CHAPTER IV.
Left to myself in the earlier part of the day, I wandered, wistful and
lonely, through the vast wilderness of London. By degrees I
familiarized myself with that populous solitude; I ceased to pine for
the green fields. That active energy all around, at first saddening,
became soon exhilarating, and at last contagious. To an industrious
mind, nothing is so catching as industry. I began to grow weary of my
golden holiday of unlaborious childhood, to sigh for toil, to look
around me for a career. The University, which I had before anticipated
with pleasure, seemed now to fade into a dull monastic prospect; after
having trod the streets of London, to wander through cloisters was to go
back in life. Day by day, my mind grew sensibly within me; it came out
from the rosy twilight of boyhood,--it felt the doom of Cain under the
broad sun of man.
Uncle Jack soon became absorbed in his new speculation for the good of
the human race, and, except at meals (whereat, to do him justice, he was
punctual enough, though he did not keep us in ignorance of the
sacrifices he made, and the invitations he refused, for our sake), we
seldom saw him. The Captain, too, generally vanished after breakfast,
seldom dined with us, and it was often late before he returned. He had
the latch-key of the house, and let himself in when he pleased.
Sometimes (for his chamber was next to mine) his step on the stairs
awoke me; and sometimes I heard him pace his room with perturbed
strides, or fancied that I caught a low groan. He became every day more
care-worn in appearance, and every day the hair seemed more gray. Yet
he talked to us all easily and cheerfully; and I thought that I was the
only one in the house who perceived the gnawing pangs over which the
stout old Spartan drew the decorous cloak.
Pity, blended with admiration, made me curious to learn how these absent
days, that brought night so disturbed, were consumed. I felt that, if I
could master the Captain's secret, I might win the right both to comfort
and to aid.
I resolved at length, after many conscientious scruples, to endeavor to
satisfy a curiosity excused by its motives.
Accordingly, one morning, after watching him from the house, I stole in
his track, and followed him at a distance.
And this was the outline of his day: he set off at first with a firm
stride, despite his lameness, his gaunt figure erect, the soldierly
chest well thrown out from the threadbare but speckless coat. First he
took his way towards the purlieus of Leicester Square; several times, to
and fro, did he pace the isthmus that leads from Piccadilly into that
reservoir of foreigners, and the lanes and courts that start thence
towards St. Martin's. After an hour or two so passed, the step became
more slow; and often the sleek, napless hat was lifted up, and the brow
wiped. At length he bent his way towards the two great theatres, paused
before the play-bills, as if deliberating seriously on the chances of
entertainment they severally proffered, wandered slowly through the
small streets that surround those temples of the Muse, and finally
emerged into the Strand. There he rested himself for an hour at a small
cook-shop; and as I passed the window and glanced within, I could see
him seated before the simple dinner, which he scarcely touched, and
poring over the advertisement columns of the "Times." The "Times"
finished, and a few morsels distastefully swallowed, the Captain put
down his shilling in silence, receiving his pence in exchange, and I had
just time to slip aside as he reappeared at the threshold. He looked
round as he lingered,--but I took care he should not detect me,--and
then struck off towards the more fashionable quarters of the town. It
was now the afternoon, and, though not yet the season, the streets
swarmed with life. As he came into Waterloo Place, a slight but
muscular figure buttoned up across the breast like his own cantered by
on a handsome bay horse; every eye was on that figure. Uncle Roland
stopped short, and lifted his hand to his hat; the rider touched his own
with his forefinger, and cantered on; Uncle Roland turned round and
gazed.
"Who," I asked of a shop-boy just before me, also staring with all his
eyes, "who is that gentleman on horseback?"
"Why, the Duke to be sure," said the boy, contemptuously.
"The Duke?"
"Wellington, stu-pid!"
"Thank you," said I, meekly. Uncle Roland had moved on into Regent
Street, but with a brisker step: the sight of the old chief had done the
old soldier good. Here again he paced to and fro; till I, watching him
from the other side of the way, was ready to drop with fatigue, stout
walker though I was. But the Captain's day was not half done. He took
out his watch, put it to his ear, and then, replacing it, passed into
Bond Street, and thence into Hyde Park. There, evidently wearied out,
he leaned against the rails, near the bronze statue, in an attitude that
spoke despondency. I seated myself on the grass near the statue, and
gazed at him: the park was empty compared with the streets, but still
there were some equestrian idlers, and many foot-loungers. My uncle's
eye turned wistfully on each: once or twice, some gentleman of a
military aspect (which I had already learned to detect) stopped, looked
at him, approached, and spoke; but the Captain seemed as if ashamed of
such greetings. He answered shortly, and turned again.
The day waned,--evening came on; the Captain again looked at his watch,
shook his head, and made his way to a bench, where he sat perfectly
motionless, his hat over his brows, his arms folded, till up rose the
moon. I had tasted nothing since breakfast, I was famished; but I still
kept my post like an old Roman sentinel.
