Blair of Balaclava

CHAPTER III.

THE ‘DEATH OR GLORY BOYS.’

The soldier smiled. ‘I thought our uniform and badge were pretty well known,’ he said. ‘My regiment is the 17th Lancers, the “Death or Glory Boys.” But I must be getting on, though I don’t like to leave you here. I’ll see you as far as Hounslow if you like, and I should advise you to put up there for the night and make an early start for London in the morning.’

This seemed to Jack good advice, though he thought with a sinking heart of his small stock of money, which would be thus further reduced. He got on to his feet, and was then astonished to find how weak and giddy he felt.

‘Just what I thought,’ the sergeant said, as he donned his headdress and gauntlets.

He placed his left arm round Jack’s waist, half-supporting him; took the portmanteau in his other hand, and, whistling to his horse, which at once followed him, he led the way out of the pleasant meadow on to the highroad. He then gave Jack a ‘leg up’ into the saddle, and instructed him to hold his slender portmanteau in front of him; then, with his right hand on the horse’s bridle, and carrying his sabre in his left, away they went.

Before they reached the barracks the sergeant dismounted Jack and they both passed in on foot. Jack gave an admiring glance at the smart young soldier, in all his gay trappings, a ten-foot lance surmounted by red and white bannerols in his hand, his spurred heels jingling on the stones as he strode up and down in front of the guard-room, outside which several soldiers, all also in full-dress, were standing or sitting.

Sergeant Barrymore’s quarters were reached. The sergeant’s wife, who was quite a superior woman, was soon in possession of the facts of the case. With a woman’s quick instinct she saw that the youth before her was tired and faint and hungry.

He was at once taken in; water, with soap and towels, placed for him; and then, when a welcome wash had refreshed him, a pot of coffee with some grilled ham-and-eggs and sweet white bread were waiting for him. Jack ate heartily and soon felt much better.

By that time the sergeant had divested himself of his gay trappings, and was in a loose undress jacket, slippers on his feet, and a well-used briar-pipe in his mouth. Jack turned to his host and hostess with the suspicion of a tear in his eye.

‘How can I thank you both for your more than kindness?’ he said. ‘You are indeed good Samaritans, and I can never hope to repay you for what you have done.’

‘Not a word,’ said the sergeant; ‘it’s every man’s duty to help a comrade in distress.’

‘But I’m not a comrade,’ said Jack with a smile. ‘I’m just a waster, a failure,’ he added with some bitterness.

‘Tut, tut, all men are comrades; but no more talking. A night’s sleep is what you want. Come with me. We can give you a shakedown, nothing more; but I dare say you’ll sleep well enough, and to-morrow you can get on your way again.’

The sergeant got a basin of hot water, in which Jack bathed his poor, galled feet. Some ointment was applied to them, a rag soaked in liniment tied round his injured knee, and Jack was ready for bed. A couple of regimental blankets on the sofa in Sergeant Barrymore’s sitting-room made a comfortable bed, and thus Jack passed his first night with those who, though he did not know it, for years to come, on land and sea, in comfortable home-quarters or on the blood-stained battlefields of the Crimea, were to be his loyal and gallant comrades.

His long and dreamless slumbers were at last broken by a ringing peal of martial music, and he awoke with a start to wonder where he was and what were the sounds he heard. The music, which he knew to be a trumpet-call, ceased; then he heard a variety of sounds, sharp commands given in that tone of voice peculiar to the cavalry service, the trampling of horses’ hoofs on the ground, and the jingling of bits and steel scabbards against stirrups.

Jack jumped up, hurried on his clothes, and went to the window. The sight that met his gaze drew an involuntary exclamation of delight from him. There, on the parade-ground just below him, he saw, drawn up in column of troops, the gallant ‘Death or Glory Boys.’

It was a magnificent morning, the bright sun shining on the burnished sword-scabbards and lance-points, making them flash and glisten like myriads of diamonds, while the light breeze was just enough to flutter the drooping black plumes and the gay red and white lance-pennons. The facings of the dark-blue uniforms looked snowy white, the shape of the men’s legs being shown to perfection by the white-striped overalls. The horses tossed their heads proudly and pawed the ground restively as though impatient to be off outside the gates, where they seemed to know a crowd had gathered to see the gallant regiment march off.

As Jack looked, the trumpeters sounded the ‘General Parade,’ and the officers took up their position with the regiment, the gold lace glittering on their uniforms and horse-furniture, conspicuous on which was the grinning skull and cross-bones, their great plumes of black swans’ feathers rustling in the breeze.

Then a handsome, distinguished-looking man, on whose breast glittered several medals and orders, rode up. A few curt commands followed, the lances came up to the ‘carry,’ and the officers drew their swords.

The band, which had been sitting mounted just on the right of the regiment, struck up a lively march and moved off; the regiment, in sections, followed, and the ‘Death or Glory Boys’ passed in review before Jack.

‘What a glorious sight! how noble they look!’ cried Jack aloud. ‘How I should love to ride in their ranks!’

‘Would you, indeed, sonny?’ said a voice behind him, and, turning, Jack beheld Sergeant Barrymore, a kindly smile on his sunburnt features, regarding him with a quizzical smile.

CHAPTER IV.

JACK BECOMES A LANCER.

Jack had a great dread of being a drag and an expense to his mother. He felt certain that Mr Phogg would give him a reference that would spoil his chance of getting employment—at least anything better than an errand boy’s or a porter’s place. A hundred times rather than that he would be a soldier; that was, at any rate, an honourable profession.

