THE QUEEN'S SHILLING.
"If he had called out, 'Here I am,' it would have been all right; but
he was too proud to cry out for help while he wore a uniform."--_The
Brave Tin Soldier_.
There was no more hesitation or uncertainty about his movements now,
and before he knew it, Jack found himself once more back at the
barracks. The corporal on "gate duty," who, for want of something
better to do, had been chastising his own leg with a "swagger cane,"
ceased in the performance of this self-imposed penance, and shot a
significant glance at the stranger.
"Looking out for any one?" he inquired, by way of opening up a
conversation.
"No," answered Jack; "the fact is, I've come to enlist. D'you think
you could make a soldier of me?"
"Well, at any rate, I should say you were big enough," answered the
corporal briskly. "Why, we ought to make a general of a smart young
fellow like you, in less than no time!"
This seemed a promising commencement; but the adjutant, in front of
whom Jack was conducted after undergoing a preliminary examination as
to his height, chest measurement, and strength of eyesight, did not
appear to be of quite so sanguine a temperament as the non-commissioned
officer.
He eyed the would-be recruit with no very favourable expression on his
face, as he prepared to take down the answers to the questions on the
attestation paper.
"Name?"
"John Fenleigh."
"Is that a _nom de guerre_?"
"No, sir, it's my real name."
"Humph! So you speak French?"
Jack coloured slightly.
"No, sir--that is, I learned some at school."
The officer looked up, and laid his quill pen down on the table.
"Look here, my good fellow," he said, "it's not my business to ask what
brings you here, but one thing I should like to know: how long do you
expect you are going to remain in the army--a week, or six months?"
"The full time, I hope, sir."
"Are your parents living? And do they know of the step you're taking?"
"My father is living. I told him what I meant to do before I left
home."
"Well," returned the officer, once more dipping his quill in the ink,
"if you change your mind before to-morrow, you'll have to pay a
sovereign; after that, it'll cost you ten pounds!"
The paper was filled up, and our hero received the historical shilling,
which he slipped into his waistcoat pocket, having previously
determined never to part with that particular coin, unless he were
obliged. He was then conducted to the hospital, and there examined by
the medical officer; his eyesight being once more tested by his having
to count a number of white dots on a piece of black paper displayed on
the opposite side of the room, each eye being covered alternately.
Having passed satisfactorily through this ordeal, he was informed that
he could not be sworn in before the following day, when he must present
himself at the orderly room at eleven o'clock. Until that time he was
free to do as he pleased; and being still in the possession of the
greater portion of his previous week's salary, he chose to sleep
another night at the hotel, and so spent the remainder of the day
wandering about the streets of Melchester.
On the following morning, at the appointed hour, he returned to the
barracks, and after some little delay, was brought into the presence of
the commanding officer, where he was duly "sworn in," and signed his
name to the declaration of allegiance.
"You'll join C Company," said the sergeant-major. "Just take him
across, orderly, and show him the room."
With feelings very much akin to those of the "new boy" arriving for the
first time at a big boarding-school, our hero followed his guide across
the square, up a flight of stairs, and down a long corridor, amid a
good deal of noise and bustle. The bugle had not long since sounded
"Come to the cook-house door," and the dinner orderlies were hurrying
back with the supply of rations for their respective rooms.
At length a door was reached, in front of which the orderly paused
with, "Here you are!" Jack entered, and made his first acquaintance
with his future home--the barrack-room.
It was large and lofty, with whitewashed walls and a floor of bare
boards. A row of wooden tables and forms ran down the centre, above
which was a hanging shelf for the men's plates and basins. Around the
room were sixteen small iron bedsteads, each made in such a fashion
that one half closed up under the other, the mattress when not in use
being rolled up and secured by a strap, with the blankets and sheets
folded on the top; the remaining portion of the couch, on which the rug
was laid, serving for a seat. Above the bed were shelves and hooks for
accoutrements, and other possessions. Above some of the cots small
pictures or photographs were hung, which served to relieve the monotony
of the whitewash; but these, like the rest of Tommy Atkins's property,
were arranged with that scrupulous care and neatness which is so
characteristic of all that concerns the service from baton to
button-stick.
At the moment Jack entered, his future room-mates were busy round one
end of the tables, assisting the orderly man in the task of pouring
soup from a large can into the small basins, and making a similar equal
division of the meat and potatoes. The new-comer's arrival, therefore,
was scarcely noticed, except by the sergeant, who told him to sit down,
and saw that he received a share of the rations. The fare was
certainly rough, and seemed in keeping with the table manners of the
rank and file of the Royal Blankshire; they forbore to "trouble" each
other for things out of reach, but secured them with a dive and a grab.
"Here, chuck us the rooty!" was the request when one needed bread;
while though substantial mustard and pepper pots adorned the board, the
salt was in the primitive form of a lump, which was pushed about from
man to man, and scraped down with the dinner knives.
