[-89-] CHAPTER III
THE LUMBER TROOP.
Origin of the Troop—Distinguished members—Coat of Arms—Troop Hall—Admission of distinguished members—Remarks on the Charge delivered on the admission of Troopers of distinction—System of punishments adopted by the Troop—Scenes which sometimes occur on the proposed exaction of fines—An instance given—Visit of the City Members to Troop Hall—Their speeches on the occasion—The uproarious scenes which sometimes occur—Specimen of one— Miscellaneous Observations.
THE
period at which this body was first formed, cannot now be ascertained. Ask a
member of the “Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop ,“ the time when it was
first instituted, and his answer will be—” Its origin is lost in the mist of
ages.” This, at any rate, is the answer I have always got from the Troopers
when I have questioned them as to the origin of the Troop. Some intelligent
persons are of opinion that it was originally instituted to commemorate the
destruction of the Spanish Armada, in Queen Elizabeth’s time. I do not see
any probability in this hypothesis; for so far as I am acquainted with the
annals of the Lumber Troop, I can discover no connexion which it could ever have
had with that event. Others are of opinion that it was founded in the reign of
Queen Anne. This theory also appears to me to be untenable; for some of the
writers in the commencement of that reign, allude to it as a body of some
standing.. Besides there is a portrait of some noted Trooper of a former period,
in the Hall, which, from the style of painting, coupled with the costume of
the Trooper, could not have been taken posterior to the time of the second
Charles.
But
though the precise time of the institution of the “Ancient and Honourable
Lumber Troop” is thus involved in uncertainty, there seems to be a pretty
general concurrence of opinion as to the circumstances tinder which it
originated. The general impression among the members themselves is, that it
originated in the circumstance of a few boon and frolicsome acquaintances being
in the habit of meeting together to spend their evenings in the - same
public-house, and that one of the number having, in joke, proposed that they
should call themselves a Troop, for the purpose of burlesquing the then
trained-band of London, immor-[-90-]talized by Cowper in his John Gilpin,—they agreed
to the proposal; and that afterwards, by way of ridiculing themselves, or
rather of having their joke at each other’s expense, they called themselves
the “Lumber” Troop; meaning that, instead of being available soldiers, they
were no better than so much mere lumber. If this hypothesis be correct, we can
have no difficulty in coming to the conclusion that the very imposing adjectives
of “Ancient and Honourable” were prefixed in the same spirit of burlesque.
From
first to last, there have been many members of distinction in the Lumber
Troop. Such persons, however, have joined it, in most cases, from a pure love of
fun. Prince George of Denmark, the consort of Queen Anne, was a Lumber Trooper;
and so was Hogarth, the prince of humorous painters. In fact, Hogarth joined the
Troop with the view of forwarding his professional business. Some of his best
subjects were selected from Troop Hall. John Harrison, of Bell-yard, Temple-bar,
an eccentric personage, who kept a tobacco-shop, and went to all the meetings
of the Troop with his pockets stuffed with tobacco, which he sold in retail to
the Troopers, is supposed to be the character whom Hogarth represents in his
“Modern Midnight Conversation” as leaning over the parson when challenged
to drink to a particular toast. The allusion will be better understood by the
following lines : —
“Warm’d
and wound up to proper height,
He vows
to still maintain the fight;
The
brave surviving priest assails,
And
fairly —s the first that fails;
Fills up
a bumper to the best
In
Christendom, for that’s the taste:
The
parson simpers at the feast,
And puts
it forward to the rest.”
One
thing is clear, from this morsel of poetry,—if the latter word be not a
misnomer,—namely, that the Troopers of a century since were equally renowned
with some of their descendants of the present day for their love of jollity.
Hogarth, in return for the professional advantage which he derived from the
Troop, through the oddities of some of its members, made it a present of a
design by himself for a coat of arms. As most people will be curious to see what
so great a genius designed for so droll a body of persons as the Ancient and
Honourable Lumber Troop, I here give a correct engraving of it, only premising
that a similar engraving is given on the ticket of every member on his
admission.
[-91-] There is
a common impression among the members of the Troop, that Prince Blucher, the
celebrated general, was a Trooper. Past-Colonel Birch assures me that such was
not the fact; but adds, that the mistake is a very natural one, as one of his
most intimate friends, who was almost always in his company when in this
country, joined the Troop, and received from it, on the occasion, the very
appropriate present of a brace of pistols. The late Alderman Waithman evinced a
lively solicitude in the fortunes of the Troop: so did Sir John Key, for a time.
The latter gentleman, indeed, when lord mayor, gave a considerable number of
the Troopers, and their wives, a grand ball and supper at the Mansion-house. Sir
John Hobhouse was also a Trooper, when member for Westminster: but all these
gentlemen had political objects to serve by joining the Troop, the members
being, almost to a man, of liberal opinions in politics. I shall afterwards have
occasion to refer to the fact of the present members for the city of London
being Lumber Troopers for the same reason.
Troop
Hall, the “head-quarters” of the Troop, is in Bolt-court, Fleet-street, in
the very house where Dr. Johnson so long lived, and where many of his greatest
works were written. This place is called the Doctor Johnson Tavern, and is kept
by Mr. Beck, the Suttler of the Troop. Troop Hall is open to the public on the
payment of twopence by each individual who enters. As he presents himself at
the door, he is asked whether he be a Trooper or visitor, and on answering that
he is the latter, his name is inserted in a hook as such. If he do not wish to
give [-92-] his right name, he can assume one for the occasion. When he takes his seat
in the Hall, he is politely waited on by one of Mr. Beck’s servants, who
coaxingly looks in his face, and says “What will you take, Sir?” The visitor
may order a pint of ale, or some brandy-and-water, or anything else in the
subterranean regions of the suttler; only if it be heavy-wet, the favourite
beverage, according to the Tory journals, of Dr. Wade, he will not be allowed to
drink it out of “the pewter,” that being contrary to a formal resolution
of the Troop; but out of a glass. The Troopers also order what they please,
provided they pay for it: but until about thirty years ago, the immemorial
practice was to pay sevenpence on their entrance; they being allowed to drink,
without any further charge, as much porter as they pleased, and to call for as
much tobacco, technically termed “Troop-sand,” as they could consume at the
sitting. This regulation was found to answer extremely well for the suttler,
for a time; but some blacksmiths, whose throats were full of smoke, thought that
to join the Troop was an excellent way of giving them, at a cheap rate, a
thorough “clearing out,” as they themselves used to say; but the suttler
made the discovery that the quantity of “Entire,” requisite for the
purifying operation, cost himself at least twice the sum of sevenpence. Hence
the change to the charge of twopence on entering, and paying for whatever should
be ordered.
Troop
Hall is a spacious room, beautifully fitted up with a variety of military
trappings. On the walls are hung a number of well-executed portraits of
distinguished Troopers, while on the table or bench, where the Colonel presides,
there are two mortars; and projecting from the wall, at the Colonel’s back,
are twenty-one guns, and a sword seven or eight feet long.
The
Lumber Troopers have certain great occasions, on which new members of importance
or celebrity are admitted into the fraternity, amidst much show of pomp and
circumstance. It is impossible to describe the interest which the Troopers
generally manifest on such occasions. There is a peculiar animation in their
eyes, and their countenances glow with an unusual brightness. Not more
important is the coronation of a sovereign to other people, than is the
admission of a member, amidst “the proper forms,” to the Troopers. They
magnify it into an importance of which the uninitiated can form no conception.
The ceremony has nothing very complicated about it. After being declared duly
elected, the affair begins. The first thing to be done, is to present the
newly-made Trooper to the Colonel, whose self-importance on such occasions is so
great, that it is matter of wonder that there is not a realization of the fate
of the frog [-93-] in the fable, which would not rest satisfied with the proportions
which nature bad assigned it, but must needs distend its little body in the hope
of forcing itself out to the dimensions of the ox. Every one knows what was the
result. Every Colonel of the Lumber Troop is, in like manner, so
self-consequential on the great occasions to which I refer, and struts about
with an air of such importance, that it is really surprising no explosive
accident occurs to him. When the new-made Trooper is presented in due form to
the Colonel, which is always done by the Serjeant, the robe-master standing by
his right hand, thus addresses him: “Sir, allow me to invest you with the star
and ribbon worn by William the Fourth’s grandfather, when Prince of Wales.”
The robe-master always assumes a very dignified aspect when performing his part
of the ceremony. He moves as stiffly as if he were a piece of wood, instead of a
human being, only that when he comes to extend his hand to bestow the ribbon and
star on the newly—created Trooper, he does contrive to make a bow, and thereby
shows that there are joints in his body. The robe-master then decks out the
person of the newly-enlisted Trooper with the insignia of the corps, by
attaching
the ribbon to his left shoulder, and affixing the star to his left breast. This
done, you see the countenances of all the Troopers beaming with ineffable joy at
the circumstance of receiving a new comrade; and that joy is so great that, but
for their rising to their feet, and giving vent to it in - roars of applause
which would almost drown the thunder of their own artillery, there is no saying
what might be the consequences. Some of them, indeed, might die from the very
excess of their joy and happiness. Of the feelings of the party himself, when he
sees the ribbon floating from his shoulder, and beholds the star decorating
his breast, I will say nothing: no description could do them justice. Grattan,
the Irish orator, in one of those beautiful figures of speech of which he was
so distinguished a master, speaks of a man walking. forth in all the majesty of
freedom. I wish Grattan had seen a newly-made Lumber Trooper strutting about in
all the majesty of a “comrade.” I am convinced, if he had, he would have
blushed at the thought of having used the metaphorical expression to which I
have referred, as applied to one’s emancipation from slavery. He would have
seen how vastly superior—at least, in the party’s own estimation—was the
majesty of the Trooper to that of the freeman.
