CHAPTER VIII.
BANDSMAN NAPPER IS TAUGHT A LESSON.
AS Napper measured his length on the floor a chorus of cries arose.
‘Hallo, Napper’s got it!’ ‘A mill, a mill!’ ‘Now you’re in for it, Blair!’ ‘Make a ring.’ ‘Give him a chance,’ and so on.
In the midst of these outcries Napper rose to his feet. ‘Run and fetch Charlie Lumsden,’ he cried; and a youngster going, returned in a few moments with Bandsman Lumsden, who was Napper’s particular chum, being the same man Jack, on his first appearance in the room, had seen talking to Napper.
‘Hallo!’ cried Lumsden. ‘What’s the row?’
‘I’m going to lick the life out of this cheeky young beast,’ said Napper angrily; ‘and I want you to see me through, Charlie, and bear evidence that it was a fair fight and no murder.’
‘What’s the good of milling?’ said Lumsden. ‘Give the beggar a couple of dozen with a strap and have done with it.’
While this talk was going on, willing hands had removed the planks and trestles which formed the table, the forms were pushed back, and a space in the centre of the room cleared.
Directly Jack had dashed the cloth in Napper’s face, Will Hodson, seeing that trouble was bound to follow, had announced his intention of seeing Jack through; but Tom Gallon, who bore the marks of Napper’s brutality upon his chin and mouth, with hatred shining in his eyes, cried, ‘Let me stand by Blair, Will; I can do more for the man who’s got pluck enough to face that cowardly hound than anybody else will.’
‘All right, Tommy; we’ll both back him, for he’s got all his work cut out against Napper.’
Lumsden continued to persuade his chum that a good strapping was what Jack wanted, and pointed out that a full bandsman was lowering himself to fight with a raw recruit.
It flashed across Jack’s mind that if Lumsden and Napper combined, the one holding him while the other strapped him, he would stand a poor chance, and his opportunity of obtaining a victory over Napper would be lost. He therefore stepped up to the pair, and, looking at Lumsden, cried, ‘Now, is your man going to stand up or is he going to apologise for his language?’
Lumsden looked at Jack and broke into a loud laugh. ‘Upon my soul, Sammy,’ he said, ‘he’s the cockiest kid I’ve seen yet. I do believe you’ll have to lick him after all.’
Napper required no second bidding. He sprang into the ring formed by the spectators and made a furious rush at Jack. This the latter, who was as active as a panther, avoided, getting in a sly tap on Napper’s ribs as he rushed past him.
Then they faced again, Jack falling back before Napper all the time, keeping away from his sweeping, sledge-hammer blows and his hug, for he saw at once that at close-quarters he would stand a poor chance against his older and heavier opponent.
The way in which Jack eluded his savage rushes and sweeping blows maddened and annoyed Napper, who began to get pumped with his exertions; but he presently got in a blow which caught Jack on the left cheek and made his teeth rattle again.
‘Time!’ cried Hodson, and he and Callon ran in to their man.
In a few moments Jack was ready again.
‘Try and keep away from his slogging blows,’ whispered Hodson; ‘you stand a good chance if you hang on a bit.’
‘All right,’ said Jack cheerily; ‘I’m a long way from being finished yet.’
In the second round Napper came on triumphantly, apparently only waiting an opportunity to rush in and smash his opponent up once and for all. But that he found was more difficult to perform than he imagined. It was science versus strength, and provided only that science could hold on long enough it stood a very good chance of winning.
Seeing an opening after Napper had made one of his futile rushes, Jack got in one too, a regular postman’s knock on his chest, and when time was called Napper did not feel nearly so confident. A couple of similar rounds now followed, and it was curious to note the effect on the bystanders of Jack’s improving chances. At first, when he made a good hit they looked at one another as though to say, ‘Well done!’ but had expressed no opinion aloud. But when it was seen he was holding his own well there were frequent outbursts of ‘Well hit, Blair!’ ‘Well done, ‘Cruity!’ and so on.
Jack was not escaping scot-free, and when he came up for the fifth round one eye was almost closed. Napper, however, was getting very puffed; he was not nearly in such good condition as Jack, and he could not now follow him up so quickly. His breathing was laboured and heavy, and his sledge-hammer blows not so frequent.
Jack then altered his tactics. In an instant he changed from a defensive to an offensive policy; flew at Napper, used his fists with amazing rapidity, and before his astonished enemy realised what was happening half-a-dozen straight, heavy blows had fallen on his head and body.
At the beginning of the next round Napper was beginning to show signs of heavy punishment. In avoiding a rush, Jack bent over till his right forearm rested on his right thigh, and swinging round his left with a circular motion he got in right between Napper’s eyes. He followed up his advantage, and, after several stunning blows on the head, with a left-hander just over Napper’s heart he laid him flat down at Lumsden’s feet.
