The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 40

Chapter XLI. — The Levee

Chapter XLI.

The Levee.

It was therefore decided that Philip was to go to Hamilton, and he went, first of all acquainting Dr. Goring, by telegram, of his intended visit. Upon his arrival in Hamilton a few days afterwards, he found a note at his lodgings from the doctor, stating, that that worthy practitioner would be in town in the course of a couple of days; and Philip, therefore, determined to call at Mr. Easthorpe's, and await the doctor's arrival.

He went, indeed, to the Easthorpe's the very evening he arrived, but found many persons there. Either it was an evening visitors expected to find Mrs. Easthorpe at home, or it was a special occasion upon which that good lady had invited them. Philip was inclined privately to swear at his own ill-luck, but in place of being annoyed, he endeavored to make himself as agreeable as possible, and watch Mary entertain her mother's visitors. That young lady appeared very glad to see him (she had kept up a close correspondence with Charley, and knew well all that had transpired at Terua), and when asked to sing, sang only those songs she knew he liked. Whereupon Philip gravely turned over her music, and thanked her when she had finished. No one in the room could possibly have surmised, from the quiet outward bearing of these two young persons, that they were anything but casual acquaintances; but then the world expects, now-a-days, quietness and decorum, even where hearts are trumps and Cupid one of the partners in the game. Mrs. Easthorpe was a little surprised at her daughter's singing that evening, and remarked, "Why, Mary, I haven't heard you sing so well for a long time." At which Mary blushed prettily, but made no reply.

Little allusion was made to the war. The residents of Hamilton did not take much interest in native troubles. They were of so often an occurrence, that people had grown tired of them. The worthy Bishop of the place, who happened to be one of the visitors, questioned Philip about Huru's movements, but as Philip was as ignorant of the subject as his questioner, or the Government, or even the troops for that matter, he, of course, could give no information. Mr. Easthorpe made a few enquiries about what Charley thought of abandoning the run for a time. (The Minister of War had promised to inform him when necessity for his adopting such a proceeding should arise. In the meantime he did not bother himself, and upon Philip's telling him that Mr. Byrton, of the "Vulture," had accompanied Charley back to Terua, he felt satisfied that that officer would not have been allowed leave to take the journey, if the district was in a very disturbed state.)

Mary found occasion to tell Philip, that she had driven over to Apanui with Mrs. Douglas since he had been at Terua, and thought it a very pretty place. At which Philip winced a little, but he had by this time almost learnt to regard Apanui as one of the things of the past.

"You are to ride out to the Glen and see them, Mr. Manning," said Mary, "Mr. Douglas wants to see you."

But Philip thought he would not venture yet awhile, although he smilingly offered his escort to Mary if she thought of going. To which Mary, in her frank way, replied "that she had only just come from there, and had to stay in town."

Philip returned to his lodgings that evening a changed being, so much influence has the great power of visiting one's lady-love upon ordinary human nature. Truly Mary Easthorpe looked very charming, and our friend Philip, with all the vanity of man, placed her bright looks down to the pleasure of seeing his own special self, whereas it may have been somebody else she had been thinking about all the time. Yet there were the songs. She would not have sung them if it were not for his especial benefit, and then he gave himself up to one of those pleasing reveries in which, with your kind permission, gentle reader, we will leave him for the night.

The following day brought Doctor Goring to Hamilton by the afternoon coach, and Philip went to his hotel to find him. He met the doctor on his way, and after warmly greeting him, Philip requested to know how it was that he happened to be so gaily dressed at that particular hour of the day, for he had never known the doctor to be fond of brilliant apparel.

"How?" replied the doctor, linking his arm into that of Philip's; "don't you know, man, that the new Governor holds a levee this afternoon, and all the world is going. Look at those people," continued he, stopping, and pointing out many gentlemen, either handsomely attired, ready to make their bow to the representative of Royalty, or hurrying home to exchange their office garments for handsome uniforms or irreproachable black. "You see, Manning," continued the doctor, "I had to put on my uniform, as it is the proper thing to do, although I don't mind telling you privately, that I feel like a fish out of water."

"And I suppose," said Philip, "that the uniform you are wearing is that of the Ashton Volunteers?"

"It is, sir," replied the doctor laughing, "And you have the honor of walking with the surgeon of that distinguished corps. But," continued he, "Where are your lodgings? You must come to the levée with me."

"Thank you, doctor, very much," replied Philip, "but I must ask you to excuse me."

