The Travelling Companions: A Story in Scenes

Podb. I was in no hurry, I can tell you. She's a ripping little girl – tremendous fun. What do you think she asked me about you?

Culch. (stiff, but flattered). I wasn't aware she had honoured me by her notice. What was it?

Podb. Said you had a sort of schoolmaster look, and wanted to know if you were my tutor. My tutor! [He roars.

Culch. I hope you – ah – undeceived her?

Podb. Rather! Told her it was t'other way round, and I was looking after you. Said you were suffering from melancholia, but were not absolutely dangerous.

Culch. If that's your idea of a joke, all I can say is —

[He chokes with rage.

Podb. (innocently). Why, my dear chap, I thought you wanted 'em kept out of your way!

[Culchard slams his bedroom door with temper, leaving Podbury outside, still chuckling.

CHAPTER III.

Culchard comes out of his Shell

Scene —On the Coach from Braine l'Alleud to Waterloo. The vehicle has a Belgian driver, but the conductor is a true-born Briton. Mr. Cyrus K. Trotter and his daughter are behind with Podbury. Culchard, who is not as yet sufficiently on speaking terms with his friend to ask for an introduction, is on the box-seat in front.

Mr. Trotter. How are you getting along, Maud? Your seat pretty comfortable?

Miss Trotter. Well, I guess it would be about as luxurious if it hadn't got a chunk of wood nailed down the middle – it's not going to have any one confusing it with a bed of roses just yet. (To Podb.) Your friend mad about anything? He don't seem to open his head more'n he's obliged to. I presume he don't approve of your taking up with me and father – he keeps away from us considerable, I notice.

Podb. (awkwardly). Oh – er – I wouldn't say that, but he's a queer kind of chap rather, takes prejudices into his head and all that. I wouldn't trouble about him if I were you – not worth it, y' know.

Miss T. Thanks – but it isn't going to shorten my existence any.

[Culch. overhears all this, with feelings that may be imagined.

Belgian Driver (to his horses). Pullep! Allez vîte! Bom-bom-bom! Alright!

Conductor (to Culchard). 'E's very proud of 'is English, 'e is. 'Ere, Jewls, ole feller, show the gen'lm'n 'ow yer can do a swear. (Belgian Driver utters a string of English imprecations with the utmost fluency and good-nature.) 'Ark at 'im now! Bust my frogs! (Admiringly, and notwithout a sense of the appropriateness of the phrase.) But he's a caution, Sir, ain't he? I taught him most o' what he knows!

A French Passenger (to Conductor). Dis donc, mon ami, est-ce qu'on peut voir d'ici le champ de bataille?

Cond. (with proper pride). It ain't no use your torkin to me, Mossoo; I don't speak no French myself. (To Culchard.) See that field there, Sir?

Culch. (interested). On the right? Yes; what happened there?

Cond. Fine lot o' rabbits inside o' there – big fat 'uns. (To another Passenger.) No, Sir, that ain't Belly Lions as you see from 'ere; that's Mon Sin Jeean, and over there Oogymong, and Challyroy to the left.

ON THE TOP OF THE MOUND.

Culchard, who has purchased a map in the Waterloo Museum as a means of approaching Miss Trotter, is pounced upon by an elderly Belgian Guide in a blue blouse, from whom he finds it difficult to escape.

The Guide (fixing Culchard with a pair of rheumy eyes and a gnarled forefinger). You see vere is dat schmall voodt near de vite 'ouse? not dere, along my shdeek – so. Dat is vare Peecton vas kill, Inglis Officer, Peecton. Two days pefore he was voundet in de ahum. 'E say to his sairvan', "You dell ennipoddies, I keel you!" He vandt to pe in ze bataille: he vas in ze bataille – seven lance troo 'im, seven; Peecton, Inglis Officer. (Culchard nods his head miserably.) Hah, you 'ave de shart dere – open 'im out vide, dat de odder shentilmans see. (Culchard obeys, spell-bound.) Vare you see dat blue gross, Vaterloo Shirshe, vere Loart Uxbreedge lose 'is laig. Zey cot 'im off and pury him in ze cottyardt, and a villow grow oudt of 'im. 'E com 'ere to see the villow growing oudt of his laig.