The next
part of the initiatory ceremony is for the Colonel to fill his cup with ale, and
drink to the new-made comrade. The Colonel having quaffed the contents, which
most of the colonels
are
remarkably expert at doing, he is to transfer the empty cup [-94-] to the robe-master,
who takes it, and, filling it to the brim, hands it to the new-made comrade,
saying, “Take this in your right hand, and repeat after me—‘To the
Colonel, the rest of the officers and comrades, and prosperity to the Ancient
and Honourable Lumber Troop:’ drink this toast: it is the only thing we have
to require of you.” The new Trooper repeats the words audibly, swills the ale,
and is then pronounced a comrade. He is next addressed by the Colonel in the
following lines, which are called “The Charge:”
Let the
Freemasons boast of what they please,
Or
Gormagons (of origin Chinese),
the
Troopers are as ancient as these.
To this
illustrious Troop you have now a right:
We are
merry, drink, and sing, but seldom fight.
We had
rather meet within this house to dine,
Than
beat a march t’other side the Rhine.
But
should our country’s foes our rights invade,
And our
great noble king * [-Of course the phrase “great noble queen” ought now to be
substituted-] require our aid,
No Troop
more ready then to take the field,
The
first to battle, and the last to yield.
To show
that we are free from war’s alarms,
Bacchus
and Ceres both support our arms:
A bowl
of punch does in the centre flow;
The moon
and stars above, lantern below.
For
crest there stands a butt of Domine,
Perch’d
on the top of which an owl you see;
Apparently,
this emblem well implies,
That
Troopers, though they’re merry, still are wise.
Our
motto (__) means, if you construct it right,
in nocte
iactamur.
The
merry Troopers revel in the night.
Now for
your profits;
You’ve
twenty pounds a-year as private man;
To get
which sum, you must do the best you can;
Lend to
the Troop a buck oft as you please,
Breeches
made of its skin shall be your fees.
If, on a
march, you’re pennyless and dry,
And
———,* (*A blank is left here to be filled up with the name of the suttler
for the time being. Mr Beck, of the “Doctor Johnson” being the present
suttler, the reader can write his name in the blank) our suttler’s house, is nigh,
[-95-] Boldly
advance, and claim a Trooper’s due—
Some
bread and cheese, a pint of ale (not two).
Don’t
impose on us—pray have a care;
For if
your pockets are search’d, and money there,
‘Tis
not only paying for your bread and cheese,
But
expulsion you’ve to fear, should the Colonel please.
If you
at midnight chimes, when Troopers roam,
With
strength renew’d should seek your happy home,
And
being too much prim’d,—unlucky wight I—
Should
chance to offend the guardians of the night,
And are
by constables, who’ll hear no reason,
Under
strong guard sent to the nearest prison;
Next
morn, before the justice takes his chair,
Send for
the Colonel or the Treasurer:
You’ll
quickly be discharged, if they appear.
But if
they come not to afford you aid,
And your
discharge thereby should be delay’d,
Why then
submit to law, and pay your fees,
And the
Troop will contribute
The
following song used to be always sung by the assembled company immediately after
the delivery of the Charge; but it has been omitted on some late occasions:
SONG.
We are
full ten thousand brave boys,
Content
with a competent wealth;
And we
make an agreeable noise
When we
drink to our Colonel’s good health.
We scorn
to accept any pay,
Each man
keeps himself and his steed:
We
frequently moisten our clay,
And
fight for the King* (*read the Queen now) when there’s need.
Our
Troop is of excellent blood, Each man has a generous soul;
I’m
sure it will do your heart good
To go
and join the jolly Troop bowl.
There is
another verse, but it is not altogether fit for the public eye, and therefore I
omit it.
The
newly-made Trooper then descends from the elevated place which had been the
theatre of all his glory, into the midst of his comrades, by whom he is received
with an enthusiasm equal to any thing of the kind with which the most dis-[-96-]tinguished conquering hero of ancient Greece or Rome, was ever received by
his grateful and admiring countrymen.
The task
of commentator is one which I do not often take upon myself, but here the
temptation is too great to be resisted. By whom the above piece of poetry, if so
it must be called, was written, is as great a mystery as is the authorship of
Junius. My researches on the subject have only conducted me to two certain
conclusions; which conclusions are. that it was written in Pope’s time, but
not by Pope himself. There is internal evidence of the clearest kind, that the
versifier who
The
first line which deserves notice is the fourth:
“We
are merry, drink, and sing, but seldom fight.”
This is
partly true and partly not. The first clause is perfectly correct in point of
fact: the latter clause is to be received with certain qualifications. A
“merrier” race than the Lumber Troopers are not to be found. They are the
most hearty and jolly assemblage of beings with whom I have had the fortune to
meet. The merriment of some of the comrades occasionally verges on “Merry
Andrewism” itself. If any one wishes to see a specimen. of Lumber Troop
merriment, let him visit the “headquarters” on any of the evenings on
which there is a particular muster of the Troop. There his eyes and ears will
afford him ample proof of the attainments of the Troopers, both in the art of
drinking and singing. See how constantly and actively the waiters of the suttler
are engaged in meeting the demands of the comrades, officers and all, for ale,
stout, gin, brandy, and so forth; and see how suddenly the new supplies vanish.
“Bring me another go, William,” is a command enjoined on the poor fellow
before he has had time to give the change for the one he. has just brought. And
while one set of Troopers are thus displaying such dexterity at absorbing
anything and everything in the shape of liquids which comes before them, another
set are putting their vocal capabilities to the test. Some are singing, others
are roaring: between the two classes of performers, there is no lack of sound.
But the
Troopers, it seems, if the statements of the “Charge” may be credited,
“Seldom fight.”
It is
quite true that they are as innocent, as the most peaceably disposed people in
Christendom could desire, of ever fighting [-97-] with deadly weapons, or with any of
their country’s enemies nevertheless they do have their occasional skirmishes
among themselves. Their weapons in such cases, are usually their tongues; but
these last are sometimes followed by their fists. Pugilistic encounters,
however, are, it is but justice to the Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop, to
say, of very rare occurrence. They are not only, taken as a body, the most
pacifically disposed set of soldiers, in reference to other people, I have ever
seen, but they usually breathe a most peaceable spirit as regards each other. It
is not to be denied, that a little martially inclined personage, who is
remarkable for the quantity of Edinburgh ale he drinks, without at all
exhibiting the slightest symptoms of a tendency to inebriety, but who having, on
a late occasion, so far forgot himself as to intermingle four “goes” of
brandy-and-water with half-a-dozen glasses of his favourite beverage; it is, I
say, quite true, that he, on a recent occasion, sallied out to the streets, and
meeting with no fellow-mortal who would accept of his challenge to fight,
“pitched in,” to use his own elegant phraseology, to a lamp-post. It is
unnecessary to say that in this conflict he came off second best. He not only
knocked his hands, but his head, against his metallic antagonist, of which
conclusive proofs were afforded by his person for several weeks afterwards.
There are various other instances in which the heroes of the Lumber Troop have,
on leaving head-quarters, quarrelled with policemen, and after a regular fight
been safely transferred to the watch-house, which a Trooper always calls the
Black Hole. And there is one recent instance of a Trooper going home, and, in
the ardour of his military zeal, giving his wife a -sound beating, under the
idea that she was one of some imaginary “enemies” that were running in his
mind. But these are only exceptions to the rule; and they occur so seldom, that
it is hardly fair to allude to them. As a body of martial men, the Troopers are
the most harmless and peaceable personages in Christendom. Their artillery has
not only never destroyed the life of a single human being, but it has never
discharged
a single ball.
Let me
not be understood as at all reflecting on the bravery of the Troopers, when
adverting to the fact that they have never been engaged in any great martial
enterprise. They don’t undertake to peril their lives in war, except their
country were unhappily invaded by some foreign foe. In such a case, if their
own word may be taken, they would distinguish themselves in the battle-field by
deeds of surpassing prowess. Hear what they say
“ But
should our country’s foes our rights invade,
And our
great noble King (Queen) require our aid,
[-98-] No Troop
more ready then to take the field;
The
first to battle, and the last to yield.”
Brave
boys! Captain Bobadil himself was not a bit more valorous at his own fireside,
than are the Ancient and Honour-able Lumber Troop in Troop Hall. They would put
to the blush the forty-second regiment of Scottish Highlanders, who won for
themselves so brilliant and enduring a reputation on the field of Waterloo. Even
the valour of the heroes of Thermopylae would shrink from a comparison with the
martial exploits of the Troopers, did circumstances call the latter to the field
of battle.
Passing
over various points in the “Charge” which invite comment, I come to the
line— “If you at midnight chimes, when Troopers roam,” &c.
This
roaming at midnight is one of the worst things connected with the Troop. It is
the grand objection which many wives have to their husbands enlisting under its
banners. Why don’t the more domestic class of the Troopers endeavour to
procure a law for the expulsion from the body of those who, on quitting Troop
Hall, do not go direct home?
The
natural consequence of “roaming at midnight chimes” is clearly predicted:
“And
are by constables, who’ll hear no reason,
Under
strong guard sent to the nearest prison,” &c.
The
number of “unlucky wights” belonging to the Troop, “too much prim’d,”
as the “Charge” has it, who are nightly sent to prison, is greater than is
usually supposed, owing to the circumstance that, from regard to the character
of the corps, they seldom represent themselves as members of the Ancient and
Honourable Lumber Troop. The phrase “constables who’ll hear no reason,” is
exceedingly just and happy. Policemen are the most unreasonable class of men who
are to be met with, when they chance to encounter an “unlucky wight” of a
Trooper, “too much prim’d,” roaming about “ at midnight chimes.”
A word
or two now on the “Song.” The first line announces an important fact:
“We
are full ten thousand brave boys.
The
number of Troopers necessarily varies: at present the number is estimated at
from 8000 to 9000. They are scattered abroad, not only through the British
empire, but over all the world. There is not a part of the civilized globe where
Lumber Troopers are not to be met with; and when two comrades do [-99-] happen to meet
in some distant part of the earth, the friendship they evince for each other,
and their mutual joy at the meeting, baffle all description. But though the
number of Lumber Troopers be what I have mentioned, they seldom muster above
1000 strong at a time. The great gatherings with them are at the annual meetings
for the election of the Colonel and officers.
“And
we make an agreeable noise’
When we
drink our Colonel’s good health.”
