WITH THE MILITIA.
The officers met at the orderly-room, after which they all went to the
parade-ground at once; the field-officers and the Adjutant on horseback,
the rest on foot.
Philip Stanburne followed the others. He knew nobody except the Colonel
and the Adjutant, who had just said "Good morning" to him in the
orderly-room; but they had trotted on in advance, so he was left to his
own meditations. It was natural that in passing the bookseller's shop he
should think of Miss Stedman, and he felt an absurd desire to go into
the shop again and buy another pocket-book, as if by acting the scene
over again he could cause the principal personage to reappear. "I don't
think she's pretty," said Philip to himself--"at least, not really
pretty; but she's a sweet girl. There's a simplicity about her that is
very charming. Who would have thought that there was any thing so nice
in Sootythorn?" Just as he was thinking this, Philip Stanburne passed
close to one of the blackest mills in the place--an old mill,--that is,
a mill about thirty years old, for mills, like horses, age rapidly; and
through the open windows there came a mixture of bad smells on the hot
foul air, and a deafening roar of machinery, and above the roar of
machinery a shrill clear woman's voice singing. The voice must have been
one of great power, for it predominated over all the noises in the
place; and it either was really a very sweet one or its harshness was
lost in the noises, whilst it rose above them purified. Philip stopped
to listen, and as he stopped, two other officers came up behind him.
The footpath was narrow, and as soon as he perceived that he impeded the
circulation, Philip went on.
"That's one o' th' oudest mills i' Sootythorn," said one of the officers
behind Captain Stanburne; "it's thirty year oud, if it's a day."
The broad Lancashire accent surprised Captain Stanburne, and attracted
his attention. Could it be possible that there were officers in the
regiment who spoke no better than that? Evidently this way of speaking
was not confined to an individual officer, for the speaker's companion
answered in the same tone,--
"Why, that's John Stedman's mill, isn't it?"
"John Stedman? John Stedman? it cannot be t' same as was foreman to my
father toward thirty year sin'?"
When Philip Stanburne heard the name of Stedman, he listened
attentively. The first speaker answered, "Yes, but it is--it's t' same
man."
"Well, an' how is he? he must be well off. Has he any chilther?"
"Just one dorter, a nice quiet lass, 'appen eighteen year old."
"So she's the daughter of a cotton-spinner," thought Philip, "and a
Protestant cotton-spinner, most likely a bigot. Indeed, who ever heard
of a Catholic cotton-spinner? I never did. I believe there aren't any.
But what queer fellows these are to be in the militia; they talk just
like factory lads." Then, from a curiosity to see more of these
extraordinary officers, and partly, no doubt, from a desire to cultivate
the acquaintance of a man who evidently knew something about Miss
Stedman, Philip left the causeway, and allowed the officers to come up
with him.
"I beg your pardon," he said; "no doubt you are going to the
parade-ground. Will you show me the way? I was following some officers
who were in sight a minute or two since, but they turned a corner
whilst I was not looking at them, and I have lost my guides."
To Captain Stanburne's surprise he was answered in very good English,
with no more indication of the Lancashire accent than a clearly vibrated
_r_, and a certain hardness in the other consonants, which gave a
masculine vigor to the language, not by any means disagreeable. The
aspirate, however, was too frequently omitted or misplaced.
"We are going straight to the parade-ground ourselves, so if you come
with us you cannot go wrong." There was a short silence, and the same
speaker continued, "The Colonel said we were to consider ourselves
introduced. I know who you are--you're Captain Stanburne of Stanithburn
Peel; and now I'll tell you who we are, both of us: I'm the Doctor--my
name's Bardly. I don't look like a doctor, do I? Perhaps you are
thinking that I don't look very like an officer either, though I'm
dressed up as one. Well, perhaps I don't. This man here is called Isaac
Ogden, and he lives at Twistle Farm, on a hill-top near Shayton, when
he's at home."
This queer introduction, which was accompanied by the oddest changes of
expression in the Doctor's face, and by a perpetual twinkle of humor in
his gray eye, amused Philip Stanburne, and put him into a more genial
frame of mind than his experience of the swell clique at breakfast-time.
Isaac Ogden asked Stanburne what company he had got, and on being told
that it was number six, informed him that he himself was only a
lieutenant.
"He's lieutenant in the grenadier company," said the Doctor, "and on
Sunday morning we shall see him like a butterfly with a pair of silver
wings.[16] He's only a chrysalis to-day; his wings haven't budded yet.
He's very likely put 'em on in private--most of them put on their full
uniform in private, as soon as ever it comes from the tailor's. It's
necessary to try it on, you know--it _might_ not fit. The epaulettes
would fit, though; but they generally take their epaulettes out of the
tin box and put them on, to see how they look in the glass."
"Well, Doctor," said Stanburne, "I suppose you are describing from
personal experience. When your own epaulettes came, you looked at
yourself in the glass, I suppose."
