Vanity Fair (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  Perhaps he was not inclined to put himself in his exhausted state again under the guardianship of Glorvina. ‘I think Miss O‘Dowd would have done for me,‘ he said, laughingly, to a fellow-passenger, ‘if we had had her on board, and when she had sunk me, she would have fallen upon you, depend upon it, and carried you in as a prize to Southampton, Joe, my boy.‘

  For indeed it was no other than our stout friend who was also a passenger on board the Ramchunder. He had passed ten years in Bengal.—Constant dinners, tiffins, pale ale, and claret, the prodigious labours of cutcherry, and the refreshment of brandy-pawneerr which he was forced to take there, had their effect upon Waterloo Sedley. A voyage to Europe was pronounced necessary for him—and having served his full time in India, and had fine appointments which had enabled him to lay by a considerable sum of money, he was free to come home and stay with a good pension, or to return and resume that rank in his service to which his seniority and his vast talents entitled him.

  He was rather thinner than when we last saw him, but had gained in majesty and solemnity of demeanour. He. had resumed the moustachios to which his services at Waterloo entitled him, and swaggered about on deck in a magnificent velvet cap with a gold band, and a profuse ornamentation of pins and jewellery about his person. He took breakfast in his cabin, and dressed as solemnly to appear on the quarter-deck, as if he was going to turn out for Bond Street, or the Course at Calcutta. He brought a native servant with him, who was his valet and pipe-bearer; and who wore the Sedley crest in silver on his turban. That oriental menial had a wretched life under the tyranny of Jos Sedley. Jos was as vain of his person as a woman, and took as long a time at his toilette as any fading beauty. The youngsters among the passengers, young Chaffers of the 150th, and poor little Ricketts, coming home after his third fever, used to draw out Sedley at the cuddy-table, and make him tell prodigious stories about himself and his exploits against tigers and Napoleon. He was great when he visited the Emperor‘s tomb at Longwood, when to these gentlemen and the young officers of the ship, Major Dobbin not being by, he described the whole battle of Waterloo, and all but announced that Napoleon never would have gone to St. Helena at all but for him, Jos Sedley.

  After leaving St. Helena he became very generous, disposing of a great quantity of ship‘s stores, claret, preserved meats, and great casks packed with soda-water, brought out for his private delectation. There were no ladies on board: the major gave the pas of precedency to the civilian, so that he was the first dignitary at table; and treated by Captain Bragg, and the officers of the Ramchunder, with the respect which his rank warranted. He disappeared rather in a panic during a two-days‘ gale, in which he had the port-holes of his cabin battened down; and remained in his cot reading the Washerwoman of Finchley Common, left on board the Ramchunder by the Right Honourable the Lady Emily Hornblower, wife of the Rev. Silas Hornblower, then on their passage out to the Cape, where the reverend gentleman was a missionary: but, for common reading, he had brought a stock of novels and plays which he lent to the rest of the ship, and rendered himself agreeable to all by his kindness and condescension.

  Many and many a night as the ship was cutting through the roaring dark sea, the moon and stars shining overhead, and the bell singing out the watch, Mr. Sedley and the major would sit on the quarter-deck of the vessel talking about home, as the major smoked his cheroot, and the civilian puffed at the hookah which his servant prepared for him.

