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The Structure of Transcontinental Railroad Rates Stuart
Daggett Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Stuart Daggett; John P. Carter
ISBN(s): 9780520336629, 0520336623
Edition: Reprint 2020
File Details: PDF, 37.71 MB
Year: 2020
Language: english
PUBLICATIONS OF T H E BUREAU OF BUSINESS AND ECONOMIC RESEARCH

Previously published in this series:

A TREATISE ON WAR INFLATION

by William Fellner (1942)

BREAD AND DEMOCRACY IN GERMANY

by Alexander Gerschenkron (1943)

T H E ECONOMICS OF T H E PACIFIC COAST PETROLEUM INDUSTRY

PART 1 : MARKET STRUCTURE

by Joe S. Bain (1944)

LAND TENURE PROBLEMS IN T H E SANTA F E RAILROAD GRANT AREA

by Sanford A. Mosk (1944)

NATIONAL POWER AND T H E STRUCTURE OF FOREIGN TRADE

by Albert 0 . Hirschmann (1945)

T H E ECONOMICS OF T H E PACIFIC COAST PETROLEUM INDUSTRY

PART 2 : PRICE BEHAVIOR AND COMPETITION

by Joe S. Bain (1945)

CALIFORNIA BUSINESS CYCLES

by Frank L. Kidner (1946)

MONETARY POLICIES AND F U L L EMPLOYMENT

by William Fellner (1946)

The Structure of Transcontinental
Railroad Rates
 Publications of the
Bureau of Business and Economic Research
University of California

The Structure
of Transcontinental
Railroad Rates
By

STUART DAGGETT
AND
JOHN P. CARTER

U N I V E R S I T Y OF C A L I F O R N I A P R E S S
B E R K E L E Y A N D LOS A N G E L E S

1947
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS
B E R K E L E Y AND LOS ANGELES
CALIFORNIA

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

LONDON, ENGLAND

COPYRIGHT, 1 9 4 7 , BY

T H E R E G E N T S OF T H E U N I V E R S I T Y OF CALIFORNIA

PRINTED IN T H E U N I T E D STATES O F A M E R I C A
BY THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS
BUREAU OF BUSINESS AND ECONOMIC RESEARCH

WILLIAM FELLNER, CHAIRMAN

ROBERT A. BRADY

MALCOLM M. DAVISSON

LEONARD A. DOYLE

ROBERT A. GORDON

EWALD T. GRETHER

MELVIN M. KNIGHT

FRANK L. KIDNER, DIRECTOR

The opinions expressed in this study are those of the

authors. The functions of the Bureau of Business and
Economic Research are confined to facilitating the prose-
cution of independent scholarly research by members of
the faculty.
Preface

LARGE aggregations of persons are principally occu-

pied, first, in extracting and forming local materials for their own
use; secondly, in storing and distributing these products; and thirdly,
in providing a great variety of services. Such communities usually
supplement their local activities, however, by trade with other areas,
bringing in goods in different degrees of completion and exporting
their own specialties in return. They also introduce raw materials
and partly processed commodities for reexport after enhancing the
value of these articles by operations conducted in the importing state.
The purpose of the present monograph is to describe the railroad
rate system which is applied to, and which in a measure controls, the
export of goods from California to eastern states and the importation
of eastern commodities in exchange. This is part of a larger study in
which the effects of the railroad rate structure on the economy of
California will be considered in some detail. The advantages of
prompt publication of descriptive material, along with some analysis
from the point of view of transport pricing, are believed, at the
moment, to justify issue of the preliminary portion of the work. The
authors have in mind the fact that transcontinental rate making is
imperfectly understood except by a small number of technicians, and
that this is unfortunate because large plans for reconversion of war
industries and for the future development of the resources of the
Pacific Coast depend for their realization upon railroad rates. There
are also problems of rate technique which can be more intelligently
discussed with more general knowledge of basic facts.
Most of the information used in this study has been collected
directly from published railroad tariffs as of 1943 and 1944. This
has, at least, been possible in working with local western and trans-
continental rates. Requests have been made on the railroads for other
viii PREFACE
material, which has been used in chapter vii for comparisons between
western and eastern rates. The promptness and courtesy with which
the carriers have honored these requests is here acknoivledged. Spe-
cial thanks are extended to J. P. Haynes, of the Pacific Freight Tariff
Bureau, whose friendly cooperation has been most helpful.
Weaknesses in the procedure followed are of two sorts. In the first
place, there may be errors in quoting rates, and, also, in comparing
rates which are not really comparable because of differences of one
sort or another in conditions of application. Very immediate experi-
ence shows that railroad traffic men can make mistakes in rate quo-
tation; outside students are very likely to do this also. A second
observation is that conclusions arrived at depend upon sampling.
This is inevitable. The only question then is whether the samples
chosen are numerous enough and significant enough to provide an
ample base to support the conclusions reached. Perhaps a third weak-
ness is that many suggestions of causal connection in the study are
suggestions only and not statements which are demonstrably true.
The authors are conscious of these difficulties, but cannot avoid them.
They believe that in spite of them, and in spite of other limitations
to which this and any similar rate study is subject, the picture pre-
sented in the following chapters is essentially correct.
T H E AUTHORS
Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Physical Characteristics of Western Territory . . . 1

