In the midst of the glee and the rejoicing, M. made his appearance, but with a countenance expressive of anything but mirth and satisfaction. 'What's the matter, Frank?' said Mrs. D. 'Nothing,' said M., 'but that I have lost the race.' 'How can that be?' said the lady. 'Your horse came in first.' 'Yes; but when the jockey was weighed, it was found that he had lost weight.' 'Oh, how sorry I am,' said Mrs. D.; 'I could actually cry, I'm so vexed.' 'Don't do that, "mera jan," don't do that; I'd rather lose the next race than that you should do that.' 'Well, Frank, I won't if I can help it.' 'I am really sorry,' said Colonel W.; 'but how did it happen?' 'I can't tell, and the boy can't tell. He is a good lad, and is now doing what you were almost doing, Emma; he is crying his eyes out because he has lost the race and I have lost my money.' 'But how did it occur?' 'I suppose some of the shot escaped out of the shot-belt, though how they could I don't know. However it came about, it has happened, and I have lost the race.' 'Well,' said the Colonel, 'you take it very philosophically.' 'Why should I not do so? fretting or fuming won't help me. Losing my temper won't save me from losing my money.' 'True,' returned the Colonel; 'but few exhibit so much command over themselves.' 'Few are like Frank,' said Mrs. D. 'But how much weight did the boy lose?' 'I forget exactly; not many grains over allowances.' 'And must you lose the race for that? that is hard.' 'No, "mera jan," it is the law, the rule; and it is as fair for one as the other.' 'Why, then, don't they have a piece of lead scraped or filed down to what is exactly required, and then if it were sewn into the jacket it could not be lost.' 'Not a bad plan, Emma, truly; but it can only help us for the future; it cannot help us on this occasion.' 'What I can't understand is how Cubbon's horses, by far the best of those which started, did not win.' 'It was in consequence of their acknowledged superiority that they lost,' replied M. 'Isn't that a paradoxical remark,' asked Mrs. D. 'No, Emma,' said M.; 'they carried too much extra weight. I knew they would lose, and I told the Colonel so, and advised him to scratch them. I also said I thought that the committee had decided erroneously; but he was so good and so generous that he declared he would rather lose than spoil the race and the general pleasure. Oh, he is primus et solus.' All sung Colonel Cubbon's praises, and then all prepared for the second heat.
Not to make my story too long, it is merely necessary to state the facts as they occurred. Trojan was first. The little mare Kate (M.'s horse) came in second, but again M. lost through his jockey, this time evidently by villainy; the boy had chosen to lose his whip. This would not have occurred had the lad who rode the first race been allowed to ride the second, which M. himself wished. His wishes were, however, overruled by his friends; so the honest but unfortunate jockey was discarded and the scoundrel trusted, as too often happens in this world in more important matters. As he himself said, 'Fate was determined to win the race against him.'
Poor fellow! that day's sport made him an indebted and distressed man all his days. On the other hand Fate, or Dame Fortune was equally determined that Captain Venables should be a winner. First, the horse he backed so largely was an ugly, awkward, bony-looking brute that would never have had the ghost of a chance had not the committee, most unaccountably, at the last moment almost, doubled the length of the course. This enabled Trojan's wind and bottom to tell. Secondly, by another oversight, the weight named for him to carry was insignificant. For, by height, and size, and strength, he ought to have carried a stone more than he did; but, in truth, his other qualities were overlooked; his Roman nose and awkward appearance, together with his comparative want of speed, which was well known, deceived the members of the committee. He was scoffed at as a competitor, and was generally put down as nowhere in the race, and consequently the bets and odds were heavy against him. Had it not been for the double course, which made the stretch close on three miles, the knowing ones would have been quite right; but the alteration, which was purely accidental, upset all their calculations. Still, had it not been for the first jockey's accident and ill-luck, Leander would have won. As it was, Captain Venables won everything; his gains were calculated at more than £2,000, and, as everyone said, lucky it was for him that he did win. Had he lost, he had nothing, absolutely nothing, to offer in the shape of payment but his commission.