Jack waited for Napper to rise; but there was no more fight left in that gentleman. ‘Has your man had enough?’ asked Jack of Lumsden.
‘You can see for yourself,’ replied Lumsden sullenly.
Then a strange thing happened. The trumpeters in room B2 realised that the reign of Bully Napper was over.
‘Hurrah! hurrah! three cheers for Blair!’ they yelled.
‘Shut up, you young asses!’ cried Lumsden angrily. ‘Do you want to bring the guard down on you?’
The boys were silenced, and while Lumsden bathed Napper’s head and face in cold water the room was quickly got into order again.
All sorts of congratulations were offered to Jack; but he took no notice of them and was soon in bed, the last thing he heard before he fell asleep being a groan from Napper as he turned over upon some particularly tender spot.
CHAPTER IX.
JACK MAKES GOOD PROGRESS.
NEXT morning Napper presented a woeful appearance, his face being sadly bruised, while one eye was beautifully encircled with green-and-black rings. His lips were so swollen that it was clear it would be some days before he would be able to place his trombone to his mouth.
He said nothing during breakfast; but once or twice Jack caught him looking in a fashion that boded him little good if Napper ever had a chance of doing him an ill-turn. As soon as breakfast was over Napper went to hospital and reported himself sick, and there he stayed for a day or two, nominally suffering from a ‘swollen face.’
No official notice was taken of the matter, though Jack had been rather afraid at first that he might get into trouble for ‘fighting in barracks.’ Indeed, it came to his ears later that both the trumpet-major and Sergeant Linham had expressed themselves pleased that Napper had been given a sharp lesson, for his bullying propensities were well known.
On the Sunday morning there was church parade, and a pretty sight, indeed, the regiment presented as in full-dress, dismounted and carrying swords only, headed by their splendid band, they marched off. Jack’s heart glowed with pride to think that these gaily apparelled Lancers were his comrades, and that he, too, was now one of the ‘Death or Glory Boys.’
On Monday Jack was informed that next day he was to join the recruit squad in the riding-school. This news gave him genuine delight, for he was exceedingly fond of horses and longed to have one of his own. Accordingly, next morning, in undress uniform and without spurs, Jack paraded with the squad of recruits with whom he had been doing extension drill.
They went off to the stables, where they took possession of their horses. Jack was given a pretty animal that he quite fell in love with at the first glance. She had belonged to a bandsman who had just left the regiment, and was a very pretty bay, as were most of the band-horses. She was rather small, but her broad chest and tapering legs denoted both strength and swiftness. She had an arching neck, and soft, limpid eyes that looked as intelligent as a human being’s.
The horse had its bridle already on, but no saddle, as the first lessons are taken bareback.
‘Don’t jar her mouth, youngster,’ said the old soldier who had groomed her, as he handed the bridle to Jack. ‘Use her gently and she’ll carry you as comfortably as though you were in an arm-chair.’
They then went off to the riding-school, and as they entered the rough-riding sergeant seemed to Jack to eye his ‘victims’ with a sinister glance.
The men were placed in position, the sergeant standing in the middle, armed with a long whip like a circus-master’s. His assistant rough-riders stood near him, all looking, it seemed to Jack, grimly earnest. The men, being in position, were called sharply up to ‘Attention!’
‘Spring smartly up,’ cried the sergeant, ‘the left hand holding the snaffle-rein near the ring, the right arm down, little finger behind the stripe of the overalls.’
The assistants saw that the men were in position; then they were instructed how to stand on the command, ‘Prepare to mount!’
‘On the command “Mount!”’ continued the sergeant, ‘place the right hand on the horse’s withers, then spring lightly up, remaining perfectly still when seated.’
‘Mount!’
Of the eleven men in the squad, only four managed to get on their horses’ backs; some of the others were sprawling wildly on their stomachs on the horses’ backs, endeavouring madly to throw the right leg over; while one heavy fellow named Wilson had bumped against his horse with so much force that the animal reared away, and Wilson, hanging wildly to the bridle with both hands, was dragged along, shouting, ‘Whoa there! whoa, back!’
‘What are you doing, you confounded tailor; you’re not driving a cab.’
‘I ain’t a tailor,’ said the man; ‘I’m a plasterer.’
‘And I’ll plaster you if you don’t watch it. Mount, man, mount!’
‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t answer me; do as I tell you.’
The assistants got to work; Wilson was hoisted up, and presently the whole squad was mounted.
Jack had got on very well, and sat quite still on Dainty, for such was his horse’s name.