II. Mechanics of Transcontinental Rate Making . . . . 21

III. Western Termini 35

IV. Rate Groups on Eastbound Traffic . 50

V. Rate Groups on Westbound Traffic 76

VI. Rate Profiles on Eastbound Traffic 88

VII. Class Rate Levels 108

VIII. Commodity Rate Levels 117

IX. Summary and Conclusion 140

Index 163
CHAPTER I

Physical Characteristics of
Western Territory

W MAY reasonably begin consideration of the trans-

continental rate structure with the statement and elaboration of two
facts. The first of these is that railroads carry most of the commodi-
ties which are exported from the Pacific Coast to other parts of the
continental United States or are imported into Pacific Coast com-
munities from eastern continental points of origin. The second is that
this rail carriage of goods between the East and the West takes place
through long distances and over a peculiar terrain. These are obvious
but not necessarily simple facts, and they deserve discussion.
Let us, therefore, commence our study by examining the distribu-
tion of transcontinental traffic between available transport agencies—
that is, between intercoastal water, highway, air, and railroad lines.
Of the agencies just mentioned, the share of the air lines may
be dismissed as at present insignificant, although it will doubtless
increase in future years.
The division of traffic between railroad, intercoastal, and high-
way carriage is, on the contrary, of real importance, although there
are difficulties in ascertaining exact amounts. An estimate which
seems reasonable is shown in table l. 1
1 The table shows, for a typical prewar year, the distribution by type of carrier of traffic

moving between California and destinations east of California. Traffic moving to or

through the Pacific Northwest has been excluded. In the text estimate, railroad figures
&re based on statistics supplied by the carriers for 1941, showing business handled at
gateways on the different routes. These figures are exact and pertinent, although not all
statements give direction, and this, when not reported, has to be estimated.
The data on highway traffic are taken from traffic counts conducted by the California
State Highway Department and from a study of interstate and intrastate transportation of
commodities published by the Arizona Highway Department in 1941. There is a difficulty
here in that the California report, although available for every year, supplies information
only on the number of vehicles passing central points, without segregation by direction
or, in detail, by type of carrier, and only for two selected days. The Arizona study supplies
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 ABSENT WITHOUT LEAVE;

OR,

GONE TO SEA IN A COACH.

Ay; now we see it,

And there’s the coach!——
Southey.

In many, if not in most, of the regiments of our army, there is to be

found a sort of officer who is a privileged oddity,—who takes liberties
with all his brethren of the mess with impunity, and who pockets
every thing short of a blow with the best possible humour. In
general, the individuals of this description are designated in the
mess-room vocabulary, “Good-tempered Old Stagers,” and “Old
Stickers,” meaning thereby, that they can “go” at the bottle, and
“stick” at the table till “all’s blue.”

One of these, a Quartermaster of infantry, with a nose of the

genuine Bardolph complexion, a rosy and eternal smile, a short
figure, and a big head, having dined with a party of brother officers
at the Three Cups, Harwich—the day on which his regiment marched
into the barracks of that town—was in the best possible spirits: so
much so, that he gave the bottle no rest until about eleven o’clock;
and became “glorious,” just as the company broke up—right or
wrong he would go along with three of the youngest subalterns to
ramble by the sea-side in the moonshine, having been “so long i’ the
sun.” They permitted him reluctantly; perhaps, indeed, because they
could not prevent him; but when the party got down to the place
where passengers and goods are usually embarked, the
Quartermaster became totally overpowered, and sank senseless into
a snore. The officers whom he accompanied could not think of
carrying his corpus back to the inn; nor were there any persons near
whom they could employ for the purpose: one of them, therefore,
opened the door of a private carriage which stood near, “unshipped”
from the wheels—ready for embarkation, and in a moment the
sleeper was bundled into it, where he was left to his repose with the
door fast shut upon him.

Next morning at daybreak (about three o’clock) the coach, with its
contents, was put on board the Hamburg packet, and stowed away
at the very bottom of the hold: in half an hour after this, the vessel
put to sea.

For the whole of the day the packet had a brisk breeze, and at
midnight was a good hundred miles away from Harwich: a dead
calm set in. It was a beautiful night in July, and the passengers were
not all gone to bed: some walked the deck, and others sat below at
cards—every thing was silent, except the rattling of the ropes as the
ship yielded to the smooth and gentle swell of the sleeping North
Sea. About this time, the Quartermaster, it is supposed, awoke; at
least he had not been heard before to utter his complaints, probably
from the bustle consequent on the managing of the vessel in a stiff
breeze. However, it was at this time that his cracked and buried
voice first fell upon the ears of the crew; and for about twenty
minutes the panic it created is indescribable. The whist company in
the cabin, at first thought it was one of the sailors in a chest, and
called the captain; who declared he had been that minute examining
into the cause of the unearthly sounds, and had mustered his crew,
all of whom were on deck, as much astonished as he was—nay,
more so, for one of them, a Welshman, felt convinced that the voice
proceeded from the speaking trumpet of the ghost of David Jones,
his former shipmate, “who had died in ill will with him.”

“Hallo—o—o—o—o!”—“Murder!”—“Murder!” now rose upon all ears,

as if the voice were at the bottom of the sea. The Welshman fell
upon his knees, and begged forgiveness of his injured and departed
friend, David Jones: the rest of the crew caught a slight tinge of his
fears, and paced about in couples to and fro; some declaring the
voice was below the rudder, and others that it was at the mast-head.
The passengers, one and all, hurried on deck; in short, none on
board, not even the Captain and the oldest seaman, were free from
alarm: for they had searched every habitable place in the vessel
without discovering the cause of their terrors, and the hold, it was
evident, could not have contained an extra rat, it was so crammed
with luggage, &c. “Let me out, you d——d rascals! let me out—let
me out, I say!” screamed the voice with increased vigour. These
exclamations the Welshman declared were addressed to devils, that
were tormenting his deceased enemy David; and he uttered a
fervent prayer for the peace of the wandering and unhappy soul: but
a different idea was awakened in the mind of the Captain by the
words “Let me out,” “There is somebody packed up in the hold,”
exclaimed he; and instantly ordering the men to follow him down, all
began to remove the upper layer of articles; which being done, the
voice became louder and more distinct.