"Nonsense, man," replied his companion; "Come along and do as, I tell you. If you wish to get the appointment, you must make yourself known a bit, and you can't have a better opportunity than at present. We may very likely meet Darcy or Page there, and I shall introduce you to them. Why, I have come to town almost for that purpose!"

Philip expressed his gratitude to the worthy doctor for his kindness, and asked the reason of his anxiety to introduce him to those gentlemen in particular.

"Why, you see," replied the doctor, "They are the principal trustees of the Hospital, and any application will have to meet with their approval before it stands a chance of being accepted. If we do not find them at the levee, we are sure to find them this evening or to-morrow morning, and I have to get back to Ashton by the afternoon coach."

By this time, they had reached Philip's lodgings, and his landlady's breath was partly taken away at the sight of the Doctor's gay uniform, for people rarely see the visible signs of the pomp and glory of war in the distant colonies of the Crown. The Imperial banner of the realm, although it flies from innumerable flag-staffs, erected in all parts of the earth, yet hangs peacefully in Australasia. It only waves defiance from the offices of the Home Government at Westminster. There, the lioness guards her distant brood, and when the Mother Country gets herself into a mess, which her Ministers manage somehow to regularly drag her into, and thereupon engages in a fierce war, her colonial whelps look on in perfect peace and security, knowing nothing of the miseries of the struggle, nor seeing ought of its glory. They read the telegrams, and the evening newspapers issue extra editions, but that is about the extent of their participation.

True, New Zealand occupies a slightly different position in the colonial category, for we have enemies to encounter here, in the shape of Maori savages, who compel us to keep a force of men under arms. But the dark blue uniform of the Armed Constabulary cannot be said to exhibit much of the pomp and panoply of war. Therefore, the authorities, in order to encourage the martial spirit among the people (for a good soldier maketh generally a good citizen), and in order to guard against the sudden invasion of the Colony, by some petty expedition from over the sea, look with a certain degree of favor upon corps of volunteers and handsome uniforms. The amount of red and gold, or blue and silver, seen, is something appalling to the purely civil mind. We are sure that the Hamilton Guards would throw the household troops quite into the shade. It is astonishing, too, how the martial spirit thrives, for these volunteers barely receive enough capitation money to pay for their gorgeous uniform.

Philip seated the Doctor in his little sitting-room, and asked to be excused while he changed his coat, which did not take him long. He was soon ready to proceed to Government House, and on the way thither casually mentioned that he had met Sir John Bathurst in England. He did not say that he knew him, because the Governor might not recognize him among the host of people attending the levée.

His Excellency Sir John Bathurst, the new Governor of the Colony, had been appointed to represent Her Majesty, principally in consequence of his family influence, but actually because of certain bad losses he had made in some great railway speculations, whereby it became necessary for him to retrench, and to live economically for a time. The Governorship of New Zealand happening to fall vacant, the appointment was sought for in a most delicate and round-about way, duly offered and accepted.

Sir John was an able man, and one who would look well after the dignity and honor of the Crown. He had sat in the English Parliament a few years for Stonitan, and was well informed of the feeling of both sides of the House touching the colonies. As his name would imply he was a staunch Tory, and imbued with all the prejudices of his party. But in a democratic colony, the appointment of such a man, checks to a certain extent the spirit of democracy, and lends a slight degree of certainty and safety to colonial legislation. Some colonists object to a Governor being appointed from England, as they desire to elect one for themselves, while others object to pay so large a salary; but the number of these persons is, thank Heaven, extremely small; the great majority of the colonists thinking the existing arrangement safe and economical. Therefore, Sir John stepped at once into £7000 a year, and honorable exile.

Poor Lady Bathurst, when the matter had been finally arranged and settled, had one good cry in the privacy of her own room, and shed a few bitter tears in having to leave all her own circle of friends, much to the surprise of her youngest daughter, who happened to be with her at the time, and who had not often seen her mother cry; but after that was over, the good little woman wiped away the traces of tears, and put a brave face upon matters, and determined never to let her husband see that she regretted having to leave England. She might be of some service to those strange people in the far away Antipodean colony, if they would only let her be of service to them.

"Do you think they will?" asked she one day of old Lord Vansittart, her uncle, who, when a young man, had travelled in the colonies, and was supposed to know something about them; besides had he not held office for a time in the Plunket Cabinet as Colonial Secretary, when that Minister was so shamefully abused by Brougham, Tierney, and other such Radicals?

"I don't know, my dear," the old Earl replied. "They are a peculiar set of people, and I advise you to be very careful of them."