That the
Troopers do make a
“Our
Troop is of excellent blood”
This
remains to be proved; and until it has been so, there will be a difference of
opinion on the subject. Why do riot the Troopers achieve some glorious exploits,
to set the question as to the quality of their blood, at rest?
“Each
man has a generous soul.”
Far be
it from me to deny this; only it were as well that the Troopers gave some proof
of the thing by performing some glorious
“I’m
sure it will, do your heart good
To go
and join the jolly Troop-bowl.”
This is
all true. The Troopers, as before mentioned, are the most “jolly” set of
mortals in Europe: only see them over their “Troop-bowl,” and then doubt it
who can. But I will not expatiate on this topic further; abundant proofs of the
jolly disposition, and jolly conduct of the Troopers, will be found in this
chapter.
The
system of punishments which obtains in Lumber Troop Hall, is as lenient as the
most strenuous advocates for a gentle code of penalties, could desire. The
soldier who is found asleep at his post in her Majesty’s army, subjects
himself to the penalty [-100-] of death: in the Lumber Troop, the punishment to the
officer who takes a nap is one shilling; and for the same offence, when
committed by a private, sixpence. The soldier who gets drunk in her Majesty’s
service, when on duty, incurs the penalty of as many lashes as the surgeon of
the regiment conceives may be inflicted without actually flogging the soul out
of the body: an officer in the Lumber Troop who gets drunk, escapes on payment
of a shilling; and a private, on paying the penalty of sixpence. There are
various other still more lenient punishments for minor offences; but it is
unnecessary to refer to them.
The
proposed or actual exaction of the fines often leads to amusing scenes in Troop
Hall. Some time ago, on a rather important occasion, the gallant Colonel
himself * (not the present Colonel)
either had so forgotten himself as to have degenerated into a temporary doze, or
was supposed to have committed that outrage on the dignity of his office.
“I’m blow’d if that ‘ere comrade there,” pointing to the Colonel,
“bean’t a-sleepin’ !“ shouted a Mr. Jambo, a green-grocer of homely
manners, and of a still more homely personal appearance, who had been made a
Trooper the week before, and who having the rule against sleeping on duty fresh
on his mind, deemed it proper, in the plenitude of his zeal as a new recruit, to
give intimation of the circumstance.
“Do
you hear that, Colonel?” said another officer who was sitting next to him,
giving him a gentle shake by the arm, his head being at the time drooping in his
breast.
“What
is it ?“ said the gallant gentleman, in a gruff and drowsy voice, not deigning
to raise his head to its usual position.
“Why,
you’re charged with being asleep.”
“Who
charges me with it ?“ inquired the Colonel, in a smart and determined tone,
and looking up with neck erect, as if strongly resenting the dishonourable
imputation.
“Why,
comrade—What’s the Trooper’s name who preferred the charge?” As the
officer, whose name I did not learn, spoke, he looked in the direction of the
Trooper making the charge with great eagerness, not doubting that as he had
forgotten
his name, he would come boldly forward at once, and avow himself.
“My
name is Jambo,” said the valiant green-grocer, with much energy.
“Oh,
aye; comrade Jambo,” observed the officer, nodding to the vender of
vegetables.
“Comrade
Jambo!” echoed a hundred voices at once.
“You
said, did you not, comrade Jambo, that the Colonel was asleep?” inquired the
officer in question, encouragingly.
[-101-] “I
did, and I
“I say
it’s a —“ Here the Colonel was about to say something in a loud and
energetic tone; but having checked, himself, as if conscious he had been on the
eve of uttering some great verbal impropriety, he continued in a lower voice.
“I say it’s a downright untruth.”
“Order! order!” shouted a score
or two of very excellent voices.
“I
say, with comrade Jambo,” remarked a little pot-bellied proprietor of a
neighbouring public-house; “I say, with him, that the Colonel vas asleep.”
“And so do I,” said another Trooper.
“And me too,” added a third.
“And a lot on us saw him,” cried a fourth. Who the latter Trooper
represented, it was not so easy to ascertain; unless, indeed, they were the
proprietors of eighteen or twenty voices which severally exclaimed “I saw him
a-sleepin’.”
“Brother
officers and comrades,” said the, gallant Colonel, rising up, and addressing
the Troopers with as important and dignified an air as if he had been some
general of celebrity addressing his soldiers on the eve of some great battle.
“Brother
officers and comrades, I deny the charge; there is no truth in it. I was not
asleep. Comrade Potter, did you see me asleep?”
“No, I
didn’t,” answered the latter, with an edifying promptitude as
he rose up in the body of the room.
“I
thought so,” observed the ‘gallant Colonel, in a tone of self-gratulation.
“Comrade Dunderhead, did you see
me a—sleepin’?”
“Certainly
not, Colonel,” answered a very bustling consequential-looking personage,
with a face as red and glowing as a full moon, at the farthest end of the room,
the appeal having been made to him.
“Or
did you see it, comrade Short?”
“See
what?” answered a little man, with infinite good-nature in his physiognomy,
who was just entering Troop Hall.
“See
me asleep?” repeated the Colonel.
“I
object to the question being put to him,” interposed comrade Cotton, with
great warmth. “He can’t know nothin’ about it - for he was not in the Hall
at the time.”
‘Raally,
gintlemen,” said an unadulterated Irishman, mounting one of the chairs,
while his face displayed the most intense anxiety mingled with benevolence;
“raally, gintlemen, that person,” pointing to the Colonel, “ought not to
be condemned without the clearest proof. Remember. gintlemen, that if he be
[-102-] found guilty of shaping at his post, he’ll be shot dead for it. And,
gintlemen, it’s —“
While
poor simple Pat was thus interposing, from pure humanity in favour of the
gallant Colonel, he was interrupted by comrade Joss inquiring whether he was a
Trooper.
“I
don’t know what you mane, Sir.’
“Do
you belong to the Ancient and Honourabbe Lumber Troop?”
“Is
it, am I a soldier, your honour manes?”
The
Troopers looked each other in the face.
“Have
you joined this body ?“ inquired another, thinking the question might be more
level to the capacity of the Irishman when put in that form.
“Och!
sure and it’s myself did join, when I came into this same place a few minits
ago. And it’s myself could not bear to think of that gintbemin being shot for
slapin’, if he didn’t slape at all at all.”
It was
now clear to all that poor Pat was no Trooper; but that having been recently
imported from the Emerald Isle, he had gone into Troop Hall simply because he
saw the door open, and others entering; and that confounding the Troopers, from
the strictness of the military phraseology he heard spoken in the Hall, with a
regular military force, and knowing that to sleep on duty was death to the
soldier,—he became alarmed for the fate of the gallant Colonel.
“Fellow
officers, and comrades all,” said the Colonel, in a stentorian voice, and
giving a smart knock on the table to command attention; “fellow officers,
and comrades all, I pledge my honour, as the Colonel of the Ancient and
Honourable Lumber Troop, that I was not asleep.”
Loud
cheers from the gallant Colonel’s special friends followed the emphatic
declaration.
“I say
you was,” shouted comrade Jambo, in an equally loud and energetic voice.
“And
so do I,” said comrade Coffins.
“And I
too,” observed comrade Wink.
“And I
also,” bawled out some dozen comrades all at once. “I rise to order,” said
comrade Slow, assuming a perpendicular position, and looking immensely
dignified and indignant. “Really, if such a scene as this is to be any longer
exhibited, it will cover the Troop with deep and indelible disgrace. Possibly
there is a little mistake on both sides.” (Cries of “No mistake,” from
both parties, with tremendous uproar.) “Really, comrades,” continued comrade
Slow, “if this sort of work is to go on much longer, there is no saying—”
“I beg
pardon for interrupting you, comrade Slow,” inter-[-103-]posed some other comrade,
whose name I could not learn, addressing himself to the Trooper who was
playing the orator; “I beg pardon for interrupting you; but possibly the
suggestion I have to throw out may set this matter to rest. It—”
Here the
speaker was himself interrupted by some of the other comrades singing out,
“Out with the suggestion at once, then.” (Cries of “ Order! order! “)
The
other resumed, on order being restored. “If comrade — what do you call
him?—I do not know the gentleman’s name, — would only be kind enough to
hold his tongue till I finish my sentence, he would then be at liberty to speak
as much and as long as he pleases. What I was going to say, officers and
comrades, was, that possibly the Colonel had only been dozing.”
“I
deny the fact,” said the Colonel, indignantly.
“What
is the difference between dozing and sleeping?” inquired comrade Smallshins
in an under tone, addressing himself to comrade Trench, who sat opposite to him.
“Bless’d,
if I knows,” answered Trench, who was a journeyman blacksmith.
“I knows
the differens,” observed a diminutive, thin-faced, unshaved Trooper, on the
left hand of comrade Smallshins.
“Then,
what is it?” inquired comrade Trench.
“O, I
knows,’ replied the other, with a significant shake of the head, which was
promptly followed by a copious draught of the suttler’s best ale.
“And
why don’t you tell us?” inquired Smallshins, slightly offended at the
reserve of the little thin-faced personage.
“Vell,
then, the differens is this,” answered the latter, looking as wise as if be
had been a second Solomon; “ven a man sleeps, he is asleep; but vhen he’s a-dozin’, he is neither asleep nor
avake.”
“O,
that’s it, is it ?“ said Trench, with marked emphasis, as if he had clearly
comprehended the luminous distinction.
“That’s
it!” nodded the other, with quite an oracular aspect, withdrawing the pipe
from his. mouth for the double purpose of uttering the couple of words, and
ridding the interior of his speaking-box of an immense quantity of smoke which
had accumulated in it.
This
conversation between the two Troopers was carried on in an under tone, and was
confined to themselves. It consequently offered no interruption to the
discussion which was then proceeding among the Troopers, as a body, respecting
the alleged fact of the Colonel having resigned himself for a moment to the
embraces of. Morpheus.
