's afflicted Chaplain-in-Ordinary, J. S."
And now, as Mr. Sampson refuses to speak, it will be our duty toacquaint the reader with those matters whereof the poor chaplain did notcare to discourse on paper.
Gumbo's loquacity had not reached so far as Long Acre, and Mr. Sampsonwas ignorant of the extent of his patron's calamity until he receivedHarry's letter and messenger from Chancery Lane. The divine was stillardent with gratitude for the service Mr. Warrington had just conferredon him, and eager to find some means to succour his distressed patron.He knew what a large sum Lord Castlewood had won from his cousin, haddined in company with his lordship on the day before, and now ran toLord Castlewood's house, with a hope of arousing him to some pity forMr. Warrington. Sampson made a very eloquent and touching speech toLord Castlewood about his kinsman's misfortune, and spoke with a realkindness and sympathy, which, however, failed to touch the nobleman towhom he addressed himself.
My lord peevishly and curtly put a stop to the chaplain's passionatepleading. "Did I not tell you, two days since, when you came for money,that I was as poor as a beggar, Sampson," said his lordship, "and hasanybody left me a fortune since? The little sum I won from my cousin wasswallowed up by others. I not only can't help Mr. Warrington, but, as Ipledge you my word, not being in the least aware of his calamity, I hadpositively written to him this morning to ask him to help me." Anda letter to this effect did actually reach Mr. Warrington from hislodgings, whither it had been despatched by the penny post.
"I must get him money, my lord. I know he had scarcely anything left inhis pocket after relieving me. Were I to pawn my cassock and bands, hemust have money," cried the chaplain.
"Amen. Go and pawn your bands, your cassock, anything you please. Yourenthusiasm does you credit," said my lord; and resumed the reading ofhis paper, whilst, in the deepest despondency, poor Sampson left him.
My Lady Maria meanwhile had heard that the chaplain was with herbrother, and conjectured what might be the subject on which they hadbeen talking. She seized upon the parson as he issued from out hisfruitless interview with my lord. She drew him into the dining-room: thestrongest marks of grief and sympathy were in her countenance. "Tell me,what is this has happened to Mr. Warrington?" she asked.
"Your ladyship, then, knows?" asked the chaplain.
"Have I not been in mortal anxiety ever since his servant brought thedreadful news last night?" asked my lady. "We had it as we came from theopera--from my Lady Yarmouth's box--my lord, my Lady Castlewood, and I."
"His lordship, then, did know?" continued Sampson.
"Benson told the news when we came from the playhouse to our tea,"repeats Lady Maria.
The chaplain lost all patience and temper at such duplicity. "Thisis too bad," he said, with an oath; and he told Lady Maria of theconversation which he had just had with Lord Castlewood, and of thelatter's refusal to succour his cousin, after winning great sums ofmoney from him, and with much eloquence and feeling, of Mr. Warrington'smost generous behaviour to himself.
Then my Lady Maria broke out with a series of remarks regarding her ownfamily, which were by no means complimentary to her own kith and kin.Although not accustomed to tell truth commonly, yet, when certainfamilies fall out, it is wonderful what a number of truths they willtell about one another. With tears, imprecations, I do not like tothink how much stronger language, Lady Maria burst into a furious andimpassioned tirade, in which she touched upon the history of almost allher noble family. She complimented the men and the ladies alike; sheshrieked out interrogatories to Heaven, inquiring why it had made such(never mind what names she called her brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts,parents); and, emboldened with wrath, she dashed at her brother'slibrary door, so shrill in her outcries, so furious in her demeanour,that the alarmed chaplain, fearing the scene which might ensue, made forthe street.
My lord, looking up from the book or other occupation which engagedhim, regarded the furious woman with some surprise, and selected a goodstrong oath to fling at her, as it were, and check her onset.
But, when roused, we have seen how courageous Maria could be. Afraidas she was ordinarily of her brother, she was not in a mood to befrightened now by any language of abuse or sarcasm at his command.