Here an indescribably comic look irradiated Dr. Bardly's face. "You
don't imagine that _I_ have laid out any money on epaulettes and such
gear? The tailor tried to make me buy a full uniform, of course, but it
didn't answer with me. What do I want with a red coat, and dangling
silver fringes over my shoulders? I've committed one piece of
tomfoolery, and that's enough--I've bought this sword; but a sword might
just possibly be of use for a thief. There was a man in Shayton who had
an old volunteer sword always by his bedside, and one night he put six
inches of it into a burglar; so you see a sword _may_ be of use, but
what can you do with a bit of silver fringe?"
"But I don't see how you are to do without a full uniform. How will you
manage on field days, and how will you go to church on Sundays?"
"Get leave of absence on all such occasions," said the Doctor; "so long
as I haven't a full uniform I have a good excuse." The fact was, that
the Doctor's aversion to full dress came quite as much from a dislike to
public ceremonies as from an objection to scarlet and silver in
themselves. He had a youthful assistant in the regiment who was
perfectly willing to represent the medical profession in all imaginable
splendor, and who had already passed three evenings in full uniform,
surrounded by his brothers and sisters, and a group of admiring friends.
The day was a tiresome idle day for everybody except the Adjutant, who
shouted till his throat was sore, and the sergeants, on whom fell the
real work of the companies. After lunch, the important matter of billets
had to be gone into, and it was discovered that it was impossible to
lodge all the men in Sootythorn. One company, at least, must seek
accommodation elsewhere. The junior captain must therefore submit, for
this training, to be banished from the mess, and sent to eat his
solitary beefsteak in some outlandish village, or, still worse, in some
filthy and uncouth little manufacturing town. His appetite, it is true,
might so far benefit by the long marches to and from the parade-ground
that the beefsteak might be eaten with the best of sauces; but the
ordinary exercises of the regiment would have been sufficient to procure
that, and the great efforts of Mr. Garley at the Thorn might have been
relied upon for satisfying it. So the junior captain was ordered to take
his men to Whittlecup, a dirty little town, of about six thousand
inhabitants, four miles distant from Sootythorn; and the junior captain
was Philip Stanburne.
Behold him, therefore, marching at the head of his rabble, for the men
as yet had neither uniforms nor military bearing, on the dusty turnpike
road! The afternoon had been uncommonly hot for the season of the year;
and a military uniform, closely buttoned across the breast, and padded
with cotton wool, is by no means the costume most suitable for the
summer heats. There were so few lieutenants in the regiment (there was
not one ensign) that a junior captain could not hope for a subaltern,
and all the work of the company fell upon Philip Stanburne and his old
sergeant. It was not easy to keep any thing like order amongst the men.
They quarrelled and fought during the march; and it became necessary to
arrange them so as to keep enemies at a distance from each other. Still,
by the time they reached the precincts of Whittlecup several of the men
were adorned with black eyes; and as a few had been knocked down and
tumbled in the dust by their comrades, the company presented rather the
appearance of a rabble after a riot than of soldiers in her Majesty's
service. Philip Stanburne's uniform was white with dust; but as the dust
that alighted on his face was wetted by perspiration, it did not there
remain a light-colored powder, but became a thick coat of dark paste.
Indeed, to tell the truth, the owner of Stanithburn had never been so
dirty in his life.
Now there was a river at the entrance to Whittlecup, and over the river
a bridge; and on the bridge, or in advance of it (for the factories had
just loosed), there stood a crowd of about three thousand operatives
awaiting the arrival of the militia-men.
The Lancashire operative is not accustomed to restrain the expression of
his opinions from motives of delicacy, and any consideration for your
feelings which he may have when isolated diminishes with the number of
his companions. Three factory lads may content themselves with
exchanging sarcastic remarks on your personal appearance when you are
out of hearing, thirty will make them in your presence, three hundred
will jeer you loudly; and from three thousand, if once you are unlucky
enough to attract their attention, there will come such volleys of
derision as nobody but a philosopher could bear with equanimity.
Not only was the road lined on both sides with work-people, but they
blocked it up in front, and made way for the militia-men so slowly, that
there was ample time for Philip Stanburne to hear every observation that
was directed against him. Amidst the roars of laughter which the
appearance of the men gave rise to, a thousand special commentaries
might be distinguished.
"Them chaps sowdiers! Why, there's nobbut one sowdier i' th' lot as I
can see on."
"Where is he? I can see noan at o'."
"Cannot ta see th' felly wi' th' red jacket?"
"Eh, what a mucky lot!"
"They'll be right uns for fightin', for there's four on 'em 'as gotten
black een to start wi'."
"Where's their guns?"
"They willn't trust 'em wi' guns. They'd be shootin' one another."
"There's one chap wi' a soourd."
"Why, that's th' officer."
"Eh, captain!" screamed a factory girl in Philip's ear, "I could like to
gi' thee a kiss, but thou's getten sich a mucky face!"
"I wouldn't kiss him for foive shillin'," observed another.
"Eh, but I would!" said a third; "he's a nice young felly. I'll kiss him
to-neet when he's washed hissel!"