Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 69, No. 424, February 1851

CHAPTER VII

HOW PETER CLAIMED SUPREMACY IN BULLOCKSHATCH – AND HOW THE JUGGLER THREW THE BLAME UPON AUGUSTINE

One morning after breakfast, Squire Bull, who was then mightily taken up with a glass warehouse, which some people had persuaded him to erect in his park, for the purpose of showing off his neighbours' wares in opposition to his own, called as usual for his newspaper.

"I half begin to think," quoth he, settling himself in his easy chair, and airing the broadsheet at the fire, "that I have been bubbled in this matter. What good this puffing and vaunting of other folk's commodities is to do to my villagers, I do not exactly see; and, as for the tenantry, they appear to be against it to a man. Besides, I have a strong suspicion that in the long run I shall have to pay the piper. However, let us see if anything is stirring abroad. – Eh! what's this? A letter from that miscreant Peter! Am I in my right senses?"

And, sure enough, in the most conspicuous part of the newspaper there appeared the following document: —

"We, Peter, Lord Paramount of the whole world, and Supreme Suzerain of the Squirearchy thereof, to all to whom these presents may come, Greeting. Know ye, that We, out of Our infinite condescension and mercy, and moved thereto by the love which We bear to Our subjects of Bullockshatch, have determined from henceforth, and in all time coming, to grant unto them such spiritual rights and privileges as We have accorded to others of Our subjects elsewhere. Also, for the end that Our loving subjects of Bullockshatch may the better accommodate themselves to Our Will in this matter, and render to us, through Our delegates, the homage which is justly Our due, We have resolved to divide and erect, as We do hereby divide and erect, the whole of Our territory of Bullockshatch into thirteen separate parishes, appointing thereunto for each a Superintendent, who shall henceforth, and in all time coming, derive his style and title from the parish to which he is appointed by Us; and We command, require, and enjoin Our said loving subjects to render to Our said Superintendents all obedience and fealty, as they shall answer to Us thereupon. And in order that all things may be properly administered, We have appointed Our dearly beloved Nicholas, formerly Superintendent of Hippopotamus, to be our Arch-Superintendent on Our estate of Bullockshatch, with the title and designation of Lord Arch-Superintendent of Smithfield, granting to him all the rights of coal, fuel, faggot, turf, twig, and combustibles which were formerly enjoyed by any of his predecessors in office. And as a token of their gratitude for this Our unparalleled condescension and mercy, We ordain and require that Our loving subjects of Bullockshatch shall each and all of them attend and assist at three solemn masses, to be performed for the soul of the late Guido Fawkes, Esquire, of happy memory. And We declare this to be a public and irrevocable decree.

Language is inadequate to express the paroxysm of wrath into which Squire Bull was thrown by the perusal of this insolent document! He foamed at the mouth, kicked over the breakfast table, dashed the newspaper on the carpet, and tore down the bell-rope.

"He the Lord Paramount of Bullockshatch, the lying old villain that he is! He pretend to jurisdiction within my estate! But I'll trounce him! Ho, there! Who's without? Fetch me here the Juggler instantly! Body of me, that it should ever have come to this! These are the thanks I get from the ungrateful old he-goat for having taken some of his people into my service, and persuaded my tenantry, sorely against their will, to make an annual allowance for that school of his, which is no better than a nest of Jesuits! If I don't make the viper feel – So, so! Master Juggler, you are there, are you? Things have come to a pretty pass, when I can't take up a newspaper, without finding myself openly insulted, and my rights of property denied!"

Now, be it known to you that the Juggler was anything but comfortable in his mind. He was fully conscious that he had been imposed on by Peter; and, further, that he and his associates had done everything in their power to back up Peter's pretensions. This they did less out of hatred to Martin (though they bore him no great love) than from a desire to ingratiate themselves with some of the under servants who came from the farm over the pond, and were known adherents of Peter. But from one thing to another, they had gone so far, as we have already seen, relaxing and abolishing all the old regulations of the estate against the interference of Peter, that it really seemed as though he had only to step in and take possession. Further, the Juggler was somewhat at a loss to know how he could satisfactorily explain the nature of the mission upon which his relative, Mat-o'-the-Mint, had been despatched; besides some other little circumstances which looked confoundedly suspicious. For example, about a year before, one Dicky Squeal, a notorious Peterite, had been detected tampering with the dies from which Squire Bull's tokens were struck, and cutting out certain letters which were understood to signify that Mr Bull held possession of his estate altogether independent of Peter. Instead of punishing him for this, the Juggler had just announced his intention of sending Dicky Squeal on a second mission to Signor Macaroni's estate, where he might be within earshot of Peter. Altogether, it is no wonder if the Juggler felt the reverse of happy when summoned to appear before his master. However, he was resolved to brazen it out as he best could.