[-104-] “Comrades!”
shouted comrade Slow, “our Colonel denies that he was even dozing. I—”
“ I
do!” interrupted the Colonel, with prodigious emphasis; “and I will rather
re—”
Here the
gallant gentleman was interrupted in his turn by comrade Slow, who protested
against being interrupted by the Colonel. “Comrades !“ continued Mr. Slow,
knocking his fist on the table with great warmth; “comrades, you all know it
is the duty of the Colonel to preserve order, and to procure a patient hearing
for any Trooper who chooses to address the Troop; but instead of this, he
himself –“
“I
deny it, Sir.” (Loud cries of “Order! order!”)
“Will
you allow me to make the charge, Sir, before you deny it?” (Tumultuous
applause.)
When the
cheers had subsided, comrade Slow resumed. “I was about to state, my brave
comrades,” laying great stress on the word “brave;” “I was about to
state, when interrupted by the Colonel,—by the Colonel, comrades,—that instead of keeping order, as from the nature of the
important office he fills he is bound to do, he is the first to set the example
of disorder.” (Loud cheers,
mingled with equally loud hisses, and deafening cries of “ Order! order !
Here the
Colonel rose, and looking a perfect tempest of indignation at the indignity
cast upon him, or, as he himself termed it, the outrage offered to the office he
filled, was about to address the Troop, when an officer of an inferior grade
interposed, by stepping in before him, and thus intercepting his view of the
Troopers. “Really,” said the interposing party, “if this unseemly squabble
be not put an end to, the Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop will be disgraced
in the eyes of the civilized world.” (Loud cries of” Hear, hear !)
“You’re
right,” exclaimed some unknown comrade in the body of the Hall; “and,
therefore, the best way to put an end to this unsoldierly squabble, will be to
take the sense of the Troop on the question.”
“On
what question ?“ inquired a short thick-set cheesemonger, rejoicing in the
appropriate appellation of comrade Stilton.
“Why,
the question of whether the Colonel was or was not asleep?” replied the other.
“Oh,
that’s it, is it?” observed Stilton, seemingly quite enlightened by the
reply.
“But I
cannot put the question myself” said the Colonel, in a subdued tone, doubtless
from a conviction that his acquittal from the serious charge would be carried by
a large majority.
“Oh,
I’ll put it,” said the officer before alluded to. “As many [-105-] of the Troop as
are of opinion that the Colonel was asleep, will please to signify the same by
holding up their hands.” Twenty six hands responded to the call.
“You
that are of opinion that the Colonel was awake, will hold up yours.” The
identical number of twenty-six, including the fist of the officer putting the
question, was again held up, amidst loud laughter, and cheers from those who
espoused the Morpheus side of the question.
“The
numbers, fellow officers and comrades,” said the officer, “are equal; but I
see a great many Troopers who have not voted at all.”
The
reason why many did not vote, was that they had not been paying any attention to
the Colonel before the charge was made, while a considerable number declared
that they could only conscientiously vote for the dozing view of the matter.
“Then I say now, as I said before,” observed the Colonel, thrusting up his
right hand in a perpendicular position, “that I was
“Carried,
by a majority of one, that the Colonel was
The
announcement was received with deafening plaudits by the friends of the gallant
gentleman, and with much dissatisfaction by the hostile patty.
I have
before stated, that among the distinguished members of the Troop may be
mentioned the four representatives of the city of London; namely, Mr. Alderman
Wood, Messrs. Grote, Crawford, and Pattison. These gentlemen, however, are not
Troopers on whom much dependence is to be placed. I am pretty confident I may
say, without any breach of charity, that the honour-able gentlemen whose names I
have just mentioned, only join the Troop for electioneering purposes, and that
they never bestow a thought either on it or its affairs from one general
election time to another. Of this I am certain, for I heard some of themselves
state the fact at the last general election, that they never attend any of its
meetings, except one or two immediately previous to the polling-day. When an
election is about to take place in the city of London, a special meeting of the
Troop is invariably called, to receive, in true military style, comrades Wood,
Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, each of whose names being at the particular
period minus the magical M.P., and the parties being anxious to have the
appendage restored, submit with an exemplary patience to all the nonsensical
ceremonies observed on such occasions. I was present at the last visit of
Messrs. Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, to the head-quarters of the Troop,
where their “comrades” were all met to receive them. There sat the Colonel,
whose name I forget just now— which, however, is no great matter, and will, I
dare say, be no great privation to the reader—there
sat the Colonel on a [-106-] sort of elevation at the farthest end of the room,
regularly equipped in what I suppose was the military uniform of the Troop.
Instead of a sword, or any other warlike weapon, he held in his hand a brass
hammer; so, at least, it appeared to me; and anything more necessary or
appropriate he could not have grasped. The “use,” as Shakspeare would have
said, to which this hammer was to be applied, was that of giving the noisy a
hint to be silent, by a rather smart knock on a sort of desk which lay before
the Colonel; and which desk, let inc observe in justice to it, possessed the
most wonderful acoustical properties I have ever witnessed in any thing of the
kind. I have often admired the sounding capabilities of a little red-looking box
on the table of the House of Commons, especially when thumped by Sir Robert
Peel; but the sounds evoked by the hammer of the gallant Colonel of the Lumber
Troop from the small desk, which on this occasion hay on the table before him,
would, I am convinced, have made the box on the table of the House of Commons
quite ashamed of itself. And it was of no ordinary importance to the proceedings
of the Lumber Troop on the evening in question—as it is, I doubt not, to its
proceedings on every occasion on which it meets—that this desk should be
able to perform the function of emitting sounds of first-rate power; for really
the noise of the Troop was so great that it would have drowned any ordinary
sounds which the Colonel, by means of his hammer, might have made, and
consequently his commands could not have been heard. Need I add that, according
to all the admitted rules of sound reasoning, if they had not been heard, they
could not have been obeyed? To speak a truth, “the men” were not over prompt
in their obedience to the commands of their gallant Colonel as it was; but this,
though bad enough in itself, was not quite so bad as it would have been had they
not been obeyed at all.
Comrades
Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, were received, on entering the
“head-quarters” of the Troop, with all due honours. Their fellow-soldiers,
though bearing no musketry with which to greet them on their appearance by
firing a salute, could nevertheless boast of weapons of another kind, which were
duly charged. Each had his “go” of brandy-and-water, or some other” ardent
spirit” and water, before him. The four gentlemen visiting the Troop must
have been highly gratified with the display of “ardent spirits,” in a double
sense, before them; for it is only doing the Troop justice to take for granted,
that all “the men” composing it are, as all soldiers ought to be, “ardent
spirits.” Comrades Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Patti-son, having been greeted
with thunders of applause on their entrance, —-I do not mean the thunder
caused by artillery, but the [-107-] thunder caused by the throats of the
troops,—marched up in regular military style to an open space set apart for
them on the right hand of the gallant Colonel who presided on the occasion. On
reaching their destined station in the “head-quarters” of the Troop, their
comrades set up another loud shout of applause. And no wonder though they did;
for what soldier would not rejoice once more to meet with an old fellow
“trooper’ after an absence of several years? Every face beamed with delight
at seeing Comrades Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, once more in Troop Hall.
The latter, I doubt not, were much gratified with their reception; for many of
their fellow-soldiers had votes to bestow at the approaching elections, and
those who had not could influence persons who had. The thing, therefore, was all
perfectly intelligible on both sides.
A great
many little matters, which, not being a military man, cannot well describe,
having been disposed of, Comrade Wood, as being, I suppose, the senior of the
other three as a member of Parliament, if not of the Ancient and Honourable
Lumber Troop, — first rose to address his fellow-soldiers: and really I had no
previous conception, that one of whom I had never heard a word, except in his
capacity of politician or citizen, could be so intimately conversant with
military phraseology, as the worthy Alderman—I must still occasionally call
him by his civic title— proved himself to be. After adjusting his collar, and
standing up a
Comrade
Grote’s turn came next. The gallant gentleman deserves all praise for the
attitude he assumed while delivering his oration. He pulled himself up
immediately on starting to his feet, and looked as stiff and erect all the while
he retained his perpendicular position, as if he had been for a long series of
years in the army; but the matter of his address to his fellow-soldiers, was not
at all in keeping with the military character. In imitation of the gallant
gentleman (Comrade Wood) who preceded him, he certainly did manage to begin
with “Colonel, officers, and comrades!” but scarcely had these soldierly
terms crossed his lips, than he flew off at a tangent to the subject of the
ballot; and, to make the matter worse, he never found his way back to military
topics or military phraseology during the whole course of his somewhat
lengthened address. It is but right, however, to say that, though his speech was
so unmilitary, if I may invent a word, it was vociferously applauded by the
Troopers. If I may hazard a hypothesis, I should say that the secret of this
was, that the time chosen by Comrades Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, for
this visit to the head- quarters of the Troop, being, as before stated, on the
eve of a general election, the soldiers assembled on the occasion merged their
character as military men, for the moment, in that of politicians.
Next
came Comrade Crawford. This gallant gentleman appeared to me the most
unsoldier-like personage I have ever seen. He had not a particle of the manner
of a martial man about him, and could not manage to string a couple of military
phrases together. Instead of standing, like his two comrades, Wood and Grote, in
the erect and dignified attitude of a soldier, he, in the fervour of the fit
of speechification with which ho was seized, repeatedly put his person into a
diagonal position, and to scores of other positions which I will not name,
because I cannot; into every position~ in a word, except that which became a
hero of the Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop to assume. His attitude
sometimes resembled that of a disciple of Tom Spring or Dutch Sam. Had I been
the Colonel, I would have ordered him off at once to the awkward squad
department of the service, and given peremptory instructions to the officers to
see that he was properly drilled into his military movements before he again
undertook to exhibit before his fellow-soldiers. The applause with which his
performances were received was very [-109-] faint
and feeble indeed, compared with that with which the addresses of the two
gallant gentlemen who preceded him were greeted. Whether it was owing to the
ignorance of military phraseology and military attitudes which Comrade Crawford
displayed, I cannot say; but the fact was that the Troopers, generally, before
he had finished his address, began to exhibit manifestations of insubordination;
and it was with no inconsiderable difficulty, aided as he was by the hammer
before referred to, that the gallant Colonel could maintain order. Not content
with telegraphing Suttler Beck, the proprietor of the head-quarters of the
Troop, and his waiters, by winking with one eye and making significant motions
to “charge” their glasses again with brandy-and-water, and to bring them a
fresh supply of “‘baccy;” not content with this, some of the more
undisciplined of the band uttered a variety of ludicrous expressions, and
conducted themselves altogether in a most unmilitary manner during the time
their gallant comrade was addressing them.
