Jackanapes

by Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing

  Produced by Juliet Sutherland and Sankar Viswanathan

  JACKANAPES

  By

  JULIANA HORATIO EWING

  Illustrated by

  Amy Sacker

  BOSTON

  L. C. PAGE and COMPANY

  (INCORPORATED)

  COPYRIGHT, 1895

  BY

  JOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY

  * * * * *

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I."Last noon beheld them full of life,Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay."

  CHAPTER II."And he wandered away and awayWith Nature, the dear old nurse."

  CHAPTER III."If studious, copie fair what time hath blurred,Redeem truth from his jawes."

  CHAPTER IV."Greater love hath no man than this, that a manlay down his life for his friends."

  CHAPTER V."Then, said he, 'I am going to my Father's.'"

  CHAPTER VI."Und so ist der blaue Himmel groesser als jedesGewoelk darin, und dauerhafter dazu."

  * * * * *

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  "BUT SHE REMEMBERED THE LITTLE MISS JESSAMINE" _Frontispiece_

  TITLEPAGE

  "NEXT DAY JANE HAD HEARD MORE"

  AT THE POND

  "JACKANAPES COULD HARDLY SLEEP FOR SPECULATING"

  "HE WAS DISPOSED TO TALK CONFIDENTIALLY"

  THE GENERAL'S GRANDSON

  THE BOY TRUMPETER

  TAILPIECE

  FINIS

  * * * * *

  "_If I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favors, I could lay on like a butcher, and sit like a Jackanapes, never off_!"

  KING HENRY V, Act 5, Scene 2.

  * * * * *

  JACKANAPES

  CHAPTER I.

  Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms--the day Battle's magnificently stern array! The thunder clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse:--friend, foe,--in one red burial blent.

  Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine: Yet one would I select from that proud throng. ---- to thee, to thousands, of whom each And one as all a ghastly gap did make In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake; The Archangel's trump, not glory's, must awake Those whom they thirst for.--BYRON.

  Two Donkeys and the Geese lived on the Green, and all other residentsof any social standing lived in houses round it. The houses had nonames. Everybody's address was, "The Green," but the Postman and thepeople of the place knew where each family lived. As to the rest ofthe world, what has one to do with the rest of the world, when he issafe at home on his own Goose Green? Moreover, if a stranger did comeon any lawful business, he might ask his way at the shop.

  Most of the inhabitants were long-lived, early deaths (like that ofthe little Miss Jessamine) being exceptional; and most of the oldpeople were proud of their age, especially the sexton, who would beninety-nine come Martinmas, and whose father remembered a man who hadcarried arrows, as a boy, for the battle of Flodden Field. The GreyGoose and the big Miss Jessamine were the only elderly persons whokept their ages secret. Indeed, Miss Jessamine never mentioned anyone's age, or recalled the exact year in which anything had happened.She said that she had been taught that it was bad manners to do so "ina mixed assembly."

  The Grey Goose also avoided dates, but this was partly because herbrain, though intelligent, was not mathematical, and computation wasbeyond her. She never got farther than "last Michaelmas," "theMichaelmas before that," and "the Michaelmas before the Michaelmasbefore that." After this her head, which was small, became confused,and she said, "Ga, ga!" and changed the subject.

  But she remembered the little Miss Jessamine, the Miss Jessamine withthe "conspicuous" hair. Her aunt, the big Miss Jessamine, said it washer only fault. The hair was clean, was abundant, was glossy, but dowhat you would with it, it never looked like other people's. And atchurch, after Saturday night's wash, it shone like the best brassfender after a Spring cleaning. In short, it was conspicuous, whichdoes not become a young woman--especially in church.

  Those were worrying times altogether, and the Green was used forstrange purposes. A political meeting was held on it with the villageCobbler in the chair, and a speaker who came by stage coach from thetown, where they had wrecked the bakers' shops, and discussed theprice of bread. He came a second time, by stage, but the people hadheard something about him in the meanwhile, and they did not keep himon the Green. They took him to the pond and tried to make him swim,which he could not do, and the whole affair was very disturbing to allquiet and peaceable fowls. After which another man came, and preachedsermons on the Green, and a great many people went to hear him; forthose were "trying times," and folk ran hither and thither forcomfort. And then what did they do but drill the ploughboys on theGreen, to get them ready to fight the French, and teach them thegoose-step! However, that came to an end at last, for Bony was sent toSt. Helena, and the ploughboys were sent back to the plough.

  Everybody lived in fear of Bony in those days, especially the naughtychildren, who were kept in order during the day by threats of, "Bonyshall have you," and who had nightmares about him in the dark. Theythought he was an Ogre in a cocked hat. The Grey Goose thought he wasa fox, and that all the men of England were going out in red coats tohunt him. It was no use to argue the point, for she had a very smallhead, and when one idea got into it there was no room for another.

