CHAPTER VI. ADVENTURES OF THE AMBASSADOR, MR. MACSHANE.
If we had not been obliged to follow history in all respects, it is
probable that we should have left out the last adventure of Mrs.
Catherine and her husband, at the inn at Worcester, altogether; for,
in truth, very little came of it, and it is not very romantic or
striking. But we are bound to stick closely, above all, by THE
TRUTH--the truth, though it be not particularly pleasant to read of
or to tell. As anybody may read in the "Newgate Calendar," Mr. and
Mrs. Hayes were taken at an inn at Worcester; were confined there;
were swindled by persons who pretended to impress the bridegroom for
military service. What is one to do after that? Had we been
writing novels instead of authentic histories, we might have carried
them anywhere else we chose: and we had a great mind to make Hayes
philosophising with Bolingbroke, like a certain Devereux; and Mrs.
Catherine maitresse en titre to Mr. Alexander Pope, Doctor
Sacheverel, Sir John Reade the oculist, Dean Swift, or Marshal
Tallard; as the very commonest romancer would under such
circumstances. But alas and alas! truth must be spoken, whatever
else is in the wind; and the excellent "Newgate Calendar," which
contains the biographies and thanatographies of Hayes and his wife,
does not say a word of their connections with any of the leading
literary or military heroes of the time of Her Majesty Queen Anne.
The "Calendar" says, in so many words, that Hayes was obliged to
send to his father in Warwickshire for money to get him out of the
scrape, and that the old gentleman came down to his aid. By this
truth must we stick; and not for the sake of the most brilliant
episode,--no, not for a bribe of twenty extra guineas per sheet,
would we depart from it.
Mr. Brock's account of his adventure in London has given the reader
some short notice of his friend, Mr Macshane. Neither the wits nor
the principles of that worthy Ensign were particularly firm: for
drink, poverty, and a crack on the skull at the battle of Steenkirk
had served to injure the former; and the Ensign was not in his best
days possessed of any share of the latter. He had really, at one
period, held such a rank in the army, but pawned his half-pay for
drink and play; and for many years past had lived, one of the
hundred thousand miracles of our city, upon nothing that anybody
knew of, or of which he himself could give any account. Who has not
a catalogue of these men in his list? who can tell whence comes the
occasional clean shirt, who supplies the continual means of
drunkenness, who wards off the daily-impending starvation? Their
life is a wonder from day to day: their breakfast a wonder; their
dinner a miracle; their bed an interposition of Providence. If you
and I, my dear sir, want a shilling tomorrow, who will give it us?
Will OUR butchers give us mutton-chops? will OUR laundresses clothe
us in clean linen?--not a bone or a rag. Standing as we do (may it
be ever so) somewhat removed from want,* is there one of us who does
not shudder at the thought of descending into the lists to combat
with it, and expect anything but to be utterly crushed in the
encounter?
* The author, it must be remembered, has his lodgings and food
provided for him by the government of his country.
Not a bit of it, my dear sir. It takes much more than you think for
to starve a man. Starvation is very little when you are used to it.
Some people I know even, who live on it quite comfortably, and make
their daily bread by it. It had been our friend Macshane's sole
profession for many years; and he did not fail to draw from it such
a livelihood as was sufficient, and perhaps too good, for him. He
managed to dine upon it a certain or rather uncertain number of days
in the week, to sleep somewhere, and to get drunk at least three
hundred times a year. He was known to one or two noblemen who
occasionally helped him with a few pieces, and whom he helped in
turn--never mind how. He had other acquaintances whom he pestered
undauntedly; and from whom he occasionally extracted a dinner, or a
crown, or mayhap, by mistake, a goldheaded cane, which found its way
to the pawnbroker's. When flush of cash, he would appear at the
coffee-house; when low in funds, the deuce knows into what mystic
caves and dens he slunk for food and lodging. He was perfectly
ready with his sword, and when sober, or better still, a very little
tipsy, was a complete master of it; in the art of boasting and lying
he had hardly any equals; in shoes he stood six feet five inches;
and here is his complete signalement. It was a fact that he had
had a brain-fever, and was sent home to starve as before.
Mr. Macshane had, however, like Mr. Conrad, the Corsair, one virtue
in the midst of a thousand crimes,--he was faithful to his employer
for the time being: and a story is told of him, which may or may
not be to his credit, viz. that being hired on one occasion by a
certain lord to inflict a punishment upon a roturier who had crossed
his lordship in his amours, he, Macshane, did actually refuse from
the person to be belaboured, and who entreated his forbearance, a
larger sum of money than the nobleman gave him for the beating;
which he performed punctually, as bound in honour and friendship.
This tale would the Ensign himself relate, with much
self-satisfaction; and when, after the sudden flight from London, he
and Brock took to their roving occupation, he cheerfully submitted
to the latter as his commanding officer, called him always Major,
and, bating blunders and drunkenness, was perfectly true to his
leader. He had a notion--and, indeed, I don't know that it was a
wrong one--that his profession was now, as before, strictly
military, and according to the rules of honour. Robbing he called
plundering the enemy; and hanging was, in his idea, a dastardly and
cruel advantage that the latter took, and that called for the
sternest reprisals.
The other gentlemen concerned were strangers to Mr. Brock, who felt
little inclined to trust either of them upon such a message, or with
such a large sum to bring back. They had, strange to say, a similar
mistrust on their side; but Mr. Brock lugged out five guineas, which
he placed in the landlady's hand as security for his comrade's
return; and Ensign Macshane, being mounted on poor Hayes's own
horse, set off to visit the parents of that unhappy young man. It
was a gallant sight to behold our thieves' ambassador, in a faded
sky-blue suit with orange facings, in a pair of huge jack-boots
unconscious of blacking, with a mighty basket-hilted sword by his
side, and a little shabby beaver cocked over a large tow-periwig,
ride out from the inn of the "Three Rooks" on his mission to Hayes's
paternal village.
It was eighteen miles distant from Worcester; but Mr. Macshane
performed the di
stance in safety, and in sobriety moreover (for such
had been his instructions), and had no difficulty in discovering the
house of old Hayes: towards which, indeed, John's horse trotted
incontinently. Mrs. Hayes, who was knitting at the house-door, was
not a little surprised at the appearance of the well-known grey
gelding, and of the stranger mounted upon it.
Flinging himself off the steed with much agility, Mr. Macshane, as
soon as his feet reached the ground, brought them rapidly together,
in order to make a profound and elegant bow to Mrs. Hayes; and
slapping his greasy beaver against his heart, and poking his periwig
almost into the nose of the old lady, demanded whether he had the
"shooprame honour of adthressing Misthriss Hees?"
Having been answered in the affirmative, he then proceeded to ask
whether there was a blackguard boy in the house who would take "the
horse to the steeble;" whether "he could have a dthrink of
small-beer or buthermilk, being, faith, uncommon dthry;" and
whether, finally, "he could be feevored with a few minutes' private
conversation with her and Mr. Hees, on a matther of consitherable
impartance." All these preliminaries were to be complied with
before Mr. Macshane would enter at all into the subject of his
visit. The horse and man were cared for; Mr. Hayes was called in;
and not a little anxious did Mrs. Hayes grow, in the meanwhile, with
regard to the fate of her darling son. "Where is he? How is he?
Is he dead?" said the old lady. "Oh yes, I'm sure he's dead !"
"Indeed, madam, and you're misteeken intirely: the young man is
perfectly well in health."
"Oh, praised be Heaven!"
"But mighty cast down in sperrits. To misfortunes, madam, look you,
the best of us are subject; and a trifling one has fell upon your
son."
And herewith Mr. Macshane produced a letter in the handwriting of
young Hayes, of which we have had the good luck to procure a copy.
It ran thus:--
"HONORED FATHER AND MOTHER,--The bearer of this is a kind gentleman,
who has left me in a great deal of trouble. Yesterday, at this
towne, I fell in with some gentlemen of the queene's servas; after
drinking with whom, I accepted her Majesty's mony to enliste.
Repenting thereof, I did endeavour to escape; and, in so doing, had
the misfortune to strike my superior officer, whereby I made myself
liable to Death, according to the rules of warr. If, however, I pay
twenty ginnys, all will be wel. You must give the same to the
barer, els I shall be shott without fail on Tewsday morning. And so
no more from your loving son,
"JOHN HAYES.
"From my prison at Bristol, this unhappy Monday."
When Mrs. Hayes read this pathetic missive, its success with her was
complete, and she was for going immediately to the cupboard, and
producing the money necessary for her darling son's release. But
the carpenter Hayes was much more suspicious. "I don't know you,
sir," said he to the ambassador.
"Do you doubt my honour, sir?" said the Ensign, very fiercely.
"Why, sir," replied Mr. Hayes "I know little about it one way or
other, but shall take it for granted, if you will explain a little
more of this business."
"I sildom condescind to explean," said Mr. Macshane, "for it's not
the custom in my rank; but I'll explean anything in reason."
"Pray, will you tell me in what regiment my son is enlisted?"
"In coorse. In Colonel Wood's fut, my dear; and a gallant corps it
is as any in the army."
"And you left him?"
"On me soul, only three hours ago, having rid like a horse-jockey
ever since; as in the sacred cause of humanity, curse me, every man
should."
As Hayes's house was seventy miles from Bristol, the old gentleman
thought this was marvellous quick riding, and so, cut the
conversation short. "You have said quite enough, sir," said he, "to
show me there is some roguery in the matter, and that the whole
story is false from beginning to end."
At this abrupt charge the Ensign looked somewhat puzzled, and then
spoke with much gravity. "Roguery," said he, "Misthur Hees, is a
sthrong term; and which, in consideration of my friendship for your
family, I shall pass over. You doubt your son's honour, as there
wrote by him in black and white?"
"You have forced him to write," said Mr. Hayes.
"The sly old divvle's right," muttered Mr. Macshane, aside. "Well,
sir, to make a clean breast of it, he HAS been forced to write it.
The story about the enlistment is a pretty fib, if you will, from
beginning to end. And what then, my dear? Do you think your son's
any better off for that?"
"Oh, where is he?" screamed Mrs. Hayes, plumping down on her knees.
"We WILL give him the money, won't we, John?"
"I know you will, madam, when I tell you where he is. He is in the
hands of some gentlemen of my acquaintance, who are at war with the
present government, and no more care about cutting a man's throat
than they do a chicken's. He is a prisoner, madam, of our sword and
spear. If you choose to ransom him, well and good; if not, peace be
with him! for never more shall you see him."
"And how do I know you won't come back to-morrow for more money?"
asked Mr. Hayes.
"Sir, you have my honour; and I'd as lieve break my neck as my
word," said Mr. Macshane, gravely. "Twenty guineas is the bargain.
Take ten minutes to talk of it--take it then, or leave it; it's all
the same to me, my dear." And it must be said of our friend the
Ensign, that he meant every word he said, and that he considered the
embassy on which he had come as perfectly honourable and regular.
"And pray, what prevents us," said Mr. Hayes, starting up in a rage,
"from taking hold of you, as a surety for him?"
"You wouldn't fire on a flag of truce, would ye, you dishonourable
ould civilian?" replied Mr. Macshane. "Besides," says he, "there's
more reasons to prevent you: the first is this," pointing to his
sword; "here are two more"--and these were pistols; "and the last
and the best of all is, that you might hang me and dthraw me and
quarther me, an yet never see so much as the tip of your son's nose
again. Look you, sir, we run mighty risks in our profession--it's
not all play, I can tell you. We're obliged to be punctual, too, or
it's all up with the thrade. If I promise that your son will die as
sure as fate to-morrow morning, unless I return home safe, our
people MUST keep my promise; or else what chance is there for me?