Knowing
that Comrade Pattison’s turn would come next, and feeling so disappointed by
the unsoldier-hike address -and deportment of Comrade Crawford, I had
withdrawn my eye and attention from the latter military gentleman for some
time before he resumed his seat, and fixed both on Comrade Pattison. I felt for
him; and, what is worthy of mention, though I saw others who were suffering from
the closeness of the room and the atmosphere of cigar and tobacco smoke within
which they were enveloped,—I somehow or other felt for nobody but himself. I
never saw a human being look more uncomfortable in my life. The - infinite
“jolliness” of countenance which I had always before seen characterize him,
and which I had persuaded myself could only disappear with life itself, had
completely vanished before his turn came to harangue his fellow-soldiers. Poor
Comrade Pattison! I can fancy I see him at this moment. Not more out -of its
element would a fish be on dry land, than was the gallant gentleman on that
occasion - in the head-quarters of the Lumber Troop. And no wonder, truly; for,
in addition to the unmeaning military jargon he was, the whole of the evening,
doomed to hear—the soldierly attitudes he saw everybody around him attempting
to assume—and a closeness and unpleasantness of atmosphere which could only
have been surpassed by that of the memorable Black Hole of Calcutta, which
proved so awfully destructive of life to those who were doomed to breathe it; in
addition to all this, some of the Troopers who sat opposite to him kept
up—whether intentionally or not it is not for me to say—a constant battery
of smoke at his face. They emitted. it at him in such continued streams, that it
appeared to him for some time quite a matter of choice, whether [-110-] he should
suffer martyrdom from the suffocating volumes of tobacco smoke which came from
across the table; or whether he should come by it by hermetically sealing his
mouth with the view of shutting out the tobacco exhalations. It required no
great stretch of imagination to arrive at the conclusion, that he was all this
while’ contrasting, in his own mind, the blessings of the Bank parlour with
the miseries he was then enduring. At length his turn came, and with wonderful
alacrity did he take to his pedestals. For some moments before, he was all but
invisible through the dense. clouds of smoke which filled the place: not more
smoky, indeed, could it have appeared though all the artillery of the Troop had
been for some time before engaged in discharging a succession of rounds. I had
my fears that when he rose, I might not get a sight of him; but from some cause
or other, which it is beyond the reach of my philosophy to explain, the smoke,
contemporaneously with his rising to address his comrades, did partially
disappear in the immediate locality of the spot where he had taken up his
position, and I got a tolerably fair view of him. The remaining smoke, however,
had the effect of operating, in so far as my optics were concerned, as a
magnifying
medium; for great as are the geometrical dimensions or physical proportions of
Comrade Pattison at any time, they now appeared to me of a vastly increased
magnitude. But let that pass. Comrade Pattison made short work of it: his speech
had the merit of brevity. It ~ as pro-eminently short; and because short, it was
sweet. He proved that he was no wordy warrior:
this
appeared to me to augur well for him as a Trooper. I always find that those
persons do the most who say the least. He resumed his seat with all due
expedition, and in a few seconds after was to be seen in Fleet-street. I am
strongly of opinion that Comrade Pattison would rather lose his election next
time for the city of London, than spend such another hour or so with his
fellow-soldiers at their head-quarters at Mr. Beck’s, Bolt-court.
I have
already referred to the artillery or musketry of the Lumber Troop. Which is the
proper term, is more than I can determine; for their fire-pieces are in the form
of cannons, though not larger than guns. Some of the London journals gave great
offence to the Troop, by calling their fire-pieces pop-guns, a few weeks ago. They have also two mortars of decent
dimensions. The Troop only discharge their artillery on great occasions: the
last time, I believe, was when the ever-memorable Mary-le-bone Festival of 1836,
took place at St. John’s Wood. The moment that Mr. Wakley, the member for
Finsbury, arrived at the scene of that great festival, there were nearly five
thousand persons, including the ladies, present. Several rounds were [-111-] fired, to
testify the respect of the Troop for Comrade Wakley. It was proposed, and also
eventually agreed to, to fire the guns on the occasion of the late visit of her
Majesty to the city of London. One of the Troopers, a past suttler, however,
through his individual interference, prevented the intentions of the Troop
being carried into effect. He communicated to the Lord Mayor the resolution of
the Troop, and the circumstance being brought before a Court of Aldermen, they
interdicted all firing in the City on that day. As might be expected, the
conduct of this comrade became the subject of discussion on the next meeting of
the Troop, which took place on Wednesday evening, the 1st of November. Of all
the scenes which it has ever been my lot to witness, that which was exhibited on
the evening in question was, out of sight, the most extraordinary. I will
venture to
say that
it was unparalleled even in the annals of the Troop itself. At all events, all
the Troopers with whom I have conversed on the subject, say they never saw anything like it. In attempting
to give some idea of it, I seriously assure my readers— and scores of
individuals who were present will bear testimony to the truth of what I
say—that so far from exaggerating the exhibitions of that evening, no
description can come up to the reality.
The
motion before the Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop,when the scene began,
related to the rescinding or suspension of a resolution which had been come to
at the previous meeting, expressive of the intention of the Troop to salute her
Majesty, by a volley from Troop Hall, when she entered the City at Temple-bar.
Four or five Troopers were reproaching comrade Stout for having communicated the
intention of the Troop to the City authorities, and. thus frustrated their
wishes, when he observed that he had been deputed by some other Troopers to do
what he had done.
Seven or
eight comrades— “Who deputed you to do it? Name, name.” (Loud cheers, and
cries of “Hear, hear!”)
Comrade
Stout raised his glass of brandy-and-water to his mouth with infinite coolness,
but uttered not a word.
Comrade
Blood— There’s a pretty go of it, to undertake to anything of the kind, and
then shelter himself under the authority of some other Troopers. (Hear, hear,
hear, he-ar! and laughter at the drawling way in which the last “hear” was
pronounced.
Comrade
Stout.- I say that I did not shelter myself under authority of any one. (Cries
of “Oh oh”’
Attention!
and great uproar.)
Comrade
Blank -Colonel officers, and comrades, I rise to order. I protest against this
proceeding. We have nothing [-112-] before us. If we are to have a debate, let us have
something to debate about. (Cries of “So we have,” drowned by cries of We
have not.”) -
Comrade
Blank, with prodigious emphasis—I say we have not: the resolution has not yet been read.
A
perfect hurricane of cries of “Read the resolution,” “Read the
revolution,” succeeded the last observation.
Major
Stumps—The resolution is on the books, and therefore there is no necessity
for reading it.
Deafening
cries of “There is, there is,” “Read it, read it,” followed this remark.
In the midst of this uproar, eight or ten Troopers rose all at once in different
parts of the Hall, each protesting, in the loudest tones, and with the most
violent gesticulation,—” I’ll be heard; I’m determined I’ll be
heard.” The Colonel in the meantime kept knocking as regularly with his brass
hammer on the table as if he had been a blacksmith at the anvil, accompanying
every knock with a loud call for “Attention.” Past-Colonel Birch, on the
other hand, who acted as vice-chairman at the other end of the room, took the
whole thing with the most perfect coolness, smoking his pipe as if he had been
sitting at his own fireside, and never uttering a word, or making any attempt to
restore subordination among the disorderly Troops, beyond an occasional gentle
application of his hammer to the table. Amidst the Niagarian roar of Lumber
Troop voices, which threatened to “split the house,” as one of the visitors
observed, that of Comrade Blood occasionally rose above all the rest. He was
heard repeatedly to say, though no one paid the least attention to him — I
rise to a pint —(Cries of “A pint of half-and-half,” and laughter,) — of
order; and I von’t be called down by any one. Not by any comrade, he
continued, after an expressive pause, and flourishing his right hand above his
head in the air. I’m an old officer of this ‘ere anshent and honourable
Lumber Troop.—(Loud cries of” No, no.”) Who’s that a-saying “No,
no,” I should like to know? Several voices here said—” I say it,”
followed by roars of laughter, and an extraordinary scene of confusion, in the
midst of which, Comrade Trope was repeatedly heard roundly rating the waiter for
not bringing him a fresh supply of troop-sand.
At this
moment, another Trooper named Tickler, rejoicing in the rank of
lieutenant-colonel, who had been on his legs for the previous five minutes, but
without uttering, or even attempting to utter a word, now laid down the glass
tf ale he held in his hand, and said, in a voice of stentorian power, “I’ll
stay here till the Troop break up, rather than be defeated in my attempts to
obtain a hearing.” (Cries of “I wish you may get it,” drowned amidst
exclamations of “ Hear him, hear hin.”)
[-113-] Lieutenant-colonel
Tickler here looked at his watch: it wanted precisely two hours to the usual
time of breaking up the meeting. At this moment, some one behind the gallant
officer, as a proof of his respect for the Troop, and his own acquisitions in
military discipline, put an open handkerchief with a yellow ground, and
liberally embellished with large black spots, around his head, which made the
upper story of the Trooper look wonderfully like a leopard’s hide. The walls
of Troop Hall literally resounded with the peals of laughter which followed. Not
even the gallant Colonel himself who presided, could in this instance refrain
from joining in the universal laugh, however indignant he must have been at the
deplorable want of military respect which the party had exhibited.
When the
roars of laughter had subsided, which they eventually did from the mere
exhaustion of the Troopers, the cry of “Read the resolution” was again
raised with redoubled vigour.
Lieutenant-colonel
Tickler — Troopers may assail and attempt to annoy inc in any way they
please, but here I ‘II stand till I’m heard. I’ve got plenty of time. My
time is of no importance. (Laughter, mingled with groans and hisses; in the
midst of which, the gallant officer took out his box, and assisted himself to a
pinch of snuff with the most perfect composure; after which he called for
another go of brandy and water—the water to be quite hot.)