"Insulted, did you say, sir; and your rights of property denied? The thing is clean impossible! Nobody dares insult my noble master – the most excellent, kind, hospitable, beneficent landlord that ever kept open house! O sir, if you but knew the depth of my affection – the almost overwhelming load, as I may say, of love and regard – "

"Come, come, Master Juggler! quoth the Squire sharply, "I've heard all that palaver before, and mayhap once too often. You ask who has insulted me – I'll tell you in four words – that unmitigated rascal, Peter!

"Peter! alackaday!" replied the Juggler, with an affected whine of consternation. "Is it possible that he can have been left so far to his own devices! Surely, surely, my dear master, there must be some mistake in this."

"No mistake at all!" roared the Squire; "and, what is more, there shall be no mistake about it. Look here – " continued he, pointing out the paragraph. "Have you read that?"

The Juggler had done so, every word of it, that blessed morning; but as he wished to gain time, he adjusted his glasses, and began to con it over with an appearance of intense interest. Meanwhile the Squire occupied himself in tying knots on a new lash for his hunting-whip.

"Well, what do you say to that now?" quoth he, when the Juggler had concluded the perusal.

"I think – that is – I am strongly of opinion," faltered the other, "that the whole thing is a mere misconception."

"A what?" roared the Squire.

"A misconception," quavered the Juggler. "As I read this document, which I confess is not so well worded as it might have been, I conclude that Peter merely wishes to provide for the spiritual wants of his own people, not that he in the least degree intends to question your lawful authority. And further – "

"Hark-ye!" interrupted the Squire, his eye kindling like a coal, "I am not going to stand any of your nonsense. I, John Bull, stand here as the sole proprietor of Bullockshatch, and no man alive shall presume to question my title with impunity. Look to it, Master Juggler, for I know you better than you think. I may be at times too easy and careless, but I have an eye in my head notwithstanding, and I know what your friends Gray and Claretson have been doing. Mind this – you as head-steward are responsible to me, and if I find you playing false in this matter, by the Lord Harry you shall answer for it!"

"Me!" cried the Juggler, in the shrill tones of injured innocence. "How could such an idea enter into your blessed brain? I protest that never man served master with more entire devotion. May my next tragedy be worse than my first, if it does not bring tears into my eyes, to hear you talking in this way of your affectionate Juggling Johnny!" Here he went through a little bit of pantomime similar to that performed by Mr T. P. Cooke when bidding farewell to Shewsan, immediately before his execution. "As for Gray and Claretson, or any other of them, if they have been doing anything contrary to the rules of the household, it is wholly unbeknownst to me. O! if your honour only knew the trouble they give me sometimes, and the watch I am obliged to keep over them to see that they do their duty! I really think that the labour is telling upon my precious health. If it be your pleasure that they should be packed about their business, I'll do it – only don't break my heart by doubting my devotion in your service."

"Well, well!" quoth the Squire, who was always easily mollified, "let's say no more about that at present. The main thing is to put down that insolent varlet, Peter. And, as you say you are determined to uphold my authority, it will be just as well that you should tell that to the household. So just step into my closet – you will find paper and ink on the table – and write me a handsome letter to Martin, expressive of your indignation at Peter, and your determination to give him a ribroasting at the earliest opportunity."

At this the Juggler hemmed and coughed, said something about a whitlow in his finger, and would fain have postponed writing for the present. But the Squire was peremptory, and would listen to no excuse; so nolens volens, Johnny was obliged to walk into the closet and do his master's bidding.