‘Walk march,’ said the sergeant; and the well-trained animals, without any intimation from their riders, began to step round the school.
The sergeant kept throwing sentences at them as they went round.
‘Legs well down, heels in line with the shoulders, toes raised, back well hollowed in! Now, you Wilson fellow, sit up; man, you’re like a sack of bran tied up ugly! Sit up, the horse’s back won’t break.’
Wilson tried his best, but he made a sorry show.
‘Now we’ll try a trot. Keep your heads well up, press your knees in, let the horses throw you up and down, and ride by the balance of your bodies! But, mind, don’t lose your position or jerk the horses’ mouths!’
‘Trot!’
What a sight was there. As the horses trotted round the men wobbled about, and several looked absolutely scared.
‘Knees in, heads up!’ shouted the instructor. ‘You, Wilson, hold on!’
Wilson obeyed by completely losing his balance, then clinging wildly round the horse’s neck, one leg across the animal’s back, the other toe just hopping along on the ground.
‘Oh you dashed tailor! oh you cobbler!’ roared the sergeant. ‘Why didn’t you join the Militia. Who sent you here for a Lancer?’
Poor Wilson rolled over on the tan, the horses stepping gingerly over him.
‘How dare you dismount?’ asked the sergeant.
‘I couldn’t keep on, sergeant.’
‘Hold on by your teeth; your mouth’s big enough. Now, the squad, halt!’
The horses stopped so suddenly that two more luckless wights pitched over their horses’ heads and lay wallowing on the tan. More cutting remarks from the sergeant, then the squad again ‘stood to their horses,’ and were once more instructed in the method of mounting. This time poor Wilson made such a leap that he shot right over his horse’s back and fell off on the other side, roaring lustily.
‘You’re not in the gymnasium on the vaulting-horse,’ roared the sergeant. ‘Look up, man, or you’ll put in the whole of your twelve in the riding-school.’
Presently the men again got mounted and the ride went on. Jack, being light and agile, and his horse docile, managed very well, and soon began to feel confidence, remembering the old soldier’s words, not to ‘jar her mouth.’
In about an hour’s time the riding-master and a rather short but very broad officer, whom Jack afterwards learnt was Captain Norreys, entered the school, and the recruits were handled a little more gently.
Presently Captain Norreys and the riding-master, who had noticed how well Jack was getting on, came up to him, and the captain said kindly, ‘What is your name, my lad?’
‘John Blair, sir.’
‘Have you ridden before?’
‘On a pony once or twice, sir.’
‘You’re doing very well, Blair; very well. We shall soon make a cavalryman of you. Go on as you have begun.’ And Jack’s heart warmed within him at the kindly words.
Presently the ride was dismissed and the horses taken back to the stables. Despite his stiffness and soreness, Jack thoroughly enjoyed his ride, and was quite eager to begin again, the kindly notice taken of him by the riding-master and Captain Norreys filling him with pleasure.
On the Thursday, Napper resumed his duties. He took up his old position without a word, retaining his loud and domineering manner, and smoking and frequenting the canteen as much as before; but Tommy Callon was no longer a sort of valet to him, nor did any one do his pipeclaying and burnishing. Also, he studiously let Jack alone; so peace reigned. This was the more so as the band was then playing a good deal at London, Richmond, Kew, and other places; so that Napper was much away.
Jack got on splendidly with his trumpet and bugle work, and Linham declared that Blair was a credit to him, ending up with a tremendous ‘Ha, hum!’ that clinched the matter.
He soon got very attached to his horse Dainty, which was indeed a beautiful and docile creature, whinnying when Jack went into the stable, rubbing her velvet muzzle against his face when he spoke to her, and reaching out towards his hand in expectation of the usual lump of sugar he brought her.
Jack, being a big boy for his age, was drilled with his squad both in the lance and sword exercise, for the colonel of the Lancers was a man who insisted upon his trumpeters being soldiers as well. With Sergeant Linham he seemed to be quite a favourite. The sergeant was a first-class soldier, one of those in whom discipline is second nature, and whose whole knowledge of life is limited to the service. Jack was once speaking of him to Sergeant Barrymore.
‘He is a queer fish, is Jimmy,’ said Barrymore; ‘but a truer comrade never lived, and he’s a great friend of the colonel’s too!’
‘Is he really?’ said Jack, opening his eyes.
‘He is, indeed. I’ll guarantee there’s not a man in the regiment, including the officers, that the colonel thinks as much of, or is really so fond of, as he is of Jimmy Linham.’
Jack looked as though he thought Barrymore was chaffing him.
