“To the left — face — quick march, to the left — turn — to the right — turn — close files — mark time — right — left — right — left — forward.”

  “Them ere chaps legs all going together put one in mind of a centipee — don’t they, Tom?”

  “Yes, but they don’t get on quite so fast. Holloh, what pipe’s that?— ‘All hands, air bedding.’”

  The ship was hauled close to the wind, which was light. At the pipe, the sailors below ran up the hatchway, and those on deck threw down their work. In a minute every hammock was out of the netting, and every seaman busy at unlashing.

  “Now, major, we had better go into the cabin,” said Captain Oughton, laughing. “I shall, I can assure you.”

  Beds and blankets which are not aired or shook more than once a month, are apt to be very full of what is termed fluff and blanket hairs, and they have a close smell, by no means agreeable. The sailors, who had an idea that the order had been given inconsiderately, were quite delighted, and commenced shaking their blankets on the forecastle and weather gangway, raising a cloud, which the wind carried aft upon the parties exercising upon the quarterdeck.

  “What the devil is all this?” cried Captain Majoribanks, looking forward with dismay. “Order — arms.”

  Lieutenant Winterbottom and half of his party were now seized with a fit of coughing. “Confound it! — shut — pans — handle — upon my soul I’m choked.”

  “This is most excessively disagreeable,” observed Mr Petres; “I made up my mind to be tarred when I came on board, but I had no idea that we should be feathered.”

  “Support — damn it, there’s no supporting this!” cried Captain Majoribanks. “Where’s Major Clavering? I’ll ask to dismiss the men.”

  “They are dismissing a great many little men, forward, I suspect,” said the first-mate, laughing. “I cannot imagine what induced Captain Oughton to give the order: we never shake bedding except when the ship’s before the wind.”

  This last very consoling remark made it worse than all; the officers were in an agony. There was not one of them who would not have stood the chance of a volley from a French regiment rather than what they considered that they were exposed to. But without Major Clavering’s permission they could not dismiss their men. Captain Majoribanks hastened to the cabin, to explain their very un-pleasant situation, and received the major’s permission to defer the exercise.

  “Well, gentlemen,” said Captain Oughton, “what is the matter?”

  “The matter!” replied Ansell. “Why, my flesh creeps all over me. Of all the thoughtless acts, Captain Oughton, it really beats—”

  “Cock-fighting,” interrupted the captain, with a loud laugh. “Now we are quits.”

  The officers hastened below to wash and change their dress after this very annoying retaliation on the part of Captain Oughton. When they felt themselves again clean and comfortable, their good-humour returned, although they voted their captain not to be very refined in his ideas, and agreed with him that his practical joke beat “cock-fighting.”

  I believe there are no classes of people who embark with more regret, or quit a ship with more pleasure, than military men. Nor is it to be wondered at, if we consider the antithesis which is presented to their usual mode of life. Few military men are studious, or inclined to reading, which is almost the only resource which is to be found against the tedium of long confinement and daily monotony. I do not say this reproachfully, as I consider it arises from the peculiarity of their profession, and must be considered to be more their misfortune than their fault. They enter upon a military life just after they have left school, the very period at which, from previous and forced application, they have been surfeited with books usque ad nauseam. The parade, dress, the attention paid to them, which demands civilities in return; society, and the preference shown by the fair sex; their happy and well-conducted mess; the collecting together of so many young men, with all their varied plans of amusement, into which the others are easily persuaded to enter, with just sufficient duty on guard, or otherwise, not to make the duty irksome; all delight too much at first, and, eventually from habit, too much occupy their minds, to afford time for study.

  In making this observation, I must be considered to speak generally. There are many studious, many well-stored minds, many men of brilliant talents, who have improved the gift of nature by constant study and reflection, and whose conduct must be considered as the more meritorious, from having resisted or overcome the strong temptation to do otherwise, which is offered by their profession.