During the day he wandered about the barracks and had a good look at the guard, particularly admiring the trumpeter, a boy of about his own age, who from time to time, arrayed in his gay Lancer uniform, came forth and sounded different calls.

When the regiment returned at night he heard the men laughing and joking and relating much that had passed on the march up to London and during their progress through the crowded Metropolis; of the princes, lords, and other celebrated people they had seen; and, lastly, how well her Majesty and the Prince Consort looked.

As he again turned in on the sergeant’s sofa his mind was made up. He would be a soldier, and his regiment should be the gallant ‘Death or Glory Boys.’

In the morning he announced his intention to the sergeant while he was enjoying his morning smoke.

‘Well, Jack,’ he said, ‘you might do worse. If you’ve quite made up your mind, come with me.’

Together they crossed the barrack square, passing on their way the young trumpeter whom Jack had so much admired.

‘Where’s the major, Will?’ asked Barrymore.

‘In his quarters, I think, sergeant.’

‘Right.’

They went on to a room near the band-quarters, where they found a rather stout, shortish man, busy at a table copying out music.

‘Hallo, Bob, what’s the trouble?’ he asked, looking up.

‘A recruit, Ted.’

‘Ah, that’s good; I want a real smart lad in the trumpets, one who will take an interest in his work and take up second cornet in the band.’

‘I’ve got the very article, Ted; look at him,’ and the sergeant gave Jack a smack on the back.

Jack, thus brought into prominence, coloured up as he stood in the presence of the two non-commissioned officers, for Ted Joyce was the trumpet-major.

Trumpet-major Joyce looked keenly at Jack. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

‘Sixteen and a half, sir.’

‘Sir no one here but the officers,’ said the trumpet-major, who was a pleasant, rather fussy little man. ‘Know anything about music?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir—I mean’—— and Jack paused.

‘Call me major,’ said the trumpet-major.

‘Yes, major; I can play the piano pretty well.’

‘No pianos in the band,’ said the trumpet-major with a smile; ‘but if you can read well that’s something. You can’t beat time or rhythm into some of my trumpeters. Your lips look all right too; if you can use your tongue well I can make a good trumpeter of you.’

Jack had not the faintest notion of what the trumpet-major meant. The latter picked up a trumpet lying on a chair, and handing it to Jack said, ‘Now, put your lips together and try and sound that.’

Jack took the trumpet, drew a long breath, and blew with all his might, making no sound at all.

‘Squeeze your lips and make an action with your tongue as though you were trying to spit a bit of cotton-wool off it into the mouthpiece,’ said the trumpet-major.

Jack, with a smile, did as he was bidden, and at the third or fourth attempt succeeded in making a most unearthly sound.

‘Capital, capital!’ said the trumpet-major, rubbing his hands; ‘in three months we shall have you sounding on the square.’

‘I think he’ll do,’ said Barrymore gleefully.

‘First-class,’ agreed the trumpet-major.—‘What’s your full name?’

‘John Harrington Blair.’

‘Are you perfectly willing to serve the Queen for twelve years?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever been injured in such a way as to unfit you for service?’

‘No.’

‘Of course you’ve never served in the Royal Artillery, Engineers, Cavalry, or Infantry?’

‘No.’

‘And you do not belong to the Militia?’

‘No.’

‘Come along over to the Orderly Room,’ said the trumpet-major; ‘we shall find the regimental there.’

The three departed, and in the Orderly Room, beside the clerks, Jack saw the regimental sergeant-major, the man who, though not a commissioned officer, after the colonel and adjutant is the most important personage in a cavalry regiment. The regimental was one of the few men in the regiment who wore a decoration, besides which he was a fine, soldierly-looking fellow, with a pair of whiskers that were the envy of all the subalterns in the corps.

The trumpet-major promptly stated his business, and the regimental produced an attestation paper which one of the clerks filled up as Jack answered the questions. Then he was put under the standard.

‘Five feet six full; put him down five six and a quarter,’ called out the regimental, as he adjusted the standard above Jack’s head; ‘chest thirty-five,’ he went on, ‘complexion fair, hair brown, eyes hazel.’ Then to Jack, ‘Open your mouth,’ and concluded, ‘Teeth sound.’

‘You can get him before the doctor this morning, Joyce,’ said the regimental, ‘and then we’ll swear him in. You’ve got a fine lad there.’

‘Now, Jack,’ said Barrymore as they crossed the square, ‘you’ll soon be as much a soldier as I am. The trumpet-major will take charge of you for the present, and when you’ve been before the doctor come over to my quarters.’

Jack accompanied the trumpet-major to his room, and later on was taken before the doctor, where he was thoroughly examined and pronounced fit to serve her Majesty.

‘You’re now due to a day’s pay,’ said the trumpet-major. ‘By the way, how are you off for money—do you want any?’

‘No, I’ve got several shillings, thanks.’

‘Then stick to them. And just take a word of advice on the first day of your service. Be smart, scrupulously clean, and remember ours is a handsome uniform and wants keeping clean; be obedient—obedience is the first duty of a soldier; and don’t try and ape the manners of the men. Don’t forget you are still a boy; keep away from smoking; above all, keep away from drink, and don’t let the example of any of your comrades, especially of those who ought to know better, lead you into ways that are bound, sooner or later, to end badly for you.’