The
Colonel here interposed with success, for the first time, and said, addressing
himself to Lieutenant-colonel Tickler. If you wait till, the resolution is read,
I’ll hear you for an hour, if
you
like. (Loud cheers, in which the Lieutenant-colonel cordially joined.)
At this
moment, another officer, whose name I could not learn, rose, and was proceeding
to address the Troop, but had not uttered many words, when his voice was drowned
amidst the universal uproar which followed.
The
resolution was at length permitted to be read; on which Comrade Blank rose, and
moved—” That the standing order of the body be rescinded.”
Lieutebant-colonel
Tickler Not “body;” “Troop,” Sir, if you please.”
Comrade
Blank- Then “Troop,” if you wish it,
A.
TrooperThe effect of the motion will be, if carried, to prewent the firing of
the artillery on the Queen’s wisit to the City. I vish to know vy ve should
not persist in our original intention?”
[-114-] A host
of voices—Because we’ve got a letter from the City authorities
a-forbiddin’ it. (Loud cries of “Read the letter.”)
Comrade
Jones —I advise the Troop to be cautious; for the public press is ready to
hold us up to ridicule. (Tremendous cries of “No! no !“ with equally loud
exclamations of “ Yes yes !“)
Comrade
Jones, with an emphatic application of his fist to the table—I say
Comrade
Blank—I rise, Colonel, officers, and comrades, to order. (“ Hear! hear!
hear! hear! hear.”) Comrade Jones is quite out of order. He is not speaking to
the question.
Comrade
Jones (to Comrade Blank)—If you don’t like my speech, I’m blow’d if you
don’t have a precious dose of it. (Deafening peals of laughter, mingled with
cries of “ Oh, oh !)
After a
moment’s pause, Comrade Jones gave a significant shake of his head, and said
energetically— I say he
The
ludicrous gravity with which this last sentence was spoken was so great, that
another universal shout of laughter resounded through the room, as if all the
Troopers had been subjected in a. moment to the effect of a mental electrical
agency,—if there be not an impropriety in the expression.
Comrade
Jones—I repeat the question: will any man tell me that I am not speaking to
the question?
Comrade
Blank (winking at a friend)—I do.
As
Comrade Blank uttered the last two words, he took a liberal draught of cold
water.
Comrade
Jones (assuming an aspect of great seriousness) Will you tell me your name, Sir
?—(Loud cries of “Order! order !
Comrade
Blank (quite coolly)—There is no occasion. (Laughter and cheers.)
Comrade
Jones—I must know what comrade I am addressing. (Loud cries of” Order!
order !“ “Chair! chair !“)
Comrade
Blank—My name is Fergusson. (Loud laughter.)
A
Trooper (with great energy)—I say that person’s name is not Fergusson. (Tremendous uproar, during which the
gal-[-115-]lant Colonel
in the chair, seeing the utter impossibility of preserving order, wisely
determined, to use the phraseology of a Trooper, to let the unruly and awkward
squad have their full swing.) The Trooper resumed, addressing himself to Comrade
Blank—-You, Sir, are humbugging the Troop. Yes, Sir; you are, Sir. (Cries
of” Shame I shame I
Comrade
Jones (looking Comrade Blank fiercely in the face) You, Sir, have some
The
gallant Colonel, seeing the altercation and uproar Were likely to be protracted
to midnight, if
Comrade
Blank—Very good, Colonel: my name is not Fergusson. I’ll tell you what my
real name is, if Comrade Jones sits down.
Comrade
Jones—No, I won’t (loud laughter.) Yes, I will. (Renewed peals of laughter.)
William, fill up this glass again.
Comrade
Blank - Now, then. I’ll first tell you why I called myself Fergusson; and then
(looking towards Comrade Jones) I’ll give you my real name. It is—
Comrade
Jones— I won’t have it. (Loud
laughter, and cries of “Oh! oh !“)
Comrade
Blank – I won’t answer any
question unless I’m heard. My name is Blank; and if comrade Jones wishes my
address it is—
(Here a
tremendous burst of applause greeted Comrade Blank for the manly and courageous
course which he adopted.) The reason why I gave a wrong name was, that I wished
to have a little bit of pleasantry at Comrade Jones’s expense, . (Deafening
cries of “Order! order!” “Chair.! chair!” “Waiter, bring me another go
of gin and..water;” “More troop-sand here,” &c.)
Comrade
Jones - I’m quite delighted to hear it. (Loud laughter.) I assure-. (A cry of
Order. here proceeded from some one in the body of the Hall.) Who calls
‘Order’ I should like to know? Will anybody call ‘Order’ again? I assure
friend Blank that -
Comrade
Blank - I rise to order, Colonel. I insist on my right to be called comrade
(Great applause.)
Comrade
Jones (sneeringly) —Well then,
The
Colonel— O, but I can’t. (Shouts of laughter.)
Comrade
Strap—I rise, Colonel, to-move—
Comrade
Pewter—I rise to order. I say—
Comrade
Strap—I say, Sir, you hold your chat. (Laughter, and cries of “Order!
order!’) I’m in possession of the chair and the Troop, Sir. I move, as an
amendment to the motion for rescinding the resolution, that it be allowed to
stand; my object being, that the guns should be fired on her Majesty’s visit
to the City.
Comrade
Blank—I rise to object to the amendment. I maintain—
Comrade
Jones (interrupting Comrade Blank* (*Comrade Blank is a young man) —You assume
too much, young man.—(Loud laughter.) You cannot object to it till it is
seconded.— (Renewed laughter.)
Past-Colonel
Hodson—I’ve seen many scenes in this place, but I’ve never seen any one
equal to this. (“ Hear! hear ! We are betrayed by Troopers. (Cries of” We
are , we are.”)
A
Trooper (in a small penny-trumpet sort of voice) :—Yes, ye is. I says it, too,
past-colonel. Dash my buttons if we ain’t a-being burlesqued! (Cries of” Hem
! hem !“)
Comrade
Franks—All this has come from the doings of a disappointed past-suttler.
(Immense applause.) Yes; von vot now vishes to disgrace this ‘ere Troop.
(Renewed plaudits.)
Here
Comrade Blank handed up to the Colonel the motion he had made, as altered, and
moved that it be read.
The
Colonel commenced reading the resolution; but when he got to the third line, he
made a dead pause.
Cries of
“Read, read !“ and “Go on !“ resounded from all parts of Troop Hall.
A
Trooper—It’s very easy to bawl out—anybody could do that—’ Read,
read!’ and ‘Go on;’ but
The
Colonel—No; I can’t; and I don’t think anybody could. (Laughter and
cheers.)
Comrade
Blank—Give it to me, and I’ll read it. (Cries of “No, no; it must be read
by the Colonel.”) -
Comrade
Blank—Then I insist that the Colonel read the alterations made with the
pencil.—Waiter, bring me some cold water. (Loud laughter.)
The
Colonel again closely scrutinized the pencilship, but was still unable to
proceed.
Comrade
Blank—Oh! you can’t read it.
[-117-] Comrade
Sprat—I rise to order. There’s another insult to the Colonel. I’ll take
(to the waiter) another go of brandy-and-water, William.
The
Colonel (his face brightening up at the circumstance of being at last able to
decipher the MS.)—Comrade Blank requests me to read the pencil writing
The
Colonel—I don’t doubt that it means standing orders; but- I have read it as
desired, exactly in the way in which it is written.
A
Trooper (addressing himself very indignantly to Comrade Blank)—Yes, Sir, you
never scores the tops of your t’s.
“No,
you don’t, Sir,” echoed a dozen voices, their proprietors severally standing
up as they delivered themselves.
A
Trooper—You
Comrade
Scraggs—Really, if we go on at this rate, we’ll never get through the
business before the Troop (Loud cries of” Hear! hear !“ and of “ Question!
Question!”)
Comrade
Tugworth—I move that the amendment be put to the vote.
A
Trooper—Vat
Comrade
Duckster—.We can’t put the amendment, because its not formal. - (“ Hear!
hear ! “)
Comrade
Blank—O, never mind formalities: don’t stand on them.—(Loud cries of
“Order! order!” “Chair! chair!” and a scene of uproar, which defies
description, followed this proposal to depart from the rules of the Troop.) The
scene continued for some time; and during the greater part of it, a forest of
hands were seen- cleaving the air, and at least one half of the Troopers present
were either on chairs, or on their legs on the floor; while the noise occasioned
by the almost universal exclamations or apostrophes to the gallant Colonel, was
not only discordant in the highest degree, but absolutely deafening. The Colonel
wisely leaned back in his chair until the Troopers had in some degree exhausted
themselves; while the past-colonel, who presided at the opposite end, renewed
his old practice, on such occasions, of applying his hammer, with a slow but
steady hand, to the table, at the rate, on an average, of ten times a minute by
the Lumber Troop clock.
“I
never saw such an unruly Troop,” said the Colonel, with marked emphasis, and
much vehemence of gesture, after order [-118-] had been in some degree restored. “I
never saw such an unruly Troop: I’ll leave the chair directly.”—(Loud
dries of- “ No! no! Colonel;
Comrade
Tapster —The Colonel must put the original motion. (Loud cries of “No!
no!” “The amendment first,”) followed the proposition, and the noise and
confusion became still greater than before. Eight or ten Troopers were
seen—for they could not be
Comrade
Manson said—Though I seconded the amendment, I never meant to second it.”—(Roars of laughter.)
The
amendment was then withdrawn, and the original motion declared to be carried.