All the senior officers of the 39th had been constant and earnest in their remonstrances and entreaties to Captain Venables to draw back, and not to involve himself to such a perilous extent; but all to no purpose. An obstinate fit of deafness, and, as it was looked on, madness, seemed to have got possession of him. He would hear nothing, see nothing, and say nothing except, 'Well, we shall see,' and such like cool, determined phrases. Everyone set him down as an obstinate madman, whose ruin was certain. Major S. said to him after a long, earnest, and fruitless remonstrance, 'Well, Venables, I shall be sorry, after twenty years' service, to see you carrying a musket, but there's nothing else before you that I can see.' 'But,' replied V., 'I can see something else, Major; you will never see me carrying a musket.' 'I hope not,' replied the Major, as he walked out intensely disgusted and disappointed.
The real meaning of the expression was not understood till after the speaker's death. Then, as members of the committee appointed for that purpose were examining and noting down his effects, a bottle labelled 'Cyanide of Potassium' was found; it contained fully two ounces, not having been opened. This of itself might not have excited much suspicion, as several officers were then amusing themselves with learning how to plate copper and other articles, for which the salt in question was largely used; but that it had been obtained for another and far more deadly object was made clear by a book found near the bottle. This was the last edition of Taylor on poisons. The section on prussic, or hydrocyanic, acid and its compounds had evidently been carefully studied; there were many marks and annotations in the handwriting of the winner of the race in pencil, and one which explained the writer's feelings and intentions so plainly as to remove all doubt from the minds of the committee. The words were these, after underlining the quantities required to kill an adult, 'But, after all, I may not require it.' The Father of all mercy graciously removed him from the world without having the contemplated crime to answer for.
The manner of this unfortunate man's death was as follows: After the second heat, when all doubt was removed, and it was certain that Trojan had won so largely, Captain Venables flushed up so as to appear almost purple in the face. My brother was standing directly opposite in the race-stand, and at the time watching the winner. He beheld the extraordinary flush mentioned, saw it gradually fade and pass away, and a deadly paleness succeed to it; finally, he saw the most extraordinary changes take place. The officer's face became brown, leaden, almost green, and at last a little flushed; then he tottered, and would have fallen but that a friend held him up and supported him until a palankeen could be found; into this he was placed and conveyed home. Dr. Davis, the assistant surgeon of the regiment, was sent for; he directed his patient to take a glass of hot brandy-and-water directly, to be undressed, and put to bed. The report spread everywhere that Captain Venables, the winner of the race, had been so overcome by the excitement as to be seriously ill; that he had drunk a glass of brandy-and-water, had been put to bed, and was not to be disturbed till to-morrow. Few except my brother thought that anything beyond over-excitement was the matter; but he had closely observed the extraordinary changes exhibited by the poor man's face, and feared a fatal issue. Almost every other person said: 'Oh, he'll be all right to-morrow. Oh, it's nothing but over-excitement; he knew if he had lost that he would have to sell his commission, and have to serve in the ranks, so, after all, his being upset by his wonderful escape and good fortune is nothing to be wondered at.'
This being the general opinion, little more was said or thought of Captain Venables; but there was great stir and bustle amongst the young people, and especially amongst the young ladies, nor indeed was the stir and excitement confined to the young people. A fancy ball, to follow on the evening of the races, was too important and rare an occurrence to be lightly passed over. This momentous consummation to the races had been announced more than six weeks before, so tailors and a variety of curious artificers had been busy during the month. Ladies and gentlemen had also been unusually busy. The result of all this preparation was a very splendid collection of fancy costumes and groups taken from Scott's novels, as well as from the more sober though less delightful pages of history. Some of the groups and costumes were so exceptionally good that they really deserve a passing notice.