  In these conversations it was wonderful with what perseverance and ingenuity Major Dobbin would manage to bring the talk round to the subject of Amelia and her little boy. Jos, a little testy about his father‘s misfortunes and unceremonious applications to him, was soothed down by the major, who pointed out the elder‘s ill fortunes and old age. He would not perhaps like to live with the old couple: whose ways and hours might not agree with those of a younger man, accustomed to different society (Jos bowed at this compliment): but, the major pointed out, how advantageous it would be for Jos Sedley to have a house of his own in London, and not a mere bachelor‘s establishment as before: how his sister Amelia would be the very person to preside over it; how elegant, how gentle she was, and of what refined good manners. He recounted stories of the success which Mrs. George Osborne had had in former days at Brussels, and in London, where she was much admired by people of very great fashion: and he then hinted how becoming it would be for Jos to send Georgy to a good school and make a man of him; for his mother and her parents would be sure to spoil him. In a word this artful major made the civilian promise to take charge of Amelia and her unprotected child. He did not know as yet what events had happened in the little Sedley family: and how death had removed the mother, and riches had carried off George from Amelia. But the fact is, that every day and always, this love-smitten and middle-aged gentleman was thinking about Mrs. Osborne, and his whole heart was bent upon doing her good. He coaxed, wheedled, cajoled, and complimented Jos Sedley with a perseverance and cordiality of which he was not aware himself, very likely: but some men who have unmarried sisters or daughters even, may remember how uncommonly agreeable gentlemen are to the male relations when they are courting the females; and perhaps this rogue of a Dobbin was urged by a similar hypocrisy.

  The truth is, when Major Dobbin came on board the Ramchunder, very sick, and for the three days she lay in the Madras roads, he did not begin to rally, nor did even the appearance and recognition of his old acquaintance, Mr. Sedley, on board much cheer him, until after a conversation which they had one day, as the major was laid languidly on the deck. He said then he thought he was doomed; he had left a little something to his godson in his will; and he trusted Mrs. Osborne would remember him kindly, and be happy in the marriage she was about to make. ‘Married? not the least,‘ Jos answered;‘he had heard from her: she made no mention of the marriage, and by the way, it was curious, she wrote to say that Major Dobbin was going to be married, and hoped that he would be happy.‘ What were the dates of Sedley‘s letters from Europe? The civilian fetched them. They were two months later than the major‘s; and the ship‘s surgeon congratulated himself upon the treatment adopted by him towards his new patient, who had been consigned to shipboard by the Madras practitioner with very small hopes indeed; for, from that day, the very day that he changed the draught, Major Dobbin began to mend. And thus it was that deserving officer, Captain Kirk, was disappointed of his majority.

  After they passed St. Helena, Major Dobbin‘s gaiety and strength was such as to astonish all his fellow-passengers. He larked with the midshipmen, played singlestickrs with the mates, ran up the shrouds like a boy, sang a comic song one night to the amusement of the whole party assembled over their grog after supper, and rendered himself so gay, lively, and amiable, that even Captain Bragg, who thought there was nothing in his passenger, and considered he was a poor-spirited feller at first, was constrained to own that the major was a reserved but well-informed and meritorious officer. ‘He ain‘t got distangyrt manners, dammy,‘ Bragg observed to his first mate; ‘he wouldn‘t do at Government House, Roper, where his lordship and Lady Williamru was as kind to me, and shook hands with me before the whole company and asking me at dinner to take beer with him, before the commander-in-chief himself; he ain‘t got manners, but there‘s something about him—.‘ And thus Captain Bragg showed that he possessed discrimination as a man, as well as ability as a commander.

  But a calm taking place when the Ramchunder was within ten days‘ sail of England, Dobbin became so impatient and ill-humoured as to surprise those comrades who had before admired his vivacity and good temper. He did not recover until the breeze sprang up again, and was in a highly excited state when the pilot came on board. Good God, how his heart beat as the two friendly spires of Southampton came in sight!

  CHAPTER LVIII

  Our Friend the Major

  Our major had rendered himself so popular on board the Ramchunder, that when he and Mr. Sedley descended into the welcome shore-boat which was to take them from the ship, the w
hole crew, men and officers, the great Captain Bragg himself leading off, gave three cheers for Major Dobbin, who blushed very much, and ducked his head in token of thanks. Jos, who very likely thought the cheers were for himself, took off his gold-laced cap and waved it majestically to his friends, and they were pulled to shore and landed with great dignity at the pier, whence they proceeded to the ‘Royal George‘ Hotel.