These words of the trumpet-major occurred to Jack’s mind on many a future day, and it was by acting up to them to the best of his ability that he owed much of his later success. He passed another night on the kindly sergeant’s sofa, then next morning was taken before the local magistrate to be sworn in. On his return to barracks Jack was handed over to the trumpet-major, who was just returning from practice.

‘Now, Blair,’ he said, ‘you’re a soldier. From this very minute your training begins. We’ll go over to the Orderly Room, see the regimental, and then you’d better make the acquaintance of your future comrades.’

In the Orderly Room a regimental number was given Jack, details of his pay, &c., explained, and then he was marched over to the regimental tailor’s, where he was measured for his uniform. These items being settled, he returned to the trumpet-major’s quarters, where he found the youth whom Sergeant Barrymore had called Will, now clad in the neat blue and white undress of the regiment, talking to the trumpet-major.

‘Ha, here you are,’ said Joyce. ‘Good.—Now, Hodson, I shall give him into your charge. There’s a spare bed in your room, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, major.’

‘Right; then Blair can have it. I’ll see Sergeant Linham later and get him entered in mess. Now take him over and make him known to the boys.’

Trumpeter Hodson, who had a merry, mischievous eye, looked at Jack as they went off; then said abruptly, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Blair.’

‘Dick?’

‘No, Jack.’

‘What made you join?’

Jack looked at his companion and laughed. ‘I might as well ask you that, might I not?’ he said.

‘You may, and the answer’s simple. My dad shoved me in. I had nothing to say in the matter.’

‘Do you like being a trumpeter?’

Will Hodson shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’d rather be a swell on five thousand pounds a year,’ he said; ‘but every one must do something. We’re soldiers. The governor put in twenty-five years, grandfather was killed at Waterloo, and I dare say some of my forebears were banging a drum or handling a pike at’—— and he paused for a word.

‘Blenheim or Ramillies?’ suggested Jack.

‘Ah, that’s it,’ said Will Hodson quite calmly; ‘the name slipped my memory for a moment. But, I say, you’re a cut above the usual ruck, you know; you won’t find it all honey here, I can tell you.’

‘Oh, I can rough it well enough,’ said Jack stoutly.

‘I hope you can. Well, here we are,’ and Hodson opened a door which stood at the head of a flight of stone steps they had just ascended.

‘Chums,’ he cried, ‘an illustrious arrival has come amongst us. Allow me to introduce to you John Blair, askewer, taterpeeler to his Highness the King of the Cannibal Islands.’

Jack paused on the threshold of the door and gazed with interest for the first time at a barrack-room.

CHAPTER V.

A BARRACK-ROOM SQUABBLE.

‘Why, it’s Sergeant Barrymore’s pup!’ said the young fellow with the pipe. ‘Come here, kid, and let’s have a look at you.’

This was said in a sneering manner, and Jack took an instinctive dislike to the speaker.

‘Run away from school, or has yer mammy been spanking you?’ he added.

‘Neither,’ said Jack simply. ‘I have become a soldier of my own free will.’

‘Ho my!’ exclaimed he with the pipe. ‘Well, just behave yourself, or you’ll feel the weight of my boot.’

‘That’s Napper,’ said Hodson to Jack. ‘Don’t take any notice of him.’

He took Jack to a bed which he said would be his, and proceeded to show him how to put down and make it with the straw-filled tick and the coarse sheets and blankets. Jack helped to roll and strap it up again just as a trumpet sounded outside.

‘There goes mess,’ cried Bandsman Napper. ‘Now, Brown, shin off and get the grub;’ and a young trumpeter, picking up a big tin, left the room.

The table required little laying, the boys producing from the shelves over their beds chunks of bread, in which knives and forks were stuck, plates and basins like pudding-basins were laid on the table, and the bandsman who had been talking to Napper, with a jaunty ‘Ta-ta, boys!’ went off to his own room.

The trumpeter who had departed for the dinners presently returned, and in the mess-tin was a great piece of meat and a number of baked potatoes swimming in the fat beneath; and a second youngster followed with a great tin of cabbage. All these were placed on the table.

The plates were passed up, and Napper, who was in charge of the room, commenced to carve the meat. Carving, with him, simply consisted of first trimming off the brown, well-done portions and some crisp fat for himself, then cutting the remainder into seven ugly chunks, one of which he dumped on each plate. Hodson added some potatoes, and each helped himself to cabbage; then without any more ado all fell to.

Hodson, looking up, saw Jack had nothing on the plate in front of him. ‘I say, Napper,’ he said, ‘Blair’s got no grub.’

‘What’s that got to do with me?’ answered Napper with his mouth full.

‘He’s in the mess, you know.’

‘He ain’t had any rations drawn for him, anyhow. If he wants any grub let him get it in the sergeants’ mess with his pals,’ he concluded spitefully, evidently alluding to Jack’s friendliness with Barrymore.

‘Here, I say, that’s all rot,’ said Hodson. ‘He’s hungry.’

‘Then let him gnaw that,’ grinned Napper, pointing to the bone which remained in the tin.

‘Never mind, chummy; share with me,’ said Hodson, proceeding to put some of his dinner on Jack’s plate.

‘Certainly not,’ replied Jack. ‘I’m not very hungry, and in any case Mr Napper says I can have the bone. I’ll take him at his word, for I’m particularly fond of picking a bone.’

The ‘Mr’ tickled the fancy of the youngsters, one or two of whom grinned gleefully, perceiving which, Napper scowled round upon them.