“Where are you?” bawled the Captain.

“I’m here in a coach, d——n you!” answered the Quartermaster.

The mystery was now solved, and the Welshman made easy; but no
one could imagine how a human being could have got into the
carriage. However, satisfaction on this point was not to be waited
for; so the men fell to work, and after about half an hour’s hard
exertion, succeeded in disincumbering the vehicle. They then
proceeded to unpack the Quartermaster, whose astonishment
amounted almost to madness, when he found that he had not only
been confined in a coach, but in a ship, and that the said ship was
then in the middle of the German Ocean!

It was impossible to put back to Harwich, so no remedy was left the

little fat gentleman but to proceed to the end of the voyage, and to
take a passage back from Hamburg as soon as possible. This was
bad enough; but his hopes of an early return were almost destroyed
by the setting in of adverse winds, which kept the vessel beating
about in a most bile-brewing and stomach-stirring ocean, for ten
days and nights; during which time, when not sea-sick, the
Quartermaster was employed in profoundly meditating how he could
have got into the coach; and even after having taken the opinion of
the captain, the crew, and all the passengers, upon the matter, he
felt himself as much in the dark as ever. The last thing he could
recollect of “the land he had left,” was that he dined and wined at
the “Three Cups,”—what followed was chaos.

But the worst of the affair, decidedly, was that the day on which he
had been put to sea was the 22d of the month, and as it was
impossible for him to make his appearance with his regiment on the
24th, he knew he must, as a matter of course, be reported “Absent
without leave” at head quarters, and that he would most probably
be superseded. This reflection was even worse than the weather to
the Quartermaster, though the rough sea had already almost
“brought his heart up.” However, he had great hopes of being able to
join his regiment on the 10th of the following month—the next
return-day—and, by due application, he thought he might contrive to
prevent supersession. Ten days of this time was, however, consumed
before he set a foot upon the German shore, and then only half of
his excursion was over: all his hopes rested upon a quick passage
back to Harwich. This, however, the Fates denied him; for having
drawn on the agent—got the cash—engaged his passage to England
—laid in sea-stock, and all things necessary—the packet, just as she
was leaving Hamburg, was run foul of by a five-hundred-ton ship,
and so much injured that she was obliged to put back, and the
unfortunate Quartermaster was thus compelled to wait a fortnight
for another opportunity of returning to England. He not only was
delayed beyond the 10th (return-day) but beyond the following 24th,
and when he did arrive, he found that he had been not only
superseded by the Commander-in-chief, but considered dead by all
his friends and relations!

However, on personally applying for reinstatement, he obtained it,

and once more joined his old corps at Harwich, where he many a
night amused the mess with the recital of his trip to sea in the
coach; which was always given with most effect when he was half-
seas-over.
 THE PUNISHMENT.

The image of this suffering quite unmans me.

Lee.

“Parade, Sir!—Parade, Sir!—There’s a parade this morning, Sir!”

With these words, grumbled out by the unyielding leathern lungs of

my servant, I was awakened from an agreeable dream in my
barrack-room bed one morning about a quarter before eight o’clock.

“Parade!”—I reflected a moment;—“Yes,” said I, “a punishment

parade.”

I proceeded to dress; and as I looked out of my window I saw that

the morning was as gloomy and disagreeable as the duty we were
about to perform. “Curse the punishment!—curse the crimes!”
muttered I to myself.

I was soon shaved, booted, and belted. The parade-call was beaten,
and in a moment I was in the barrack-yard.

The non-commissioned officers were marching their squads to the

ground: the officers, like myself, were turning out: the morning was
cold as well as foggy: and there was a sullen, melancholy expression
upon every man’s countenance, indicative of the relish they had for
a punishment parade: the faces of the officers, as upon all such
occasions, were particularly serious: the women of the regiment
were to be seen in silent groups at the barrack-windows—in short,
every thing around appealed to the heart, and made it sick. Two
soldiers were to receive three hundred lashes each! One of them, a
corporal, had till now preserved a good character for many years in
the regiment; but he had been in the present instance seduced into
the commission of serious offences, by an associate of very bad
character. Their crimes, arising doubtless from habits of intoxication,
were, disobedience of orders, insolence to the sergeant on duty, and
the making away with some of their necessaries.

The regiment formed on the parade, and we marched off in a few

minutes to the riding-house, where the triangle was erected, about
which the men formed a square, with the Colonel, the Adjutant, the
Surgeon, and the drummers in the centre.

“Attention!” roared out the Colonel. The word, were it not that it was
technically necessary, need not have been used, for the attention of
all was most intense; and scarcely could the footsteps of the last
men, closing in, be fairly said to have broken the gloomy silence of
the riding-house. The two prisoners were now marched into the
centre of the square, escorted by a corporal and four men.

“Attention!” was again called, and the Adjutant commanded to read

the proceedings of the court-martial. When he had concluded, the
Colonel commanded the private to “strip.”

The drummers now approached the triangle, four in number, and the
senior took up the “cat” in order to free the “tails” from
entanglement with each other.

“Strip, Sir!” repeated the Colonel, having observed that the prisoner
seemed reluctant to obey the first order.

“Colonel,” replied he, in a determined tone, “I’ll volunteer.”3

“You’ll volunteer, will you, Sir?”

“Yes; sooner than I’ll be flogged.”

“I am not sorry for that. Such fellows as you can be of no use to the
service except in Africa. Take him back to the guard-house, and let
the necessary papers be made out for him immediately.”

The latter sentence was addressed to the Corporal of the guard who
escorted the prisoners, and accordingly the man who volunteered
was marched off, a morose frown and contemptuous sneer strongly
marked on his countenance.

The Colonel now addressed the other prisoner.

“You are the last man in the regiment I could have expected to find
in this situation. I made you a corporal, Sir, from a belief that you
were a deserving man; and you had before you every hope of
farther promotion; but you have committed such a crime that I
must, though unwillingly, permit the sentence of the court which
tried you to take its effect.” Then turning to the Sergeant-major, he
ordered him to cut off the Corporal’s stripes from his jacket: this was
done, and the prisoner then stripped without the slightest change in
his stern but penitent countenance.

Every one of the regiment felt for the unfortunate Corporal’s

situation; for it was believed that nothing but intoxication, and the
persuasion of the other prisoner who had volunteered, could have
induced him to subject himself to the punishment he was about to
receive, by committing such a breach of military law, as that of
which he was convicted. The Colonel, himself, although apparently
rigorous and determined, could not, by all his efforts, hide his regret
that a good man should be thus punished: the affected frown, and
the loud voice in command, but ill concealed his real feelings;—the
struggle between the head and the heart was plainly to be seen;
and had the head had but the smallest loophole to have escaped,
the heart would have gained a victory. But no alternative was left;
the man had been a Corporal, and, therefore, was the holder of a
certain degree of trust from his superiors: had he been a private
only, the crime might have been allowed to pass with impunity, on
account of his former good character; but, as the case stood, the
Colonel could not possibly pardon him, much as he wished to do so.
No officer was more averse to flogging in any instance, than he was;
and whenever he could avert that punishment, consistent with his
judgment, which at all times was regulated by humanity, he would
gladly do it. Flogging was in his eyes an odious punishment, but he
found that the total abolition of it was impossible; he therefore held
the power over the men, but never used it when it could be avoided.
His regiment was composed of troublesome spirits; and courts-
martial were frequent: so were sentences to the punishment of the
lash; but seldom, indeed, were those punishments carried into
execution; for if the Colonel could find no fair pretext in the previous
conduct of the criminal, to remit his sentence, he would privately
request the Captain of his company to intercede for him when about
to be tied up to the triangle; thus placing the man under a strong
moral obligation to the officer under whose more immediate
command he was: and in general, this proved far more salutary than
the punishment ever could have done.

It is not flogging that should be abolished in the army, but the cruel
and capricious opinions which move the lash. Humanity and sound
judgment are the best restrictions upon this species of punishment;
and when they are more frequently brought into action than they
have formerly been, there will be but few dissentient opinions upon
military discipline.

The prisoner was now stripped and ready to be tied, when the
Colonel asked him why he did not volunteer for Africa, with the other
culprit.

“No, Sir,” replied the man; “I’ve been a long time in the regiment,
and I’ll not give it up for three hundred lashes; not that I care about
going to Africa. I deserve my punishment, and I’ll bear it; but I’ll not
quit the regiment yet, Colonel.”
This sentiment, uttered in a subdued but manly manner, was
applauded by a smile of satisfaction from both officers and men; but
most of all by the old Colonel, who took great pains to show the
contrary. His eyes, although shaded by a frown, beamed with
pleasure. He bit his nether lip; he shook his head—but all would not
do; he could not look displeased, if he had pressed his brows down
to the bridge of his nose; for he felt flattered that the prisoner thus
openly preferred a flogging to quitting him and his regiment.

The man now presented his hands to be tied up to the top of the
triangle, and his legs below: the cords were passed round them in
silence, and all was ready. I saw the Colonel at this moment beckon
to the surgeon, who approached, and both whispered a moment.

Three drummers now stood beside the triangle, and the sergeant,
who was to give the word for each lash, at a little distance opposite.

The first drummer began, and taking three steps forward, applied
the lash to the soldier’s back—“one.”

Again he struck—“two.”

Again, and again, until twenty-five were called by the Sergeant.

Then came the second drummer, and he performed his twenty-five.
Then came the third, who was a stronger and a more heavy striker
than his coadjutors in office: this drummer brought the blood out
upon the right shoulder-blade, which perceiving, he struck lower on
the back; but the surgeon ordered him to strike again upon the
bleeding part: I thought this was cruel; but I learnt after, from the
surgeon himself, that it gave much less pain to continue the blows
as directed, than to strike upon the untouched skin.

The poor fellow bore without a word his flagellation, holding his
head down upon his breast, both his arms being extended, and tied
at the wrists above his head. At the first ten or twelve blows, he
never moved a muscle; but about the twenty-fifth, he clenched his
teeth and cringed a little from the lash. During the second twenty-
five, the part upon which the cords fell became blue, and appeared
thickened, for the whole space of the shoulder-blade and centre of
the back; and before the fiftieth blow was struck, we could hear a
smothered groan from the poor sufferer, evidently caused by his
efforts to stifle the natural exclamations of acute pain. The third
striker, as I said, brought the blood; it oozed from the swollen skin,
and moistened the cords which opened its way from the veins. The
Colonel directed a look at the drummer, which augured nothing
advantageous to his interest; and on the fifth of his twenty-five,
cried out to him, “Halt, Sir! you know as much about using the cat
as you do of your sticks.” Then addressing the Adjutant, he said,
“Send that fellow away to drill: tell the drum-major to give him two
hours additional practice with the sticks every day for a week, in
order to bring his hand into—a—proper movement.”

The drummer slunk away at the order of the Adjutant, and one of
the others took up the cat. The Colonel now looked at the Surgeon,
and I could perceive a slight nod pass, in recognition of something
previously arranged between them. This was evidently the case; for
the latter instantly went over to the punished man, and having asked
him a question or two, proceeded formally to the Colonel, and stated
something in a low voice: upon which the drummers were ordered
to take the man down. This was accordingly done; and when about
to be removed to the regimental hospital, the Colonel addressed him
thus: “Your punishment, Sir, is at an end; you may thank the
Surgeon’s opinion for being taken down so soon.” (Every one knew
this was only a pretext.) “I have only to observe to you, that as you
have been always, previous to this fault, a good man, I would
recommend you to conduct yourself well for the future, and I
promise to hold your promotion open to you as before.”

The poor fellow replied that he would do so, and burst into tears,
which he strove in vain to hide.

Wonder not that the hard cheek of a soldier was thus moistened by
a tear; the heart was within his bosom, and these tears came from
it. The lash could not force one from his burning eyelid; but the
word of kindness—the breath of tender feeling from his respected
Colonel, dissolved the stern soldier to the grateful and contrite
penitent.

May this be remembered by every commanding officer, when the cat

is cutting the back of the soldier! May they reflect that both the back
and the heart have feeling; and that the tear of repentance is
oftener brought from the culprit’s eyes by kindness than by the lash!
 ECCENTRICITIES OF THE LATE

MORRIS QUILL.

I knew him, Horatio—a fellow of infinite jest—of most excellent

fancy.
Shakspeare.

Few indeed are there in the army who have not heard of Morris
Quill; and fewer still are they who have known a better man, or a
merrier companion. He was a medical officer of the 31st regiment—
an Irishman, with one of the softest, soundest, and most
gentlemanly brogues that ever eulogised a bottle of genuine port, or
asked a favour from a wealthy widow’s lip. He was a fine portly,
good-humoured looking, summer-faced son of Erin, with that sort of
fun about him which, if it did not injure himself, carried no sting to
the bosom of any body else, except when his wit was directed to the
operation of crushing some impudent coxcomb; and then it left its
penal effects with him who deserved them. He is now no more, poor
fellow! He died at Cork a short time ago, and his last march was
attended by all the military (both half and full pay) in the city and its
vicinity. His memory still lives; and so long as there shall be a gallant
Peninsular hero to sit at a mess-table, the eccentricities and whims
of Morris Quill can never be forgotten. The few which I recollect will
be recognized as genuine by all those officers who served in the
Duke of Wellington’s army. I knew him: I have known his friends: I
have seen and heard of most of his drolleries; and from the many I
select the few which follow.

For the purpose of creating hilarity, Morris would often affect the
greatest simplicity of Irish manners when strangers were at the
mess-table. He would on those occasions tell such anecdotes of
himself, as were calculated to make him appear but little removed
from barbarism; and this always afforded the highest degree of
enjoyment to those who were by, most of whom knew that he was
any thing but a barbarian. I was once present when he played off
this whim in a most laughable way. There were several very prim
and “monstrous” important gentlemen dining at the mess—perfect
strangers to any thing like a joke, and equally so to Quill.

As soon as the bottle was fairly adrift, Morris seized an opportunity

of gravely addressing the President. “Colonel,” said he, “I received a
letther to-day from my ould mother in Kerry. Just read the direction
on it. I’m sure ’tis plain enough, and yet it has been two months
coming.” The letter was handed about the table, and the officers
read aloud the address to the perfect astonishment of the visitors.

“To Misther Docthor Morris Quill, Esquire. Along with Lord

Wellington’s fighting army in France, or Spain, or Portingale, or
maybe elsewhere, and the Western Indys. From his loving mother.”

The gravity with which he managed this piece of humour, excited the
mirth of all his companions, at the expense of the strangers, who
looked very contemptuously on Morris, when they saw this specimen
of the family education. However, before they left the table, all was
explained, and Quill reinstated in their good opinion.

Morris had served in a regiment before he joined the 31st; and one
of his old brother-officers having met him in Dublin, shortly after the
exchange, asked him why he did not stay with his old friends?—“Oh,
I’ll tell you then,” replied Morris. “You see I have a brother in the
32d, and I wanted to be near him in the wars, so I changed into the
31st, which you know is as close as possible to his regiment.” At this
time they happened to be two thousand miles asunder.

With all the apparent simplicity which Quill exhibited, he was as

good a judge of politeness, and knew as well the difference between
gentlemanlike familiarity and impertinent freedom, as any man in
the army; which the following anecdote will in a great measure
prove. He exchanged from the 31st, after having been a long time in
the regiment, for no other purpose but to be attached to one about
to go on actual service, in order that he might have a better chance
of promotion. On joining, he had in his pocket letters from all those
officers of his old corps who had happened to be acquainted with
those of the one into which he exchanged; but he did not take the
trouble to present a single one, lest they would suppose, as he said
himself, that he wanted them to give him a dinner. In a few days
after his joining, a very supercilious officer of the regiment, no less a
personage than one of the majors, met him in the mess-room, tête-
à-tête, and after a little conversation, put a very impertinent
question to Morris. “Pray, Sir,” said he, “were not you a considerable
time in the 31st?”

“Oh, yes, I was, ’faith.”

“It is a very good corps indeed—very good corps. I wonder you did
not remain in it! Pray, what made you leave it, Sir?”

Morris hesitated a little, and then replied: “Why, ’faith, I don’t like to
mention exactly the reason, Major.”

“God bless me! what was it?”

“Why, you see, Major, I know you are a gentleman every bit of you;
and if you will solemnly pledge me your honour that you will never
mention it to any body, I’ll tell you the whole affair.”

“’Pon my honour, I won’t. I pledge you my honour, I will not mention

it.”
“’Pon your honour,” said Morris emphatically.

“’Pon my honour!” echoed the Major.

“Well, that’s enough,” observed Morris; “I’ll tell you all about it. But
shut the door, Major.”—The Major obeyed and hurried back to his
chair.—“Well, then, you see, when I was in the 31st, I owed a little
money here and there; and I was bothered with duns—Oh! the 31st
was a fine regiment; it was there we had plenty of credit wherever
we went: more is the pity for me; because I just—one day that I
was short of a little money”—(whispering)

“Well, Sir!” interrupted the Major.

“I—a—just—a—put a few of the mess-table spoons and silver forks

into my pocket;—that’s all.”

“Indeed!” observed the Major, drawing back his chair.

“Yes, indeed,” continued Morris; “and a fellow there, dressed up in

livery (they call him the mess-waiter), saw me do it, and stopped me
before the officers;—so I was obliged to leave the regiment; for the
colonel was a civil fellow, and let me off without a court-martial.”

“Indeed!—ho—hum——Good morning, Sir,” politely replied the Major,

and left the room.

Of course a thing of this kind was not suffered to lie hidden under a
bushel half an hour by the Major. He proceeded instantly to the
Colonel, and gravely laid open to him the alarming discovery. The
Colonel lost not a moment in calling a meeting of the mess. The
mess assembled (all excepting Morris, to whom the meeting was not
made known, for obvious reasons), and the Major, in an energetic
speech, informed the mess that he had heard the fact from Mr.
Quill’s own lips, with that gentleman’s solemn injunction upon the
Major to be secret. All were equally astonished and alarmed; each
man put his hand instinctively to his fob; and a little attorney-faced
captain despatched his servant to see if his trunks were all safe. The
mad dog had got amongst them, and there was but one opinion
about his expulsion.

Morris was sent for forthwith:—the orderly-serjeant was despatched

to tell him that the Colonel and the members of the mess were
assembled, and that he was to attend immediately.

The delinquent appeared without the least hesitation, and looking as

pleasantly as ever. On being informed by the Colonel of the cause of
the meeting, he paused, cast his eyes archly at the Major, and
exclaimed, “Ah! Major, Major! so you have told on me, though you
pledged your honour!” (Not a word from the Major.) “Now, Colonel,
the fact of the matter is this: I was asked a question by that
gentleman, which, however he might have meant it, I could not
receive but as a joke (a little too free, I must say), and so I—just
answered him as the joke deserved. The Major, in a way I did not
much relish, asked me, ‘What was the reason I quitted the 31st?’
and I gave him an answer. It was a question of an odd meaning, and
so I gave him an odd reply.” (A stare and a smile from all except the
Major.) “Now,” continued Morris, pulling out a bundle of letters,
“there’s a letter for you, Colonel; and one for you, Captain Smith;
and for you, Captain Jones; and for you, Lieutenant Edwards:”—so
on, until he delivered the bundle of introductions which he brought
from his last regiment. The letters were read aloud, and better fun
was never enjoyed in the mess-room, nor relished with greater zest
before or since; even the Major

“Join’d in the laugh that almost made him sick;”

and Morris became the favourite of every officer in the regiment,

always excepting the honourable Major himself.

At one period of the Peninsular war, the army was several months in
arrear of pay. Money was not to be got anywhere by the advanced
troops, except in the class of Generals and higher officers. Morris
Quill was, of course, one of those whose purses were empty—indeed
there was not a dollar to be caught in the regiment from right to left.

A general officer was passing with his staff (General Crawford, I

believe) through the village in which Morris was quartered. As soon
as he saw the General, he turned to a brother officer, and said, “By J
——! I’ve a great mind to ask the General for a few dollars.”

“That you may do,” replied the officer; “but I’m sure you will not get
them.”

“Will you bet me £5 I don’t?” returned Morris.

“I will bet you £5 you do not borrow £5 or 20 dollars from him.”

“Done. I’ll bet you a bill on the paymaster.”

“Done.”

“Done—and I’ll dine with him too,” said Morris, as he started off on
his poney. He trotted up to the General: taking off his hat in the
most “official” manner,—“General,” said he, “I beg your pardon—I
have to mention to you that my sick are without any comforts,4—
they will be in a bad way if I cannot buy something for them; and I
have no money at all.”

“Well, Mr. Quill, that is a very unfortunate thing. How much money
will be enough for you?”

“Oh! about 20 dollars, Sir; and if you will lend that sum to me, I will
give you an order on Cox and Greenwood for the money; which you
can send over, and it will be just the same thing to you.”