This was discouraging, but still the good lady determined to try and do something if she could. If her efforts should be misunderstood, well—it was some comfort to know that she had tried to do her duty in the new path of life that God had given her. All the people could not surely be so strange and peculiar as her friends thought them. Surely she would find a few gentlewomen among them! And at her first reception she eagerly scanned the faces of those presented to her, wondering which would prove a friend.

"Now Manning," said the doctor, entering the hall of Government House, which was half full of gentlemen attending the levee. "Follow me, like a good fellow, and we will soon get through this piece of business."

Philip had never attended a levee before, and was much surprised at the number of persons present, and at the bustle round a little table in one corner of the hall, upon which lay two great books. In these books all attending the levee were expected to write down their names. This appeared to be a very important proceeding, if one could judge from the anxiety of the visitors to record their names, the crush round the table, and the difficulty people found in emerging from the crowd.

"And are we to write down our names, doctor?" asked Philip.

"Of course we are."

"And why is that expected from us?" asked the ignorant Philip, who foolishly imagined, perhaps, that the delivery of his card constituted a sufficient notification of his visit.

"Don't you see," replied the doctor, "that unless people write down their names, the aide-de-camp would never know whether you had attended or not."

"But couldn't I give my card?" asked Philip.

"Of course you will have to do that as well," replied the doctor, endeavouring to catch the eye of a tall gentleman, who was steadily elbowing his way to the visitors' book. "There look now," continued he, pointing to the door of the entrance chamber, at which stood the aide-de-camp, with his hands overflowing With visiting cards, crying out at the top of his voice the names of the visitors as each one gave him his card, and passed into the room. That is to say, the worthy aide did his best to cry out the names properly, and on the whole succeeded pretty well.

"I don't see anything of Darcy or Page," said the doctor, standing on tip-toe, and trying to look over the heads of those present. "I wonder whether they have gone through."

"Who is that little old man in the terrible coat?" asked Philip, calling the doctor's attention to an odd individual, just then passing through the doors to make his bow to the Governor.

But the doctor could not catch a sight of the man from where he stood, and had to walk to the other corner of the hall, Philip accompanying him.

"Oh, that is Tenby, the cabinet maker," replied the doctor. "He always attends the levees."

"And do they allow anybody then, to attend these receptions?" asked Philip.

"Of course," replied the doctor. "Everyone has a perfect right to call upon the Governor, provided he puts on a black coat; but it all depends upon whether you happen to have the coat or not. Tenby has attended these levees, I believe, for thirty years or more, and they say he borrows a coat for the purpose."

"No!" said Philip, incredulously.

"Fact, I assure you," replied the doctor, who was, just then, prevented from continuing the conversation by an acquaintance coming up and speaking with him.

Philip looked through the open doorway, and saw Mr. Tenby advance into the room, and make his bow to a small knot of gentlemen, standing near the wall, but one of the gentlemen slightly in advance of the others. The one in advance, Philip supposed to be the Governor, who returned Mr. Tenby's bow, and Mr. Tenby passed on and out of the room, at a doorway at the other end. Opposite to the Governor, stood a row of gentlemen, the whole length of the reception room, nearly six deep, who were amusing themselves by criticising the mode of advance and retirement of each visitor who crossed the apartment. These gentlemen, either from their position as Cabinet Ministers, or other important offices, had the right of private entry to the levee.

"And is that what we have to do?" enquired Philip, pointing out the ceremony to the doctor.

"Yes," replied the doctor. "Pass through, bob your head, and then away home and change your clothes."

"But would it not be better to say a few words to the Governor, in order to let him know that we are pleased to see him, or something of that kind?" asked Philip.

"Why, Manning!" laughed the doctor, and then stopped, as if there did appear something reasonable in what Philip had said. "No, no!" continued he, after thinking for awhile. "That would never do. We always bob our heads and then go home. But now is our opportunity to put down our names. Come along," and the doctor, seeing but few persons near the little table, elbowed himself in, seized a pen, wrote down his name, and then looked round to give the pen to Philip. But our friend Philip had not followed him, as he did not care to make such good use of his elbows in the first place, and secondly because he did not see the use of putting down his name at all.

"Don't trouble about me, Doctor," said he when the Doctor emerged from the crowd, "I will give my card to the aide-de-camp."

"You ought to have put your name down," said the Doctor reproachfully, "but we might as well go through." And then they both went to the door and gave their cards to the aide-de-camp, who, happening first of all to catch sight of Philip's name, called out "Mr. Manning." But the Doctor, thinking that his name would be called out, had already advanced two or three paces into the room; when, hearing Philip's name, and not liking to sail under false colors, he stopped, paused, turned to Philip, still standing at the door, smiled and bowed, as any gentleman would do under the circumstances, and then waved his hand for Philip to go first; all of which was, of course, noted by those present, and a slight smile passed round the room, for the Doctor was well known by almost everybody present.

