CHAPTER XIII.

Which follows the sad Fortunes of the Nervous Youth, and treats largely of his Besetting Infirmity.

SOME days, nay weeks, elapsed before Peregrine Pultuney became acquainted even with the leading features of poor Doleton's melancholy history; but not on that account shall we delay the recital of them-the task is too sad a one to be postponed by us, and so we shall at once unburden ourselves.

As Colonel Doleton's leave of absence was, of course, limited, he did not, after the arrival of the Hastings, remain any longer in Calcutta than sufficed for him to get permission for his son to do duty with his own regiment, and to procure for the unfortunate boy all the equipments necessary for a young officer on first entering the army.

But short as was their stay in the City of Palaces, the colonel, some time before quitting it, had discovered the full extent of his son's infirmity; and the discovery, instead of filling his soul with sorrow and pity for his wretched offspring, and causing

him to bend all the energies of his mind to the eradication, by gentle and soothing means, of the ulcerous sore that had spread itself so widely over, and eaten so deeply into the poor boy's moral frame, that the least contact or attrition of the world was to him a terror and a pain, and life to him one long agony—instead, we say, of trying, by a soothing process of parental tenderness, to eradicate this fell disease, the father's soul was filled with bitterness and disgust, and he strove to scrape out the ulcer with a scalpel. What the wretched youth suffered beneath this mode of treatment no words can adequately express-and from a father too! He had dreaded his nurses, he had dreaded his first schoolmaster, he had dreaded divers of his school-fellows, with their masks and their beatings — he had dreaded the long cornet on board the Hastings; but he had never dreaded a human being half so much as he dreaded Colonel Gregory Doleton.

It is probable that the colonel did not know this; and we would fain give him credit for not wantonly inflicting torture upon his son. But he was a severe harsh man, and poor Doleton was not the only person by many who regarded the behaudar* with awe. The officers of the regiment he commanded hated him, and the sepoys feared him to a man. He was a brave soldier-had distinguished himself in action-had more than once led a storming column, and had more than once been se

* Pompous person.

verely wounded. He did not know what fear was in his own person, and could make no allowances for it in another. But he was grievously mistaken, when he thought it was possible to bully his son out of the constitutional timidity that had afflicted him throughout long years. His system was a very strange one-we know not what to call it, unless we say that it was one of counter-irritation; but its effects were the very reverse of what the colonel anticipated, if he had any anticipations at all; for by working on the poor boy's fears as he did, he only made him ten times more fearful. It was of no use in the world to endeavour to habituate one like Doleton to thoughts of danger, for the further the attempt proceeded, the further was the unhappy youth from acquiring the coolness and the confidence which he so much lacked. Colonel Doleton talked of battle and sieges-of the Nepaul war, and the dangers to which he had been exposed at Jhytuk and Maloun-of advancing against the enemies' stockades under a brisk fire of musketry, which strewed the hill with corpses on every side of him—of receiving a deep spear wound in his thigh and a sabre cut across the cheek—“ all nothing," as he said, " mere nothing-hope you'll see many such scenes-and enjoy them too. Who would be a soldier, if not to see blood and to sniff carnage in action-who?"

But on poor Doleton all this had an effect very far from inspiriting-he sat, with his clasped hands resting on his quaking knees, gazing at his father

with a blank expression of agony upon his long pale face whilst ever and anon his lips quivered, and he was on the point of saying something, but either he could not speak, or he thought it better to remain silent, lest he should commit himself by betraying his fears.

The station for which they were bound was in the furthermost regions of the north-west provinces, and the first, indeed the greater part of their journey was to have been performed by water, in a very comfortable pinnace, which the colonel had hired for the occasion. Whilst on the river, the father did not fail to point out to the notice of his son the corpses floating down the stream, the alligators in the muddy creeks, the skulls and white sun-bleached bones that so plentifully bestrewed the margin of the river; and he did this too, as he thought, wisely-anxious to accustom the youth to the sight of corpses, and skulls, and human bones, and the wild animals infesting the country. It was all of no use, however-terrors they were, and terrors they remained in the eyes of the poor boy, upon whose mind, the further he advanced, the more powerfully did it become impressed that his lot was cast in a most savage country, where perils and fears of a multiform aspect were ready to beset him at every

turn.

They had been nearly six weeks on the riverthat harsh father and that wretched son-when, the period of Colonel Doleton's leave drawing near to a

conclusion, it was deemed expedient to quit the boats, before half the journey was performed, and proceed onward to their destination by dawk (post). Palanquins were procured at the first large station they came to, and bearers were posted along the road, if road it can be called where road there was none, and where, in many places, the country was only not quite impassable. The rains had ceased, to be sure, and the floods had subsided- but still poor Doleton thought it was impossible that he should ever reach his home in safety-that home after which he had yearned so long, yet yearned with mingled feelings of hope and awe; for none ever thirsted more than he after the soothing tenderness of parental affection, and never had filial longings such as these, been mixed up with so great a leaven of nameless awe-so great a dread of something, not to be defined, but vaguely terrible nevertheless. Well! one part of the trial was over-he had met his father-and been disappointed. Where was the soothing tenderness-the gentle, but firm support? Alas! in the bitterness of his heart, he could not but acknowledge to himself that Colonel Gregory Doleton, with his shaggy eyebrows, his dark eyes, his large whiskers, and his commanding figure, could never be a father to him-to any one lacking support. Had he been a fine, dashing, high-spirited youth, it would have been different; but as it was-he had a mother still, and a ray of hope gleamed upon his soul.