‘Look here, you young tramp,’ he said savagely to Jack, ‘don’t you give me any of your cheek or I’ll cuff your head for you. And you can take off those elegant manners too. If your “superior education” fits you for the orficers’ mess you’d better get there; they want waiters anyway. But while you’re here you’ll knock under, d’ye hear?’

‘Perfectly, you speak loudly enough.’

Another titter ran round, which made Napper redder than ever.

Hodson had put the bone on Jack’s plate, and was adding some potatoes when Napper cried out, ‘Drop those; we don’t mind giving dogs bones, but we don’t give ’em spuds.’

At this the laugh turned against Jack; but at boarding-school he had been too used to that to take any notice. So with some cabbage, which Hodson, in defiance of his superior, gave him, and with a lump of bread which another trumpeter offered him, he made a very good dinner, for there was plenty of meat on the bone.

Napper was in a bad humour, and after he had finished his dinner, lighting up his pipe, he said to Jack, ‘You’ll just understand that I’m in charge here and you’ll do as you’re told.’

‘Certainly.’

‘Don’t answer me.’

Jack made no reply, for he saw at once that Napper was a bully, misusing the little authority he had, and that the majority of the trumpeters found it paid them to toady a little to one much older and stronger than themselves. On his part Jack determined to feel his feet before he tackled Bandsman Napper, for he felt assured before long they would come to grips.

Seeing Jack stood without speaking, Napper said, ‘You’ll help Brown to wash up and tidy the room. You’ve got to work here, and the sooner you begin the better.’

Jack helped to wash up the plates, knives, and forks, the hot water being got from the cook-house. Then the table was washed down and the floor swept.

By that time all the trumpeters, except one who was cleaning up his kit for guard the next day, had gone off to practice. Jack looked across at him, and saw he was busy burnishing a pair of spurs. This trumpeter, whose name was Parkes, was a stolid-looking lad, who took no notice of Jack till the latter went up to him and in a cheery voice said, ‘I say, can I help you?’

Parkes looked up from his work. ‘No good trying to borrow off me, chummy. I’m broke,’ he said.

‘I don’t want to borrow anything. Sooner or later I’ve got to learn to do what you’re doing. I hate doing nothing. Show me how, and I’ll help you.’

‘Now you’re talking!’ said Parkes. ‘You’re the man I want to meet every time I’m for guard. Can you black boots?’

‘Yes.’

‘Clean them, then,’ and he pointed to his Wellingtons. ‘You’ll find the blacking and brushes in my valise.’

Jack set to work, whistling gaily, and soon produced a polish that made Parkes smile.

‘Old Jimmy’ll reckon I’ve turned over a new leaf,’ he said.

He showed Jack how to polish the plate on the front of his lance-cap, and the chin-chain, and when he had done this Jack could not resist the temptation of putting the cap on and surveying himself in the bit of looking-glass, four inches square, fastened on the wall at the head of Parkes’ bed.

‘Feel big, eh?’ queried the trumpeter.

‘Not very,’ said Jack; ‘but it’s a handsome headdress.’

‘Wait till you’ve worn one six hours at a stretch on a broiling-hot day, then tell me how you like it,’ grinned Parkes.

The whole of his accoutrements being cleaned, that youth jerked out a brief ‘Thanks!’ then put down his bed, and throwing himself on it composed himself for a nap. Before he sank quite into the land of dreams he suddenly started up and said, ‘Didn’t I hear your name was Blair?’

‘You did,’ replied Jack.

‘Right. You ain’t a bad sort; I’ll give you a tip. Don’t you make an enemy of Snapper.’

‘Napper, do you mean?’

‘Same man. Name’s Sam Napper; S. Napper—see? We call him Snapper; you can guess why. Give him a wide berth, and don’t try hitting back at him unless you’re sure of getting your blow in, else, as sure as I’m Billy Parkes, you’ll curse the day you ever made the Queen’s bad bargain.’

Almost before this speech, a very long one for Parkes, was finished, that gentleman was asleep; and making a shrewd guess that by ‘the Queen’s bad bargain’ Parkes meant enlisting, Jack sat quietly down and thought over the situation.

That Napper was a bully he had already seen; that he was of a low disposition he guessed, and that he set the young trumpeters a bad example he feared. It was clear there would be trouble between them; he was not going to sit down under tyranny. He would do his duty cheerfully and manfully, and try to please Napper; if things went wrong—well, they would see.

This being settled, Jack thought it a good opportunity to write to his mother an account of all that had happened, and explain to her how it was he had become a trumpeter in the ‘Death or Glory Boys.’ He procured some note-paper from the canteen, and then set to work to write a long letter. He was just finishing, when, with a clatter and a jingle, laughing and talking, the rest of the trumpeters, headed by Napper, came trooping into the room. Hodson went up to Jack.

‘Well, chummy, what are you doing?’ he asked.

Napper interrupted. ‘Can’t you see he’s writing to his mammy.—Requesting the old girl to send you a bob’s worth of stamps, eh?’ he asked of Jack.

The latter took no notice, but folding his letter, put it in the envelope.

‘Ho, ho, the dook’s on his high horse,’ said Napper; ‘been telling “my mamma” I’ve joined the cavalry, don’t-cher-know, and shall soon be in the orficers’ mess.’

Some of the trumpeters sniggered.

‘Let’s see what the young beggar has said,’ cried Napper, stepping up to Jack and trying to snatch his letter.

Jack’s eyes flashed ominously and he jumped to his feet.

‘Don’t you interfere with me or try to touch my letter,’ he cried, his voice vibrating with passion.

