"SOLDIER BILL"
Daisy placidly smoking, pursued the even tenor of his way, thinking of
the pretty horse-breaker more than anything else; while disapproving,
in a calm, meditative mood, of her hat, her habit, her bridle, and the
leather tassels that danced at her horse's nose.
The particular business Mr. Walters had at present on hand in London,
or rather Kensington must be explained.
Perhaps it may be remembered how, in a financial statement made by this
young officer during the progress of a farce, he affirmed that, should
he himself "burst up," as he called it, a certain "Soldier Bill" would
become captain of that troop which it was his own ambition to command.
With the view of consulting this rising warrior in his present monetary
crisis, Daisy had travelled, night and day, from Ireland, nor could
he have chosen a better adviser in the whole Army-List, as regarded
kindness of heart, combined with that tenacious courage Englishmen call
"pluck."
"I'm not a clever chap, I know," Bill used to acknowledge, in moments
of expansion after dinner. "But what I say is this: If you've got to do
a thing, catch hold, and do it! Keep square, run straight, and ride the
shortest way! You won't beat _that_, my boy, with all the dodges that
ever put one of your nobblers in the hole!"
It is but justice to admit that, in every relation of life, sport or
earnest, this simple moralist acted strictly in accordance with his
creed. That he was a favourite in his regiment need hardly be said. The
younger son of a great nobleman, he had joined at seventeen, with a
frank childish face and the spirits of a boy fresh from school. Before
he was a week at drill, the very privates swore such a young dare-devil
had never ridden in their ranks since the corps was raised. Utterly
reckless, as it seemed, of life and limb, that fair-haired, half-grown
lad, would tackle the wildest horse, swim the swiftest steam, leap
the largest fence, and fight the strongest man, with such rollicking,
mirthful enjoyment, as could only spring from an excess of youthful
energy and light-heartedness. But, somehow, he was never beat, or
_didn't know_ it when he _was_. Eventually, it always turned out that
the horse was mastered, the stream crossed, the fence cleared, and the
man obliged to give in. His war-like house had borne for centuries on
their shield the well-known motto, "Go on!" To never a scion of the
line could it have been more appropriate than to this light-footed,
light-headed, light-hearted light dragoon!
In his own family, of course, he was the pet and treasure of all. His
mother worshipped him, though he kept her in continual hot water with
his vagaries. His sisters thought (perhaps reasonably enough) that
there was nobody like him in the world. And his stately old father,
while he frowned and shook his head at an endless catalogue of larks,
steeple-chases, broken bones, etc., was more proud of Bill in his heart
than of all his ancestors and all his other sons put together.
They were a distinguished race. Each had made his mark in his own line.
It was "Soldier Bill's" ambition to attain military fame; every step in
the ladder seemed to him, therefore, of priceless value. And promotion
was as the very breath of his nostrils.
But a man that delights in personal risk is rarely of a selfish nature.
In reply to Daisy's statement, made with that terseness of expression,
that total absence of circumlocution, complimentary or otherwise,
which distinguishes the conversation of a mess-table, Bill ordered his
visitor a "brandy-and-soda" on the spot, and thus delivered himself.
"Troop be d----d, Daisy! It's no fun soldiering without your 'pals.'
I'd rather be a 'Serrafile' for the rest of my life, or a 'batman,' or
a trumpeter, by Jove! than command the regiment, only because all the
good fellows in it had come to grief. Sit down. Never mind the bitch,
she's always smelling about a strange pair of legs, but she won't lay
hold, if you keep perfectly still. Have a weed, and let's see what can
be done!"
The room in which their meeting took place was characteristic of its
occupant. Devoid of superfluous furniture, and with an uncarpeted
floor, it boasted many works of art, spirited enough, and even
elaborate, in their own particular line. The series of prints
representing a steeple-chase, in which yellow jacket cut out all
the work, and eventually won by a neck, could not be surpassed for
originality of treatment and fidelity of execution. Statuettes of
celebrated acrobats stood on brackets along the walls, alternating with
cavalry spurs, riding-whips, boxing-gloves, and basket-hilted sticks,
while the place of honour over the chimney-piece was filled by a
portrait of Mendoza in fighting attitude, at that halcyon period of the
prize-ring--
"When Humphreys stood up to the Israelite's thumps,
In kerseymere breeches, and 'touch-me-not' pumps."
"It's very pleasant this," observed Daisy, with his legs on a chair,
to avoid the attentions of Venus, an ill-favoured lady of the "bull"
kind, beautiful to connoisseurs as her Olympian namesake, but for
the uninitiated an impersonation of hideous ferocity and anatomical
distortion combined.