  Besides, the Grey Goose never saw Bony, nor did the children, whichrather spoilt the terror of him, so that the Black Captain became moreeffective as a Bogy with hardened offenders. The Grey Goose remembered_his_ coming to the place perfectly. What he came for she did notpretend to know. It was all part and parcel of the war and bad times.He was called the Black Captain, partly because of himself, and partlybecause of his wonderful black mare. Strange stories were afloat ofhow far and how fast that mare could go, when her master's hand was onher mane and he whispered in her ear. Indeed, some people thought wemight reckon ourselves very lucky if we were not out of the frying-paninto the fire, and had not got a certain well-known Gentleman of theRoad to protect us against the French. But that, of course, made himnone the less useful to the Johnson's Nurse, when the little MissJohnsons were naughty.

  "You leave off crying this minnit, Miss Jane, or I'll give you rightaway to that horrid wicked officer. Jemima! just look out o' thewindy, if you please, and see if the Black Cap'n's a-com-ing with hishorse to carry away Miss Jane."

  And there, sure enough, the Black Captain strode by, with his swordclattering as if it did not know whose head to cut off first. But hedid not call for Miss Jane that time. He went on to the Green, wherehe came so suddenly upon the eldest Master Johnson, sitting in apuddle on purpose, in his new nankeen skeleton suit, that the younggentleman thought judgment had overtaken him at last, and abandonedhimself to the howlings of despair. His howls were redoubled when hewas clutched from behind and swung over the Black Captain's shoulder,but in five minutes his tears were stanched, and he was playing withthe officer's accoutrements. All of which the Grey Goose saw with herown eyes, and heard afterwards that that bad boy had been whining togo back to the Black Captain ever since, which showed ho
w hardened hewas, and that nobody but Bonaparte himself could be expected to do himany good.

  But those were "trying times." It was bad enough when the pickle of alarge and respectable family cried for the Black Captain; when it cameto the little Miss Jessamine crying for him, one felt that the soonerthe French landed and had done with it the better.

  The big Miss Jessamine's objection to him was that he was a soldier,and this prejudice was shared by all the Green. "A soldier," as thespeaker from the town had observed, "is a bloodthirsty, unsettled sortof a rascal; that the peaceable, home-loving, bread-winning citizencan never conscientiously look on as a brother, till he has beaten hissword into a ploughshare, and his spear into a pruning-hook."

  On the other hand there was some truth in what the Postman (an oldsoldier) said in reply; that the sword has to cut a way for us out ofmany a scrape into which our bread-winners get us when they drivetheir ploughshares into fallows that don't belong to them. Indeed,whilst our most peaceful citizens were prosperous chiefly by means ofcotton, of sugar, and of the rise and fall of the money-market (not tospeak of such salable matters as opium, firearms, and "black ivory"),disturbances were apt to arise in India, Africa and other outlandishparts, where the fathers of our domestic race were making fortunes fortheir families. And, for that matter, even on the Green, we did notwish the military to leave us in the lurch, so long as there was anyfear that the French were coming.[1]

  [Footnote 1: "The political men declare war, and generally forcommercial interests; but when the nation is thus embroiled with itsneighbors the soldier ... draws the sword, at the command of hiscountry.... One word as to thy comparison of military and commercialpersons. What manner of men be they who have supplied the Caffres withthe firearms and ammunition to maintain their savage and deplorablewars? Assuredly they are not military.... Cease then, if thou would'stbe counted among the just, to vilify soldiers."--W. NAPIER, Lieut.General, _November_, 1851.]

  To let the Black Captain have little Miss Jessamine, however, wasanother matter. Her Aunt would not hear of it; and then, to crown all,it appeared that the Captain's father did not think the young ladygood enough for his son. Never was any affair more clearly brought toa conclusion.

  But those were "trying times;" and one moon-light night, when the GreyGoose was sound asleep upon one leg, the Green was rudely shaken underher by the thud of a horse's feet. "Ga, ga!" said she, putting downthe other leg, and running away.

  By the time she returned to her place not a thing was to be seen orheard. The horse had passed like a shot. But next day, there washurrying and skurrying and cackling at a very early hour, all aboutthe white house with the black beams, where Miss Jessamine lived. Andwhen the sun was so low, and the shadows so long on the grass that theGrey Goose felt ready to run away at the sight of her own neck, littleMiss Jane Johnson, and her "particular friend" Clarinda, sat under thebig oak-tree on the Green, and Jane pinched Clarinda's little fingertill she found that she could keep a secret, and then she told her inconfidence that she had heard from Nurse and Jemima that MissJessamine's niece had been a very naughty girl, and that that horridwicked officer had come for her on his black horse, and carried herright away.

  "Will she never come back?" asked Clarinda.

  "Oh, no!" said Jane decidedly. "Bony never brings people back."

  "Not never no more?" sobbed Clarinda, for she was weak-minded, andcould not bear to think that Bony never, never let naughty people gohome again.

  Next day Jane had heard more.

  "He has taken her to a Green?"