  “I wish,” said Irving, who was stretched out his full length on one of the coops abaft, with the front of his cap drawn over his eyes— “I wish this cursed voyage was at an end. Every day the same thing; no variety — no amusement — curry for breakfast — brandy pawnee as a finish. I really begin to detest the sight of a cigar or a pack of cards.”

  “Very true,” replied Ansell, who was stretched upon an adjacent coop in all the listlessness of idleness personified— “very true, Irving; I begin to think it worse than being quartered in a country town inhabited by nobodies, where one has nothing to do but to loll and spit over the bridge all day, till the bugle sounds for dinner.”

  “Oh! that was infinitely better; at least, you could walk away when you were tired, or exchange a word or two with a girl as she passed over it, on her way to market.”

  “Why don’t you take a book, Irving?” observed the major, laying down the one with which he had been occupied to join the conversation.

  “A book, major? Oh, I’ve read until I am tired.”

  “What have you read since you embarked?” inquired his senior.

  “Let me see — Ansell, what have I read?”

  “Read! — nothing at all — you know that.”

  “Well, perhaps so; we have no mess-newspapers here: the fact is, major, I am not very partial to reading — I am not in the habit of it. When on shore I have too much to do; but I mean to read by-and-bye.”

  “And pray, when may that by-and-bye be supposed to arrive?”

  “Oh! some day when I’m wounded or taken prisoner, and cannot do any thing else; then I shall read a good deal. Here’s Captain Oughton — Captain Oughton, do you read much?”

  “Yes, Mr Irving, I read a great deal.”

  “Pray, may I take the liberty to ask you what you read?”

  “What I read! Why, I read Horsburgh’s Directory: — and I read — I read all the fights.”

  “I think,” observed Ansell, “that if a man gets through the newspaper and the novels of the day, he does a great deal.”

  “He reads a great deal, I grant you,” replied the major; “but of what value is that description of reading?”

  “There, major,” replied Ansell, “we are at issue. I consider a knowledge of the passing events of the day, and a recollection of the facts which have occurred during the last twenty years, to be more valuable than all the ancient records in existence. Who talks of Caesar or Xenophon now-a-days, except some Cambridge or Oxford prig? and of what value is that knowledge in society? The escape of a modern pickpocket will afford more matter of conversation than the famous retreat of the ten thousand.”

  “To be sure,” replied Captain Oughton; “and a fair stand-up fight between Humphreys and Mendoza create more interest than the famous battles of — , I’m sure I forget.”

  “Of Marathon and Thermopylae; they will do,” added Ansell.

  “I grant,” replied the major, “that it is not only un-necessary, but conceited in those who would show their reading; but this does not disprove the advantages which are obtained. The mind well fed becomes enlarged: and if I may use a simile, in the same way as your horse proves his good condition by his appearance, without ascertaining the precise quantity of oats which has been given him; so the mind shows by its general vigour and power of demonstration, that it has been well supplied with ‘hard food.’”

  “Very hard food indeed,” replied Captain Oughton; “nuts that I never could crack when I was at school, and don’t mean to break my teeth with now. I agree with Mr Ansell, ‘that sufficient for the day is the knowledge thereof.’”

  “Well as the tree of knowledge was the tree of evil, perhaps that is the correct reading,” replied Ansell, laughing; “Captain Oughton, you are a very sensible man; I hope we shall see you often at our mess, when we’re again on shore.”

  “You may say so now,” replied Captain Oughton, bluntly, “and so have many more said the same thing to me; but you soldiers have cursed short memories in that way after you have landed.”

  “I trust, Captain Oughton,” replied Major Clavering, “that you will not have to make that accusation general.”

  “Oh! never mind, major, I never am affronted; the offer is made in kindness, and at the time sincere; but when people get on shore, and are so occupied with their own amusements, it is not to be wondered if they are thoughtless and forget. At one time, it did annoy me, I confess; for when I say I should be happy to see a man, I mean it; and if I did not mean it, I never would ask him. I thought that other people did the same; but I have lived long enough to discover that a ‘general invitation,’ means, ‘don’t come at all.’”