But Jack had not come to barracks expecting a _table d'hote_ dinner of
eight or nine courses, served by waiters in evening dress, and he set
to work with a good grace on what was set before him. The remarks
addressed to him, if a trifle blunt, were good-natured enough, and he
replied to them in the same spirit. His comrades evidently remarked
from the first that he was a cut above the ordinary recruit; but he was
wise enough to avoid showing any airs, and soon saw that this line of
conduct was appreciated.
The meal was in progress when there was a sharp rap, and the door was
opened.
"'Tenshun!" The men laid down their knives and forks, and rose to
their feet.
"Dinners all right here?"
"Yes, sir."
"All present?"
"All present, sir." The orderly officer glanced round the room, and
then turned and walked out.
"'E's a gentleman, is Mr. Lawson," murmured one of the men; "'e always
shuts the door behind 'im." Jack's eye followed the figure of the
lieutenant as he rejoined the orderly sergeant in the passage. It was
not so much the sash and sword, and neat, blue patrol jacket, as the
cheery voice and pleasant sunburnt face, which had attracted our hero's
attention; somehow these reminded him of Valentine, and turned his
thoughts back to his old friend. He wondered how his cousin looked in
the same uniform. Well, well, however wide and deep the gulf might be
which the doings of the last two days had placed between them, they
were, in a way, reunited; for the service was the same, whatever
difference there might be in shoulder-straps.
Dinner over, some of the men made down their beds for a nap, while
others announced their intention "to do some soldiering," a term which
implied the cleaning and polishing of accoutrements.
Sergeant Sparks, the non-commissioned officer in charge of the room,
had a few friendly words with Jack, told him what he would have to do
on the following day, and advised him in the meantime to make himself
as comfortable as he could. "Here," he added, turning to a private,
"just show this man his cot, and explain to him how to keep his
bedding; you may want a good turn yourself some time."
The soldier obeyed readily enough. Jack had already caught his eye
several times during dinner, and now followed him into a corner of the
room, resolved if possible to patch up a friendship. In the carrying
out of this intention he was destined to experience a startling
surprise.
The man paused before one of the end beds, and began to unfasten the
strap of the mattress.
"I didn't think of meeting you here, Mr. Fenleigh."
Jack started and stared at the speaker in silent astonishment.
"You remember me, sir?--Joe Crouch."
"What! Joe Crouch, who used to work at Brenlands?"
"Yes, sir; Joe Crouch as stole the pears," answered the soldier,
smiling. "I never expected to find you 'listin' in the army, sir. I
suppose Miss Fenleigh ain't aware of what you're doin'?"
"Oh, no!" exclaimed the other eagerly. "Promise me you'll never tell
any one at Brenlands where I am--swear you won't."
"Very well, sir," replied Joe Crouch, calmly proceeding to unroll the
mattress and make down the bed.
"For goodness' sake, drop that _sir_. Look here, Joe: I'm a lame dog,
down on my luck, and no good to anybody; but we were friendly years
ago, and if you'll have me for a comrade now, I'll do my best to be a
good one."
Joe flung down the bedding, and held out his big, brown hand.
"That I will!" he answered. "You did the square thing by me once, and
now I'll see you through; don't you fret."
Tea in barracks was evidently a very informal meal, of which no great
account was taken. As Jack sat down to his bowl and chunk of bread,
Joe Crouch pushed a screw of paper in front of him, which on
examination proved to contain a small pat of butter.
"What's this?" asked Jack.
"Fat," answered Joe, shortly. "From the canteen," he added.
"Then you've paid for it, and--look here--you've got none yourself."
"Don't want any," answered Joe, breaking up a crust and dropping it
into his tea. "There you are. That's what's called a 'floatin'
battery.'"
In the evening most of the men went out. Jack, however, preferred to
remain where he was, and passed the time reading a paper he had brought
with him, at one of the tables. Sergeant Sparks came up to him and
chatted pleasantly for half an hour. He wore a ribbon at his breast,
and had stirring stories to tell of the Afghan war, and Roberts' march
to Candahar. About half-past eight the men began to return from their
walks and various amusements, and the barrack-room grew more noisy. At
half-past nine the roll was called, and the orders read out for the
following day, and Jack was not sorry when the time came to turn in.
Crouch came over to see if he understood the preparation of his cot.
"The feathers in these 'ere beds grew on rather a large bird," remarked
Joe, referring to the straw mattress, "but they're soft enough when you
come off a spell of guard duty or a day's manoeuvrin'."
The bugle sounded the long, melancholy G, and the orderly man turned
off the gas. Our hero lay awake for some time listening to the heavy
breathing of his new comrades, and then turned over and fell asleep.
The bright morning sunshine was streaming in through the big windows
when the clear, ringing notes of reveille and the cheery strains of
"Old Daddy Longlegs" roused him to consciousness of where he was.
"Now then, my lads, show a leg there!" cried the sergeant.
Jack stretched and yawned. Yes, it was certainly a rough path, but his
mind was made up to tread it with a good heart, and this being the
case, he was not likely to turn back.