‘It’s a fact, I can assure you,’ said Barrymore. ‘How otherwise do you think Jimmy got his stripes? Not for his trumpeting qualities, for, as you know, he’s a poor hand at that. No, my boy, Jimmy Linham wears those stripes because he’s a friend of the colonel’s. They were together in the 16th, our colonel as a young cornet and Linham as trumpeter. They had some terrible experiences in Afghanistan together, and both suffered losses. They went together through the Sikh war of ‘40, and took part in some of the fiercest fights. I never heard the exact rights of it, but I know Jimmy and the colonel have some sort of a common bond of sympathy that binds them together. The colonel brought Linham with him when he came to ours, and he made him sergeant, and sergeant he’ll remain as long as the colonel is with us.’
Time went on, and Jack, being really fond of his work, and having a natural aptitude for soldiering, made splendid progress. At the end of about three months the trumpet-major came down one morning to the practice, and calling Jack out in front of his squad, made him sound thirty or forty calls, both on trumpet and bugle. Jack did his best and felt he had fairly well acquitted himself. He had worked hard during his spare time, for he was anxious to take up his regular duties.
In the evening, while he was engaged on what is termed ‘soldiering’—that is, cleaning his kit and accoutrements—Sergeant Linham, looking preternaturally solemn, entered the room with the suddenness that characterised his movements.
‘Ha, hum!’ he snorted, ‘Acting-trumpeter Blair.’
‘Here, sergeant.’
‘The trumpet-major wants to see you at once, and, ha, hum! see that you go smart and clean.’
‘Right, sergeant,’ and Jack slipped into his jacket and adjusted his forage-cap to the required angle, while Hodson ran a cloth-brush over him.
‘What do you think’s up, Will?’ he asked a little nervously.
‘I don’t want to frighten you, Jack,’ said that Job’s comforter; ‘but at this moment I’d sooner be in my boots than in yours. I should say some one has spotted an unpipeclayed belt of yours, you’ve got an unfavourable report from riding-school or drill, or you’ve failed to salute some officer, or’——
‘Oh shut up, Will; you’ll hang me before I’m tried;’ and Jack started off for the trumpet-major’s quarters, being rendered none the easier in his mind by noticing as he left the room the evil grin on Napper’s face.
It was with some trepidation that Jack entered the trumpet-major’s quarters in response to the shouted ‘Come in,’ after he had knocked; but the friendly look with which he was greeted did much towards putting him at his ease.
‘Oh Blair,’ said the trumpet-major, ‘I wanted to see you. I’m very pleased at the progress you’ve made—very. So far as your ability to sound is concerned you’re quite fit to take duty with the others, and the riding-master tells me he shall soon dismiss you from the rides. You’ve done very well.’
Jack coloured with pleasure, for he felt that he had made his first step on the road to success.
‘You’ve done so well that I’m going to get you posted to a troop’ said the trumpet-major. ‘Brittain, of D Troop, is going into the band, and I shall send you in his place. You can don the cross-trumpets as soon as you like.’
This news was more than ever agreeable to Jack. D Troop was Captain Norrey’s and Sergeant Barrymore’s, so that Jack felt that he would be amongst those whom he liked best.
‘As you won’t join your troop till next week,’ said the trumpet-major kindly, ‘how would you like a day or two of leave? You’ve got people somewhere near, haven’t you?’
Jack’s heart gave a prodigious leap. ‘I have,’ he replied, ‘and I should like above all things to see them.’
‘Very well, then. To-day’s Tuesday; I will arrange for you to have from Friday night till next Tuesday. How’ll that do?’
‘Splendidly.’
‘That’s all right then. Now, run away.’
Full of delight, Jack went, and on his return every one in his room was glad to hear his news except Napper, who scowled evilly at him.
On the following evening Jack, as was the custom amongst the trumpeters when posted to a troop, stood treat to his chums, and there was a great consumption of sausages, jam-rolls, apples, and cocoa. Sergeant Linham, looking in by chance during the evening, drank Jack’s health. Napper came in late and looked daggers at everybody; but no one took any notice of him.
On the Friday, arrayed in full dress, wearing his trumpeter’s badge, Jack started for home, feeling as happy as a sand-boy. In due course he reached the little crescent in Camden Town in which his family lived. There were a number of not overclean children playing in the street, and not overtidy women standing here and there at their doors. Used as he was to the roominess and order of barracks, this struck Jack painfully. Clarence Crescent seemed to him dingier even than when he had left it to take up his duties at Messrs Phogg & Cheetham’s, and when he thought of the large house and beautiful garden which had been theirs in the old days he could hardly repress a sigh. He, however, paid little heed to women and children, his eyes were fixed on the upper windows of a house about half-way down the street. There he saw several faces, the owners of which had no sooner observed the young soldier than they disappeared. Before Jack could reach the doorstep, his mother and three young girls had the door opened, waiting for him, and in another moment he was simply surrounded by clinging arms.
