A Protégé
Mine host of the Black Bull was a man who prided himself upon the
welcome his house provided, and on such an occasion, when Mr. Benjamin
Halbut was the guest, there was extra need for haste. And so it happened
that within a very few minutes a meal was announced as being ready.
"In the parlour, your honour," said the maid. "The best parlour, sir,
along the passage to the left. My!" she went on, as she passed the lad
for whom the sergeant had just fought so handsomely, "but you've found
friends to-day! Never mind, laddie; you look a nice little fellow."
"This way, sergeant. Come, my lad," said Mr. Benjamin. "We'll eat and
talk. We've much to arrange. Now, seat yourselves, and may this meal not
be the last that we may share for many a day to come."
He was so quiet and affable, so friendly, that even the lad who had so
strangely come into his company was far from abashed. Not that he felt
at his ease, for all this was so strange to him. In the first place, he
had never even stepped within the doors of the Black Bull, though many a
time, on market days, he had looked within, bashfully and wondering, at
the warmth and comfort, and the massive old dressers and chairs, and at
the stags' heads hung round the walls. It had never occurred to him that
one day he might have the right to enter. And here he was now, seated at
a board which groaned beneath the weight of a massive joint of beef,
while other dainties to which he was an entire stranger stood on the
table! And how he admired the fine gentleman opposite, and envied the
coolness of the sergeant!
"If I were only he," he thought. "He is as used to this as to fighting,
while I am so strange. My feet hit against every chair I get near,
and--oh dear!"
"Come, lad, sit down beside me and let us commence," said Mr. Benjamin,
taking him by the hand and drawing him towards a chair. "A fine lad,
sergeant, and growing, or he would not be so thin."
"He struck a plucky blow, sir. But he is thin, and no doubt the feeding
provided by the farmer was not of the best."
"Where does this farmer come from?" asked Mr. Benjamin, as he carved a
slice of beef and placed it before the lad. "Tell me who he is and
something about him. And first of all, who are you? What is your name,
lad?"
He was so nice and courteous, so thoughtful, that in a little while the
lad had forgotten his rags, his dirty hands and smudged face, and was
seated chatting easily, and eating the good things provided with a gusto
which there was no mistaking.
"Now, your name?" asked Mr. Benjamin, when he saw that the lad was well
engaged and feeling more at home.
"Jones, sir--at least that is what they call me," answered the little
fellow bravely.
"That is what they call you? How is that? Had you another name?"
"I think so, sir. I was found when I was smaller and taken to the
poorhouse, as I was an orphan with no one to claim me."
"Found! That is strange. And the lad speaks well, too."
Mr. Benjamin exchanged glances with the sergeant and became silent and
thoughtful. For he had noticed something strange about this protégé of
his from the moment when the lad opened his lips. He spoke with a slight
Hampshire accent, which had evidently been recently acquired. But there
was something refined about the little fellow's voice, so much so that
it was difficult to imagine that he was merely a farmer's boy.
"You were found," he said. "Where? Tell us all about it, and how you
came to be working for this hulking bully. The fellow looked as if he
had thrashed you many a time."
"He has, sir. He said he would kill me some day. None dared to live with
him, except his wife and I, and I would have gone long ago had I not
been his apprentice. Yes, sir, I was found, they tell me, when I was
about five years of age, and a cottager and his wife, of the name of
Jones, took me in and cared for me till they died. Then I went to the
poorhouse in this town, and from there to the farmer. That is all I
know, sir, but perhaps Mrs. Towers, at the poorhouse, could tell you
more."
"A foundling, with a mysterious tale behind him, and of late a little
slave!"
Mr. Benjamin looked at the lad closely, noting his fair curly hair, now
all in disorder, his fine eyes, and the cast of his features.
"A fine little fellow," he thought aloud, "and I'll warrant he has had
few friends so far. The farmer's wife, perhaps, for she looked as if she
cared for him; and this Mrs. Towers."
"Yes, indeed, sir, they were very good to me," burst in the boy eagerly,
loyally supporting the two who had been mentioned. "Mrs. Towers says
that she was a mother to me, while Mrs. Ransom was very kind and good
when her husband could not see us. Am I to go back to him, sir?"
"Never! I have made a bargain with him, and your articles of
apprenticeship are to be cancelled. An attorney will get it done in a
couple of weeks. You will have to be taken before a magistrate, and the
facts sworn to. Then as soon as the money is paid you will be free from
that ruffian. Yes, ruffian, sergeant, and I fear that there are many
others like him, who obtain the services of lads such as this and make
drudges of them. But your other name, lad?"
"Owen M., sir."
"Owen M.! M.? What does that refer to, and where did you get the name of
Owen?"
"It is my right name, sir," answered the boy proudly, as he looked his
questioner in the eyes. "When I was left near the cottage of the Joneses
I was wrapped in a rug, and was fully dressed in old clothes. They
thought that my own had been removed, so as to make it impossible to
trace who I was, or where I came from, and had it not been for a jersey
I was wearing next to my body nothing would have been known. Owen M. was
worked on the jersey, and that is why I have the name of Owen."
"And the M. may be your Christian name or surname. These Joneses are
dead?"
With his usual interest in life Mr. Benjamin asked the question sharply
and waited impatiently for the answer, giving an exclamation of
satisfaction when the lad replied that the clothing was now in the hands
of Mrs. Towers at the poorhouse, and that the Joneses were dead.
"Then we will go there. Come, sergeant, what do you say to helping me in
the matter?" he said eagerly. "You took up the cudgels on behalf of this
lad Owen, and will like to see the matter through. We will give him a
fresh start and make a man of him. What do you say?"
"Ready and willing, sir. He has pluck, by the way in which he struck the
bully, and he'll do with a proper training and discipline. In the army,
sir, we'd make a fine soldier of him."
The sergeant sat up to his full height; while it was clear from the open
admiration with which Owen regarded his defender that service in the
army would not be unpleasant to him.
"And you like the idea?" smiled Mr. Benjamin, turning to him. "We will
see. He shall have the best. But, first, we will get him some fitting
clothing. Come, another cut of beef and a tankard to wash it down,
sergeant. You have had a struggle and need some refreshment."
He rose and went to the bell, giving it a lusty tug. When the maid
arrived he requested mine host to be sent to him.
"Do me the favour of sending across to the nearest tailor's," he said
when the good man appeared, "and tell him to come here at once with
clothing suited to this lad."
Half an hour later a hackney coach drew up at the door of the Black
Bull, and the three who had refreshed themselves in the famous hostelry
stepped into it and were driven away, Mr. Benjamin giving the poorhouse
as the address to which they were to be taken. And if Owen Jones had
felt strange before when he had been bidden to accompany this fine
gentleman, he felt even more so now, while his whole frame was filled
with a sense of elation. For he was transformed. The kind lady at the
Black Bull had helped to polish him with hot water and a plentiful
supply of soap, while the tailor and a haberdasher, who had also been
called in to help, had rigged him out in a suit of simple stuff which
fitted him well, and in which he looked a little gentleman.
"My, who would have thought as he wasn't a little gentleman!" exclaimed
the maid at the Black Bull, as she saw him descend to the hall, hat in
hand, his hair well brushed, and his eager little face shining with the
application of good Windsor soap. "Don't you look fine!"
Owen greeted her with a bashful smile, and then walked quietly into the
room where Mr. Benjamin and the sergeant awaited him. And there his
appearance caused more pleasure.
"He will do us credit, never fear," exclaimed the kindly gentleman. "But
the coach is here and we will leave."
Paying the bill, and adding something to it for the welcome and help
given, he pushed Owen into the coach before him and they drove off. Owen
could hardly believe that it was really he. Who could have guessed that
he would have ever ridden in a coach! And behind postillion-ridden
horses! And was it true that he was not to return to Farmer Ransom?
There were to be no more beatings and no more scoldings! No need to
creep to bed amidst the sacks in a cold barn, and lie there shivering of
a cold night, and awake perhaps stiff with the cold, and hungry because
supper had been denied him on the previous night out of pure spite! It
was too much to believe. He sat forward in the coach, now looking up at
Mr. Benjamin and then out of the windows at the houses and streets, at
the boys playing there and at the pedestrians. Why, there was Johnny
Banks, a lad who had been at the poorhouse with him, and was now
apprenticed to the local baker. He at any rate had had plenty to eat,
and Owen had been in the habit of envying him. Now! "I can't believe
it!" he said to himself. "And if only they would make me a soldier!"
"Here we are. Tumble out and let us see this good lady. Ring the bell,
sergeant. And, postillion, wait here for us."
A few moments later an individual appeared within the ample gate of the
poorhouse, dressed in the official uniform of the place, and showing a
portly figure and a face indicative of good temper. To the inquiry for
Mrs. Towers he responded that she was within, and at once bustled off,
impressed by the coach and by the unusually fine appearance of Mr.
Benjamin. And in a little while the trio found themselves closeted with
the matron, a stout old lady, who hugged Owen with affection, and lifted
her fat hands in amazement at finding him in such fine company.
"Lor'!" she said, "to think that you should have such friends! Little
Owen, as came to the house without a single one, and well-nigh starved!"
"Let us have the tale, my good woman," said Mr. Benjamin, as he bowed to
the old dame's curtsy, and sat on a chair. "This lad here has made
friends with the sergeant and myself, and we are desirous of finding out
a little about him. He tells us that his name is Owen M. Jones."
"As near as we know, sir," was the answer. "But, bless yer, begging your
pardon for so doing, sir, he's better than a Jones. That's the name of
the poor folk who first found him. It was a dark night--let me see,
yes, it will be nine years ago--when they heard a coach passing along
the road, which runs some yards from their cottage. That wasn't anything
out of the common, for fifty and more pass by perhaps in the day. But it
stopped for a while and then went on again at a gallop. Mrs. Jones told
me that herself. It drove on as if there were soldiers or some one of
that sort behind, and it was soon gone out of hearing. Then there came
the cry of a child who is frightened at being left all alone, and when
they ran out to see who it was, there was young Owen, a tiny little
fellow then, seated on the roadside, with his knuckles in his eyes."
"And like the kind-hearted folks they were they brought him in and fed
him, I suppose?" said Mr. Benjamin.
"That they did, sir. They weren't that well off, neither. But they had
none of their own, and they took the boy in and cared for him. Then Mr.
Jones walked in here as soon as it was day, and came to the house. The
guardians heard his tale and saw the boy, but they never learned
anything about the coach that had brought him, nor where he came from.
And as the Joneses said they were willing to adopt him, why Owen stayed
with them till the old couple died, and that would be six years ago."
"And nothing was learned about his coming?"
"Nothing, sir. Foundlings are common enough, and I don't suppose as the
guardians would spend much in making inquiries. Besides, the boy seemed
to be the child of common parents, for his clothes were rough. But Mrs.
Jones knew better, and so do I. I'll show you, sir."
She went off into another room, where they heard her pulling open the
doors of a cupboard; and finally she returned, bringing a tiny little
undervest which she handed to Mr. Benjamin.
"Made in India," he said at once, "and of the finest material. This
garment was in all probability made for the boy, and if so, then he was
born out there. Yes, I am sure of it, for look at this, sergeant. Those
letters, Owen M., were stitched by a native woman. The work is
characteristic. I am perfectly sure of what I say."
All stared at the tiny garment, which was redolent of lavender, while
Owen, who had never regarded it with any importance before now, looked
at the letters stitched in one corner with great interest.
"Perhaps the lad can help us," suggested the sergeant. "Tell us, boy,
whether you remember the coach."
"Of course he does!" exclaimed Mrs. Towers. "Why, I asked him many a
time. Tell the gentlemen, Owen."
"I remember the coach well, and being left beside the road," said Owen
promptly; "and I recollect the journey. I am sure that I was strange to
the country, and I can see now the ship in which I came. How long we
were at sea I do not know, but it was for a long while. And all that
time I was tended by a black woman, who was very kind. I seem to
remember places so different from these here. A bright sun, many trees,
and very big houses. There were soldiers, too, and one big soldier who
often threw me on his shoulder. But it may be a dream. I may have
imagined it all."
"One minute, Owen," interrupted Mrs. Towers, whose interest was fully
aroused. "Mrs. Jones said that when you came you could speak well, but
that whenever you cried you called out in a tongue which was strange to
her. You did it here too, that I remember, though bless me if I know
what the words meant. Have you forgotten?"
"Tell me," said Mr. Benjamin encouragingly, shifting a little farther on
to his chair and looking closely at Owen. "What were the words?"
Owen repeated them as well as he was able, and though they were but
childish expressions, which he had learned when beginning to speak, they
were pronounced as undoubtedly hailing from India.
"Which proves that he actually came from India," said the sergeant.
"Exactly so. He probably landed and was kidnapped, for some purpose of
which we are ignorant. There is something very interesting about this,
sergeant. I know the country well, and I say without hesitation that no
child but those belonging to Englishmen in high places would have been
dressed in such a garment. Probably our little friend is the son of an
Englishman employed in India, and was sent home because of the death of
his mother, or more likely because of the climate. Beyond that one
cannot go. There is some dark secret attached to his capture. But the
fact remains that he was kidnapped, and brought away from his guardians.
Then his identity was hidden. I should say that he may very well have
come from Bristol or some other port, and it is not to be wondered at
that his loss did not occasion very much disturbance. If his parents
were abroad, considering how slowly news travels, it is not at all
wonderful that no rumour of his having been found in this locality
failed to reach his guardians. Perhaps he was sent home to relatives,
who may themselves have had something to do with the kidnapping. There
have been cases quite as disgraceful before. But the important thing is
that one little garment is left as a clue, and that the lad can speak a
few words of the Indian tongue, and remembers places which may without a
great stretch of imagination be allowed to correspond with some Indian
city--Bombay or Calcutta, for instance."
"Lor'! To think that he may be a gentleman!" exclaimed Mrs. Towers,
lifting her hands. "Well, I always said as much. He speaks different
from other lads, and he's better behaved. There's always been something
queer about little Owen. And I've tried to keep it up too, sir. I've
encouraged him to speak well, to address his betters as he should, and
to be gentle in his play."
"And you've succeeded well, ma'am," exclaimed the sergeant with
enthusiasm.
"Very well indeed, madam," agreed Mr. Benjamin. "Is there nothing more
to tell us?"
"Nothing, sir. He stayed here till a year ago, when the guardians
apprenticed him to Mr. George Ransom, a farmer that's not the best-loved
of all living about Winchester."
"A thorough ruffian," exclaimed Mr. Benjamin indignantly. "Well, madam,
our friend the sergeant here very pluckily interfered when this farmer
was about to ill-use the boy to-day, and beat him handsomely in the
fight which followed. Now I propose to have the boy's apprenticeship
cancelled, and shall look to his future. But we must do more than that.
I will send here for you to-morrow, and will have you taken in a coach
to my attorney's, where I will ask you to make a plain statement of all
the facts you have already mentioned. If you can remember more, all the
better. We will hunt up others who may have known him, and the sergeant
and I will add our evidence. I can swear that he can speak some words of
Hindustani, for instance, and that may, one of these days, be valuable
evidence. When the statement is completed we will have it attested
before a magistrate, and then carefully locked away with this garment.
Then, supposing one day we happen to hear of these parents, we shall be
able to help in proving that Owen is actually their missing son. And I
promise you that I shall leave no stone unturned to effect that end.
Now, sergeant, we will drive on to the barracks. Owen, for the time
being, shall wear the uniform of a soldier."
He felt in his pocket for a guinea, which he placed in Mrs. Towers's fat
hand, and then led the way to the coach. An hour later he was with the
Colonel of the local detachment, and when he left that evening it had
been arranged that Owen should enlist as a band boy, and should be
instructed in the playing of the fife.
"And at the same time I can put him up to the use of his fists, as well
as side-arms and a pike," said the sergeant heartily. "And remember
this, youngster, there's many a lad who has stepped it at first behind
the drum-major, and who afterwards has shouldered a sergeant's pike and
done fine service. Never fear, sir, I'll keep an eye on the lad."
"Turn him out a man, that is what I want," said Mr. Benjamin. "I might
have put him on a stool in an office in London, or have found some other
work for him; but the lad interests me, and I want to see how he gets
on. There is nothing like the rough life of the army for that. He will
rub shoulders with every sort, and you will be able to keep an eye upon
him. Don't interfere, sergeant. Let him fight his own battles till he
shows that he is unable to do so, and don't help him at all. Let him
rise by his own exertions. When the time comes I shall have a fit post
for him."
And so, when a week had passed, Owen Jones was a full-fledged soldier,
Jones of the 64th, and his name had been borne on the regimental
strength. By then his apprenticeship with the farmer had been cancelled,
while twenty guineas had been paid to his late master. Then a full
statement of his history had been made before a magistrate and had been
signed, the document having afterwards been deposited with the attorney.
Owen looked a fine little fellow in his red-tailed tunic, his red
waistcoat and pantaloons, and felt a proud lad when he first donned
them. There is no need to tell how he became introduced to his comrades
of the regiment; how he met with and accepted with good temper all their
good-natured chaff; and how, when a few days had passed, he endeavoured
to take a leaf from the sergeant's book, and attacked a lad of greater
proportions who had attempted to bully him, and how, despite the
greatest perseverance, he had been ultimately worsted, and had retired
to his quarters with swollen eyes. He showed his grit and pluck, even if
he were defeated, and thereafter was respected. And as the days and
weeks passed, and the latter grew into months, Owen filled out
wonderfully. A heavy sack which was suspended from the beams of the
quarters given to his friend the sergeant kept his muscles in good play,
for every day he spent an hour hammering at it with his fists, while the
sergeant afterwards gave him instruction in boxing. And so, what with
playing the fife, skylarking, and becoming an expert in the use of every
kind of fire-arm and weapon of defence, Owen passed three years with the
detachment, at first at Winchester and afterwards in other places. When
he was seventeen years of age, as near as could be guessed, Mr. Benjamin
Halbut again put in an appearance, and our hero found that a new life
was about to be opened for him.