  “Then I most certainly shall not say one word on the subject at present,” replied the major. “How many bells was that?”

  “Six; dinner will be on the table in a few minutes.”

  “Then, gentlemen, we had better go down and prepare. Why, Mr Irving, you have not shaved this morning.”

  “No, major, I mean to do it after dinner.”

  “I should rather think that you intended to say before,” replied Major Clavering.

  This gentlemanlike hint was taken by the young ensign, who was aware that Major Clavering, although invariably polite even in reproof, was not a commanding officer to be trifled with; and Mr Irving made his appearance at the dinner table with his “chin new reaped,” and smooth as if appertaining to one of the fairer sex.

  Chapter Nine.

  Come o’er the sea,

  Maiden, with me,

  Mine through sunshine, storm and snows;

  Seasons may roll,

  But the true soul

  Burns the same where’er it goes.

  Let fate frown on, so we love and part not,

  ’Tis life where thou art, ’tis death where thou’rt not.

  Moore.

  The voyage was at last accomplished without adventure or interest, the Windsor Castle not having fallen in with more than two or three vessels during her passage. Happy were the military officers to hear the order given for the anchor to be let go upon their arrival in Madras Roads; more happy were they to find themselves again on shore; and most happy were Captain Oughton and his officers to witness the debarkation of the troops, who had so long crowded their decks and impeded their motions. Parting was indeed sweet sorrow, as it always will be when there is short allowance of room and still shorter allowance of water.

  Newton Forster was in a state of anxiety during the quarter of an hour in which he was obliged to attend to his duty, furling the sails and squaring the yards; and the time appeared most insupportably long, until he could venture aft to make some inquiries from the dubashes, who were crowding alongside, as to the fate of Isabel Revel. Time and absence had but matured his passion, and it was seldom that Isabel was away from his thoughts. He had a faint idea formed by hope that she was partial to him; but this was almost smothered by the fears which opposed it, when he reflected upon what might be produced by absence, importunity, and her independent spirit, which might, if not well treated by her relation, reconcile her to a marriage, which, although not in every way eligible, secured her a prospect of contentment and of peace.

  At last the yards were squared to the satisfaction of the boatswain, the ropes were hauled taut, and coiled down, and the men sent below to their dinners. Newton walked aft, and the first person he met was the dubash who had attended the Bombay Castle. The cheeks of Newton flushed, and his heart throbbed quick, and his lips quivered, as he asked intelligence of the colonel and his family.

  “Colonel Saib quite well, sir. Two ladies marry officer.”

  “Which two?” demanded Newton, eagerly.

  “Not know how call Bibi Saib’s names. But one not marry — she very handsome — more handsome than all.”

  The heart of Newton bounded at this intelligence, as he knew that it must be Isabel who was still a spinster. This was shortly after corroborated by an English gentleman who came on board. Their stay at Madras was intended to be short, and Newton resolved to ask immediate leave on shore. Apologising to Captain Oughton for making such an unusual request, which he was induced to do from intelligence he had just received relative to his friends, he expressed his anxious wish. Captain Oughton, who had reason to be highly satisfied with Newton, gave his consent in the kindest manner; “and, Forster, if you wish to remain, you have my permission. We will manage without you: only recollect, we sail on Thursday night.” Newton was soon ready, and quitted the ship with Major Clavering; to whose credit it ought here to be observed, that a daily note was despatched to Captain Oughton, requesting the pleasure of his company at the mess, until he was satisfied that, in this instance, the general invitation was sincere.