Of these groups Queen Elizabeth and three ladies of her court, in the costume of that day, with their grand ruffs, farthingales, and trains were very effective. Their four cavaliers, all habited in the well-known dress worn by Sir Walter Raleigh, formed a much-admired set for a quadrille. Queen Mary and her four Marys, with cavaliers wearing Highland dresses, formed another set for a quadrille, and were much admired. Another group habited as Virgins of the Sun also attracted much notice, the leader being Mrs. W. This naturally gave rise to several facetious remarks, which I leave to the imagination of the reader. Then after the groups there were several couples, which elicited marked applause. Mrs. C. and Mrs. M., as two Greek ladies, were greatly admired. Then Mrs. L. and Mrs. C., habited in the costume worn in the reign of George I., were acknowledged by all to be capital, and won universal admiration. Miss S., whose fine figure, beautiful complexion, and good-natured face must not be omitted, habited as a flower-girl, won many admirers. Other young ladies were seen disporting themselves as Persians, Circassians, Swiss maidens, sylphs, and vivandieres, and were all more or less admirable, and when mingled with the requisite number of Turks, Greeks, Hungarians, devils, and scaramouches, made up a beautiful and interesting mélange of characters. But the admired of all admirers was Mrs. S., in Scott's too charming character of Rebecca. To very handsome and expressive features, and to a tall, faultlessly graceful figure, this lady added the appropriate beauty of a brunette. Her dark eyes were fringed with long silken lashes; her long and luxuriant dark tresses, partly escaping from ribbons and turban, fell in natural curls on her neck and shoulders, and, seen through her gauze veil, formed a wealth of beauty which set off and enhanced the witchery of a bust that Leda herself might have envied. Her costume, closely copied from the description given in 'Ivanhoe,' completed the enchantment wrought by her appearance. Her elegant little feet and slippers, almost concealed by her full silken trousers, when they did appear, gave a provoking glimpse of that perfection of form which her dress concealed. She was by all admitted to be the cynosure of all eyes.
But where was the Bois-Guilbert who ought to have been her cavalier? Ah, where indeed? 'Tell it not in Gath, speak it not in the streets of Ascalon.' The Bois-Guilbert, who was to have been personated by her husband, Captain S., was unable to stand or even to articulate; he was lying on his bed, partly undressed, almost unable to move, and in a pickle that cannot be described. Poor Rebecca! her sorrowful expression of countenance was felt too deeply to be regarded as acting, or if it was it was acting with an aching heart. Unhappily the condition in which Captain S. was found was almost a nightly occurrence; and yet this very man, when sober, was without exception the handsomest and finest man in the cantonment.
The sensitive mind recoils with indignation, disgust, and horror from the picture presented. God's grandest gift to man, his intellect (which, far better than any trivial anatomical distinction, distinguishes him from the beast), wilfully, wickedly, and wantonly thrown aside to gratify the lowest of all propensities. But the drunkard does more than this. It is a libel on the beast to say that the drunkard makes a beast of himself; he makes himself worse and lower than the beast, for the beast does not get drunk. It is only man who gets drunk; it is only man who dares to insult his Creator in this detestable manner—who dares to fling back in His face his best gift, and who thus displays, at one time and in one act, his disobedience, his wickedness, his folly, and his ingratitude. And if we now inquire how a persistence in drinking ends, the hospital, the gaol, and the workhouse answer. While, during life, as the man pursues the dreadful downward path, he forfeits every kindly feeling on the part of those who once loved him, and would have done their best to serve him, in death he is remembered only as 'that drunken fellow' So-and-so. Some former friend, who knew him before he had yielded to this enthralling vice, may say perhaps: 'Well, I am sorry for poor ——. I knew him when he was as nice a fellow as you could wish to see; and to think that he, or such as he, should be among the victims of the Vampire Drink, is very sad; I cannot bear to think of it.' This is the career of the drunkard in this world. What it must be in the world to come, when he must give an account of his life, is dreadful to reflect on.