  Although the sight of that magnificent round of beef, and the silver tankard suggestive of real British home-brewed ale and porter, which perennially greet the eyes of the traveller returning from foreign parts, who enters the coffee-room of the ‘George‘, are so invigorating and delightful, that a man entering such a comfortable snug homely English inn, might well like to stop some days there, yet Dobbin began to talk about a post-chaise instantly, and was no sooner at Southampton than he wished to be on the road to London. Jos, however, would not hear of moving that evening. Why was he to pass the night in a post-chaise, instead of a great large undulating downy feather bed which was there ready to replace the horrid little narrow crib in which the portly Bengal gentleman had been confined during the voyage? He could not think of moving till his baggage was cleared, or of travelling until he could do so with his chillum. So the major was forced to wait over that night, and dispatched a letter to his family announcing his arrival; entreating from Jos a promise to write to his own friends. Jos promised, but didn‘t keep his promise. The captain, the surgeon, and one or two passengers came and dined with our two gentlemen at the inn; Jos exerting himself in a sumptuous way in ordering the dinner: and promising to go to town the next day with the major. The landlord said it did his eyes good to see Mr. Sedley take off his first pint of porter. If I had time and dared to enter into digressions, I would write a chapter about that first pint of porter drunk upon English ground. Ah, how good it is! It is worth while to leave home for a year, just to enjoy that one draught.

  Major Dobbin made his appearance the next morning very neatly shaved and dressed, according to his wont. Indeed it was so early in the morning, that nobody was up in the house except that wonderful boots of an inn who never seems to want sleep; and the major could hear the snores of the various inmates of the house roaring through the corridors as he creaked about in those dim passages. Then the sleepless boots went shirking round from door to door, gathering up at each the Bluchers, Welling-tons, Oxonians, which stood outside. Then Jos‘s native servant arose and began to get ready his master‘s ponderous dressing apparatus, and prepare his hookah: then the maidservants got up, and meeting the dark man in the passages, shrieked, and mistook him for the devil. He and Dobbin stumbled over their pails in the passages as they were scouring the decks of the ‘Royal George‘. When the first unshorn waiter appeared and unbarred the door of the inn, the major thought that the time for departure was arrived, and ordered a post-chaise to be fetched instantly, that they might set off.

  He then directed his steps to Mr. Sedley‘s room, and opened the curtains of the great large family bed wherein Mr. Jos was snoring. ‘Come, up, Sedley,‘ the major said, ‘it‘s time to be off; the chaise will be at the door in half an hour.‘

  Jos growled from under the counterpane to know what the time was; but when he at last extorted from the blushing major (who never told fibs, however much they might be to his advantage) what was the real hour of the morning, he broke out into a volley of bad language, which we will not repeat here, but by which he gave Dobbin to understand that he would jeopardy his soul if he got up at that moment, that the major might go and be hanged, that he would not travel with Dobbin, and that it was most unkind and ungentlemanlike to disturb a man out of his sleep in that way; on which the discomfited major was obliged to retreat, leaving Jos to resume his interrupted slumbers.

  MR. JOS‘S HOOKAHBADAR

  The chaise came up presently, and the major would wait no longer.

  If he had been an English nobleman travelling on a pleasure tour, or a newspaper courier bearing dispatches (Government messages are generally carried much more quietly), he could not have travelled more quickly. The postboys wondered at the fees he flung amongst them. How happy and green the country looked as the chaise whirled rapidly from milestone to milestone, through neat country towns where landlords came out to welcome him with smiles and bows; by pretty roadside inns, where the signs hung on the elms, and horses and wagoners were drinking under the chequered shadow of the trees; by old halls and parks; rustic hamlets clustered round ancient grey churches—and through the charming friendly English landscape. Is there any in the world like it? To a traveller returning home it looks so kind—it seems to shake hands with you as you pass through it. Well, Major Dobbin passed over all this through from Southampton to London, and without noting much beyond the milestones along the road. You see he was so eager to see his parents at Camberwell.