‘Dear old Jack, welcome home!’ cried Molly, a fair-haired, handsome girl, the very counterpart of Jack.
‘Why, he’s taller than you are, mamma,’ cried Ada, the second girl.
‘Where’s your horse?’ asked Connie, the youngest.
‘Let’s get inside,’ said Jack, who did not appreciate the audience gathering round the door. This was closed, and the whole family went upstairs to their little sitting-room.
‘Dear mother,’ cried Jack, taking his mother in his arms and kissing her fondly, ‘how are you?’
‘Very well, my dear boy,’ she replied, kissing her son; ‘but how you have grown! What a great fellow you’re getting!’
Jack laughed happily. How good it was to be at home! Soon tea was on the table. The family drew up, and Jack had to tell them all about his new life—that is, all the pleasant parts; the darker side he hid from them.
The few days that Jack spent among his family he always looked back upon as amongst the happiest of his life; and when the time came for him to say ‘Good-bye,’ and mother and sisters were in tears, it was as much as Jack could do to restrain his own. He, however, remembered he was a soldier, and went off bravely. He reached barracks all right, and at once reported himself to the trumpet-major.
‘You’re in ample time, Blair; a good rule,’ said the trumpet-major. ‘Always aim at being a day too soon rather than a moment too late.’
Jack’s comrades welcomed him warmly when he entered the room, and asked him all sorts of questions as to what he had been doing; but Jack gave them little information, for to his comrades of the barrack-room his home-life and his family were as a sealed book.
The familiar sounds of reveille woke him in the morning, and in half-an-hour he had taken his place again in the new life, and began to feel at home again in barracks. He took up his new duties, Sergeant Barrymore expressing his pleasure at Jack having been posted to his troop.
Jack grew in popularity with his superiors and with his comrades, while Napper sank in their estimation. He tried in every way to annoy Jack, but the latter always defeated his attempts.
CHAPTER X.
THE REVIEW.
SOON after Jack returned to duty the regiment was ordered to prepare to march to Chobham, there to go under canvas.
On the following Thursday morning they started, and a very pleasant march they had. In the afternoon they reached the camp, pitched tents, and settled down in glorious weather. All arms were represented, and the men enjoyed the affair immensely. On the Saturday there was a big field-day, Jack’s regiment representing the attacking cavalry.
About midday the ‘Cease fire,’ was sounded, and Jack’s troop was halted at an old-fashioned inn standing on the heath. As they dismounted, Jack noticed that the band of the regiment were standing and sitting about as though they had been halted there while the rest of the regiment had been engaged in the field. He loosened his saddle-girths and fastened Dainty’s bridle to the pillar of a little rustic arbour beside the inn, while he went inside to get a crust of bread and cheese. In a few minutes an orderly galloped up, bringing word from the colonel that the troop was to rejoin the regiment at once to form up for the march past.
As Jack went towards the little arbour, to his surprise he saw Napper glide out, hurry away towards the band, most of whom were already mounted, and swing himself into the saddle. Hastily tightening up his girths, Jack mounted just as the band trotted off.
Dainty was strangely restive, pawing the ground, tossing her head, and fidgeting about. Jack tried to calm her as he fell in with his troop; but Dainty, instead of keeping her position just behind the captain’s horse, was prancing and curveting all over the road. Jack patted her and uttered soothing words; then tried touching the curb and letting her feel the spur. But it was all to no purpose. There was no opportunity of dismounting to see what ailed her, for immediately on coming up with the regiment, while the band trotted off to take its place at the saluting base with the other bands, Jack’s troop wheeled with C Troop into column of squadrons, and advanced at a walk to take up ground for the march past. Dainty got quieter, and Jack spoke endearing words to her, for she was a beautiful creature and Jack had a true cavalryman’s love for his horse.
Presently, the regiment being in line, the march past commenced, and by a great effort Jack managed to keep his horse under control and in its place, which was well for him, for the eyes of his captain were on him, and woe to the man who broke the line. When the regiment broke into a trot Dainty got almost unmanageable, and the perspiration broke out all over Jack through the struggle between him and his horse.
Then came the final charge. The Horse Artillery thundered by at a gallop, its guns jolting and bumping; then the Lancers and Hussars in a long double line, with lances in rest and waving sabres, galloped madly forward, right on to the front of the thousands of spectators. As the regiment galloped on Dainty got more and more unmanageable, and the thunder of fifteen hundred hoofs, the clank and jangle of accoutrements, the loud shouts of the troopers, all tended to render the bay still more wild. She raced along, kicking and plunging, her ears down, shaking her head angrily, and Jack had all he could do to hold her in and prevent her passing the squadron leaders.