Napper tried to seize the hand in which Jack held his letter; but the latter placed his left hand on Napper’s chest and pushed him so violently that he almost fell backwards.

Napper turned livid with rage. ‘You scum, you,’ he cried, ‘I’ll show you. I’ve had to take cocky youngsters down before. Here, one of you, give me my whip!’

No one moved, though several of the youngsters looked nervously at one another. Napper sprang to his bed, snatched down his riding-whip, and advancing towards Jack, cried, ‘Give me that letter or I’ll tan you till you can’t stand.’

‘Touch me with that whip if you dare,’ answered Jack, with flashing eyes.

Napper raised the whip, and Jack put up his arm to ward off the blow; but at that moment the door was opened, a jingle of spurs sounded, and a hoarse voice cried, ‘Ha, hum! now, you toads, what is all this? Not a move, any one, or I’ll put the lot under arrest. What d’ye mean by it I want to know? D’ye hear, I want to know?’

CHAPTER VI.

JACK MAKES A RESOLVE.

‘It’s all right, sergeant,’ said Napper suavely, deftly throwing his whip behind him on to one of the beds, ‘I was just giving this new youngster a word of advice; he’s inclined to be cheeky.’

‘Bandsman Napper,’ said the sergeant, relaxing the tension of his muscles a little, ‘you’re not to give advice with your whip, ha, hum!’ and he cleared his throat, which he did regularly every few seconds while talking. ‘The Queen’s Regulations expressly forbid it; and remember that, all you toads.’

This was a favourite word with Sergeant Linham, every one who offended him in the least being a toad.

The ‘toads’ looked very demure, and began to busy themselves about the room.

Then the sergeant roared, ‘Shun!’

Every one was perfectly quiet, and Linham continued, ‘Bandsman Napper, John Blair, recruit, is placed in your mess. Trumpeter Hodson will take him in hand for a few weeks, and you’ll give him any information in your power. He will go to the trumpet-major’s quarters at six o’clock this evening and get his trumpet, bugle, and cords. He will attend trumpet-practice in the morning, ha, hum!’ And wheeling round, Sergeant Linham disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared.

‘Yah, old Hooky-beak,’ cried one of the trumpeters, ‘go and get a shave.’

‘Silly fool,’ said Napper; ‘he’s like an old woman. Now then,’ as a trumpet rang out, ‘there’s mess; away for the tea.’

All scuttered for their basins, which with a clatter they laid on the table.

Brown, the trumpeter who had fetched up the dinner, cried out, ‘Anything from the canteen?’

Several voices answered, ‘Yes, I want some butter;’ ‘Bring us a ha’p’orth of jam,’ and such like, and such like.

‘Any one lend me a brown and I’ll treat myself to a bloater,’ said Hodson; but no answer being forthcoming, with a cheery whistle he turned, noticed Parkes on his bed, who continued to snore loudly, gave him a sounding smack on the tightest part of his overalls, and cried out, ‘Wake up, you lazy pig, and shut that row.’

Parkes jumped to his feet and asked who had struck him.

‘Dawes,’ whispered Hodson, pointing to the red-headed, blubber-lipped trumpeter, who was standing with his back to Parkes.

The latter youth, with an angry cry, charged the supposed culprit, and in a second they were trying to tear one another’s head off, while Hodson was looking out of the window.

Jack went off with Brown to the cook-house to get the tea, and on their way they called in at the canteen, where Jack got a stamp, and took the opportunity of posting his letter. He then helped Brown to get the things wanted, and bought a bloater, already cooked of course, which he took back for Hodson.

‘You’ve made a mistake, chummy; I didn’t order it. I’m broke,’ said Hodson, when Jack returned.

‘If you would not mind accepting it from me’—— began Jack bashfully.

‘Mind? Why, I’d accept anything from anybody. Blair, you’re a trump; you’ve got sense. You and me are going to be friends,’ he concluded with a total disregard of grammar, most of the trumpeters knowing far more about the Queen’s Regulations than about the Queen’s English.

Tea passed off quietly, after which Napper went out, never giving Jack a look.

At the time fixed he went to the trumpet-major’s quarters, received his trumpet and bugle, together with a few instructions about the morrow, and then returned to his room.

With the exception of Napper, the trumpeters had to be in barracks early, all of them parading at nine o’clock to sound ‘First post,’ and again at nine-thirty ‘Last post,’ after which they went to their quarters, lights being out at ten-fifteen.

With Hodson’s help, Jack put down his bed, and, not caring to join in the skylarking which was going on, about nine o’clock got quietly into bed.

Some time before ten, Napper, looking very red in the face and walking a trifle unsteadily, came in. He looked round crossly. ‘All in?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Napper.’

‘Then chuck this fooling and turn in, or—hic—you’ll get something.’ He sat on his bed and took off his cap. ‘Callon, Callon, where are you?’ he cried.

‘Here,’ replied that youth.

‘Come here. How many more times shall I tell you you’re to be here when I come in? Get off my boots.’

Trumpeter Gallon came and knelt down by Napper, tugging at the studs which fastened the straps of his overalls down under his boots.

‘Now, then, you young bungler, look sharp; we’ll have lights out in a minute.’

Callon made an effort, undid the stud, and managed to tug off the Wellington boot. He was engaged on the other, Napper holding out his leg, when the boy caught hold of the toe of the boot to pull it off.

‘You clumsy beast!’ cried Napper savagely, ‘I tell you every night to mind my corn.’