  He grudged the time lost between Piccadilly and his old haunt at the Slaughters‘, whither he drove faithfully. Long years had passed since he saw it last, since he and George, as young men, had enjoyed many a feast, and held many a revel there. He had now passed into the stage of old-fellow-hood. His hair was grizzled, and many a passion and feeling of his youth had grown grey in that interval. There, however, stood the old waiter at the door in the same greasy black suit, with the same double chin and flaccid face, with the same huge bunch of seals at his fob, rattling his money in his pockets as before, and receiving the major as if he had gone away only a week ago. ‘Put the major‘s things in twenty-three, that‘s his room,‘ John said, exhibiting not the least surprise.‘Roast fowl for your dinner, I suppose. You ain‘t got married? They said you was married—the Scotch surgeon of yours was here. No, it was Captain Humby of the Thirty-third, as was quartered with the—th in Injee. Like any warm water? What do you come in a chay for—ain‘t the coach good enough?‘ And with this, the faithful waiter, who knew and remembered every officer who used the house, and with whom ten years were but as yesterday, led the way up to Dobbin‘s old room, where stood the great moreen bed, and the shabby carpet, a thought more dingy, and all the old black furniture covered with faded chintz, just as the major recollected them in his youth.

  He remembered George pacing up and down the room, and biting his nails, and swearing that the governor must come round, and that if he didn‘t, he didn‘t care a straw, on the day before he was married. He could fancy him walking in, banging the door of Dobbin‘s room, and his own hard by—

  ‘You ain‘t got young,‘ John said, calmly surveying his friend of former days.

  Dobbin laughed. ‘Ten years and a fever don‘t make a man young, John,‘ he said. ‘It is you that are always young:—No, you are always old.‘

  ‘What became of Captain Osborne‘s widow?‘ John said. ‘Fine young fellow that. Lord, how he used to spend his money. He never came back after that day he was married from here. He owes me three pound at this minute. Look here, I have it in my book. “April 10, 1815, Captain Osborne: 31.” I wonder whether his father would pay me,‘ and so saying, John of the Slaughters‘ pulled out the very morocco pocketbook in which he had noted his loan to the captain, upon a greasy faded page still extant, with many other scrawled memoranda regarding the bygone frequenters of the house.

  Having inducted his customer into the room, John retired with perfect calmness; and Major Dobbin, not without a blush and a grin at his own absurdity, chose out of his kit the very smartest and most becoming civil costume he possessed, and laughed at his own tanned face and grey hair, as he surveyed them in the dreary little toilet-glass on the dressing-table.

  ‘I‘m glad old John didn‘t forget me,‘ he thought. ‘She‘ll know me, too, I hope.‘ And he sallied out of the inn, bending his steps once more in the direction of Brompton.

  Every minute incident of his last meeting with Amelia was present to the constant man‘s mind as he walked towards her house. The arch and the Achilles statue were up since he had last been in Piccadilly; a hundred changes had occurred which his eye and mind vaguely note
d. He began to tremble as he walked up the lane from Brompton, that well-remembered lane leading to the street where she lived. Was she going to be married or not? If he were to meet her with the little boy—Good God, what should he do? He saw a woman coming to him with a child of five years old—was that she? He began to shake at the mere possibility. When he came up to the row of houses, at last, where she lived, and to the gate, he caught hold of it and paused. He might have heard the thumping of his own heart. ‘May God Almighty bless her, whatever has happened,‘ he thought to himself. ‘Psha! she may be gone from here,‘ he said, and went in through the gate.

  The window of the parlour which she used to occupy was open, and there were no inmates in the room. The major thought he recognized the piano, though, with the picture over it, as it used to be in former days, and his perturbations were renewed. Mr. Clapp‘s brass plate was still on the door, at the knocker of which Dobbin performed a summons.

  A buxom-looking lass of sixteen, with bright eyes and purple cheeks, came to answer the knock, and looked hard at the major as he leant back against the little porch.

  He was as pale as a ghost, and could hardly falter out the words—‘Does Mrs. Osborne live here?‘