the wheel-boat, or steam-boat, as they ca’d it, to Lunnon: where they charged me sax-pence for taking my baggage on shore—a wee boxy nae bigger than yon cocked-up hat. I would fain carry it mysel’, but they wudna let me.”
“How much of your ten-shillings have you left?” inquired the first lieutenant, smiling.
“Hoot; sir lieutenant, how came you for to ken that? Eh; it’s my uncle Monteith at Glasgow. Why, as I sit here, I’ve but three shillings and a penny of it left. But there’s a smell here that’s no canny; so I’ll just go up again into the fresh air.”
When Mr McFoy quitted the gun-room they all laughed very much. After he had been a short time on deck he went down into the midshipman’s berth: but he made himself very unpleasant, quarrelling and wrangling with everybody. It did not, however, last very long: for he would not obey any orders that were given him. On the third day, he quitted the ship without asking the permission of the first lieutenant; when he returned on board the following day, the first lieutenant put him under an arrest, and in charge of the sentry at the cabin door. During the afternoon I was under the half-deck, and perceived that he was sharpening a long clasp-knife upon the after-truck of the gun. I went up to him and asked him why he was doing so, and he replied, as his eyes flashed fire, that it was to avenge the insult offered to the bluid of McFoy. His look told me that he was in earnest.
I was very much alarmed, and thought it my duty to state his murderous intentions, or worse might happen; so I walked up on deck and told the first lieutenant what McFoy was intending to do. Mr Falcon laughed, and shortly afterwards went down on the main-deck. McFoy’s eyes glistened, and he walked forward to where the first lieutenant was standing: but the sentry, who had been cautioned by me, kept him back with his bayonet. The first lieutenant turned round, and perceiving what was going on, desired the sentry to see if Mr McFoy had a knife in his hands; and he had it sure enough, open and held behind his back. He was disarmed, and the first lieutenant, perceiving that the lad meant mischief, reported his conduct to the captain, on his arrival on board. The captain sent for McFoy, who was very obstinate, and when taxed with his intentions would not deny it, or even say that he would not again attempt it; so he was sent on shore immediately, and returned to his friends in the Highlands. We never saw any more of him; but I heard that he obtained a commission in the army, and three months after he had joined his regiment was killed in a duel, resenting some fancied affront offered to the bluid of McFoy.
Chapter Nine
We post up to Portsdown Fair—Consequence of disturbing a lady at supper—Spontaneous combustion at Ranelagh Gardens—Pastry versus piety—Many are bid to the feast; but not the halt, the lame, or the blind
A few days after McFoy quitted the ship, we all had leave from the first lieutenant to go to Portsdown fair, but he would only allow the oldsters to sleep on shore. We anticipated so much pleasure from our excursion that some of us were up early enough to go away in the boat sent for fresh beef. We had our breakfast, and went up George Street, where we found all sorts of vehicles ready to take us to the fair. We got into one which they called a dilly. I asked the man who drove it why it was so called, and he replied, because he only charged a shilling.
O’Brien, who had joined us after breakfasting on board, said, that this answer reminded him of one given to him by a man who attended the hackney-coach stands in London.
“Pray,” said he, “why are you called Waterman?”
“Waterman,” replied the man, “vy, sir, ’cause we opens the hackney-coach doors.”
At last, with plenty of whipping, and plenty of swearing, and a great deal of laughing, the old horse, whose back curved upwards like a bow, from the difficulty of dragging so many, arrived at the bottom of Portsdown Hill, where we got out, and walked up to the fair. There was Richardson, with a clown and harlequin, and such beautiful women, dressed in clothes all over gold spangles, dancing reels and waltzes, and looking so happy! There was Flint and Gyngell, with fellows tumbling over head and heels, playing such tricks—eating fire, and drawing yards of tape out of their mouths. Then there was the Royal Circus, all the horses standing in a line, with men and women standing on their backs, waving flags, while the trumpeters blew their trumpets. We walked about for an hour or two seeing the outside of everything: we determined to go and see the inside. First we went into Richardson’s, where we saw a bloody tragedy, with a ghost and thunder, and afterwards a pantomime, full of tricks, and tumbling over one another. Then we saw one or two other things, I forget what, but this I know, that, generally speaking, the outside was better than the inside. After this, feeling very hungry, we agreed to go into a booth and have something to eat. The tables were ranged all round, and in the centre there was a boarded platform for dancing. The ladies were there all ready dressed for partners: and the music was so lively, that I felt very much inclined to dance, but we had agreed to go and see the wild beasts fed at Mr Polito’s menagerie, and as it was now almost eight o’clock, we paid our bill and set off. It was a very curious sight, and better worth seeing than anything in the fair; I never had an idea that there were so many strange animals in existence. There was the tapir, a great pig with a long nose, a variety of the hippopotamus, which the keeper said was an amphibilious animal, as couldn’t live on land, and dies in the water—however, it seemed to live very well in a cage. Then there was the kangaroo with its young ones peeping out of it—a most astonishing animal. The keeper said that it brought forth two young ones at a birth, and then took them into its stomach again, until they arrived at years of discretion. Then there was the pelican of the wilderness, with a large bag under his throat, which the man put on his head as a night-cap, this bird feeds its young with its own blood—when fish are scarce. There were a young elephant and three lions, and several other animals which I forget now, so I shall go on to describe the tragical scene which occurred. The keeper had poked up all the animals, and had commenced feeding them. The great lion was growling and snarling over the shin-bone of an ox, cracking it like a nut, when, by some mismanagement, one end of the pole upon which the chandelier was suspended fell down, striking the door of the cage in which the lioness was at supper, and bursting it open. It was all done in a second; the chandelier fell, the cage opened, and the lioness sprang out. I remember to this moment seeing the body of the lioness in the air, and then all was dark as pitch. What a change! not a moment before all of us staring with delight and curiosity, and then to be left in darkness, horror, and dismay! There was such screaming and shrieking, such crying and fighting, and pushing, and fainting—nobody knew where to go, or how to find their way out. The people crowded first on one side, and then on the other, as their fears instigated them. I was very soon jammed up with my back against the bars of one of the cages, and feeling some beast lay hold of me behind, made a desperate effort, and succeeded in climbing up to the cage above, not, however, without losing the seat of my trowsers, which the laughing hyaena would not let go. I hardly knew where I was when I climbed up. I was surmising what danger I should next encounter, when to my joy I discovered that I had gained the open door from which the lioness had escaped. I crawled in, and pulled the door to after me, thinking myself very fortunate: and there I sat very quietly in a corner during the remainder of the noise and confusion. I had been there but a few minutes, when the beef-eaters, as they were called, who played the music outside, came in with torches and loaded muskets. No one was seriously hurt. As for the lioness, she was not to be found and as soon as it was ascertained that she had escaped, there was as much terror and scampering away outside, as there had been in the menagerie. It appeared afterwards, that the animal had been as much frightened as we had been, and had secreted herself under one of the waggons. It was some time before she could be found. At last O’Brien, who was a very brave fellow, went a-head of the beef-eaters, and saw her eyes glaring. They borrowed a net or two from the carts which had brought calves to the fair, and threw them over her. When she was fairly entangled, they dragged her by the tail into the menagerie. All this while I had remained very quietly in the den, but when I perceived that its lawful owner had come back to retake possession, I thought it was time to come out; so I called to my messmates, who, with O’Brien, were assisting the beef-eaters. They had not discovered me, and laughed very