You would be down upon me in a moment with a posse of constables,
and have me swinging before Warwick gaol. Pooh, my dear! you never
would sacrifice a darling boy like John Hayes, let alone his lady,
for the sake of my long carcass. One or two of our gentlemen have
been taken that way already, because parents and guardians would not
believe them."
"AND WHAT BECAME OF THE POOR CHILDREN?" said Mrs. Hayes, who began
to perceive the gist of the argument, and to grow dreadfully
frightened.
"Don't let's talk of them, ma'am: humanity shudthers at the
thought!" And herewith Mr. Macshane drew his finger across his
throat in such a dreadful way as to make the two parents tremble.
"It's the way of war, madam, look you. The service I have the
honour to belong to is not paid by the Queen; and so we're obliged
to make our prisoners pay, according to established military
practice."
No lawyer could have argued his case better than Mr. Macshane so
far; and he completely succeeded in convincing Mr. and Mrs. Hayes of
the necessity of ransoming their son. Promising that the young man
should be restored to them next morning, along with his beautiful
lady, he courteously took leave of the old couple, and made the best
of his way back to Worcester again. The elder Hayes wondered who
the lady could be of whom the ambassador had spoken, for their son's
elopement was altogether unknown to them; but anger or doubt about
this subject was overwhelmed by their fears for their darling John's
safety. Away rode the gallant Macshane with the money necessary to
effect this; and it must be mentioned, as highly to his credit, that
he never once thought of appropriating the sum to himself, or of
deserting his comrades in any way.
His ride from Worcester had been a long one. He had left that city
at noon, but before his return thither the sun had gone down; and
the landscape, which had been dressed like a prodigal, in purple and
gold, now appeared like a Quaker, in dusky grey; and the trees by
the road-side grew black as undertakers or physicians, and, bending
their solemn heads to each other, whispered ominously among
themselves; and the mists hung on the common; and the cottage lights
went out one by one; and the earth and heaven grew black, but for
some twinkling useless stars, which freckled the ebon countenance of
the latter; and the air grew colder; and about two o'clock the moon
appeared, a dismal pale-faced rake, walking solitary through the
deserted sky; and about four, mayhap, the Dawn (wretched
'prentice-boy!) opened in the east the shutters of the Day:--in
other words, more than a dozen hours had passed. Corporal Brock had
been relieved by Mr. Redcap, the latter by Mr. Sicklop, the one-eyed
gentleman; Mrs. John Hayes, in spite of her sorrows and bashfulness,
had followed the example of her husband, and fallen asleep by his
side--slept for many hours--and awakened still under the
guardianship of Mr. Brock's troop; and all parties began anxiously
to expect the return of the ambassador, Mr. Macshane.
That officer, who had performed the first part of his journey with
such distinguished prudence and success, found the night, on his
journey homewards, was growing mighty cold and dark; and as he was
thirsty and hungry, had money in his purse, and saw no cause to
hurry, he determined to take refuge at an alehouse for the night,
and to make for Worcester by dawn the next morning. He accordingly
alighted at the first inn on his road, consigned his horse to the
stable, and, entering the kitchen, called for the best liquor in the
house.
A small company was assembled at the inn, among whom Mr. Macshane
took his place with a great deal of dignity; and, having a
considerable sum of money in his pocket, felt a mighty contempt for
his society, and soon let them know the contempt he felt for them.
After a third flagon of ale, he discovered that the liquor was sour,
and emptied, with much spluttering and grimaces, the remainder of
the beer into the fire. This process so offended the parson of the
parish (who in those good old times did not disdain to take the post
of honour in the chimney-nook), that he left his corner, looking
wrathfully at the offender; who without any more ado instantly
occupied it. It was a fine thing to hear the jingling of the twenty
pieces in his pocket, the oaths which he distributed between the