Thereupon Philip advanced, duly acknowledged the Doctor's courtesy for thus giving him precedence, and then walked up to where his Excellency was standing. Now as it happened that Philip had often met Sir John Bathurst in England, when he was in his father's office in Northport. (Old Mr. Manning was a well-known engineer, and at that time was engaged in building some great railway docks in which Sir John was interested.) Philip's name, therefore, struck the Governer, who quickly recognized his former young acquaintance; therefore, in place of returning Philip's bow, the Governor shook hands with him, and reminded Philip where they had met before.

"You must come and see me Mr. Manning," said the Governor, "and let me know how long it is since you left Northport," at which Philip thanked his Excellency; and expressed his pleasure at meeting him once more in New Zealand. Whereupon the Governor smiled, pleased, doubtless, at having seen one face that he knew in all that string of visitors, and Philip passed on.

All this time the doctor was fidgetting, not only at Philip for keeping him waiting, but also from a slight fear he had that Philip was carrying out his intention of "saying a few words to the Governor." "What can Manning be doing?" said he to the aide-de-camp.

"Your friend must know his Excellency," replied that gentleman, taking the matter coolly, as he took all things strange and what he termed colonial. For aides-de-camp in attendance upon Colonial Governors do often see and hear gaucheries, and other strange things, on the part of, and from visitors. For it is not very remarkable to relate that all callers are not of the first ton, and in early life may have occupied extremely humble positions in life—positions which the first emigrants to a young colony were bound to fill. Yet such is the ready adaptability of the Saxon race to circumstances, that one would never suppose, from the outside look of things, that these good people were ever anything else than what they seemed.

By this time Philip had passed on, and stood waiting for the doctor at the other end of the room, who, after having made his bow to the Governor, seized Philip by the arm, and hurried him through the doorway.

"What are you waiting for, man," anxiously enquired he, keeping a firm hold of Philip until he had got him fairly outside the house, feeling, perhaps, afraid that he would commit some other unheard of breach of good manners.

Philip was glad when the doctor joined him, as it was not pleasant to be standing at the end of that great room by himself, with the eyes of all that row of gentlemen upon him, doubtless wondering who he was and whence he came. It would have been much more pleasant if a few of the visitors had scattered themselves about the room; he would not then have been so conspicuous. Therefore, he willingly enough followed the doctor, and said laughingly "that he was waiting for him."

"Was it very wrong of me to wait?" asked he.

"Oh, Manning, Manning," groaned the doctor; "you have quite disgraced me. You should have passed through, and not stood there, like a mopstick, all by yourself. What on earth did you want to shake hands with the Governor for?" continued he, hurrying him along so as to take him clear of the Government grounds as quickly as possible.

"I didn't shake hands with the Governor," said Philip. "He shook hands with me. I told you, doctor, I had met him before in England."

"And I suppose you told him you were glad to meet him again in New Zealand?" said the doctor.

"Of course," replied Philip.

"Manning! Manning!" said the doctor, shaking his head. "I must say you have conducted yourself very badly, and when I tell my wife, and the people at Wainui, how you have behaved, they won't believe me, sir. We never speak to the Governor, or stand about the reception room at a levee. That is almost as bad as not rising when the Governor enters a room, or not bowing to him when he passes you."

"But you don't mean to say, Doctor, that one is expected to conform to all these petty matters here."

"Well," replied the Doctor, thinkingly, "some Governor's expect one thing and some another. Each has his failings, and perhaps you may be right in thinking that, in so young a colony, such matters of form and etiquette are a little before their time, and will be found more suitable bye-and-bye. But you certainly ought not to have hung about the reception room."

"Never mind, Doctor," said Philip, "I promise not to do so again, and if you particularly require it, and the Governor wishes it, the next time we attend a reception, hang me if I don't put on a court suit." And then the two friends wended each his way to his own lodgings, with the understanding that Philip was to meet the doctor that evening, and go to the House, and endeavour to find Mr. Darcy, who happened to be a Member of Parliament.

"I can only give you until to-morrow afternoon, mind," the doctor had said on parting, "so we must endeavour to find Darcy to-night, and Page in the morning," and after smilingly bidding him adieu Philip went home.

We must relate in a new chapter what the doctor and Philip saw and heard in their search after Mr. Darcy.