ticker. Gold tops and bottles, indeed! dammy, I'm sorry
I didn't take more now. Edwards pressed on me a silver-
gilt boot-jack, and I might have had a dressing-case fitted
up with a silver warming-pan, and a service of plate. But
we must make the best of what we've got, Becky, you
know."
And so, making his last dispositions, Captain Crawley,
who had seldom thought about anything but himself, until
the last few months of his life, when Love had obtained
the mastery over the dragoon, went through the various
items of his little catalogue of effects, striving to see how
they might be turned into money for his wife's benefit, in
case any accident should befall him. He pleased himself
by noting down with a pencil, in his big schoolboy
handwriting, the various items of his portable property which
might be sold for his widow's advantage as, for example,
"My double-barril by Manton, say 40 guineas; my driving
cloak, lined with sable fur, 50 pounds; my duelling pistols in
rosewood case (same which I shot Captain Marker),
20 pounds; my regulation saddle-holsters and housings; my
Laurie ditto," and so forth, over all of which articles he
made Rebecca the mistress.
Faithful to his plan of economy, the Captain dressed
himself in his oldest and shabbiest uniform and epaulets,
leaving the newest behind, under his wife's (or it might
be his widow's) guardianship. And this famous dandy of
Windsor and Hyde Park went off on his campaign with a
kit as modest as that of a sergeant, and with something
like a prayer on his lips for the woman he was leaving.
He took her up from the ground, and held her in his
arms for a minute, tight pressed against his strong-beating
heart. His face was purple and his eyes dim, as he put her
down and left her. He rode by his General's side, and
smoked his cigar in silence as they hastened after the
troops of the General's brigade, which preceded them;
and it was not until they were some miles on their way
that he left off twirling his moustache and broke silence.
And Rebecca, as we have said, wisely determined not to
give way to unavailing sentimentality on her husband's
departure. She waved him an adieu from the window, and
stood there for a moment looking out after he was gone.
The cathedral towers and the full gables of the quaint old
houses were just beginning to blush in the sunrise. There
had been no rest for her that night. She was still in her
pretty ball-dress, her fair hair hanging somewhat out of
curl on her neck, and the circles round her eyes dark with
watching. "What a fright I seem," she said, examining
herself in the glass, "and how pale this pink makes one
look!" So she divested herself of this pink raiment; in
doing which a note fell out from her corsage, which she
picked up with a smile, and locked into her dressing-box.
And then she put her bouquet of the ball into a glass of
water, and went to bed, and slept very comfortably.
The town was quite quiet when she woke up at ten
o'clock, and partook of coffee, very requisite and
comforting after the exhaustion and grief of the morning's
occurrences.
This meal over, she resumed honest Rawdon's calculations
of the night previous, and surveyed her position.
Should the worst befall, all things considered, she was
pretty well to do. There were her own trinkets and trousseau,
in addition to those which her husband had left behind.
Rawdon's generosity, when they were first married,
has already been described and lauded. Besides these,
and the little mare, the General, her slave and worshipper,
had made her many very handsome presents, in the shape
of cashmere shawls bought at the auction of a bankrupt
French general's lady, and numerous tributes from the
jewellers' shops, all of which betokened her admirer's
taste and wealth. As for "tickers," as poor Rawdon called
watches, her apartments were alive with their clicking.
For, happening to mention one night that hers, which
Rawdon had given to her, was of English workmanship,
and went ill, on the very next morning there came to her
a little bijou marked Leroy, with a chain and cover
charmingly set with turquoises, and another signed Brequet,
which was covered with pearls, and yet scarcely bigger
than a half-crown. General Tufto had bought one, and
Captain Osborne had gallantly presented the other. Mrs.
Osborne had no watch, though, to do George justice, she
might have had one for the asking, and the Honourable
Mrs. Tufto in England had an old instrument of her
mother's that might have served for the plate-warming
pan which Rawdon talked about. If Messrs. Howell and
James were to publish a list of the purchasers of all the
trinkets which they sell, how surprised would some
families be: and if all these ornaments went to gentlemen's
lawful wives and daughters, what a profusion of jewellery
there would be exhibited in the genteelest homes of
Vanity Fair!
Every calculation made of these valuables Mrs. Rebecca
found, not without a pungent feeling of triumph and self-
satisfaction, that should circumstances occur, she might
reckon on six or seven hundred pounds at the very least,
to begin the world with; and she passed the morning
disposing, ordering, looking out, and locking up her
properties in the most agreeable manner. Among the notes
in Rawdon's pocket-book was a draft for twenty pounds
on Osborne's banker. This made her think about Mrs.
Osborne. "I will go and get the draft cashed," she said,
"and pay a visit afterwards to poor little Emmy." If this
is a novel without a hero, at least let us lay claim to a
heroine. No man in the British army which has marched
away, not the great Duke himself, could be more cool or
collected in the presence of doubts and difficulties, than
the indomitable little aide-de-camp's wife.
And there was another of our acquaintances who was
also to be left behind, a non-combatant, and whose emotions
and behaviour we have therefore a right to know.
This was our friend the ex-collector of Boggley Wollah,
whose rest was broken, like other people's, by the sounding
of the bugles in the early morning. Being a great
sleeper, and fond of his bed, it is possible he would have
snoozed on until his usual hour of rising in the forenoon,
in spite of all the drums, bugles, and bagpipes in the
British army, but for an interruption, which did not come
from George Osborne, who shared Jos's quarters with
him, and was as usual occupied too much with his own
affairs or with grief at parting with his wife, to think of
taking leave of his slumbering brother-in-law--it was not
George, we say, who interposed between Jos Sedley and
sleep, but Captain Dobbin, who came and roused him up,
insisting on shaking hands with him before his departure.