The line of spectators watching the advancing horsemen got closer and closer till the colonel held his sword aloft, his trumpeter rang out the halt, and men and officers pulled up dead and began dressing their lines.
Jack drew hard on his bridle, but Dainty never paused for a second. Like a flash she shot past the squadron leaders, and with an angry snort went straight at the spectators in front. Jack realised the awful danger of a catastrophe, and dropping his bugle he seized the bridle with both hands and tugged with all his might at his horse’s head. Futile effort; Dainty had got the bit between her teeth and was racing forward. Jack knew the horse had run away with him, and shouted at the top of his voice to the people in front to get out of his way. This several did, with loud cries of fear; but a nurse-girl, who had charge of a chubby little boy of some three or four, seemed paralysed by fear and stood rooted to the spot. Her charge, the sun gleaming on his golden curly hair, ran out right in front of the maddened horse, and a great cry of horror went up from those around.
Nerved to an almost superhuman effort by the thought of the danger of the laughing child almost under his charger’s hoofs, Jack threw forward his feet, getting a good grip on his stirrups, then with all his strength he wrenched Dainty’s mouth till she threw up her head. Lying back, he dragged at her till her head was pulled back right against his chest. The animal reared almost straight up on her hind-legs and remained some seconds, while the child’s nurse, recovering from her stupor, rushed forward, dragged the little boy right from under the iron-shod hoofs pawing the air above him, and in an instant had the child in safety, when she fell in a swoon.
Jack, just as he heard the thudding of hoofs behind him, slipped off over the hind-quarters of Dainty; and then, still gripping the bridle, he pulled her sharply backward, when she overbalanced and came right over on her back, dashing Jack to the ground with her. Before she could scramble to her feet and start off again, Jack saw a number of mounted figures close round him and his horse. Dainty was captured, and some one dismounting ran towards Jack just as he lost consciousness. He soon, however, came to himself to find the regimental doctor feeling for broken limbs, and a newly joined officer, Cornet Leland of his troop, supporting his head.
Jack, fearing that he had made but a sorry exhibition of horsemanship, and thinking he might get into trouble for thus bringing his regiment into unpleasant prominence, struggled to his feet, asserting that he was all right. He saw that a Hussar trumpeter had unsaddled Dainty, who now stood quiet enough while the regimental sergeant-major was examining her.
‘Are you able to walk, do you think?’ asked Cornet Leland kindly.
‘I think so, sir,’ replied Jack; and he tried, but his left leg pained him so much that he almost cried out with the pain. He had been thrown on to the hilt of his sword, which had badly bruised his left hip.
Sergeant Barrymore came trotting back from the
colonel to see the extent of the damage. The crowd was getting pressing in its attentions; and, with the true military dislike of civilian interference, Jack saying he felt all right, he was assisted again on to Dainty, she having been resaddled. Sergeant Barrymore took the bridle of the now docile animal, and the others mounting and trotting off to their places, Jack and Barrymore made for the camp, the crowd giving the former a spontaneous cheer as they did so. In this fashion they reached the camp, where Jack was at once put to bed and his bruises and contusions medically treated.
For many painful hours he lay awake, Will Hodson, Sergeants Linham and Barrymore, and many others dropping in to chat for a few minutes with him.
‘The reason why your horse was so unmanageable was that she had something pricking and scratching her all the while,’ said Sergeant Barrymore; ‘one side is all torn and lacerated just under the saddle-girth. You could not have spurred her there if you had tried. It’s very strange.’
It was very strange, and, as well as his aching head would let him, Jack tried to think the matter out; but at last he fell into a troubled sleep without arriving at any solution of the mystery.
CHAPTER XI.
JACK RECEIVES VISITORS.
NEXT morning Jack felt much better. He got up, and, being excused from duty, sat outside his tent in the warm autumn sunshine, much interested in the crowd of sight-seers who thronged amongst the tents, talking and laughing and apparently enjoying themselves.
During the afternoon he saw a figure in Hussar uniform threading his way among the tents. He stopped and spoke to a Lancer, who pointed over in Jack’s direction, when the Hussar came straight towards him.
Jack saw the stranger was a trumpeter apparently about his own age. He looked at Jack, then with a genial smile came up and held out his hand.
‘It’s glad I am to see ye sitting there, honey,’ he said with an Irish brogue. ‘Shure, I made certain ye’d be in the sawdust.’
‘Thanks,’ said Jack; ‘I hope to be fit for duty to-morrow.’
‘I hope ye will; but bedad, whin I see ye go over yesterday I sez, shure we’ll be having a grand military funeral directly. I was close to ye, and could see yer horse had bolted; I went after ye wid one or two of yours.’