Comrade
Blank then rose, and said — I am now about to make a motion for a vote of
censure on the officer who wrote to the Lord Mayor about the intention of the
Troop to fire their guns on her Majesty’s visit to the City; and in doing
this, I beg to assure the Troop that I am not to be put down by opposition
bullies. (Deafening cries of “Order! order!” “Chair! chair!” and cries
of “Apologize,” from comrade Tapster.) I
Comrade
Blank then proceeded to denounce, in the most un-[-119-]compromising terms, the conduct
of their officer, in writing to the Lord Mayor; and several other speakers gave
expression to their sentiments in the same strain, amidst peals of applause
which made the walls of Troop Hall resound again: and yet, notwithstanding all
this, and the groans and clamour also, which were directed towards him from all
parts of the room, the criminated party smoked away at his pipe, supplied as it
was with additional troop-sand, and swilled suttler Beck’s sparkling ale, as
if nothing had been the matter. When his turn came to address the Troop in
vindication of himself, he coolly rose, and after looking about him for some
time, began in the usual military phraseology of “Colonel, officers, and
comrades;” but before he proceeded farther, he was assailed by such a volley
of yells, hisses, groans, and all sorts of menagerie sounds, that
a
discharge of the Troop’s twenty-one guns, with their two mortars to boot,
would have been comparative silence itself. The scene of uproar which had thus
again commenced, lasted for nearly an hour, during which the accused Trooper
took up his hat two or three times, and said he would “march” himself home
for the night; but that he would be
“And.
you’re a wagabond,” retorted Snip, giving a smart knock on the table.
“Sir,
I repeat, you’re a
“Hold
your tongue, old thread-the-needle” “Sir, if you say that ‘ore agin,”
said Snip, now wrought up to the highest pitch of passion.—” I’ll knock
your—; I will, as sure as I stands in this ‘ere place.”
“You’ll
do what, Sir?” observed the “man with the Macintosh,” eyeing the knight
of the thimble steadily.
“Just
call me a tailor, agin, Sir.”
[-120-] “You
are a tailor.”
“I
von’t stand this insult any longer, may I— !“
Here the
hand of the tailor was raised, with the view of suiting the action to the
implied threat; but it was arrested in its descent towards the person of his
antagonist by a friend who chanced at the moment to have elbowed his way towards
the particular part of Troop Hall in which the embryo pugilists were stationed.
“What’s
all this about ?“ inquired Comrade Spunk, addressing his friend the tailor.
“It’s
that ‘ere person has been a insultin’ of me and my trade,” replied the
latter, pointing to the “man with the Macintosh.”
“In
what way?”
“Vy,
he has called me a tailor, vich is no fault of mine. I couldn’t help it, if my
father put me to learn that ‘ere bisness.”
“Pooh,
pooh!” said the other; “if that’s all, it is not worth fighting about.”
“Ay,
but
The
insulted tailor was about to say something, when the Colonel suddenly rose
from his seat, and said that, as no attention was paid to him, there was no use
in his sitting there.
“Good
night, then, Colonel— I’m off,” observed the “man with the Macintosh.”
“And
I’ll be marching too,” said another, taking up his hat, and walking himself
out of Troop Hall.
“And
we’d better all be gone,” shouted a third.
The
suggestion was received with acclamation; the Colonel observing that he had sate
there for five hours without relief. The Troopers then quitted the Hall in a
most irregular and unsoldierlike manner, without having either adjourned the
discussion, or come to any decision on the motion before it.
I have
always observed that the uproarious scenes which are so common in Troop Hall,
occur when there is the greatest muster of the Troopers. When the attendance is
but limited, nothing could pass off more smoothly or quietly. All are on the
most friendly terms,—as comrades ought to be. They smoke their pipe, quaff
their go of brandy-and-water, and enjoy their song in the most perfect harmony.
The Colonel, Past-Colonel Birch, the Secretary and a great many others :whom it
is unnecessary to particularize, are as pleasant and intelligent men as any
one could wish to spend a social hour with.
One of
the principal amusements of the Troopers, when there is no important business to
transact, is to hear ~ne another sing. And I have much pleasure in mentioning,
that- there are some very excellent vocalists among the body. I have repeatedly
heard singing in Troop Hall which would do no discredit to per-[-121-]sons who live, as
Shakspeare would say, by “discoursing the sweet music” of their voices. And
what has always been to me the source of supreme gratification, is the
promptitude with which every Trooper responds to the call of the Colonel, when
he appeals to some particular comrade for a song. I am far from meaning to say
that there are no unmusical or inharmonious personages in the head-quarters:
that could not be expected when there usually is so strong a muster; but this I
will say, that I never heard a Trooper refuse to comply with the request of the
gallant Colonel, when demanding a song, on the ground that he could not sing.
Every visitor to Troop Hall must have contrasted this readiness to “favour the
Troop with a song” with the hesitation and excuses, and affected inability to
sing, which are so common in private society. To be sure, there are several
Troopers who exhibit no variety, either in the matter or style of their singing.
They have but one song, and but one way of singing it: still they show their
subordination by so readily complying with the call of their Colonel for a
song. They do their best, and more cannot be expected from any one. There is one
Trooper who has for years treated his comrades to the same song almost every,
night he has been present; and yet, notwithstanding the frequency with which he
has repeated his vocal performance, he still sings the song with as much zest as
he did the first time. It is due to the Troop to say, that, judging from the
plaudits with which they receive it, and the fervour and unanimity with which
they join in the chorus, they are no less pleased than - the gentleman himself.
I am sorry that I do not now tecollect some of the verses of this song; for, if
I did, I -would give a specimen or two, because I think there are some clever
things in it. The chorus, as well as I can remember, is something like this:
“ Now
listen to me, if you please,
And-I’ll
soon prove my words,
That the
world is but a nest,
And
we’re all birds, birds:’
It is
impossible to convey any idea of the effect which is produced by a large body of
the Troopers, causing the walls of Troop Hall to resound again by the fervour
with which they sing this chorus.
Another
Trooper is so devotedly wedded to a particular song, beginning with “Mary’s
my lily, and Flora’s my rose,”
that no
consideration would induce him to sing any other. This Trooper is, I am
told,—for I am not personally cognizant of the [-122-] fact,—an undertaker by trade.
He thinks he has a sort of prescriptive right to monopolize the singing of this
song in Troop Hall. Not long since, a comrade treated the Troop to the same
song. It was clear that the undertaker was mortified beyond measure at the
circumstance,—the more especially as the vocal performance of his rival was
greeted with loud applause. Every manifestation of approbation was like plunging
a dagger into the bosom of the poor undertaker. Some of his friends observing
this, expressed their opinion that he sang the song much better than his rival.
Some admirers of the vocal capabilities of the latter, intimated their dissent
from this. A fierce discussion in the first instance, and afterwards a rather
violent altercation, as to the comparative merits of the vocal rivals, followed.
It was eventually proposed that they should both sing again, and that the sense
of the Troop should be taken as to whose vocal performance was most
meritorious. The undertaker declined the competition that evening, on the
alleged ground that he did not then feel himself in good condition for singing;
but signified his readiness to enter the lists with his rival on the next
meeting of the Troop. The proposal was agreed to. In the interim,—the interim,
namely, of a week,—there was a constant clearing of throats, and an assiduous
preparation on the part of the rivals for the grand vocal competition. Troop
Hall was crowded on the next Wednesday evening, to enjoy the affair. Comrade
Swan, the opponent of the undertaker, was called on by the Colonel for a song,
and the other promptly responded to the call, -by singing, in his best style,
“Mary’s
my lily, and Flora’s my rose.”
The
applause was pretty cordial, and general; but the Troopers were surprised to
find that nine or ten persons, sitting beside each other, and rejoicing in what
Mr. O’Connell would call “churchyard-looking” visages, were wonderfully
active, fervid, and unanimous, in their expression of disapprobation of Comrade
Swan’s vocal exhibition. It was now the’ undertaker’s turn to sing. After
taking out of his pocket a handkerchief of a greater number of colours than Sir
Isaac Newton ever dreamed of and applying it to his forehead for the purpose of
drying up a perfect pool of perspiration which had gathered there, in
consequence of the agony of fear as to the result under which he laboured,—he
gave two or three forced coughs, with the ~ddition of a couple of hems, and then
commenced. Before he had finished the first note, the assemblage of
demure-looking personages, already referred to, burst forth, as if moved by
some unaccountable sympathy with each other, into a literal roar of applause.
Of course [-123-] the undertaker’s voice was drowned; while that of the Colonel, in
calling “Attention!” “Silence “ and so forth, was scarcely in the first
instance heard. Their cheers at last died away; but were renewed with
undiminished energy when the undertaker had reached the end of verse the first.
A regular round of applause from the same vociferous party followed the last
word of each succeeding verse,—in which plaudits, several of the most
disciplined of the Troopers, carried unconsciously away by their enthusiasm,
could not refrain from joining. It was clear to all that the undertaker was
greatly encouraged by these demonstrations of applause; for he waxed more and
more confident, till he reached the end of the song, when he concluded by a
vocal flourish, appropriately accompanied by a flourish of his right hand in the
air, which afforded demonstrative proof that he already regarded himself as the
victor. The melancholy-looking gentry, who had been so active in cheering the
songster as he proceeded, rose to their feet as he resumed his seat and waving
their bats above their heads, rent the air of Troop Hall with their plaudits. A
general, though more moderate manifestation of applause from the Troopers,
confirmed the undertaker’s anticipations of a triumph over his rival. The
Colonel was about to put the question to the vote, as to who had sung
“Mary’s my lily, and Flora’s my rose,” best, when one of the proprietors
of the demure physiognomies unguardedly shouted aloud, “Vy, master’s von the
day, to be sure: he be the best; blow me, if he ben’t.”
The
Troopers first looked at each other with amazement, and then at the stranger who
had made the unintelligible remark.
“Who
are you, Sir P’ said. the Colonel, authoritatively.
“Who
am I?” answered the other, coolly.
“Aye;
“Vy, I
be’s in the sarvice of that ‘ere gemman,” pointing to the undertaker,
“vot’s jost a-been a-singin’; and ve came to this ‘ere place to—”
Here
another of the sombre-looking party suddenly started up, and clapping his hand
on the mouth of the speaker, caused him to break off in the middle of the
sentence.
“Come,
do tell us what you came here for,” said the Colonel, beginning to suspect
that something was wrong. The undertaker’s countenance exhibited double its
usual longitude, as the gallant gentleman put the question.
“Certainly
you must,” exclaimed a host of Troopers at once.
“No,
don’t,” whispered one of the demure-looking gentry.
