By the way, the real meaning of “peg” was said to be the peg, or nail, driven into the coffin of the drinker every time he partook. And the coffin of many an Anglo-Indian of my acquaintance was all nails. A
John Collins
is simply a gin-sling with a little curaçoa in it. That is to say, soda-water, a slice of lemon, curaçoa—and gin. But by altering the proportions this can be made a very dangerous potion indeed. The officers of a certain regiment—which shall be nameless—were in the habit of putting this potion on tap, after dinner on a guest night. It was a point of honour in those evil, though poetical, times, to send no guest empty away, and more than one of those entertained by this regiment used to complain next morning at breakfast—a peg, or a swizzle, and a hot pickle sandwich—of the escape of “Private John Collins” from the regimental guard-room. For towards dawn there would not be much soda-water in that potion—which was usually served hot at that hour.
[CHAPTER XIX]
CUPS AND CORDIALS
“Can any mortal mixture
Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment?”
————
“The evil that men do lives after them.”