‘Yes, I made a fine exhibition of myself,’ said Jack grimly.
‘Faix, ye did a gallant thing, comrade. Ye managed that horse of yers in a way that would have done credit to a rough-rider. It’s here I am to tell ye so.’
Jack looked questioningly at the Irish trumpeter, who had a merry face and roguish eye.
‘Ye’re perhaps wondering who the dickens I am, and what for should I be blathering to ye. Well, I’m Larry O’Callaghan, full thrumpeter, A Troop, 8th Royal Irish Hussars, son of the late thrumpet-major of the rigiment, and, plase the saints, I intind to be thrumpet-major meself some day.’
‘I’m glad to know you, Larry,’ said Jack. ‘My name’s Blair—Jack Blair.’
‘I’m glad to know ye, comrade. I took a fancy to ye when I see ye fighting wid that mare of yers. And now, I want to know who was the mane thafe of the wurrld who played ye such a dhirty trick yesterday. I’m open to punch his head for him, whoever he is.’
Jack looked at Larry inquiringly.
‘Av coorse I haven’t tould ye yet. ‘Twas I, ye know, who caught the mare and held her when she was trying to kick her head off. The saddle had shifted, and after some of yers had come up and held the mare, one of yer sargints told me to fix the saddle again. When I undid the girths to twist the saddle round I found these;’ and the young Hussar produced from inside his jacket two large chestnut burrs, hard and prickly. ‘These had bin shoved in under the girths,’ he said, ‘and was prickin’ and tearin’ her till she was almost mad.’
Jack took the burrs in his hand. They were covered with bay hairs and stained with blood. An angry frown settled on his face.
‘This is too bad,’ he muttered.
‘Much too bad, comrade,’ said Larry earnestly. ‘The man who played ye that trick wanted ye to break yer neck.’
In a flash Jack recalled the fact of having seen Napper sneaking from the little arbour of the inn on the day before. Had he done this? It was just after that time that Dainty had grown so restless. Jack, however, determined to say nothing till he had proof.
Larry and Jack sat talking for some time, enjoying the sight of the hundreds of visitors to the camp, and laughing at many of the remarks they made about things military.
Suddenly Sergeant Linham appeared before them. ‘Ha, hum!’ he snorted. ‘Here, you 8th Hussar man, what are you doing here? The men are to keep in their own lines to-day; general order.’ And he blew violently down his nose.
‘All right, sargint darlint,’ said Larry, ‘though ye needn’t blow yer nose off. I came over from our colonel to ask how was the thrumpeter who was hurt yesterday.’
‘Oh indeed, ha, yes! thoughtful and kind, very. But you’d better go. Right-about turn! Quick march!’ Then to Jack he said hurriedly, ‘Mr Leland and some friends are on their way to see you. Pull down your jacket, and your cap’s not right—so; that’s better. You ought to be in full-dress, you know. ‘Pon my word, the service is going to the dogs, absolutely to the dogs. I want to know what the—— ‘Shun!’
Jack and Larry at once stood up and saluted as Cornet Leland, in uniform, with a tall, white-headed old gentleman and a young and very handsome lady, leading a dear little curly-haired boy by the hand, suddenly appeared.
‘Good-afternoon, Blair. How are you feeling?’ asked the cornet, who was not much older than Jack himself.
‘Much better, thank you, sir. I was only shaken yesterday. I shall be able to march to-morrow with the regiment.’
‘That’s right.—This is the trumpeter whose horse bolted yesterday.—Blair, this is my uncle, Colonel George Leland. The little boy who almost got under your horse’s hoofs yesterday is his grandson.’
Jack turned very red, saluted, and began to apologise. But the old colonel cut him short, said some most complimentary things to him, in which the lady joined, and chatted for some time. He saw at once that Jack was many cuts above the ordinary ‘boy-trumpeter,’ and did not attempt to offer him money. He said, however, that he knew Jack’s colonel well, and that he would see that his action should not go unnoticed.
Looking at Larry, the colonel recognised him as the Hussar who had helped to stop Jack’s horse, and after complimenting him on his plucky deed dropped a couple of sovereigns into Larry’s palm.
‘May the ten blessings fall upon ye and yers, colonel,’ cried the delighted Larry, saluting him. Then wishing Jack good-bye, he said he would run over in the morning and see him before his regiment marched off.
On his way back to the lines of the Hussars, Larry had to pass the large canteen, and Sergeant Linham went with him to see he didn’t ‘lose his way.’