"Jolly little crib, isn't it?" replied Bill; "and though I'm not much
in 'fashionable circles,' suits me down to the ground. Wasn't it luck,
though, the small-pox and the regimental steeple-chase putting so many
of our captains on the sick-list, that they detached a subaltern here
to command? We were so short of officers, my boy, I thought the Chief
would have made you 'hark back' from Ireland. Don't you wish he had?
You'd better have been in bed on the 17th; though, by all accounts, you
rode the four miles truly through, and squeezed the old mare as dry as
an orange!"
"Gammon!" retorted Daisy. "She had five pounds in hand, only we got
jostled at the run-in. I'll make a match to-morrow with Shaneen for
any sum they like, same course, same weights, and---- But I'm talking
nonsense! I couldn't pay if I lost. I can't pay up what I owe now.
I'm done, old boy; that's all about it. When a fellow can't swim any
farther, there's nothing for it but to go under!"
His friend pulled a long face, whistled softly, took Venus on his lap,
and pondered with all his might.
"Look here, Daisy," was the result of his cogitations; "when you've got
to fight a cove two stone above your weight, you don't blunder in at
him, hammer-and-tongs, to get your jolly head knocked off in a couple
of rounds. No; if you have the condition (and that's everything), you
keep dodging, and waiting, and out-fighting, till your man's blown.
Then you tackle to, and finish him up before he gets his wind again.
Now this is just your case. Ask for leave; the Chief will stand it well
enough, if he knows you're in a fix. _I'll_ do your duty, and you must
get away somewhere, and keep dark, till we've all had time to turn
ourselves round."
"Where can I go to?" said Daisy. "What a queer smell there is in this
room, Bill. Something between dead rats and a Stilton cheese."
"Smell!" answered his host. "Pooh; nonsense. That's the badger; he
lives in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe. We call him 'Benjamin.'
Don't you _like_ the smell of a badger, Daisy?"
Now "Benjamin" was a special favourite with his owner, in consideration
of the creature's obstinate and tenacious courage. Bill loved it from
his heart, protesting it was the only living thing from which he "took
a licking;" because on one occasion, after a _very_ noisy supper, the
man had tried, and failed, to "draw" the beast from its lair with his
teeth! Therefore, "Benjamin" was now a free brother of the Guild, well
cared for, unmolested, living on terms of armed neutrality with the
redoubtable Venus herself.
Ignoring as deplorable prejudice Daisy's protest that he did _not_ like
the smell of a badger, his friend returned with unabated interest to
the previous question.
"You mustn't stay in London, that's clear; though I've heard there's
no covert like it to hang in for a fellow who's robbed a church! But
it wouldn't suit _you_. You're not bad enough; besides it's too near
Hounslow. The Continent's no use. Travelling costs a hat-full of money,
and it's very slow abroad now the fighting's over. A quiet place, not
too far from home; that's the ticket!"
"There's Jersey," observed Daisy doubtfully. "I don't know where it is,
but I daresay it's quiet enough."
"Jersey be hanged!" exclaimed his energetic friend. "Why not Guernsey,
Alderney, or what do you say to Sark? No, we must hit on a happier
thought than that. You crossed last night, you say. Does any one know
you're in town?"
"Only the waiter at Limmer's. I had breakfast there, and left my
portmanteau, you know."
"Limmer's! I wish you hadn't gone to Limmer's! Never mind; the waiter
is easily squared. Now, look here, Daisy, you're not supposed to be in
London. Is there no retired spot you could dodge back to in Ireland,
where you can get your health, and live cheap? Who's to know you ever
left it?"
His friend Denis occurred to Daisy at once.
"There's a farm up in Roscommon," said he, "where they'd take me in and
welcome. The air's good, and living _must_ be cheap, for you can't get
anything to eat but potatoes! I shouldn't wonder if they hunted all the
year round in those hills, and the farmer is a capital fellow, never
without a two-year-old that can jump!"
"That sounds like it," responded the other, with certain inward
longings of his own for this favoured spot. "Now, Daisy, will you ride
to orders, and promise to be guided entirely by _me_?"
"All right," said Daisy; "fire away."
"Barney!" shouted his friend, in a voice that resounded over the
barracks, startling even the sergeant of the guard. "Barney! look
sharp. Tell them to put a saddle on Catamount, and turn him round ready
to go out; then come here."
In two minutes a shock-headed batman, obviously Irish, entered the
apartment and stood at "attention," motionless, but for the twinkling
of his light blue eyes.
"Go to Limmer's at once," said his master; "pay Mr. Walters's bill.