"So, my lord!" she called out, "you sit down with him in private tocards, and pigeon him! You get the poor boy's last shilling, and youwon't give him a guinea out of his own winnings now he is penniless!"
"So that infernal chaplain has been telling tales!" says my lord.
"Dismiss him: do! Pay him his wages, and let him go,--he will be gladenough!" cries Maria.
"I keep him to marry one of my sisters, in case he is wanted," saysCastlewood, glaring at her.
"What can the women be in a family where there are such men?" says thelady.
"Effectivement!" says my lord, with a shrug of his shoulder.
"What can we be, when our fathers and brothers are what they are? We arebad enough, but what are you? I say, you neither have courage--no, norhonour, nor common feeling. As your equals won't play with you, myLord Castlewood, you must take this poor lad out of Virginia, your ownkinsman, and pigeon him! Oh, it's a shame--a shame!"
"We are all playing our own game, I suppose. Haven't you played and wonone, Maria? Is it you that are squeamish of a sudden about the poorlad from Virginia? Has Mr. Harry cried off, or has your ladyship gota better offer?" cried my Lord. "If you won't have him, one of theWarrington girls will, I promise you; and the old Methodist woman inHill Street will give him the choice of either. Are you a fool, MariaEsmond? A greater fool, I mean, than in common?"
"I should be a fool if I thought that either of my brothers could actlike an honest man, Eugene!" said Maria. "I am a fool to expect that youwill be other than you are; that if you find any relative in distressyou will help him; that if you can meet with a victim you won't fleecehim."
"Fleece him! Psha! What folly are you talking! Have you not seen, fromthe course which the lad has been running for months past, how he wouldend? If I had not won his money, some other would? I never grudged theethy little plans regarding him. Why shouldst thou fly in a passion,because I have just put out my hand to take what he was offering to allthe world? I reason with you, I don't know why, Maria. You should be oldenough to understand reason, at any rate. You think this money belongedof right to Lady Maria Warrington and her children? I tell you that inthree months more every shilling would have found its way to White'smacco-table, and that it is much better spent in paying my debts. Somuch for your ladyship's anger, and tears, and menaces, and naughtylanguage. See! I am a good brother, and repay them with reason and kindwords."
"My good brother might have given a little more than kind words to thelad from whom he has just taken hundreds," interposed the sister of thisaffectionate brother.
"Great hea
vens, Maria! Don't you see that even out of this affair,unpleasant as it seems, a clever woman may make her advantage," cries mylord. Maria said she failed to comprehend.
"As thus. I name no names; I meddle in no person's business, havingquite enough to do to manage my own cursed affairs. But suppose I happento know of a case in another family which may be applicable to ours. Itis this. A green young lad of tolerable expectations, comes up from thecountry to his friends in town--never mind from what country: nevermind to what town. An elderly female relative, who has been dragging herspinsterhood about these--how many years shall we say?--extort a promiseof marriage from my young gentleman, never mind on what conditions."
"My lord, do you want to insult your sister as well as to injure yourcousin?" asks Maria.
"My good child, did I say a single word about fleecing or cheating, orpigeoning, or did I fly into a passion when you insulted me? I know theallowance that must be made for your temper, and the natural folly ofyour sex. I say I treated you with soft words--I go on with my story.The elderly relative extracts a promise of marriage from the young lad,which my gentleman is quite unwilling to keep. No, he won't keep it.He is utterly tired of his elderly relative: he will plead his mother'srefusal: he will do anything to get out of his promise."
"Yes; if he was one of us Esmonds, my Lord Castlewood. But this is aman of honour we are speaking of," cried Maria, who, I suppose, admiredtruth in others, however little she saw it in her own family.
"I do not contradict either of my dear sister's remarks. One of uswould fling the promise to the winds, especially as it does not exist inwriting."
"My lord!" gasps out Maria.
"Bah! I know all. That little coup of Tunbridge was played by the AuntBernstein with excellent skill. The old woman is the best man of ourfamily. While you were arrested, your boxes were searched for theMohock's letters to you. When you were let loose, the letters haddisappeared, and you said nothing, like a wise woman, as you aresometimes. You still hanker after your Cherokee. Soit. A woman of yourmature experience knows the value of a husband. What is this little lossof two or three hundred pounds?"
"Not more than three hundred, my lord?" interposes Maria.
"Eh! never mind a hundred or two, more or less. What is this loss atcards? A mere bagatelle! You are playing for a principality. You wantyour kingdom in Virginia; and if you listen to my opinion, the littlemisfortune which has happened to your swain is a piece of greatgood-fortune to you."
"I don't understand you, my lord."
"C'est possible; but sit down, and I will explain what I mean in amanner suited to your capacity." And so Maria Esmond, who had advancedto her brother like a raging lion, now sate down at his feet like agentle lamb.
Madame de Bernstein was not a little moved at the news of her nephew'sarrest, which Mr. Gumbo brought to Clarges Street on the night of thecalamity. She would have cross-examined the black, and had furtherparticulars respecting Harry's mishap; but Mr. Gumbo, anxious to carryhis intelligence to other quarters, had vanished when her ladyship sentfor him. Her temper was not improved by the news, or by the sleeplessnight which she spent. I do not envy the dame de compagnie who playedcards with her, or the servant who had to lie in her chamber. An arrestwas an everyday occurrence, as she knew very well as a woman of theworld. Into what difficulties had her scapegrace of a nephew fallen? Howmuch money should she be called upon to pay to release him? And hadhe run through all his own? Provided he had not committed himselfvery deeply, she was quite disposed to aid him. She liked even hisextravagances and follies. He was the only being in the world on whom,for long, long years, that weary woman had been able to bestow a littlenatural affection. So, on their different beds, she and Harry were lyingwakeful together; and quite early in the morning the messengers whicheach sent forth on the same business may have crossed each other.
Madame Bernstein's messenger was despatched to the chambers of her manof business, Mr. Draper, with an order that Mr. D. should ascertain forwhat sums Mr. Warrington had been arrested, and forthwith repair to theBaroness. Draper's emissaries speedily found out that Mr. Warrington waslocked up close beside them, and the amount of detainers against himso far. Were there other creditors, as no doubt there were, theywould certainly close upon him when they were made acquainted with hisimprisonment.
To Mr. Sparks, the jeweller, for those unlucky presents, so much; to thelandlord in Bond Street, for board, fire, lodging, so much: these wereat present the only claims against Mr. Warrington, Mr. Draper found. Hewas ready, at a signal from her ladyship, to settle them at a moment.The jeweller's account ought especially to be paid, for Mr. Harry hadacted most imprudently in taking goods from Mr. Sparks on credit, andpledging them with a pawnbroker. He must have been under some immediatepressure for money; intended to redeem the goods immediately, meantnothing but what was honourable of course; but the affair would have anugly look, if made public, and had better be settled out of hand. "Therecannot be the least difficulty regarding a thousand pounds more or less,for a gentleman of Mr. Warrington's rank and expectations," said Madamede Bernstein. Not the least: her ladyship knew very well that therewere funds belonging to Mr. Warrington, on which money could be at onceraised with her ladyship's guarantee.
Should he go that instant and settle the matter with Messrs. Amos? Mr.Harry might be back to dine with her at two, and to confound the peopleat the clubs, "who are no doubt rejoicing over his misfortunes," saidthe compassionate Mr. Draper.
But the Baroness had other views. "I think, my good Mr. Draper," shesaid, "that my young gentleman has sown wild oats enough; and when hecomes out of prison I should like him to come out clear, and without anyliabilities at all. You are not aware of all his."
"No gentleman ever does tell all his debts, madam," says Mr. Draper; "noone I ever had to deal with."
"There is one which the silly boy has contracted, and from which heought to be released, Mr. Draper. You remember a little circumstancewhich occurred at Tunbridge Wells in the autumn? About which I sent upmy man Case to you?"
"When your ladyship pleases to recall it, I remember it--not otherwise,"says Mr. Draper, with a bow. "A lawyer should be like a Popishconfessor,--what is told him is a secret for ever, and for everybody."So we must not whisper Madame Bernstein's secret to Mr. Draper; but thereader may perhaps guess it from the lawyer's conduct subsequently.
The lawyer felt pretty certain that ere long he would receive a summonsfrom the poor young prisoner in Cursitor Street, and waited for thatinvitation before he visited Mr. Warrington. Six-and-thirty hours passedere the invitation came, during which period Harry passed the dreariesttwo days which he ever remembered to have spent.
There was no want of company in the lock-up house, the bailiff's roomswere nearly always full; but Harry preferred the dingy solitude of hisown room to the society round his landlady's table, and it was onlyon the second day of his arrest, and when his purse was emptied by theheavy charges of the place, that he made up his mind to apply toMr. Draper. He despatched a letter then to the lawyer at the Temple,informing him of his plight, and desiring him, in an emphaticpostscript, not to say one word about the matter to his aunt, Madame deBernstein.
He had made up his mind not to apply to the old lady except at thevery last extremity. She had treated him with so much kindness that herevolted from the notion of trespassing on her bounty, and for a whiletried to please himself with the idea that he might get out of durancewithout her even knowing that any misfortune at all had befallen him.There seemed to him something humiliating in petitioning a woman formoney. No! He would apply first to his male friends, all of whom mighthelp him if they would. It had been his intention to send Sampson to oneor other of them as a negotiator, had not the poor fellow been capturedon his way to succour his friend.
Sampson gone, Harry was obliged to have recourse to his own negroservant, who was kept on the trot all day between Temple Bar and theCourt end of the town with letters from his unlucky master. Firstly,then, Harry sent off a most private
and confidential letter to hiskinsman, the Right Honourable the Earl of Castlewood, saying how he hadbeen cast into prison, and begging Castlewood to lend him the amountof the debt. "Please to keep my application, and the cause of it, aprofound secret from the dear ladies," wrote poor Harry.
"Was ever anything so unfortunate?" wrote back Lord Castlewood, inreply. "I suppose you have not got my note of yesterday? It must belying at your lodgings, where--I hope in heaven!--you will soon be, too.My dear Mr. Warrington, thinking you were as rich as Croesus--otherwiseI never should have sate down to cards with you--I wrote to youyesterday, begging you to lend me some money to appease some hungry dunswhom I don't know how else to pacify. My poor fellow! every shillingof your money went to them, and but for my peer's privilege I might behob-and-nob with you now in your dungeon. May you soon escape from it,is the prayer of your sincere CASTLEWOOD."
This was the result of application number one: and we may imagine thatMr. Harry read the reply to his petition with rather a blank face. Nevermind! There was kind, jolly Uncle Warrington. Only last night his aunthad kissed him and loved him like a son. His uncle had called downblessings on his head, and professed quite a paternal regard for him.With a feeling of shyness and modesty in presence of those virtuousparents and family. Harry had never said a word about his wild doings,or his horse-racings, or his gamblings, or his extravagances. It mustall out now. He must confess himself a Prodigal and a Sinner, and askfor their forgiveness and aid. So Prodigal sate down and composed apenitent letter to Uncle Warrington, and exposed his sad case, andbesought him to come to the rescue. Was not that a bitter nut to crackfor our haughty young Virginian? Hours of mortification and profoundthought as to the pathos of the composition did Harry pass over thatletter; sheet after sheet of Mr. Amos's sixpence-a-sheet letter-paperdid he tear up before the missive was complete, with which poorblubbering Gumbo (much vilified by the bailiff's followers andparasites, whom he was robbing, as they conceived, of their perquisites)went his way.