Soon after the Lelands had gone, a basket of fruit arrived for ‘Trumpeter Blair,’ and Will Hodson came up just at the same time. Will had to chaff Jack about this; but Jack told him not to be a donkey, and related the history of the chestnut burrs which Larry O’Callaghan had left with him. Will’s face grew scarlet with rage. ‘This is too much,’ he said. ‘It’s murder, no less. It must be reported to the colonel. Napper must go; we won’t mix with him.’
‘Steady, Will; remember we’ve no proof. I certainly saw Napper in the arbour of the inn; but that is all. No one saw him tampering with Dainty. Oblige me, Will, by saying nothing yet.’
Next morning Jack reported himself fit for duty. He saw nothing of Napper, nor did he want to. Before the Hussars marched off Larry came across and wished Jack good-bye, saying he hoped they would soon meet again.
Jack was preparing to parade with the rest of his regiment when Sergeant Barrymore came up to him. ‘Jack, my boy,’ he said, ‘I’ve good news for you. We’re going on detachment duty to Hampton Court to relieve F Troop, which is to return to the regiment “to be smartened up,” as the adjutant says.’
Jack was as pleased as anybody at the change, and so it happened that when the ‘Death or Glory Boys’ marched off, Jack’s troop was left behind to make their way to Hampton Court.
CHAPTER XII.
THE ROUTE ARRIVES.
JACK found life ‘on detachment’ very pleasant, and time soon passed. Sergeant Barrymore was most kind to him, and took great pains to make him an efficient soldier.
One great piece of good news Jack heard, and that was that his mother’s affairs had unexpectedly improved, and that his family were coming down to rent a pretty little cottage at Kingston; and when they arrived Jack was able to run over and see them three or four times a week. Molly got several music-pupils, who paid very well, and things were more comfortable with the Blairs than they had been since the father’s death. At Christmas Jack got leave, and a very jolly day they had at Rose Cottage.
The New Year came in and weeks rolled by. Will Hodson occasionally rode over from the regiment and brought news. Napper was sent to Coventry by the rest of the trumpeters. Sergeant Linham kept an eye on him, and had it not been that he was an excellent performer and in the good books of the bandmaster things might have gone awkwardly with him.
But there were other topics than Napper to think of just then. During those early weeks of the year there were persistent rumours of war. War was in the air—war with Russia or Turkey; the soldiers were not sure which, nor did they care. Then, early in February, the Guards left England for Malta. They had a rousing reception as they marched through London. The wiseacres said there would be no war after all. In spite of their prophecy other regiments went, and excitement rose to fever-heat. Cavalry were to follow, and every trooper longed for his chance; but no regiments were named.
It was on a fine April morning that Jack and his troop were returning from exercising the horses when they saw coming along the road towards them a Lancer in full-dress, his plume and lance-flags fluttering in the wind. On reaching Cornet Leland, the trooper reined in, brought his lance to the ‘carry,’ and handed the officer a long blue official envelope.
Cornet Leland read quickly; then turning to his men cried, ‘Hurrah, boys, we’re under orders for the East; we’ve got the route. We join headquarters at once.’
For a moment the troopers gazed at one another; then a cheer burst from them that made the occupants of the houses around come running to their windows to see what was the matter.
The orderly returned to Hounslow the richer by half-a-crown, and Cornet Leland, giving his troop the word, started at a trot for their quarters.
From the moment the news was received there was but one topic of conversation—war was declared and the 17th were going. Jack went over to Rose Cottage that evening and found a sorrowful family. They had already seen in the papers that Jack’s regiment was under orders for the East, and the news filled them with consternation.
Jack had to reason with his relatives. ‘It’s a soldier’s duty to fight,’ he said; ‘that is what we are paid and trained for.’
But his arguments did little to console his relatives. It was all right for others to go; but for their own Jack—that was different. Still, the parting had to come, and it was so painful that Jack felt he could not endure another such ordeal before he embarked. It unnerved him, and for worlds he would not appear downcast before his comrades.
Jack’s troop rejoined headquarters and found everything in a state of great excitement. Will was delighted to have Jack with him again, and told him all the news. The next morning headquarters, with which was Napper, started for Portsmouth, whence they were to embark; the scenes of parting before the men mounted—wives, fathers, children, snatching a last embrace, a final kiss, as the trumpet sounded the parade—being very painful.
When next morning Jack’s troop paraded, the scenes of the day before were repeated. As they passed through the gates with the band of a Dragoon regiment playing ‘Annie Laurie,’ pale-faced women clung to the stirrup-leathers of many of the men and went with them among the cheering thousands outside. About a mile from the barracks the trumpet sounded the ‘trot,’ and these poor wretches were left behind.
After a time the ‘walk march’ was again resumed, and the men broke out into a song at that time very popular, the words of which the troops slightly altered to suit the war-fever: