Now William Blood, or, as I still
Affectionately call him, Bill,
Was of a different stamp;
One who, in other ages born
Had turned to strengthen and adorn
The Senate or the Camp.
But Fortune, jealous and austere,
Had marked him for a great career
Of more congenial kind—
A sort of modern Buccaneer,
[Pg 19]
Commercial and refined.
Like all great men, his chief affairs
Were buying stocks and selling shares.
He occupied his mind
In buying them by day from men
Who needed ready cash, and then
At evening selling them again
To those with whom he dined.
But such a task could never fill
His masterful ambition
That rapid glance, that iron will,
Disdained (and rightfully) to make
A profit here and there, or take
His two per cent. commission.
His soul with nobler stuff was fraught;
The love of country, as it ought,
Haunted his every act and thought.
To that he lent his mighty powers,
To that he gave his waking hours,
Of that he dreamed in troubled sleep,
Till, after many years, the deep
Imperial emotion,
That moves us like a martial strain,
Turned his Napoleonic brain
To company promotion.
He failed, and it was better so:
It made our expedition.
One day (it was a year ago)
He came on foot across the town,
[Pg 20]
And said his luck was rather down,
And would I lend him half-a-crown?
I did, but on condition
(Drawn up in proper legal shape,
Witnessed and sealed, and tied with tape,
And costing two pound two),
That, “If within the current year
He made a hundred thousand clear,”
He should accompany me in
A Project I had formed with Sin
To go to Timbuctoo.
Later, we had a tiff because
[Pg 21]
I introduced another clause,
Of which the general sense is,
That Blood, in the unlikely case
Of this adventure taking place,
Should pay the whole expenses.
Blood swore that he had never read
Or seen the clause. But Blood is dead.
Well, through a curious stroke of luck,
That very afternoon he struck
A new concern, in which,
By industry and honest ways,
He grew (to his eternal praise!)
In something less than sixty days
Inordinately rich.
Let me describe what he became
The day that he succeeded,—
Though, in the searching light that Fame
Has cast on that immortal name,
The task is hardly needed.
The world has very rarely seen
A deeper gulf than stood between
The men who were my friends.
And, speaking frankly, I confess
They never cared to meet, unless
It served their private ends.
[Pg 22]
Sin loved the bottle, William gold;
’Twas Blood that bought and Sin that sold,
In all their mutual dealings.
Blood never broke the penal laws;
Sin did it all the while, because
He had the finer feelings.
Blood had his dreams, but Sin was mad:
While Sin was foolish, Blood was bad,
Sin, though I say it, was a cad.
(And if the word arouses
Some criticism, pray reflect
How twisted was his intellect,
And what a past he had!)
But Blood was exquisitely bred,
And always in the swim,
And people were extremely glad
To ask him to their houses.
Be not too eager to condemn:
It was not he that hunted them,
But they that hunted him.
In this fair world of culture made
For men of his peculiar trade,
Of all the many parts he played,
The part he grew to like the best
Was called “the self-respecting guest.”
And for that very reason
He found himself in great request
At parties in the season,
[Pg 23]
Wherever gentlemen invest,
From Chelsea to Mayfair.
From Lath and Stucco Gate, S.W.,
To 90, Berkeley Square.
The little statesmen in the bud,
The big provincial mayor,
The man that owns a magazine,
The authoress who might have been;
They always sent a card to Blood,
And Blood was always there.
At every dinner, crush or rout,
A little whirlpool turned about
The form immoveable and stout,
That marked the Millionaire.
Again the origin of Sin,
Was doubtful and obscure;
Whereas, the Captain’s origin
Was absolutely sure.
A document affirms that he
Was born in 1853
Upon a German ship at sea,
Just off the Grand Canary.
And though the log is rather free
And written too compactly,
We know the weather to a T,
The longitude to a degree,
The latitude exactly,
And every detail is the same;
We even know his Mother’s name.
As to his father’s occupation,
Creed, colour, character or nation,
(On which the rumours vary);
He said himself concerning it,
With admirably caustic wit,
“I think the Public would much rather
Be sure of me than of my father.”
The contrast curiously keen
Their characters could yield
Was most conspicuously seen
Upon the Tented Field.
Was there by chance a native tribe
To cheat, cajole, corrupt, or bribe?—
[Pg 26]
In such conditions Sin would burn
To plunge into the fray,
While Blood would run the whole concern
From fifty miles away.
He had, wherever honours vain
Were weighed against material gain
A judgment, practical and sane,
Peculiarly his own.
In this connection let me quote
An interesting anecdote
Not generally known.
Before he sailed he might have been
(If he had thought it paid him)
A military man of note.
Her gracious Majesty the Queen
Would certainly have made him,
In spite of his advancing years,
A Captain of the Volunteers.
A certain Person of the Sort
That has great influence at Court,
Assured him it was so;
And said, “It simply lies with you
To get this little matter through.
You pay a set of trifling fees
To me—at any time you please——”
Blood stopped him with a “No!”
“This signal favour of the Queen’s
Is very burdensome. It means
[Pg 27]
A smart Review (for all I know),
In which I am supposed to show
Strategical ability:
And after that tremendous fights
And sleeping out on rainy nights,
And much responsibility.
Thank you: I have my own position,
I need no parchment or commission,
And everyone who knows my name
Will call me ‘Captain’ just the same.”
There was our leader in a phrase:
A man of strong decisive ways,
But reticent
[3]
and grim.
Though not an Englishman, I own,
Perhaps it never will be known
What England lost in him!
