Trim. Why, Sir, for your Arrears, you may have Eleven Shillings in the Pound; but he'll not touch your Growing Subsistence, under Three Shillings in the Pound Interest; besides which, You must let his Clerk Jonathan Item, Swear the Peace against you to keep you from Duelling, or insure your life, which you may do for Eight per cent. On these terms He'll Oblige you; which he would not do for any Body else in the Regiment, but he has a Friendship for you.
Lord Hardy. Oh, I'm his Humble Servant; But he must have his own terms, we can't Starve, nor must my Fellows want.[618]
Was an officer killed in action, his wife would be entitled to a pension—but it seems to have been somewhat problematical whether it would be available. 'One must Sneak to the Government, for a Pension of twenty Shillings a Week to Subsist half a Score Children, and hammer out the rest with Washing and Starching.'[619]
The 'Officer and Gentleman' hardly went together; the rough life of the camp told, and almost all contemporary writers agree in painting him as a swaggering, dicing bully. Farquhar's description[620] will serve for all:—
Silvia. I'm call'd Captain, Sir, by all the Coffee men, Drawers, and Groom porters in London; for I wear a Red Coat, a Sword, a Hat bien troussé, a Martial Twist in my Cravat, a fierce knot in my Perriwig, a Cane upon my Button, Picquet in my Head, and Dice in my pocket.
Silvia. Capt. Pinch: I cock my Hat with a Pinch, I take Snuff with a Pinch, pay my women with a Pinch, In short, I can do anything at a Pinch, but fight and fill my Belly.
In Bickerstaff's 'Lottery for the London Ladies,' another class of officer is spoken of. 'Young spruce Beauish non fighting Officers, often to be seen at Man's Coffee House, Loaded with more Gold Lace than ever was worn by a thriving Hostess upon her Red Petticoat, all Ladies Sons of a fine Barbary Shape, Dance admirably, Sing charmingly, speak French fluently, and are the Darlings of their Mothers; have large Pay for little Service, are kept at home by the Interest of their Friends, to oblige the Ladies, and hate the thought of going on Board Ships, because their nice Noses are unable to endure the smell of Tar, or the stink of Belg Water; besides they are as much afraid of dawbing their Cloaths as they are of ventering their Carcases.'
Who can this be? 'The first Gentleman I happen'd to cast my Eyes upon, was my old Friend and Fellow Collegian Bartholomew Cringe. I wonder'd who in the Devil's Name had equipt him with a Wig large enough to load a Camel.... His Sword in length resembled a Footman's, who asserts the Reputation of his Mistriss, which, for divers good Causes and Reasons, he is very nearly Concern'd in. His Coat was as blue as the Sky; and his Hat boldly erected its Sable Penthouse to play with greater vivacity the ruddy Complexion of its Owner.... Says he, Dear friend, Tom, you're surpriz'd to find your old Friend in this Place and Habit. I wear this Dress and Garniture as the Emblems of my Militant Capacity. I have the Honour to perform the Duties of my Office under the Protection of that worthy Gentleman Lieutenant General —— in Quality of Chaplain to his Regiment.'[621]
Even their commissions were the subject of traffic. 'If any Gentleman that is Chaplain to a Regiment is willing to dispose of his Commission, he is desired to acquaint therewith the Master of the Tilt Yard Coffee House near Whitehall.'