Culch. (abandoning his map, and edging towards Miss Trotter). Hem – we are gazing upon one of the landmarks of our national history – Miss Trotter.

Miss T. That's a vurry interesting re-mark. I presume you must have studied up some for a reflection of that kind. Mr. Podbury, your friend has been telling me – , [She repeats Culchard's remark.

Podb. (with interest). Got any more of those, old fellow?

[Culchard moves away with disgusted hauteur.

The Guide (re-capturing him). Along dat gross vay, Vellainton meet Blushair. Prussian général, Blushair. Vellainton 'e com hier. I see 'im. Ven 'e see ze maundt, 'e vos vair angri. 'E say, "Eet is no ze battle-fiel' no more – I com back nevare!" Zat aidge is vere de Scots Greys vas. Ven they dell Napoleon 'oo zey are, 'e say, "Fine mens – splendid mens, I feenish dem in von hour!" Soult 'e say, "Ah, Sire, you do not know dose dairible grey 'orses!" Napoleon 'e not know dem. Soult 'e meet dem at de Peninsulaire – 'e know dem. In dat Shirsh, dventy, dirty dablets to Inglis officers. Napoleon 'e coaled op 'is laift vink, zey deploy in line, vair you see my shdeek – ha, ze shentelman is gone avay vonce more!

Miss T. (to Culchard, who has found himself unable to keep away). You don't seem to find that old gentleman vurry good company?

Culch. The fact is that I much prefer to receive my impressions of a scene like this in solitude.

Miss T. I should have thought you'd be too polite to tell me so; but I was moving on, anyway.

[She goes on.Before Culchard can follow and explain, he finds himself accosted by Mr. Trotter.

Mr. T. I don't know as I'm as much struck by this Waterloo field as I expected, Sir. As an Amurrcan, I find it doesn't come up to some of our battlefields in the War. We don't blow about those battlefields, Sir, but for style and general picturesqueness, I ain't seen nothing this side to equal them. You ever been over? You want to come over and see our country – that's what you want to do. You mustn't mind me a-running on, but when I meet some one as I can converse with in my own language – well, I just about talk myself dry.

[He talks himself dry, until rejoined by the Guide with Podbury and Miss Trotter.

Guide (to Podbury). Leesten, I dell you. My vader – eighteen, no in ze Airmi, laboreur man – he see Napoleon standt in a saircle; officers roundt 'im. Boots, op to hier; green cott; vite vaiscott; vite laigs —

Podb. Your father's legs?

Guide (indignantly). No, Sare; my vader see Napoleon's laigs; leedle 'at, qvite plain; no faither – nossing.

Podb. But you just said you had a faither!

Guide. I say, Napoleon 'ad no faither – vat you call it? —plume– in 'is 'at, at ze bataille.

Podb. Are you sure? I thought the history books said he "stuck a feather in his hat, and called it Macaroni."

Miss T. I presume you're thinking of our National Amurrcan character, Yankee Doodle?

Guide. My vader, 'e no see Napoleon viz a Yankedoodle in 'is 'at; 'e vear nossing.

Podb. Nothing? What became of the green coat and white waistcoat, then, eh?

Guide. Ah, you unnerstan' nossing at all! Leesten, I dell you vonce more. My vader —

Podb. No, look here, my friend; you go and tell that gentleman all about it (indicating Culchard); he's very interested in hearing what Napoleon wore or didn't wear.

[The Guide takes possession of Culchard once more, who submits, under the impression that Miss Trotter is a fellow-sufferer.

Guide (concluding a vivid account of the fight at Houguymont). Bot ven zey com qvite nearer, zey vind ze rade line no ze Inglis soldiers – nossing bot a breek vall, viz ze moskets – "Prown Pesses," you coal dem – shdeekin out of ze 'oles! Ze 'oles schdill dere. Dat vas Houguymont, in the orshairde. Now you com viz me and see ze lion. Ze dail, two piece; ze bodi, von piece; ze ball, von piece. I sank you, Sare. 'Ope you com again soon.