“Very well, Mr. Quill. Come to my quarters, and you shall have the
money.”
Morris jogged off with the General about two miles to his quarters;
and during the time they were going, the General found him a very
pleasant and humorous fellow. Morris, as he was receiving the
money, mentioned something about the scarcity of provisions, and
concluded by saying, “Faith, General, I don’t know when I had a
dinner, or even saw the ghost of one: there is a very savoury smell
here, I can perceive; but that is a General thing, I suppose, in this
quarter.”

The General without hesitation asked Morris to stay to dinner; and

highly enjoyed his society during the evening.

It was eleven o’clock before he returned; when producing the cash,

he convinced his friend and the other officers of his success; so they
finished the night over a cigar and a bottle of ration grog.

Quill, during the whole time he served in the Peninsula, had a

servant who was as whimsical and as humorous as himself. This
servant, he used to say, was “the best caterer for a gentleman’s
table in hard times, that ever came from Kerry.” And so he was; for
Morris Quill had always a fowl or a sucking pig for dinner, when the
rest of the officers (except those who dined with Morris) were
obliged to be contented with a biscuit and a bit of hard beef. Indeed,
so excellent a purveyor and cook was Dennis, that his master made
it a practice to ask his friends to dine with him, without (of himself)
knowing where the eatables were to come from. “Dennis,” he would
say, “I am going to ask a couple of gentlemen to dine with me to-
day—indeed I have asked them already. What have you got?”

“Oh musha! Docthor Quill, I don’t know that I have any thing, barrin’
a shouldther o’ vale and a hen or two.”

(A shoulder of veal! and a brace of fowls! when they were starving!

—no bad things.)—Or, perhaps, as it might happen, Dennis would
say, “Faith! Masther, I havn’t a toothful in the place, barrin’ the
rashions.”
“Well, Dennis, get what you can. Try, can you buy any thing about
the country?”

(Buy, indeed! and not a sixpence in the whole division!)

Morris and his friends would come to dinner at the usual hour,
perfectly confident that Dennis had done his duty; and, perhaps, a
good pair of fowls, or a piece of pickled pork, or a sucking pig,
would welcome their longing appetites.

“Where did you buy these things, Dennis?” Quill would ask.

“O! plase your honour, up there above—over the hill—down there, at

a farm-house yondther.”

“You’re sure you bought them, Dennis?”

“O yes; I ped for ’em, Sir—that is, I offered the money to the
farmer; but he said, ‘Never mind, Dennis,’ says he, ‘it will do another
time.’ So I mane to pay the next time I go.”

“Very well, very well, Dennis; so as you paid for the provision, it’s all
well; but take care the Provost doesn’t give you your change one of
these days.”

“Oh, never mind that, Sir; the Portuguese hereabouts all knows me
very well, and wouldn’t mind if I never ped them a vintin.”

And they had a right to know Dennis,—at least their live stock had;
for there was scarcely a fowl, rabbit, pig, sheep, or calf in the
country, that he had not paid his respects to. Dennis used to say,
“We are here starvin’ and fightin’ for the Portuguese; so the laste
they may do, is to give us our dinner, at any rate.”

The last anecdote of this singular character, which I recollect, is as

follows:—
A very hot engagement had taken place, in which the 31st regiment
had been hard at work. Quill had his instruments, &c. under a hedge
in a valley; at a little distance from the hill which his regiment was
endeavouring to take from the French. He stayed pretty near the
corps, (for Morris was no flincher,) and one of his brother officers
being wounded in the leg, he ran over to him to render what surgical
assistance he could. It was necessary to have something from the
medicine-chest, which was behind the hedge in the valley, and
Morris started off like a hare, to fetch it. At this moment the
regiment was suffering from grape-shot, and the Brigadier-General,
who was coming at a gallop along a narrow lane, saw Quill running,
inside a hedge, as fast as he could, away from the regiment, in the
uniform of which he was; and, thinking it was some cowardly officer
who feared the grape, the General cried out to him, “Where are you
going, Sir?” To which Morris only replied, still running under the
hedge, “By J——s! I won’t stay any longer there; it’s too hot.” The
General again cried out to him, and ordered his aid-de-camp to
follow, and march him back a prisoner; but Morris outran the aid-de-
camp’s horse, and arrived before him at the hedge where his
instruments were. When the latter saw who it was, he well nigh fell
off his horse with laughing, as he galloped back to tell the General
his mistake. Morris laughed heartily, too; and, indeed, he had the
laugh all on his own side, as he returned with the medicaments for
which he had gone, to assist his wounded brother officer, and with
which he ran as fast into the field as he had run out of it.
 MESS-TABLE CHAT.

No. III.

“To laugh with gibing boys, and stand the push

Of every beardless vain Comparative.”
Shakspeare.

Scene.—The Depôt Mess-room at Winchester—a tolerably large

apartment, more airy than comfortable; neither carpet nor
curtains.—Dinner so so.—Wines of excellent MANUFACTURE.—
Company, consisting of fifteen officers, (mostly youths) of
different regiments, and of course in different uniforms.—
Attendants, three recruits in undress, (white flannel,)—no
band; but several dogs barking and scudding about the
lobby.

Ensign Newly. By G—d, I never sat down to so d—d a dinner in my

life; we get worse and worse every day: the fish smells infernally,
and this hash is made of the hard mutton we had on table last
Thursday. Simple, my boy, give us a sample of that old cock turkey
before you, if you can get a knife into him.

Ensign Simple. I can’t carve. (In a whisper.) Captain Alder, will you
cut the turkey? I never carved in my life.
Capt. Alder. Very well, Mr. Simple, I’ll try my skill. Hand that turkey
this way, John.