Breakfast and B. and S., of course? Pack his things, and take them to
Euston Station. Wait there till he comes, and see him off by the Irish
mail. Do you understand?"
"I do, sur," answered Barney, and vanished like a ghost.
"You've great administrative powers, Bill," said his admiring friend.
"Hang it! you're fit to command an army."
"I could manage the Commissariat, I think," answered the other
modestly; "but of course you're only chaffing. I'm not a wise chap, I
know; never learnt anything at school, and had the devil's own job to
pass for my cornetcy. But I'll tell you what I _can_ do. When a course
is marked out, and the stewards have told me which side of the flags
I'm to go, I _do_ know my right hand from my left, and that's more
than every fellow can say who gets up for a flutter in the pig-skin!
And now I'm off to head-quarters to see the Chief, and ask leave for
you till Muster, at any rate."
"You won't find him," observed Daisy. "It must be two o'clock now."
"Not find him!" repeated the other. "Don't you know the Chief better
than that? He gets home-sick if he is a mile from the barrack-yard.
It's my belief he was born in spurs, with the 'state' of the regiment
in his hand! Besides he's ordered a parade for fitting on the new
nose-bags at three. He wouldn't miss it to go to the Derby."
"You _are_ a good chap," said his friend. "It's a long ride, and a
beastly hard road!"
Bill was by this time dressing with inconceivable rapidity, and an
utter disregard of his comrade's presence.
"A long ride," he repeated, in high scorn, while he dashed into a
remarkably well-made coat. "What do you call a long ride with a quad.
like Catamount? Five-and-forty minutes is what he allows me from gate
to gate; and it takes Captain Armstrong all his time, I can tell you,
to keep him back to _that_! The beggar ran away with me one night from
Ashbourne to the Royal barracks in Dublin; and though it was so dark
you couldn't see your hand, he never made a wrong turn, nor let me get
a pull at him, till he laid his nose against his own stable door. Bless
his chestnut heart! he's the worst mouth and the worst temper of any
horse in Europe. Look at him now. There's a pair of iron legs, and a
wicked eye! It's rather good fun to see him kick directly I'm up. But
I've never had such a hack, and I wouldn't part with him to be made
Commander-in-Chief."
Daisy could do no less than accompany his host to the door, and see him
mount this redoubtable animal, the gift of a trainer at the Curragh,
who could do nothing with it, and opined that even Soldier Bill's
extraordinary nerve would be unequal to compete with so restive a
brute. He had miscalculated, however, the influence utter fearlessness
can establish over the beasts of the field.
Catamount's first act of insubordination, indeed, was to run away
with his new master for four miles on end, across the Curragh, but
over excellent turf, smooth as a bowling-green: he discovered, to
his surprise, that Bill wished no better fun. He then repeated the
experiment in a stiffly-fenced part of Kildare; and here found himself
not only indulged, but instigated to continue, when he wanted to leave
off. He tried grinding his rider's leg against the wall: Bill turned a
sharp spur inwards, and made it very uncomfortable. He lay down: Bill
kept him on the ground an hour or two by sitting on his head.
At last he confined himself to kicking unreasonably, at intervals,
galloping sullenly on, nevertheless, in the required direction, and
doing a vast amount of work in an incredibly short space of time. He
was never off his feed, and his legs never filled, so to Bill he was
invaluable, notwithstanding their disputes, and a certain soreness
about a Cup the horse ought to have won, had he not sulked at the
finish: they loved each other dearly, and would have been exceedingly
loth to part.
"My serjeant's wife will get you some dinner," said the rider, between
certain sundry preliminary kicks in getting under way. "She's an
outside cook, and I've told her what you'd like. There's a bottle of
brandy on the chimney-piece, and soda-water in the drawer next the
badger. I'll be back before it's time for you to start. Cut along,
Catamount! Hang it! don't get me off the shop-board, before half the
troop. Forrard! my lad! Forrard! away!" and Bill galloped out of the
barracks at head-long speed, much to the gratification of the sentry
manipulating his carbine at the gate. This true friend proved as good
as his word. In less than three hours, he was back again, Catamount
having hardly turned a hair in their excursion. The colonel had been
kindness itself. The leave was all right. There was nothing more to be
done, but to pack Daisy off in a Hansom, for Euston Square.
"Take a pony, old man," said Bill, urging his friend to share his
purse, while he wished him "good-bye." "If I'd more, you should have
it. Nonsense! I don't want it a bit. Keep your pecker up and fight
high. Write a line if anything turns up. I'll go on working the job
here, never fear. We won't let you out of the regiment. What is life,
after all, to a fellow who isn't a light dragoon?"