THE MESS.
"He is more fortunate! Yea, he hath finished;
For him there is no longer any future.
His life is bright; bright without spot it was,
And cannot cease to be.
O 'tis well with him,
But who knows what the coming hour,
Veiled in thick darkness, brings for us!
_Wallenstein._
The mess-room of the 2nd battalion of the 25th Foot, in old
Colchester Barracks, was a long room, and for its size rather low in
the ceiling, which was crossed by a massive dormant beam of oak.
Good mahogany tables occupied the entire length of the room, with a
row of hair-cloth chairs on each side thereof. It was destitute of
all ornament save a few framed prints of the popular generals of the
time, such as the Duke of York, so justly known as "the soldier's
friend;" Sir Ralph Abercrombie, who fell in Egypt; Sir David Dundas,
the hero of Tournay; Sir David Baird, flushed with triumph and
revenge, leading on his stormers at Seringapatam; the sad and gentle
Sir John Moore, and others.
The room was uncarpeted, but the number of tall wax candles, in
silver branches, on the long table, and in girandoles, on the
mantelpiece and sideboard, together with the quantity of rich plate
that was displayed, and the brilliance of the assembled company,
about thirty officers in full uniform, their scarlet coats all faced
and lapelled to the waist with blue barred with gold, and all their
bullion epaulettes glittering, had a very gay appearance; thus the
general meagreness of the furniture passed unobserved.
At mess the coats were then worn open, with the crimson silk sash
inside and over a white waistcoat. Nearly all the seniors still
indulged in powdered heads, while the juniors wore their hair in that
curly profusion introduced by George IV., then Prince of Wales. A
few who were on duty were distinguished by the pipe-clayed
shoulder-belt and gilt gorget, which was slung round the neck by a
ribbon which varied in every corps according to the colour of its
facings.
Amid much good-humour and a little banter, they seated themselves,
and the president and vice-president--posts taken by every officer in
rotation--proceeded to their tasks of dispensing the viands.
Quentin was seated next his host, Major Middleton, about the centre
of the table, and he surveyed the gay scene with surprise and
pleasure, though looking somewhat anxiously for the face of his kind
friend Warriston, who was to be a guest that evening, but was still
detained on duty.
To him much of the conversation was a perfect mystery, being half
jocular and half technical, or that which is stigmatized as "shop."
It chiefly ran on drills, duties, and mistakes--how badly those 94th
fellows marched past yesterday, and so forth; while the standing
jokes about Buckle's nag-tailed charger, Monkton's old epaulettes,
Pimple's last love-affair, and the old commandant's state of mind on
discovering that Colville had a fair visitor in his guard-room,
seemed to excite as much laughter as if they had all been quite new,
and had not been heard there every day for the last six months.
Some rapid changes would seem to have taken place at the headquarters
of the 2nd battalion. The old colonel of whom Quentin heard on the
march from Ayr, had sold out, and a Major Sir John Glendinning come
in by purchase. One gazette contained a notice of this, and a second
announced the death of Sir John in a duel with an officer of the
Guards. The lieutenant-colonelcy was thus again vacant, and all
present, even Monkton, hoped the step would be given in the regiment,
that old Major Middleton would get the command; thus all would have a
move upward, and who could say but Quentin Kennedy might obtain the
ensigncy which would thus be rendered vacant? But poor Middleton had
served so long, and had seen so many promoted over his head, that he
ceased to be hopeful of anything.
Some of the youngsters drank wine again and again with our young
volunteer, a spirit of mischief being combined with their
hospitality. To "screw a Johnny Raw" was one of the chief practical
jokes at a mess-table then, as it is at some few still; but
Middleton's influence soon repressed them.
The cloth removed, the regimental mull, a gigantic ram's head, the
horns of which were tipped with cairngorms and massive silver
settings, was placed before the president, and was passed down the
table from left to right, according to the custom of all Scottish
messes. The mull was the farewell gift of Lord Rohallion, and the
gallant ram was the flower of all that he could procure in Carrick.
The proposed expeditions to Spain and Holland soon formed the staple
topics for discourse and surmise; but none present had the slightest
idea on which of these the regiment might be despatched.
When Quentin looked round that long and glittering mess-table, and
saw so many handsome, pleasant, and jovial fellows, all heedless and
full of high spirits, who welcomed him among them, spoke cheeringly
of his prospects and drank to his success, he felt a pang on
reflecting that he must owe it to the death in battle of one at least
among them!
There was plenty of laughter, fun, and joking. Many of those present
were more or less dandies; but the military Dundreary, the--to use a
vulgar phrase--"heavy swell," who affects the style of Charles
Mathews in "Used Up," was unknown in the days of the long, long war
with France, for men joined the army to become soldiers indeed.
Their predecessors were usually killed in action, and they had the
immediate prospect of finding themselves before the bravest enemy in
the world.
The solemn regimental snob, or yawning yahoo, whose private affairs
became so "urgent" in the Crimea; the parvenu Lancer or lisping
Hussar, cold, sarcastic, and unimpressionable, are entirely the
growth of the piping times of peace, and to them the stern advice of
the old officer of other times, "Be ever ready with your pistol," is
meaningless now.
"I joined the service as a volunteer," said Rowland Askerne, the
burly captain of the Grenadiers--as his massive gold rings announced
him--turning to Quentin.
"Were you long one?"
"Longer than I quite relished," replied Askerne, laughing.
"Indeed!" said Quentin, anxiously.
"Yes--four years; and long years they seemed to me."
"On foreign service?"
"Of course; and pretty sharp service, too, sometimes. I carried a
musket with Middleton's company at the capture of Corsica, in '95,
and again with the Gordon Highlanders on the recent expedition
against Porto Ferrajo, in Elba, where I had the ill-luck to be the
only man hit. A French tirailleur put a ball through my left leg,
but he was shot the next moment by my covering file, Norman Calder,
now a sergeant. Some of the Irish in '98 proved better marksmen than
the French; they knocked a number of ours on the head, so I won my
epaulettes fighting against the poor fellows under General Lake, at
Vinegar Hill. I had many a heart-burning before they promoted me;
(by _they_ I mean the Horse Guards) and I swore that when the day
came that they did so, I would tread on my sash and turn cobbler; but
I had not the heart to quit, so I wear my harness still--a captain
only--when I should be lieutenant-colonel by brevet, at least; but
Middleton's case is a harder one than mine, for he has been longer in
the service."
"We are most likely bound for North Holland," said the adjutant; "and
there many an evil will be ended."
"The French are in great strength there, and hard knocks will be
going," added Monkton. "Many among us are fated perhaps to find a
last abode among the swamps of Beveland; so, if you escape, Kennedy,
you must certainly gain your pair of colours, with five shillings and
threepence per diem--less the income-tax--to spend on the luxuries of
life--damme!"
"Glad to hear we are to be off so soon, Monkton," said a smart, but
somewhat blasé-looking young lieutenant, "for we have a most weary
time of it here in Colchester. The course of drill--drill, always
drill--with club, sword, or musket, and the whole routine of barrack
duty, with inspections and guards, are decidedly a bore!"
"What the deuce would you have, Colville?" asked the adjutant,
bluntly. "What did you come here for?"
"I came to be a soldier," replied the "used up" sub, with a suave
smile.
"To be a soldier?"
"Yes--not to doze life away by marching to and fro at the goose-step,
in that gravelled yard, or by lolling over the window in
shirt-sleeves, to save my shell-jacket. Where are all the castles I
built----"
"To storm, eh?" asked Buckle, glancing uneasily at the commanding
officer, who was forming his walnut-shells in grand-division squares,
for the edification of the second major.
"Yes--I had hoped to have achieved something decidedly brilliant ere
this."
"Console yourself, Colville, and pass the port. Ah, you consider
yourself sharp--up to every sort of thing--a common delusion with
young fellows of your age; but ten years' more soldiering, and the
rubs of life between your twenties and thirties, to say nothing of
those afterwards, will cure you of thinking so. Believe me,
Colville, wherever we go, we shall find plenty of desperate work cut
out for us all. Well, Monkton, in recruiting, you could not pick up
an heiress--eh?"
"No. Heiresses are not to be found under every hedge."
"In Scotland, especially."
"I have considered the matter maturely, my dear friend," said
Monkton, in his bantering tone, "and have come to the sage conclusion
that, if a man marries, with his pay only, he had better hang; if
otherwise, and his wife have a long purse, and expectations, to
enhance the charms of her blushes and orange-buds, let him send in
his papers, and quit; so the service loses your Benedict any way."
"Purse, or no purse," said Colville, "as Paragon says in the comedy
we acted at York, 'when you see my wife, you shall see perfection,
though I never met the woman I could conscientiously throw myself
away upon.'"
"Pimple, we hear, has been romantically tender on a flax-spinner's
daughter; and that the route came only in time to save him from the
arms of Venus for those of Bellona, and he is burning now to forget
his loved and lost one amid the smoke of battle," said Colville, with
a tragic air. "Ah, there were great men even before old Agamemnon."
"But Pimple shall show us by his glorious example, that we have at
least one greater since."
"Let me alone, Colville, and you also, Monkton," said Boyle, becoming
seriously angry; "I hope to do my duty with the best among you."
Attention was speedily drawn from the irritation of the little ensign
by the entrance of Warriston, who apologized briefly for being late,
having been detained on duty at the quarters of his own regiment;
then drawing a chair near his friend Middleton, he handed to him the
last number of the _London Gazette_, pointing to a paragraph therein,
and leisurely filling his glass with claret, passed the decanters.
When Middleton read the passage referred to, a crimson flush passed
over his features, and he crushed up the paper as if an emotion, of
rage and pain thrilled through him.
"What is the matter, major?" asked half-a-dozen voices; "nothing
unpleasant, I hope?"
"The lieutenant-colonelcy has been given _out_ of the regiment,"
replied Middleton, with his brows knit, while his hand still crushed
up the paper; then, as if remembering himself, he smiled, but very
disdainfully.
"He must have seen much service to be appointed over _your_ head,"
said Monkton.
"Service--yes, the Guards fight many bloody battles about Hounslow,
Hyde Park, and the Fifteen Acres," replied the justly exasperated
field-officer. "Here is my advancement stopped by the promotion of a
fellow who has some petticoat interest about Carlton House, whose
cousin is groom of the backstairs, and who has been compelled to
'eschew sack and loose company,' so he comes from the Household
Brigade to the Line, and may go from the 25th to the devil, perhaps."
"Be wary, my good friend--be wary," said Warriston, glancing round
the table hastily.
"And _who_ is he?" asked several, full of curiosity.
"The son of a general officer--the Master of Rohallion."
On hearing this name, Quentin felt as if petrified! Here, even here,
his evil spirit seemed to be following him!
"It is an old name in the regiment," said Monkton.
"Yes," replied the major; "his father was a gallant officer; I was
his subaltern in America; but here it is;" and he read, "'25th Foot;
to be Lieutenant-Colonel, Major the Honourable Cosmo Crawford, from
the 1st Guards, vice Sir John Glendinning, deceased,' so he comes
over us, in virtue of that court rank which is one of the worst
abuses of our service."
"Promotion is always slow among the Household troops, so they
indemnify themselves at the expense of the line," said Warriston, in
answer to a question of Quentin's; "every rank among them having a
grade above us; but take courage, my good old friend, this kind of
thing is not likely to happen again."
With a smile that grew scornful in spite of himself, the worthy old
major strove to conceal the bitterness of his heart, though all
present condoled with him on his disappointment and hard usage by the
powers that be; and for reasons known to himself alone, none shared
his chagrin more than Quentin Kennedy.
He had been formally enrolled as a member of the regiment, and had
ordered his equipments for it; his name, as a volunteer, had been
sent by Middleton to Sir Harry Calvert, the Adjutant General, at the
Horse Guards, that he might obtain the first vacant ensigncy
(_subject to the approval of the commanding officer_), and that he
might have his passage abroad provided, either by the commissariat
department, or by the commandant at Hillsea, near Portsmouth. His
own honour, and all the circumstances under which he stood prevented
him from quitting; but now, what hope had he of comfort or prosperity
in remaining? His very chances of advancement depended on the veto,
whim, and caprice of this Master of Rohallion, his bitterest enemy!
Of what avail would now be the endurance of campaigning, the hardship
of serving as a volunteer, and risking all the perils of war?
Perhaps Flora Warrender may come with him as his bride was the next
idea; and it added greatly to the bitterness of the others.
That night Quentin slept but little, and he seemed barely to have
closed his eyes when he heard the drum beating the assembly.
Then he sprang from bed just as the grey dawn was breaking, and
proceeded hastily to dress, remembering to have heard last evening
that, at daybreak, the regiment was to have a "punishment parade,"
which, to his uninitiated ears, had a very unpleasant sound.