  As soon as he was clear of the surf, and out of the masulah boat, Newton hired a conveyance, and drove out to the bungalo of the old colonel. He trembled as he announced his name to the butler, who ushered him half way to the receiving room; and, like most of the natives, finding some difficulty in pronouncing English, contented himself with calling out “burrah saib,” and then walked off. Newton found himself in the presence of the old veteran and Isabel. The latter had been reading a new publication, which she laid down at the voice of the butler announcing a visitor. But “burrah saib” may be any body; it implies a gentleman. What then was the surprise of Isabel, who had no intimation of his arrival, when Newton Forster made his appearance? Her exclamation of delight, as she ran to him and extended her hand, made Newton Forster but too happy; and, as for a few seconds he held the hand not withdrawn, and looked in her beaming eyes, he quite forgot the presence of the colonel. A glance from the eye of Isabel in the direction where the old gentleman was seated, brought Newton to his recollection. He walked up to the colonel, who shook hands, and declared that he was most glad to see him.

  “You take up your quarters here, of course, Mr Forster?”

  “I shall have great pleasure in availing myself of your kind offer for a day or two,” replied Newton. “I trust that you have been in good health since we parted.”

  “Not very; that is, latterly. I am thinking of a change of climate. I intend to go home in October. I suppose you have been informed that the two young women have married?”

  “I was told so by some one who came on board.”

  “Yes. Isabel, my dear, order a chamber for Mr Forster.” Isabel left the room. “Yes, both married — thought of nothing else — regularly came out on spec. In less than a month they knew the exact rank of every gentleman in the presidency; ascertained their prospects, and the value of their appointments; turned the rupees into pounds sterling; broke off a conversation with an ensign at the sight of a lieutenant; cut the lieutenant for a captain; were all smiles for a major; and actually made love themselves to any body who was above that rank, and a bachelor. They made their decision at last; indeed pretty quick. They were only four months on my hands. Both up the country now.”

  “I trust they have married well, sir?”

  “That depends upon circumstances. They have married young men not used to the climate. May be widows in half a year. If their husbands weather it, of course they will come in for their share of the good things; but I’ll warrant they will never be able to leave the country.”

  “Not leave the country, sir! May I ask why?”

  “Because they have married foolish, extravagant wives, who will run them in debt; and when once in debt, it is no easy matter in this country to get out of it. They must insure their lives for the money which they borrow; and as the house of agency will be gainers by their demise, of course they will not be permitted to leave the country and their chance of the cholera morbus. Don’t you think that my niece looks remarkably well?”

  “I do; the climate does not appear to have affected her.”

  “Rather improved her,” replied the colonel; “she is not so thin as when she came on shore. God bless her! I’m sure, Mr Forster, I am under great obligations to you for having persuaded me to go for the dear girl when she arrived. She has been a treasure to me! If she has had one, she has had twenty offers since you left; many unexceptionable; but she has refused them all. In some instances I have persuaded her — I thought it was my duty. But no; she has but one answer, and that is a decided one. She will not leave me. She has watched and attended me in my sickness as my own daughter. I say again, God bless her!”

  It was with delight that Newton heard these encomiums upon Isabel, and, her resolution not to marry. Whether it was wholly on account of not wishing to leave the colonel or not, still every delay gave him more chance of ultimate success. Isabel, who had stayed away that the colonel might have time to make any communications to Newton, now returned, and the conversation became general. Newton entered into a narrative of what had occurred during his passage home, and amused them with his anecdotes and conversation.

  In about an hour the colonel rose from his chair that he might prepare for dinner; and then it was that Newton perceived the great change which had taken place. He was no longer upright but bowed down; his step was no longer firm, it was almost tottering; and, as he left the room, Newton’s eyes met those of Isabel.

  “You think him ill?” said Isabel, inquiringly.

  “Yes, I do, Miss Revel. He is very much changed; his stamina appears to have been exhausted by the climate. I trust he will go home, as he proposes.”

  “He has been ill — very ill indeed. He talks constantly of going home; he has done so for months; but when the time comes he puts it off. I wish you would persuade him.”