With these words he kicked out his foot savagely, the spur catching Callon on the chin, which it badly pricked, and the heel striking him on the mouth and cutting his lips.

Callon uttered a cry and reeled backwards, on which one or two of the trumpeters who had seen what had happened cried ‘Shame!’ and ‘Coward!’

‘Here, draw it mild, Napper,’ said one of the older trumpeters, named Brittain; ‘you don’t want to kick a fellow’s teeth down his throat.’

‘The little ass should mind what he’s doing then,’ muttered Napper rather shamefacedly, and he proceeded to pull off the boot himself and then to get into bed.

There were some angry mutterings from the boys till Napper cried out sharply, ‘Shut up!’

Callon, who slept in the next bed to Jack, undressed and got in, and Jack fancied, after lights were out, he once or twice heard a sound like a stifled sob come from the bed.

He ground his teeth with rage at the sound, and he made a stern resolve. Napper should be stopped, either one way or another, and Jack crept quietly out of bed, and on bended knees prayed for strength and guidance when the decisive moment should arrive.

CHAPTER VII.

SERGEANT LINHAM INSTRUCTS.

Hodson took Jack in hand, who polished up his old, well-worn boots, brushed his clothes and cap, and then proceeded to the parade-ground, where he fell in on the extreme left of some four or five recruits who had just joined. Under the instruction of a corporal he was soon busily engaged in extension motions, and after an hour of that there was not one muscle in his body which did not ache. Still, his blood seemed to circulate more briskly, and he felt an unwonted lightness and elasticity.

The extension-drill over, Jack was just in time to get his instruments and go off with the other trumpeters to the band-room for practice. The trumpeters fell in in line, Sergeant Linham taking the practice.

‘Ha, hum!’ he cried; ‘now a little more smart, please. Right dress. Eyes front. ‘Shun!’

The trumpeters were all rigid.

‘We’ll have a little practice in field-calls after trumpet practice,’ he said. ‘Captain Norreys complained to the trumpet-major that at the field-day last Friday, when the colonel’s trumpeter sounded “Skirmishers out,” the trumpeter of the leading squadron sounded “Threes about.” Ha, hum! a disgraceful thing. If the officer I mentioned, one of the finest in the service, had not at once noticed it, such a thing might have led to the regiment getting mixed up and so have disgraced itself in the eyes of the headquarter staff.’

Who the guilty party was Jack did not know; but he heard a voice, a rather shamefaced one, say, ‘It was done in the excitement of the moment, sergeant, and I noticed it directly I’d sounded. The calls are so much alike.’

Sergeant Linham blew down his nose furiously. ‘Not a word—not a word. How dare any trumpeter get excited, especially on such a paltry excuse as a field-day. By the Lord Harry, if the old 17th ever has to face an enemy in the field again, if it ever again hears the hum of bullets and sees the colour of a foeman’s eyes, what will happen to it? Now, I want to know!’

No one answered.

‘Speak, you toads! What will happen? Am I to ask a dozen times? I repeat, I want to know!’

On again getting no answer—for Sergeant Linham was a terrible martinet on parade, and no one dared be familiar—the irascible sergeant, drawing himself up and placing his stick beneath his arm, cried, ‘You can’t tell me. I knew you couldn’t. You’re too ignorant, so I’ll tell you. At the battle of Chillianwallah, where I was attached to the 9th Lancers, a certain English cavalry regiment—I won’t say which, for they afterwards wiped out their disgrace—this regiment was advancing to charge the enemy when some one sounded “Threes about,” whether by mistake or wilfully don’t matter. The regiment turned and galloped back, riding over infantry, breaking into guns, and Heaven knows what. My squadron of the 9th cut in and saved the situation, or it might have led to the defeat of the army. When the engagement was over the colonel of that regiment blew his brains out and the corps will be known as the “Threes about,” as long as the service lasts. That’s the result of getting excited and sounding wrong calls. Now, you toads, ‘shun!’

Not a man or boy had moved while the sergeant had been speaking; but he glared round as though every one had been on the shuffle.

‘Sound the scale up and down!’ he cried; and this was done.

‘You, Blair, fall back two paces,’ said the sergeant, ‘and keep your ears open. Try and get the calls fixed in your memory.’

The trumpeters then went through the different camp-calls on the trumpet, and very pretty they sounded. Many of the short calls Jack, who had a very quick, musical ear, was able to remember; but the long ones, like ‘Reveille,’ were too complicated.

‘Stables,’ a very pretty call, Dawes (who had only joined a few months) had great difficulty in sounding. He kept getting horribly flat on one note, and ‘Hooky-beak,’ as the boys called Linham, grew crimson with rage.

‘You’ve no more ear for music than a pariah dog, Dawes!’ he cried. ‘Now, sound it again.’

Trumpeter Dawes did so, but again was flat on the high note.

‘Squeeze it—squeeze it, you one-lunged bandicoot,’ cried the sergeant; and Dawes endeavoured to do so, but made a worse hash of it than before.

‘Brittain, get out the cards,’ cried Linham; and from a cupboard Brittain got out some great cards about two feet wide and of different lengths, on which the various calls were printed in huge notes.

‘Hang up the “Stable” call,’ cried Linham.

Brittain did so, and Linham pointed to it with his stick.

‘Now, sound it, you blubber-lipped walrus, and if you don’t get the B flat this time I’ll put you back with the raw recruits!’

Jack looked at the card hanging up and saw that the note the unfortunate trumpeter could not sound was not B flat, but D, a very awkward note to produce on the trumpet, and one which is used only in the ‘Stable’ call.

The sergeant waved his stick, a curious-looking souvenir of his Indian service. It was made of ebony or some other black wood, the end being carved into the shape of an elephant’s head, having two long, white ivory tusks stuck in, which gave it a very realistic appearance.

Jack had noticed that the sergeant, while the trumpeters had been sounding, had waved his ebony stick about in a most wonderful way, as though beating time, but with motions that would have driven a bandmaster crazy and that would have puzzled any body of musicians.

Before Dawes began to sound, the sergeant cried, ‘Now, keep in time. I’ll count;’ and he gave his stick a preliminary flourish like a trooper making ‘cut two’ with his sword, and causing Dawes to jump back, the ferule of the stick having whizzed within a few inches of his nose.

‘Stand still! How dare you move!’ yelled Linham. ‘Now, “Stables”—prepare to sound;’ and Dawes stood straight as a poker and brought the mouthpiece of his trumpet to his mouth. ‘Sound!’

Dawes made a fair start on the low C, the sergeant standing in front of him, waving his stick frantically and counting aloud. His method of counting was peculiar. He began, ‘One, two, three, four, five,’ and so on, and proceeded up to about thirty-five, getting in anything from three to five beats in a bar. As the call was in three-four time, Jack had the greatest difficulty to keep from laughing; and when on the fatal D Dawes broke down, and Linham yelled, ‘Wrong, wrong, wrong! you’re sounding B flat again!’ he had to snigger.

At this moment the trumpet-major entered the band-room; and, after talking with the sergeant for a few moments, Linham was instructed to take Jack, Dawes, and Brown to a small room off the band-room, and there to give them an hour’s scale practice, while the trumpet-major instructed the rest in some new harmonies which he had written for the longer and more musical calls.

Marching his three trumpeters away to the small room, Sergeant Linham gave them a long address, enlarging upon the stupidness of boys in general and trumpeters in particular, giving some most fantastic information about the notation of the calls, which convinced Jack that no matter how good a trumpeter the sergeant might happen to be, he knew nothing whatever about music, sounding by ear; a fact which puzzled him much at the time, but which he afterwards found to be quite correct.

The three boys had to sound the scale up and down on the trumpet, and Jack, who had a good lip and was naturally quick at music, was able to perform fairly creditably, a fact which pleased Linham immensely.

‘You show promise, decided promise,’ he said. ‘Listen carefully to what I tell you and I’ll make a trumpeter of you—ay, and a musician too, ha, hum!’

Jack had his own opinion about that, and sounded the scale over and over. Every time he sounded a note untruly, let it be C, G, D, or anything else, the sergeant pulled him up with a ‘Ha, hum! flat, flat. Squeeze the lips; spit the tongue; you’re sounding B flat!’

Before the practice was over Jack had mastered the ‘Band’ call and ‘Markers’ sufficiently to be able to sound them, after a fashion. In this he was of course much helped by hearing Dawes and Brown sound the calls before him. Brown was rather stupid, and Dawes (who had thick lips) was ‘throaty’ and would certainly never make a first-class trumpeter.

These two gentlemen very strongly resented being put back with Jack, and when the parade was dismissed they gave vent to their feelings in unmistakable terms.

Jack found Hodson.

‘Well, how did you get on with old Jimmy?’ asked the latter.

Jack told him one or two things that had happened in the small room.

‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ said Will Hodson. ‘Jimmy’s a real treat; you’ll see some fun with him before you’ve been with us long.’

Jack was very well pleased with his morning’s work, and felt he should soon master the trumpet and bugle, looking forward to the time when he should be entitled to wear the cross-trumpets and be posted to a troop. There was more practice that afternoon, followed by a visit to the regimental barber, who sheared off all Jack’s locks.

The next day part of Jack’s uniform was finished, and for afternoon drill, for the first time, with Will Hodson’s help, he donned the white striped overalls, neat blue undress jacket, and the jaunty forage-cap. Wellington boots and spurs, which to Jack’s ears jingled most martially, completed his attire; and as he took up his trumpet and bugle to fall in for parade, Will Hodson declared that Jack looked a fair treat, and that there wasn’t a smarter-looking trumpeter in the 17th.

Bandsman Napper during this time let no opportunity slip of perpetrating little tyrannies on Jack, and showing him that he had not forgotten the episode of the letter.

Exactly a week had passed since Jack had entered Hounslow Barracks with Sergeant Barrymore, and on the Saturday afternoon he was crossing the square on his way from trumpet-practice when a trooper who had just come in cried out to him, ‘Isn’t your name Blair, sonny?’

‘It is,’ replied Jack.

‘There’s a lady at the gate asking for you, then.’

Jack’s heart gave a great thump. A lady to see him! Who could it be? Was it——

He hastened to the gate, and there, talking to the stalwart sentry, a handkerchief and purse in one hand, a parasol in the other, stood his mother. Jack went up to her and held out his hand. ‘Mother!’ he cried.

The old lady, in her black silk gown and widow’s neat bonnet, which did not conceal her silvery hair parted in the centre and smoothed down on each side of her head, gave one look at the young soldier, on whose well-knit, upright figure drill had already set its mark; then, recognising Jack, she opened her arms, gave a sort of gasping cry, and folded her son to her breast, saying, ‘John, John, my dearest son, to think that I should ever see you thus in the garb of a common soldier!’

