Springhaven: A Tale of the Great WarBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
History
Springhaven: A Tale of the Great War
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Great Britain -- History -- Regency, 1800-1837 -- Fiction
Concerning that there could be no doubt. Glory, as all English officers
know, is no durable stay for the stomach. The urgency of mankind
for victuals may roughly be gauged by the length of the jaw. Captain
Stubbard had jaws of tremendous length, and always carried a bag of
captain's biscuits, to which he was obliged to have recourse in the
height of the hottest engagement. Scudamore had short jaws, well set up,
and powerful, without rapacity. But even these, after twelve hours of
fasting, demanded something better than gunpowder. He could not help
thinking that his host was regarding the condition of affairs very
calmly, until he remembered that the day was Sunday, when no Briton has
any call to be disturbed by any but sacred insistency. At any rate, he
was under orders now, and those orders were entirely to his liking. So
he freshened up his cheerful and simple-minded face, put his sailor-knot
neckcloth askew, as usual, and with some trepidation went down to
dinner.
The young ladies would not have been young women if they had not
received him warmly. Kind Faith, who loved him as a sister might--for
she had long discovered his good qualities--had tears in her beautiful
eyes, as she gave him both hands, and smiled sweetly at his bashfulness.
And even the critical Dolly, who looked so sharply at the outside
of everything, allowed her fair hand to stay well in his, and said
something which was melody to him. Then Johnny, who was of a warlike
cast, and hoped soon to destroy the French nation, shook hands with this
public benefactor already employed in that great work.
“I shall scarcely have time for a bit of dinner,” said Admiral Darling,
as they sat down. “I have sent word to have the Protector launched, and
to give little Billy a feed of corn. All you young people may take your
leisure. Youth is the time that commands time and space. But for my
part, if I can only manage this plate of soup, and a slice of that fish,
and then one help of mutton, and just an apple-fritter, or some trifle
of that sort, I shall be quite as lucky as I can hope to be. Duty
perpetually spoils my dinner, and I must get some clever fellow to
invent a plate that will keep as hot as duty is in these volcanic times.
But I never complain; I am so used to it. Eat your dinners, children,
and don't think of mine.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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