At evening the faithful negro brought back a thick letter in his aunt'shandwriting. Harry opened the letter with a trembling hand. He thoughtit was full of bank-notes. Ah me! it contained a sermon (Daniel in theLions' Den) by Mr. Whitfield, and a letter from Lady Warrington sayingthat, in Sir Miles's absence from London, she was in the habit ofopening his letters, and hence, perforce, was become acquainted with afact which she deplored from her inmost soul to learn, namely, that hernephew Warrington had been extravagant and was in debt. Of course, inthe absence of Sir Miles, she could not hope to have at command sucha sum as that for which Mr. Warrington wrote, but she sent him herheartfelt prayers, her deepest commiseration, and a discourse by dearMr. Whitfield, which would comfort him in his present (alas! she fearednot undeserved) calamity. She added profuse references to particularScriptural chapters which would do him good. If she might speak ofthings worldly, she said, at such a moment, she would hint to Mr.Warrington that his epistolary orthography was anything but correct. Shewould not fail for her part to comply with his express desire that hisdear cousins should know nothing of this most painful circumstance,and with every wish for his welfare here and elsewhere, she subscribedherself his loving aunt, MARGARET WARRINGTON.
Poor Harry hid his face between his hands, and sate for a while withelbows on the greasy table blankly staring into the candle before him.The bailiff's servant, who was touched by his handsome face, suggested amug of beer for his honour, but Harry could not drink, nor eat the meatthat was placed before him. Gumbo, however, could, whose grief did notdeprive him of appetite, and who, blubbering the while, finished allthe beer, and all the bread and the meat. Meanwhile, Harry had finishedanother letter, with which Gumbo was commissioned to start again, andaway the faithful creature ran upon his errand.
Gumbo ran as far as White's Club, to which house he was ordered in thefirst instance to carry the letter, and where he found the personto whom it was addressed. Even the prisoner, for whom time passed soslowly, was surprised at the celerity with which his negro had performedhis errand.
At least the letter which Harry expected had not taken long to write."My lord wrote it at the hall-porter's desk, while I stood there thenwith Mr Mr. Morris," said Gumbo, and the letter was to this effect:--
"DEAR SIR--I am sorry I cannot comply with your wish, I'm short ofmoney at present, having paid large sums to you as well as to othergentlemen.--Yours obediently, MARCH AND R.
"Henry Warrington, Esq."
"Did Lord March say anything?" asked Mr. Warrington looking very pale.
"He say it was the coolest thing he ever knew. So did Mr. Morris. Heshowed him your letter, Master Harry. Yes, Mr. Morris say, 'Dam hisimperence!'" added Gumbo.
Harry burst into such a yell of laughter that his landlord thought hehad good news, and ran in in alarm lest he was about to lose his tenant.But by this time poor Harry's laughter was over, and he was flung downin his chair gazing dismally in the fire.
"I--I should like to smoke a pipe of Virginia" he groaned.
Gumbo burst into tears: he flung himself at Harry's knees. He kissed hisknees and his hands. "Oh, master, my dear master, what will they say athome?" he sobbed out.
The jailor was touched at the sight of the black's grief and fidelity,and at Harry's pale face as he sank back in his chair quite overcome andbeaten by his calamity.
"Your honour ain't eat anything these two days," the man said, in avoice of rough pity. "Pluck up a little, sir. You aren't the firstgentleman who has been in and out of grief before this. Let me go downand get you a glass of punch and a little supper."
"My good friend," said Harry, a sickly smile playing over his whiteface, "you pay ready money for everything in this house, don't you? Imust tell you that I haven't a shilling left to buy a dish of meat. Allthe money I have I want for letter-paper."
"Oh, master, my master!" roared out Gumbo. "Look here, my dear MasterHarry! Here's plenty of money--here's twenty-three five-guineas. Here'sgold moidore from Virginia--here--no, not that--that's keepsakes thegirls gave me. Take everything--everything. I go sell myself to-morrowmorning; but here's plenty for to-night, master!"
"God bless you, Gumbo!" Harry said, laying his hand on the lad's woollyhead. "You are free if I am not, and Heaven forbid I should not take theoffered help of such a friend as you. Bring me some supper: but the pipetoo, mind--the pipe too!" And Harry ate his supper with a relish: andeven the turnkeys and bailiff's followers, when Gumbo went out of thehouse that night, shook hands with him, and ever after treated him well.