The Military Sketch-Book, Vol. 2 (of 2): Reminiscences of seventeen years in the service abroad and at homeMaginn, William
General
The Military Sketch-Book, Vol. 2 (of 2): Reminiscences of seventeen years in the service abroad and at home
Maginn, William
Bushrangers; Military biography; Soldiers -- Conduct of life
It happened at this time that I changed my lodgings to Villiers-street,
Strand. Here I engaged a tolerably well-furnished pair of parlours,
and was reading at my fire, the second night after I took possession
of them, when my landlord--a little fat clerk to a brewer--opened the
hall-door for somebody who had knocked. I heard his voice increasing to
a pitch of anger, which awakened my curiosity; so I laid down my book
and listened.
“You cannot be taking up my room for nothing, in this way, Sir; I must
pay my rent, and I _shall_ be paid by my lodgers. I gave you warning a
fortnight ago, when I saw you had no money; and so now you must quit,
_willy nilly_.”
“But, Sir,” replied a voice, in a subdued tone, “I have not been able
to leave my bed, in order to look for lodgings, until to-day; and I
hope you will not oblige me to quit your room to-night.”
“You may go to the room, if you wish,” replied the landlord, “because
I know the _law_ don’t allow me to lock it up--and a bad law it is;
but if you do go, you will have to sleep without a bed; for I have
removed my furniture. The short and the long of the matter is, Sir, you
owe me two pounds; and I’ll forgive you the debt, if you only go away
to-night: that’s what I call fair and charitable.”
“To-night!” returned a voice, “I cannot go; I was scarcely able to
crawl down to the Strand, to look after a gentleman, who promised to
recommend me to where I may get money; and now I am quite exhausted.”
“Exhausted! nonsense,” exclaimed the landlord’s wife, who now ran up
from the kitchen; “we can’t be troubled with such people, and lose
our rent, too.--Parcel of poor devils of half-pay officers, coming to
London, here, to eat us up. One word for all; I will not be humbugged
out of my lodgings.”
A thought struck me--it might be the poor Captain. I opened the
door--it _was_ he! There he stood in the hall, leaning upon a
stick--almost sinking with weakness. He recognised me directly, and
as he put out his hand to meet mine, I could see his eyes filled with
tears, which he laboured to suppress. I brought him into my room--gave
him a chair at the fire--and left him to himself a few minutes, in
order that he might compose his feelings; for to have talked to him
on the brutality of the landlord then would have wounded him still
deeper. I chose, therefore, rather to affect ignorance of it; and
while I remained out of the room, took an opportunity of addressing
the landlord upon his conduct, and promised to be answerable for the
Captain’s rent, which operated a marvellous change in his demeanour
towards the poor sufferer whom he had but a moment before treated so
harshly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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