"Very kind of you," said Jos, yawning, and wishing
the Captain at the deuce.
"I--I didn't like to go off without saying good-bye, you
know," Dobbin said in a very incoherent manner; "because
you know some of us mayn't come back again, and
I like to see you all well, and--and that sort of thing, you
know."
"What do you mean?" Jos asked, rubbing his eyes. The
Captain did not in the least hear him or look at the stout
gentleman in the nightcap, about whom he professed to
have such a tender interest. The hypocrite was looking
and listening with all his might in the direction of George's
apartments, striding about the room, upsetting the chairs,
beating the tattoo, biting his nails, and showing other
signs of great inward emotion.
Jos had always had rather a mean opinion of the
Captain, and now began to think his courage was somewhat
equivocal. "What is it I can do for you, Dobbin?" he said,
in a sarcastic tone.
"I tell you what you can do," the Captain replied, coming
up to the bed; "we march in a quarter of an hour,
Sedley, and neither George nor I may ever come back.
Mind you, you are not to stir from this town until you
ascertain how things go. You are to stay here and watch
over your sister, and comfort her, and see that no harm
comes to her. If anything happens to George, remember
she has no one but you in the world to look to. If it goes
wrong with the army, you'll see her safe back to England;
and you will promise me on your word that you will
never desert her. I know you won't: as far as money goes,
you were always free enough with that. Do you want any?
I mean, have you enough gold to take you back to
England in case of a misfortune?"
"Sir," said Jos, majestically, "when I want money, I
know where to ask for it. And as for my sister, you
needn't tell me how I ought to behave to her."
"You speak like a man of spirit, Jos," the other answered
good-naturedly, "and I am glad that George can
leave her in such good hands. So I may give him your
word of honour, may I, that in case of extremity you
will stand by her?"
"Of course, of course," answered Mr. Jos, whose
generosity in money matters Dobbin estimated quite
correctly.
"And you'll see her safe out of Brussels in the event of
a defeat?"
"A defeat! D-- it, sir, it's impossible. Don't try and
frighten ME," the hero cried from his bed; and Dobbin's
mind was thus perfectly set at ease now that Jos had
spoken out so resolutely respecting his conduct to his
sister. "At least," thought the Captain, "there will be a
retreat secured for her in case the worst should ensue."
If Captain Dobbin expected to get any personal comfort
and satisfaction from having one more view of Amelia
before the regiment marched away, his selfishness was
punished just as such odious egotism deserved to be. The
door of Jos's bedroom opened into the sitting-room which
was common to the family party, and opposite this door
was that of Amelia's chamber. The bugles had wakened
everybody: there was no use in concealment now. George's
servant was packing in this room: Osborne coming in
and out of the contiguous bedroom, flinging to the man
such articles as he thought fit to carry on the campaign.
And presently Dobbin had the opportunity which his
heart coveted, and he got sight of Amelia's face once
more. But what a face it was! So white, so wild and
despair-stricken, that the remembrance of it haunted him
afterwards like a crime, and the sight smote him with
inexpressible pangs of longing and pity.
She was wrapped in a white morning dress, her hair
falling on her shoulders, and her large eyes fixed and
without light. By way of helping on the preparations for
the departure, and showing that she too could be useful
at a moment so critical, this poor soul had taken up a
sash of George's from the drawers whereon it lay, and
followed him to and fro with the sash in her hand, looking
on mutely as his packing proceeded. She came out and
stood, leaning at the wall, holding this sash against her
bosom, from which the heavy net of crimson dropped
like a large stain of blood. Our gentle-hearted Captain
felt a guilty shock as he looked at her. "Good God,"
thought he, "and is it grief like this I dared to pry into?"
And there was no help: no means to soothe and comfort
this helpless, speechless misery. He stood for a moment
and looked at her, powerless and torn with pity, as a
parent regards an infant in pain.
At last, George took Emmy's hand, and led her back
into the bedroom, from whence he came out alone. The
parting had taken place in that moment, and he was gone.
"Thank Heaven that is over," George thought, bounding
down the stair, his sword under his arm, as he ran
swiftly to the alarm ground, where the regiment was
mustered, and whither trooped men and officers hurrying
from their billets; his pulse was throbbing and his cheeks
flushed: the great game of war was going to be played,
and he one of the players. What a fierce excitement of
doubt, hope, and pleasure! What tremendous hazards of
loss or gain! What were all the games of chance he had
ever played compared to this one? Into all contests
requiring athletic skill and courage, the young man, from
his boyhood upwards, had flung himself with all his might.
The champion of his school and his regiment, the bravos
of his companions had followed him everywhere; from
the boys' cricket-match to the garrison-races, he had won
a hundred of triumphs; and wherever he went women
and men had admired and envied him. What qualities
are there for which a man gets so speedy a return of
applause, as those of bodily superiority, activity, and
valour? Time out of mind strength and courage have been
the theme of bards and romances; and from the story of
Troy down to to-day, poetry has always chosen a soldier
for a hero. I wonder is it because men are cowards in
heart that they admire bravery so much, and place
military valour so far beyond every other quality for
reward and worship?
So, at the sound of that stirring call to battle, George
jumped away from the gentle arms in which he had been
dallying; not without a feeling of shame (although his
wife's hold on him had been but feeble), that he should
have been detained there so long. The same feeling of
eagerness and excitement was amongst all those friends
of his of whom we have had occasional glimpses, from
the stout senior Major, who led the regiment into action,
to little Stubble, the Ensign, who was to bear its colours
on that day.
The sun was just rising as the march began--it was
a gallant sight--the band led the column, playing the
regimental march--then came the Major in command,
riding upon Pyramus, his stout charger--then marched