  "A Goose Green?" asked Clarinda.

  "No. A Gretna Green. Don't ask so many questions, child," said Jane;who, having no more to tell, gave herself airs.

  Jane was wrong on one point. Miss Jessamine's niece did come back, andshe and her husband were forgiven. The Grey Goose remembered it well,it was Michaelmastide, the Michaelmas before the Michaelmas before theMichaelmas--but ga, ga! What does the date matter? It was autumn,harvest-time, and everybody was so busy prophesying and praying aboutthe crops, that the young couple wandered through the lanes, and gotblackberries for Miss Jessamine's celebrated crab and blackberry jam,and made guys of themselves with bryony-wreaths, and not a soultroubled his head about them, except the children, and the Postman.The children dogged the Black Captain's footsteps (his bubblereputation as an Ogre having burst), clamoring for a ride on the blackmare. And the Postman would go somewhat out of his postal way to catchthe Captain's dark eye, and show that he had not forgotten how tosalute an officer.

  But they were "trying times." One afternoon the black mare wasstepping gently up and down the grass, with her head at her master'sshoulder, and as many children crowded on to her silky back as if shehad been an elephant in a menagerie; and the next afternoon shecarried him away, sword and _sabre-tache_ clattering war-music at herside, and the old Postman waiting for them, rigid with salutation, atthe four cross roads.

  War and bad times! It was a hard winter, and the big Miss Jessamineand the little Miss Jessamine (but she was Mrs. Black-Captain now),lived very economically that they might help their poorer neighbors.They neither entertained nor went into company, but the young ladyalways went up the village as far as the _George and Dragon_, for airand exercise, when the London Mail[2] came in.

  [Footnote 2: The Mail Coach it was that distributed over the face ofthe land, like the opening of apocalyptic vials, the heart-shakingnews of Trafalgar, of Salamanca, of Vittoria, of Waterloo.... Thegrandest chapter of our experience, within the whole Mail Coachservice, was on those occasions when we went down from London with thenews of Victory. Five years of life it was worth paying down for theprivilege of an outside place.

  DE QUINCEY.]

  One day (it was a day in the following June) it came in earlier thanusual, and the young lady was not there to meet it.

  But a crowd soon gathered round the _George and Dragon_, gaping to seethe Mail Coach dressed with flowers and oak-leaves, and the guardwearing a laurel wreath over and above his royal livery. The ribbonsthat decked the horses were stained and flecked with the warmth andfoam of the pace at which they had come, for they had pressed on withthe news of Victory.

  Miss Jessamine was sitting with her niece under the oak-tree on theGreen, when the Postman put a newspaper silently into her hand. Herniece turned quickly--"Is there news?"

  "Don't agitate yourself, my dear," said her aunt. "I will read italoud, and then we can enjoy it together; a far more comfortablemethod, my love, than when you go up the village, and come home out ofbreath, having snatched half the news as you run."

  "I am all attention, dear aunt," said the little lady, clasping herhands tightly on her lap.

  Then Miss Jessamine read aloud--she was proud of her reading--and theold soldier stood at attention behind her, with such a blending ofpride and pity on his face as it was strange to see:--

  "DOWNING STREET,

  "_June_ 22, 1815, 1 A.M."

  "That's one in the morning," gasped the Postman; "beg your pardon,mum."

  But though he apologized, he could not refrain from echoing here andthere a weighty word. "Glorious victory,"--"Two hundred pieces ofartillery,"--"Immense quantity of ammunition,"--and so forth.

  "The loss of the British Army upon this occasion has unfortunately been most severe. It had not been possible to make out a return of the killed and wounded when Major Percy left headquarters. The names of the officers killed and wounded, as far as they can be collected, are annexed.

  "I have the honor ----"

  "The list, aunt! Read the list!"

  "My love--my darling--let us go in and--"

  "No. Now! now!"

  To one thing the supremely afflicted are entitled in their sorrow--tobe obeyed--and yet it is the last kindness that people commonly willdo them. But Miss Jessamine did. Steadying her voice, as best shemight, she read on, and the old soldier stood bareheaded to hear thatfirst Roll of the Dead at Waterloo, which began with the Duke ofBrunswick, and ended with
Ensign Brown.[3] Five-and-thirty BritishCaptains fell asleep that day on the bed of Honor, and the BlackCaptain slept among them.

  [Footnote 3: "Brunswick's fated chieftain" fell at Quatre Bras, theday before Waterloo, but this first (very imperfect) list, as itappeared in the newspapers of the day, did begin with his name, andend with that of an Ensign Brown.]

  * * * * *

  There are killed and wounded by war, of whom no returns reach DowningStreet.

  Three days later, the Captain's wife had joined him, and MissJessamine was kneeling by the cradle of their orphan son, a purple-redmorsel of humanity, with conspicuously golden hair.

  "Will he live, Doctor?"

  "Live? GOD bless my soul, ma'am! Look at him! The young Jackanapes!"