Having secured the door, he first of all took out of his waistcoat pocket a thimble and peas, and began trying to cheat himself, as was his wont whenever he found himself in a scrape. After his ideas were clarified by that ingenious process, he broke out into the following soliloquy: —

"Am I done for, or am I not? Gadzooks! I must say that it looks extremely like it. That old blockhead Bull is in a thorough passion, and I need never expect to talk him round. What an ass that fellow Peter is! If he had only waited a little, we could have managed the whole matter quite easily, but now he has put his foot in it, and must even take the consequences. But how am I to manage with Gray and Claretson? They are both committed as deeply as can be to Peter, and I suspect that he can prove it by their own letters. I wonder if I could persuade them to quit the Squire's service without making any noise about it! No – that they won't do; and the mischief is that they know a thing or two more than is convenient. Then what am I to write to that old pantaloon Martin, whom I have not spoken to for many a day? If I commit myself against Peter, Gray and Claretson will be down upon me to a dead certainty, and I shall have to account for all Mat-o'-the Mint's blunders, which would puzzle any conjurer living. If I don't, the whole household will suppose that I have been in regular league with Peter, and then I lose my place. They suspect me already; for no later than yesterday that stupid errand-boy of mine, Hips, came down with a tester towards buying a new hat for Hippopotamus; and, to say the truth, I have a letter from that same individual at this moment in my pocket. Couldn't I manage to temporise about Peter, and throw the blame on somebody else? Not a bad idea! There's that noodle Augustine with a back providentially fitted for the burden! If I can make him the scapegoat, I may still contrive to throw dust in the eyes of the Squire!"

So saying, Johnny pocketed his thimble and peas, and straightway indited this doughty epistle to Martin.

"Reverend and Dear Sir, – I have this moment learned with great astonishment and surprise, the insidious attempt which has been made by Peter to extend his authority in Bullockshatch. This gives me the greater surprise, because I consider myself ill used by Peter, having on previous occasions behaved with marked civility to his people, and having moreover shown myself anything but hostile to his exercising his functions here, moderately and discreetly, and within due limits. However, you may rely upon it, that the matter shall be thoroughly sifted, and such steps adopted as may vindicate the proper position of my honoured master, not forgetting your own. What these steps may be, I cannot yet say, because it will be necessary in a matter of this importance to consult an attorney. However, you may keep your mind at ease. What Peter shall or shall not have, will be determined in proper time; till when, it would be premature to enter into further explanations.

"Having thus explicitly stated my sentiments with regard to this unusual matter, it would be wrong in me to conceal from you that I regard your son Augustine as a dangerous enemy to the tranquillity of Bullockshatch. I write this with unfeigned sorrow, but my natural candour renders it impossible for me to maintain any disguise. The Peterizing tendency of the practices adopted by Mr Augustine have long been the subject of serious remark in the household, and have doubtless contributed very much to the difficulties which have now arisen. To be plain with you, I regard your son as being actually more culpable than Peter.

"You will farther pardon me, Reverend Sir, for remarking that your own conduct is not altogether without reproach, seeing that you might have used your authority more decidedly in cautioning your son against imitating the mummeries of Peter. – I am, Reverend and Dear Sir, your best adviser and friend,

"If that letter does not succeed," quoth the Juggler after he had read it over for the second time, "I surrender all faith in human gullibility. It shall appear to-morrow morning in the newspapers; and as to what may follow after, why – we shall just leave that to the chapter of accidents."

CHAPTER VIII

HOW AUGUSTINE RETORTED ON THE JUGGLER; AND HOW HIPPOPOTAMUS CAME OVER TO BULLOCKSHATCH

Next morning, the letter appeared in print, and was circulated all over Bullockshatch. You have no idea what a commotion it created. Some people who knew the Juggler well from old experience, pronounced it at once to be a mere tub thrown out to catch a whale, and argued that in reality it meant nothing. But others, who detested Peter from the bottom of their hearts, and yet felt a sort of sneaking kindness for the Juggler, were loud in their commendation and praise of his spirited, straightforward conduct; and declared their firm conviction that he would go on, and give Peter such a trouncing for his insolence, as he had not received for many a day. Those who were of the Gray and Claretson faction, looked exceedingly glum; swore that they had always considered the Juggler as little better than a time-serving fellow; and that, notwithstanding his braggadocio, he durst not take a single step against Peter. "If we are in for it," said they, "so is he. Let him clear up those doings of Mat-o'-the-Mint as he best can." Peter's friends, of course, were furious; at least the majority of them, who did not comprehend the truth of the axiom, that the main use of language is to conceal ideas. Others, who were more learned in Jesuitry, winked and hinted at a dispensation.