At length the Captain rose, and re-entered Piccadilly; but how different
his mien and bearing!---languid, stooping; his chest sunk, his head
inclined; his limbs dragging one after the other; his lameness painfully
perceptible. What a contrast in the broken invalid at night from the
stalwart veteran of the morning!
How I longed to spring forward to offer my arm! but I did not dare.
The Captain stopped near a cab-stand. He put his hand in his pocket, he
drew out his purse, he passed his fingers over the net-work; the purse
slipped again into the pocket, and as if with a heroic effort, my uncle
drew up his head and walked on sturdily.
"Where next?" thought I. "Surely home! No, he is pitiless!"
The Captain stopped not till he arrived at one of the small theatres in
the Strand; then he read the bill, and asked if half price was begun.
"Just begun," was the answer, and the Captain entered. I also took a
ticket and followed. Passing by the open doors of a refreshment-room, I
fortified myself with some biscuits and soda-water; and in another
minute, for the first time in my life, I beheld a play. But the play
did not fascinate me. It was the middle of some jocular after piece;
roars of laughter resounded round me. I could detect nothing to laugh
at, and sending my keen eyes into every corner, I perceived at last, in
the uppermost tier, one face as saturnine as my own.--Eureka! It was
the Captain's! "Why should he go to a play if he enjoys it so little?"
thought I; "better have spent a shilling on a cab, poor old fellow!"
But soon came smart-looking men, and still smarter-looking ladies,
around the solitary corner of the poor Captain. He grew fidgety--he
rose--he vanished. I left my place, and stood without the box to watch
for him. Downstairs he stumped,--I recoiled into the shade; and after
standing a moment or two, as in doubt, he entered boldly the
refreshment-room or saloon.
Now, since I had left that saloon it had become crowded, and I slipped
in unobserved. Strange was it, grotesque yet pathetic, to mark the old
soldier in the midst of that gay swarm. He towered above all like a
Homeric hero, a head taller than the tallest; and his appearance was so
remarkable that it invited the instant attention of the fair. I, in my
simplicity, thought it was the natural tenderness of that amiable and
penetrating sex, ever quick to detect trouble and anxious to relieve it,
which induced three ladies in silk attire--one having a hat and plume,
the other two with a profusion of ringlets--to leave a little knot of
gentlemen--with whom they were conversing, and to plant themselves
before my uncle. I advanced through the press to hear what passed.
"You are looking for some one, I'm sure," quoth one familiarly, tapping
his arm with her fan.
The Captain started. "Ma'am, you are not wrong," said he.
"Can I do as well?" said one of those compassionate angels, with
heavenly sweetness.
"You are very kind, I thank you; no, no, ma'am," said the Captain with
his best bow.
"Do take a glass of negus," said another, as her friend gave way to her.
"You seem tired, and so am I. Here, this way;" and she took hold of
his arm to lead him to the table. The Captain shook his head
mournfully; and then, as if suddenly aware of the nature of the
attentions so lavished on him, he looked down upon these fair Armidas
with a look of such mild reproach, such sweet compassion,--not shaking
off the hand, in his chivalrous devotion to the sex, which extended even
to all its outcasts,--that each bold eye felt abashed. The hand was
timidly and involuntarily withdrawn from the arm, and my uncle passed
his way.
He threaded the crowd, passed out at the farther door, and I, guessing
his intention, was in waiting for his steps in the street.
"Now home at last, thank Heaven!" thought I. Mistaken still! My uncle
went first towards that popular haunt which I have since discovered is
called "the Shades;" but he soon re-emerged, and finally he knocked at
the door of a private house in one of the streets out of St. James's.
It was opened jealously, and closed as he entered, leaving me without.
What could this house be? As I stood and watched, some other men
approached: again the low single knock, again the jealous opening and
the stealthy entrance.
A policeman passed and re-passed me. "Don't be tempted, young man,"
said he, looking hard at me: "take my advice, and go home."
"What is that house, then?" said I, with a sort of shudder at this
ominous warning.
"Oh! you know."
"Not I. I am new to London."
"It is a hell," said the policeman, satisfied, by my frank manner, that
I spoke the truth.
"God bless me,--a what? I could not have heard you rightly!"
"A hell,--a gambling-house!"
"Oh!" and I moved on. Could Captain Roland, the rigid, the thrifty, the
penurious, be a gambler? The light broke on me at once: the unhappy
father sought his son! I leaned against the post, and tried hard not to
sob.
By and by, I heard the door open; the Captain came out and took the way
homeward. I ran on before, and got in first, to the inexpressible
relief both of father and mother, who had not seen me since breakfast,
and who were in equal consternation at my absence. I submitted to be
scolded with a good grace. "I had been sight-seeing, and lost my way;"
begged for some supper, and slunk to bed; and five minutes afterwards
the Captain's jaded step came wearily up the stairs.