[-124-] “Order,
Sir !“ said the Colonel, with some sternness, hooking the latter hard in the
face. The undertaker now appeared as crestfallen as if he had been about to be
expelled from the Troop.
“Come,
Sir,” repeated the Colonel, “tell us what you came here for.”
“Vy,
then, if so be as I must speak the truth, master engaged nine on us to come here
to-night, and to cheer his song, and to interrupt the gemman vot’s sung before
him. Ve are all in master’s sarvice: ve assists him in performing funerals.”
It is
impossible to describe the effect produced on the Troopers by this unexpected
disclosure of one of the undertaker’s mutes. The conduct of the party, so
unaccountable before, was perfectly intelligible now. The undertaker saved
himself from a vote of censure in his own presence, for the deception he had
practised, by snatching up his hat, and quitting Troop Hall with an edifying
expedition. He has never since crossed its threshold.
I have
often admired the polite way in which the Lumber Troop rid themselves of the
presence of any comrade who has so far forgotten himself, and the respect due to
the ancient and honourable body with whom he is associated, as to get drunk. The
Colonel authoritatively desires the suttler, for the time being, to “see that
gentleman safely conducted out of the Hall.” A more genteel way of ejecting a
troublesome customer, I hold it were impossible to imagine. The suttler, thus
instructed by the Colonel, gently, in the first instance, takes hold of the
inebriated
comrade by the breast of the coat. If the latter offers no resistance, but
resigns himself to the safe guidance of the suttler, good; all passes off
quietly- enough. But if he takes it into his head to refuse quitting Troop Hall,
as intoxicated comrades often do, then he must expect to be handled a little
more roughly. The suttler brings all the physical energy of which he is
proprietor, to bear on the forcible ejectment of the refractory Trooper; and if
he be not competent for the task himself, there are always plenty of comrades
present, willing and ready on a moment’s notice, to lend a helping hand in a
work which so nearly concerns the honour and respectability of the Troop. My
only surprise is, that the Troop content themselves with the mere ejection of
such persons, and the exaction of a, fine of a shilling or sixpence, according
as the offender is an officer or a private. If I were a Trooper, one of the
first motions I would make, would be, that such members of the body as could
disgrace both themselves and the Troop in this way, should be expelled at once.
It strikes me, that this would be the proper course to adopt, if the Troop are
desirous of insuring well-conducted soldiers, and due decorum in the
proceedings at head-quarters. I am sure I need not repeal that, under the
existing system of dis-[-125-]cipline, singularly lenient as that system is, the
breaches of military subordination are of rare occurrence, when the number of
Troopers is considered. But the adoption of a more rigid code would have the
effect of purging the Troop of all disreputable persons. And here let me
observe, that I would be for bringing under the operation of the code I am
recommending, all those comrades, whether drunk or sober, who persist in
creating a disturbance in Troop Hall, by unnecessarily interrupting the due
course of the proceedings. There are many individuals, as may be inferred from
what I have said in a former part of the chapter, who join the Troop for no
other purpose in the world than that of getting up what they call “scenes.”
There ought to be a law for the summary expulsion of such individuals. It was
clear, that there were many of these individuals in Troop Hail on the evening of
the first of last month, when the scene, of which I have attempted to give some
idea in a previous part of the chapter, occurred. And had the strict system of
discipline I am recommending obtained at that time, and been duly enforced, all
the disturbance and uproar, which threw so much discredit on the proceedings
that evening, would have been prevented My plan would be very simple: I would hold it competent for any
Trooper to move that any comrade, whom he supposed to be seeking to create a
disturbance, or to burlesque the Troop, ought to be expelled Troop Hall at once.
Let the question then be put to the vote, and there would at once be an end to
the matter.
As it is, as before mentioned, any person wishing to enjoy two or three
hours’ peaceable and pleasant conversation at a cheap rate, may have it at the
small charge of twopence by going to Troop Hall in the capacity of a visitor, on
the Wednesday evenings, when what is called the usual meetings of the Troop are
held. The lovers of uproar and confusion - for singular as the taste is, there are some persons who only feel themselves in their
clement when in the midst of such scenes- may have their tastes gratified to their heart’s content, by
visiting Troop Hall
on those evenings appropriated for the election of officers, or for the
transaction of other important Lumber Troop business. The annual election of
officers takes place about the middle of next month, when, as a matter of
course, the usual amount of disorder, noise, and uproar, will be exhibited.
If any
one is ambitious of being a member of the Troop, in order that he may have a
right to take part in their discussions and to vote on all questions submitted
for discussion surely the annual payment of five shillings is not too great a
price for so important a Privilege. Let no man be deterred from allowing [-126-] himself
to be put in nomination for membership, from an apprehension that his
pretensions to the honour will be too severely scrutinized. There could not be a
more unfounded apprehension. To speak the truth, there is not—unless under
some very peculiar circumstances—any scrutiny at all. A Trooper proposes
that Mr. So-and-so “be admitted a member of the Ancient and Honourable
Lumber Troop;” another Trooper seconds the motion; and the Colonel, addressing
himself to the party nominated, who receives a hint to assume a perpendicular
position on the occasion, says—” Is it, Mr. So-and-so, with your own
freewill
and consent, that you are proposed for admission into this Ancient and
Honourable Lumber Troop?” The party either answers “Yes,” or gives an
affirmative nod; and is that instant pronounced by the Colonel to be a Trooper.
It is
really amusing to hear the Troopers talking in regular military style. Many of
them can do it with the strictest propriety. I doubt if Wellington himself be
more conversant with military phraseology than are some of the Lumber Troopers
of the greatest standing. I am almost convinced that the officers do, on
particular occasions, forget that they are plain citizens, and that they
actually, for the time being, fancy themselves to be officers of regular
regiments of soldiers. Even their written addresses are penned in the genuine
military style. Let any one who doubts this, visit Troop Hall at his
convenience, and he will see the walls placarded with the following:
TROOPERS
SUPPORT
YOUR BENEVOLENT FUND
And here
let me give expression to the hope, that the appeal thus made to the Troopers
will be promptly responded to, and that a liberal support will be extended to
the Benevolent Fund; for the object of that fund is truly benevolent, being
nothing else than to assist Troopers who, by ill health, old age, or adverse
circumstances, are fit subjects of relief by those who are more fortunate in the
world.
There
are two of the rules of the Lumber Troop which appear to me to be exceedingly
injudicious in so far as respects the enlistment of new soldiers. I refer to the
rule which prohibits the drinking of ale or porter out of any pewter vessel; and
to that which denies the members permission to eat anything in the character
of Troopers.
With
regard to the first prohibition, everybody knows that there are many persons who
would rather not drink ale or porter at all, than drink either out of a glass.
Their affection for [-127-] pewter pots is so great, that one cannot help thinking there
As
regards the prohibition of eating anything in the headquarters, I am no less
convinced- that it has largely contributed to keep down the numbers of the
Troop. Many people have no notion of sitting for hours in a public-house,
swilling ale or porter, or quaffing go after go of brandy-and-water, without
partaking of something of a solid kind. It is only a short time since the
Troopers had a practical illustration furnished them of the strong
disapprobation with which some persons regard the rule which prohibits eating,
as well as drinking out of the pewter. A stout country-looking man, whose
dialect clearly proved that he was a recent importation from Yorkshire, chanced
to drop one evening into Troop Hall, without knowing anything of the Troop.
William, as usual, before the visitor had well seated himself, seductively
inquired, looking up in his face, what he would take. “A pint of
half-and-half,” was the answer.
“Yes,
Sir,” said the waiter, and away he flew to meet the wishes of his customer. In
an incredibly short time he returned with the liquid in a glass vessel, and was
in the act of depositing it on the table before the Yorkshireman, when the
latter said, “Be kind enough to bring it me in the pewter.”
“No
pewter jugs allowed; Sir, to-night.”
“Why
not?”
“Qh,
Sir, because it’s a rule of the place.”
“Coom,
coom, none of your nonsense,” said the other, as if looking on the thing as a
joke.
[-128-] “Quite
true, Sir, I assure you,” repeated William, with much politeness.
“Are
you serious?”
“Perfectly
so.”
“Oh;
then there is no help for it, I suppose. Just bring me a crust of bread and
cheese.”
“Can’t,
Sir,” said the waiter.
“Can’t
bring a customer some bread and cheese !“ said the Yorkshireman, looking as
much amazed as if he were at a loss to know whether or not he ought to credit
the evidence of his ears. — “Why, good man, I don’t want it for nothing: I
mean to pay for it.”
“Don’t
doubt that, Sir; but can’t bring it. It’s contrary to the rules.”
“What
rules?” inquired the other, with considerable emphasis.
“The
rules of the Troop, Sir.”
“The
Troop! What Troop?” Lumber Troop, Sir.”
“The
Ancient and Honourable
The
countryman was as much in the dark as before; but some one sitting beside him
entered into such details as eventually enabled him to form some idea of the
nature of the institution. —“But still,” he observed, after the other had
concluded his explanations; “but still, I don’t see why a man should coom
into a public-house to be refused bread and cheese, when he is willing to pay
for it.—Waiter, you bring me some.”
“Can’t
do it, Sir,” answered William, pathetically.
“But I
insist that you shall. I have a right to demand it,” said the other, with
considerable warmth; his Yorkshire blood rising some degrees at the reiterated
refusal to meet his wishes.
A
regular squabble ensued between the countryman and several of the Troopers
around him, in consequence of their asserting the propriety of the prohibition.
“ Who
is that gentleman?” inquired the Colonel, while the altercation was at its
height. “Is he a Trooper?”
“He is
only a visitor,” answered two or three voices at once.
“Then,
Mr. Beck, you see that gentleman conducted safely along the passage,” said the
Colonel.
Mr. Beck
advanced for this purpose, when the Yorkshireman dared any man to lay a hand
upon him, but signified his intention of quitting Troop Hall of his own accord.
He accordingly proceeded along the passage, and on reaching the door, took the
knob in his hand, and, turning about, shouted as loud as he was able, “What a
precious starved squad you must be, when you never goes to mess!” and so
saying, he violently slammed the door, and
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