But the man, of all others, who was the most astounded – and no wonder – was poor Augustine. You must know that, for several years, the Juggler had been on extremely cool terms with Dr Martin, and seldom, if ever, set foot within his church. But, as it had always been considered a point of etiquette that the Squire's head-steward should attend some place of worship, the Juggler, who could do nothing like other people, compromised the matter by joining two congregations at once. Of a Sunday forenoon he was a regular attendant on the ministrations of Augustine; in the afternoon, he went to a meeting-house where the minister was a relative of Jack's. He had helped Augustine to set up his nick-nackeries; assisted at the most suspicious of his ceremonies; and never made the slightest objection to the practices, which he now thought fit to denounce to Martin! Augustine, at the first sight of the letter, doubted the evidence of his eyesight.

"Bones of Saint Thomas-à-Beckett!" said he, "is it possible that he can have written this? Supposing that I was to blame – which I am not – is it for him to turn against me at the last hour, after all that he has said and done, and throw the whole blame of Peter's delinquencies at my door? But I won't stand it – that's flat. I'll write him a tickler that shall touch him to the quick, if he has any spark of conscience remaining; and, now that I think on't, I'll just step over to the vestry, where I shall be less disturbed."

I don't know what kind of disturbance Augustine contemplated at home, but it must have been slight indeed compared with that which he was doomed to meet at the chapel. All the ragamuffins in the neighbourhood, who took their cue from the Juggler, were congregated around the door; and no sooner did Augustine appear, than he was saluted with yells of "No candles! no sham Peters! down with the humbug!" and so forth; so that the poor gentleman had much difficulty in elbowing his way to the vestry, where he locked himself in, not altogether, as you may easily believe, in a comfortable frame of mind. When he attempted to perform service, matters grew worse and worse. There was shouting, braying, and hissing, both inside and outside the door, so that a large posse of constables was required to keep the mob in order; and, at last, the chapel was shut up.

Augustine, however, wrote his letter, which was a stinger, though rather too long, and published it. It is just possible that he may have received an answer; but if so, I have not seen it, nor can I therefore undertake to clear up the mystery which envelopes this remarkable episode. This much is certain, that if Augustine's statement was true, the Juggler gave ample proof, if proof was necessary, that he was still eminently qualified to exhibit feats of dexterity at any booth in Bartholomew Fair, and could turn his back upon himself with any man in the kingdom.

It is my opinion that the Juggler, after having written his famous letter to Martin, would very willingly have held his tongue, until he was compelled to address the household. But it is not easy, when a fire is once kindled, to put it out. Not that the kindling was the work of Johnny, for Peter's insolent proclamation was of itself enough to raise a conflagration in Bullockshatch; but now that the head-steward had declared himself – or was supposed to have done so – it was necessary that he should go through with it. It so happened, that a day or two afterwards he was engaged, along with others of the Squire's servants, to eat custard with one of the village magistrates; and the good man, in proposing his health, could not help alluding to the very noble, magnificent, and satisfactory letter which had been written by the honourable head-steward on the subject of Peter's unwarrantable attack on the liberties of the Squire. At this the whole company rose and cheered, so that the Juggler could not very well forbear touching on the topic, though he handled it with as much caution as he would have used towards a heated poker. He talked about his determination to uphold the just rights of Esquire Bull, and so forth; but what those rights were, he did not specify, neither did he drop any hint as to the nature of the steps which he proposed to adopt. But you may conceive his disgust, when he heard two of the servants whom he had brought along with him, fall foul of Peter in the most unqualified terms! The first of these, one Kewpaw, so named after his habitual pronunciation of his birthplace in the North farm, had the exquisite taste to say that he, being a Justice of the Peace, would be but too happy and proud to preside at the trial either of Peter, or of his delegate Hippopotamus, for the insult offered to Squire Bull, and would give them a practical insight into the nature of a mittimus; while the other, who had been wild in his youth, but now sat at the head of the upper servants' table, declared his intention of dancing a fandango on the hat of Hippopotamus on the first convenient opportunity. These dignified speeches were of course enthusiastically cheered, though they were as bitter as wormwood to the Juggler, who felt himself every hour more and more compromised before he had made up his mind to any definite course of action.