Just at this moment Napper, on his way out to spend the evening, passed Jack and his mother, and overhearing Mrs Blair’s remark, he made a grimace at the sentry, saying in audible tones, ‘Poor mammy’s darling, I wonder whether she’s brought him a bit of sugar?’

Jack flushed as he heard the remark, and drew his mother away from the gate. Where to take her he knew not, for, alas! there is no privacy in the barrack-room. Across the square they went, many an eye being turned on the lady, who was pouring forth lamentations the while she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

At that moment Sergeant Barrymore espied the pair, and, understanding what had happened, crossed over to them. ‘Madam,’ he said politely, ‘I can see from the likeness between you and Jack that you are his mother. If you will step across to my quarters my wife will be happy to offer you a cup of tea.’

Jack looked the thanks he could not express, and Mrs Blair said, ‘Thank you, I will go to my son’s room.’

Jack had to explain that he shared his room in common with many others, and begged that she would accompany him to the sergeant’s quarters.

After Mrs Barrymore had assisted the old lady to take off her bonnet and gloves, she came and sat on the sofa beside her son, and taking his hand said, ‘Oh John, why on earth have you done this foolish thing?’

Jack explained the circumstances under which he had left Phogg & Cheetham’s; how Barrymore had rescued him from the tramps; and how, despairing of ever getting another situation, he had enlisted. ‘Mr Bailey told me that whatever happened I must not be a burden to you,’ he said, ‘and this seemed to open a career to me. I like the life and think I shall be happy; there are plenty of chances of promotion for a well-behaved, educated lad.’

‘That interfering Bailey! he had no business to say anything of the kind,’ said Mrs Blair. ‘You should have come home at once, John. Your sisters and I would have welcomed you with open arms, and we would have shared our last crust with you. Did we ever give you a wry word that you should have thought yourself compelled to take such a terrible step as this?’

‘It was because I knew you would do all this that I determined not to be a burden to you,’ said Jack. ‘I have got to make my own way in the world, and the sooner I begin the better. I would a thousand times rather be a soldier than a quill-driver.’

‘As an officer I should not have minded so much, but as a private soldier—no, it must not be. You know that although I have been on distant terms with my family ever since I married your late dear father, they are in good circumstances. My brother is a colonel and holds an appointment at the Horse Guards. I shall write to him and beg of him to procure your discharge.’

‘Mother,’ said Jack firmly, ‘this you must not do. Ask no favours for me. It would cost a lot of money to buy me out, and I will not be beholden to those people who cast you off. Besides, I should be still in the same position; I should have no career before me. So, as I have chosen this life, I will stick to it.’

At tea-time Sergeant Barrymore assured Mrs Blair that her son had done nothing derogatory. ‘One of the best officers in our regiment,’ he said, ‘is a man who won his commission from the ranks. Your son has chosen an honourable career and joined one of the finest regiments in the service. Let him remain, madam, and you will have no cause to regret it. I have great hopes of Master Jack.’

The superior manner of the sergeant and the air of comfort about his quarters rather impressed Mrs Blair and she began to think that a soldier’s life was not altogether the common, low drudgery, with men little better than convicts for companions, which she had thought it; and when later on Jack took her down to the station and saw her off by train she was to a certain extent reconciled to the idea. Dearly as he loved his mother, Jack heaved a half-sigh of relief as her train steamed out, and he thanked his lucky stars that she had not seen the ordinary barrack-room or realised the actual conditions of the life to which he had pledged himself for twelve long years.

He reached barracks only just before ‘First post’ was sounded, and went straight to his room. When he got there he found the occupants thereof rather noisy.

Napper was sitting on the table, with a pipe in his mouth, relating something to the others which was making them laugh loudly. As Jack came in he looked up and cried out, ‘Talk of the er—commander-in-chief and you’ll hear his wings or his spurs. Why, here is our mammy’s darling. “Oh John, John, to think that I should ever see you in the garb of a common soldier”—boo-hoo, boo-hoo, boo-hoo;’ and the bully pretended to cry loudly.

Jack, his heart heavy with having just parted from his mother, felt his blood boil at these words; but he said nothing, only crossed to his bed, which he proceeded to take down.

‘Did mammy bring you that bit of sugar?’ continued Napper.

‘No, she gave him twopence for lollipops,’ said another.

‘Not she,’ cried Napper; ‘the old washerwoman hadn’t got the twopence to spare. She’d want that for a drop of gin on the way home. Her nose showed where all her twopences went.’

At this gross insult Jack fairly shook with rage; but he determined to govern his temper as long as he could.

‘How did the old girl get a holiday to come and see you?’ asked Napper again. ‘Or does her laundry shut early on Saturdays?’

Jack had removed his cap and jacket, and busied himself with his bed, when Napper, picking up a wet cloth which lay on the table, threw it at Jack, saying, ‘Send that up to the old puddin’-boiler and ask her to wash it for us when she is sober.’

Jack waited for no more. He picked up the cloth and dashed it in his tormentor’s face. ‘There’s your washing back again,’ he said, ‘and here’s my intimation to you that if you ever open your foul mouth in my presence to say anything disrespectful of my mother again I’ll wring your nose.’ Then seizing Napper by the collar of his jacket, he shook him till that gentleman’s head seemed for a moment to be in danger of coming off.

‘You scum, you washerwoman’s brat!’ yelled Napper, jumping to his feet. ‘What do you mean by that?’ and he made a furious rush at Jack.

He was met by a well-planted blow between the eyes which laid him flat on his back, and Jack said, ‘It means, Bully Napper, that you and I must settle once and for all who is going to be master here.’