[One of the attendant recruits takes the dish of turkey, and in

making an unnecessary circuit of the table, flaps down
upon his face; the dish is smashed, and the turkey rolls to
the far end of the mess room, followed by streams of gravy
and the regrets of the company.]

Ensign Newly. O, curse you for a clodhopper! Run after the turkey,
you rascal.

[John runs and takes up the turkey, but drops it immediately.]

Lieut. Short. What do you drop the turkey for, Sir, eh?

John. (Blowing his fingers.) It’s roasting hot, zur.

Capt. Alder. Send the mess-waiter here, and then go to your duty,
Sir. You are not fit to be a scullion.

[Exit John; and as he goes out, three pointer dogs and a terrier
run into the mess-room, and skurry about; one of them
seizes on the turkey, but finding it too hot for his palate,
drops his prey, and begins to bark loudly at it. The Mess-
waiter and two attendants arrive in time, and beat out the
dogs, after some difficulty, owing to the canine taste for
gravy.]

Lieut. Grub. Well, d— me, if this is not a pretty mess. I wish I was
back with my old corps once more, in the wilds of Canada. I never
saw a depôt mess yet that could manage a good servant.

Capt. Alder. Never! (In a whisper.) Did you ever know it to manage
any thing good?

Lieut. Short. Mess-waiter! what follows this course?

Mess-waiter. Rabbits, and the cold beef, Sir.

All. The cold beef! The eternal cold beef!

Mess-waiter. Gentlemen, I assure you the market was so bad to-day,

that we could only find that turkey; but the beef is very sweet and
good yet.

Ensign Newly. Mind, that we have no hashed or deviled turkey this

week.

[looking significantly at the dirtied bird.]

Mess-waiter. Oh no Sir; we’ll eat this ourselves.

Ensign Newly. You will have fine sand sauce then.

[Hash and harrico are now served out amongst the half-
grumbling, half-laughing mess, but a glass or two of wine
restore matters a little; the rabbits and beef are scarcely
tasted, and dinner is concluded on cheese and stale tarts.]

Ensign Luby. Send round the wine, Mr. President. I have just touched
the cash to-day. Old dad has sent me a fifty, and I am determined to
be comfortable.

President. Then I’ll send in your wine account to-morrow, my lad.

Ensign Luby. Ay, do, do—you’ll not find me like Mr. Trotter, who
marched off yesterday without waiting for his.

Several. What! is Trotter off?

President. Yes: and in a very ungentlemanly way too. I knew he

couldn’t stand the follies he gave way to—out every night until
three, and never sober.
Ensign Newly. I think, Mr. President, as I am a member of the same
corps to which Trotter belongs, you have shown no great proof of
taste in mentioning his name so disrespectfully before me.

President. Mr. Newly, I speak of Mr. Trotter as I think he deserves:

he may be very honourable, but I think he outran his means, and
thereby his honour also.

Several voices (in confusion.) Certainly, d—d dishonourable conduct.

Ensign Luby. Come, lads, hear me: I know Trotter a little; he is a

good young fellow; but somewhat too free with his cash; he does
not know how to keep it, when he gets it from home. I do not like to
see disputes here,—God knows we have enough of them: last night
we were all made unpleasant by two gentlemen contending that
one’s facings were handsomer than the other’s, and the day before
we were thrown into confusion by an argument between two young
gentlemen about superior rank and services—both not yet two
months in the army. Come, I say—Trotter owes his wine-bill: and for
the best of reasons—he had not money enough left to pay it out of
seventy pounds sent by his father; because, you see, he played Hell
and Tommy (as the phrase goes): so I’ll tell you what—I will pay it
myself—ay, or any other friend’s wine-bill; for, as I said before, I
touched a fifty to-day.

President. If I am wrong, Gentlemen, I’ll appeal to the voice of the

company.

All. No! no! It’s all right. Sit down—sit down.

Ensign Luby. Bring in the wine quicker, you Glundy—dy’ hear, d—n
ye!

Glundy. Yes, Sir.

(Servant runs out.

Voice without. Yoix! there, my lads,—he—he—hip—yoix!—hark
forward, my jolly dogs!—yo—io—io—io—io—hip!

(Enter Ensign Buckskin.

Ensign Buckskin. How are you, my hearty Cocks!—how are you?

All the Mess. How are you? How do, Buck? How do?

President. Where the devil have you been? eh!

Ensign Buckskin. Been! In bed, to be sure—just got up—swallowed a

basin of soup and a small glass of brandy. I was squeamish all the
day; but now I’m to rights again. Waiter!—clean glass. Well, how are
you, my boys?

(Sits down.

Ensign Newly. How are you, after your last night’s work—eh?

Ensign Buckskin. Oh! by George, Sir, they have taken out a warrant
against me.

Ensign Newly. For what?

Ensign Buckskin. For burning the old Constable’s nose. Jackson and
Jones are off by coach for Fort Monkton, and so have escaped:
unfortunate Jack Buckskin, as usual, comes in for a “good thing.” I
shall be up before “his Vorship,” as the “Coves” call him; but d—n his
eyes, I don’t care the rowel of an old spur about any infernal
magistratical methodist in Winchester. Yoix! my lads! ye—he—hip—
old Jack Buckskin against the d——l and all his saints.

[An uproarious laugh from the company, which sets all the dogs
in the house barking, and Buckskin gives a regular “view
halloo,” accompanied by several of the mess.]
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