Jackanapes | Page 3

way for us out of many
a scrape into which our bread-winners get us when they drive their
ploughshares into fallows that don't belong to them. Indeed, whilst our
most peaceful citizens were prosperous chiefly by means of cotton, of
sugar, and of the rise and fall of the money-market (not to speak of
such salable matters as opium, firearms, and "black ivory"),
disturbances were apt to arise in India, Africa and other outlandish
parts, where the fathers of our domestic race were making fortunes for
their families. And, for that matter, even on the Green, we did not wish
the military to leave us in the lurch, so long as there was any fear that
the French were coming.[1]
[Footnote 1: "The political men declare war, and generally for
commercial interests; but when the nation is thus embroiled with its
neighbors the soldier ... draws the sword, at the command of his
country.... One word as to thy comparison of military and commercial
persons. What manner of men be they who have supplied the Caffres
with the firearms and ammunition to maintain their savage and
deplorable wars? Assuredly they are not military.... Cease then, if thou
would'st be counted among the just, to vilify soldiers."--W. NAPIER,
Lieut. General, November, 1851.]
To let the Black Captain have little Miss Jessamine, however, was
another matter. Her Aunt would not hear of it; and then, to crown all, it
appeared that the Captain's father did not think the young lady good
enough for his son. Never was any affair more clearly brought to a

conclusion.
But those were "trying times;" and one moon-light night, when the
Grey Goose was sound asleep upon one leg, the Green was rudely
shaken under her by the thud of a horse's feet. "Ga, ga!" said she,
putting down the other leg, and running away.
By the time she returned to her place not a thing was to be seen or
heard. The horse had passed like a shot. But next day, there was
hurrying and skurrying and cackling at a very early hour, all about the
white house with the black beams, where Miss Jessamine lived. And
when the sun was so low, and the shadows so long on the grass that the
Grey Goose felt ready to run away at the sight of her own neck, little
Miss Jane Johnson, and her "particular friend" Clarinda, sat under the
big oak-tree on the Green, and Jane pinched Clarinda's little finger till
she found that she could keep a secret, and then she told her in
confidence that she had heard from Nurse and Jemima that Miss
Jessamine's niece had been a very naughty girl, and that that horrid
wicked officer had come for her on his black horse, and carried her
right away.
[Illustration]
"Will she never come back?" asked Clarinda.
"Oh, no!" said Jane decidedly. "Bony never brings people back."
"Not never no more?" sobbed Clarinda, for she was weak-minded, and
could not bear to think that Bony never, never let naughty people go
home again.
Next day Jane had heard more.
"He has taken her to a Green?"
"A Goose Green?" asked Clarinda.
"No. A Gretna Green. Don't ask so many questions, child," said Jane;

who, having no more to tell, gave herself airs.
Jane was wrong on one point. Miss Jessamine's niece did come back,
and she and her husband were forgiven. The Grey Goose remembered
it well, it was Michaelmastide, the Michaelmas before the Michaelmas
before the Michaelmas--but ga, ga! What does the date matter? It was
autumn, harvest-time, and everybody was so busy prophesying and
praying about the crops, that the young couple wandered through the
lanes, and got blackberries for Miss Jessamine's celebrated crab and
blackberry jam, and made guys of themselves with bryony-wreaths, and
not a soul troubled his head about them, except the children, and the
Postman. The children dogged the Black Captain's footsteps (his bubble
reputation as an Ogre having burst), clamoring for a ride on the black
mare. And the Postman would go somewhat out of his postal way to
catch the Captain's dark eye, and show that he had not forgotten how to
salute an officer.
But they were "trying times." One afternoon the black mare was
stepping gently up and down the grass, with her head at her master's
shoulder, and as many children crowded on to her silky back as if she
had been an elephant in a menagerie; and the next afternoon she carried
him away, sword and sabre-tache clattering war-music at her side, and
the old Postman waiting for them, rigid with salutation, at the four
cross roads.
War and bad times! It was a hard winter, and the big Miss Jessamine
and the little Miss Jessamine (but she was Mrs. Black-Captain now),