Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 377: what you’re looking at

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on ee ee en oe rw es re ee me 364 JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. purpose of being thanked or rewarded for what I had done. Mr. Edwards asked me where I was staying P—but the same motive which led me to decline his proffered hospitality, also made me hasten down stairs without responding to his last query; and shaking him by the hand, I was issuing forth from the house, when I encountered Lord Eccleston, who was just ascending the steps in a considerable state of excitement. “What ? Joseph !” he ejaculated, instanta- neously recognising me. “ Is it possible that 4 “Yes, my lord,’ Mr. Edwards hastened to ob- serve; “in this admirable young gentleman you behold the gallant deliverer of your wife—who, thank heaven! has sustained no injury.” “You, Joseph?” said Lord Eccleston: and he gazed upon me in so singular a manner that I was confused and bewildered: then abruptly grasp- ing me by the hand, he added in a deep voice, You know not But you are not going? No, no! you must remain.” ** He will neither accept thanks nor hospitality —nor anything else,’ said Mr. Edwards. “He evidently thinks he has performed the most ordi- nary action.” “I have only done my duty to a fellow- creature,” I said: and rushing away, I darted across the Square to avoid any farther assurances of gratitude or any additional compliments for the deed I had accomplished. At the farther extremity of the Square I paused, and looked in the direction of the burning edifice. The engines were now playing fast and furiously upon the devouring element, which was evidently succumbing to the volumes of water thus thrown upon it. It did not appear that the adjacent houses were much injured. The crowds were still agitating, and crying, and yelling in front: those who worked the engines were singing; and above all was a lurid halo, crowned with a dense smoke. I continued my way to the nearest cab-stand; and entering a vehicle, was borne to my hotel. On the following day I read the account of the conflagration in the evening newspapers. It ap- peared that painters and varnishers had been for some days engaged in several of the principal rooms of Eecleston House—and that large quanti- ties of the inflammable materials which they used in their avocations, were left upon the premises. Thus, when the fire broke out, through an escape of gas, the whole mansion was thrown as it were into a sudden blaze; and hence the rapidity with which the fire spread from point to point, and the fury with which it so immediately raged. My ex- ploit was duly recorded in a manner so fulsomely complimentary to myself that it made me blush as I read it: my name too had become known, and was paraded in the journals which thus recorded the event. But as if the’writers of these accounts were anxious to practise their fulsome vein in more ways than one, they chronicled the following circum- stances :—“ We observed amongst the crowd Mr. Charles Diggins and Mr. George Spindleshank, who happened to be returning from an evening party at the time the fire broke out. Mr. Charles Diggins, with that admirable readiness to seize upon every passing circumstance which charac- terizes the eminent and popular author of the Licksnick Papers, instantaneously took out his} pje by the shock. ‘The courier opened the door | | ——————————— a note-book and began making copious memoranda ; so that we have no doubt the public will enjoy the fruits of his observations through the medium of a piquant paper in his weekly serial, Howsehold Stuff, While this great man was thus usefully engaged in front of the burning mansion, at the time that the gallant Joseph Wilmot was perilling _ his life in the rescue of a fellow-creature, Mr. George Spindleshank, the eminent artist, was eliciting roars of laughter from a group collected around him, and to whom he was relating with his characteristic facetiousness, an anecdote of how he once extinguished a fire in a kitchen-chimney by the very novel and truly ingenious expedient of giving a loud and abrupt cough at the opening, which by the suddenness of the shock brought down all the soot—covering himself therewith, but effecting his truly philanthropic purpose.” It was in this manner that the narrative of the conflagration was wound up in the newspapers; and I have no doubt that the erudite Mr. Charles Diggins and the facetious Mr. George Spindle- shank were hugely delighted at the manner in which thew names were introduced, and that they considered they had every reason to congra- tulate themselves on being the herocs of the night’s adventure. CHAPTER LXVIIL THE CHATEAU. I REMAINED two days longer in London, and was glad that no inquiries were made after me at the place of my temporary abode, by those from whose complimentary and grateful language I had so abruptly escaped after my exploit. At length I took my departure by the coach for Dover, and thence proceeded by the steam-packct to Calais. As this is a narrative of my own per- sonal adventures rather than a description of the various scenes and places which in the course of my eventful career I was led to visit, 1am not going to inflict upon my readers any delineation of my experiences, opinions, or impressions in respect to French persons, manners, or localities. I will therefore at once succinctly state that having tar- ried two or three days in Calais, I took my place in the malle-poste, or mail-coach, for Paris. This vehicle is only fashioned to carry four persons: namely, the courier (or guard) and three pas-. sengers. It however happened that I was the only passenger who on this occasion started with the coach, which left Meurice’s Hotel in Calais at nine o'clock in the evening. At about eleven o’clock we reached Boulogne; and thence con- tinued our way on the road towards Amiens. We had not however gone very far—it was scarcely midnight—and I had just fallen into a doze in the rear compartment of the vehicle, where I was seated alone—the cowrier being in the coupé, or front compartment—when I was startled up by a sudden swerving of the coach. The courier vociferated something—the postilion shou- ted out another something in reply—and the next moment the malle-poste was upset in a ditch. For a few moments I was rendered nearly insensi- TRS Ee 8 TTT EP PO ee Te. oo ee er oe, CoOnniclooolks (Cc) im