Roger he swore he'd leave his plough,
His team and tillage all, by gum;
Of a country life he'd had enou'; -
He'd leave it all and follow the drum.
He'd leave his threshing in the barn,
To thresh his foes he'd very soon larn;
With sword in hand he would not parley,
But thresh his foes instead of the barley.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The names of my companions were Harry and Ned Glover, two brothers, the
sons of the surgeon, or rather village apothecary, aged respectively
sixteen and seventeen. Avoiding the main road as much as possible, we
trudged on through the wet ground, over hedge and ditch, until we began
to feel hungry. It was getting dark, and, on counting our coppers, we
made the startling discovery, about which we had never previously
thought, that we had but two shillings and eightpence halfpenny in our
pockets, all counted. We held a consultation, and decided to sleep in a
cow-shed, sitting under a hayrick adjacent to the shed where we intended
to pass the night until quite dark. I went over the fields to the
nearest point where I perceived a light, and found a provision shop;
there I purchased three oaten cakes, at a penny each, and a pound of
cheese for eightpence. I also made out that we were sixteen miles from
our homes. Unfortunately I lost my way in returning to the place where
I had left the two Glovers. After rambling among the fields, shouting
and whistling until well-nigh exhausted, I came to a little mud hut
inhabited by a besom-maker, and but for the oaten cake and cheese I
believe I should have been worried by a large dog that resolutely
opposed my approach nearer than about one hundred yards. Throwing down
the cakes, however, the dog immediately seized them, and the man, coming
out of the hut, warned me, whoever I might be, to "cut off, or he would
put a bullet into me."
Forgetting everything in my fright, I held a parley with him at some
distance in the dark. The dog having made short work of the cakes,
barked as furiously and appeared as intent upon worrying me as before.
I told him all, and finding that I was a mere lad, he consented, for a
shilling, to let me come into the hut, where a good fire was burning. I
told him that my companions could not be far off, and described the
place where I had left them. The good old fellow returned me my
shilling, and placed some barley bread before me to eat to my cheese,
while, he said, he would soon fetch the other two; but as I did not
relish staying in the hut alone, and not feeling comfortable to eat
until my companions were found, I decided on accompanying him. The
night was pitch dark; but, aided by his dog, the besom-maker was not
long in finding the haystack under which I had left them sitting. Tired
out with walking, and weary of waiting for me, they were fast asleep on
some loose hay pulled out of the rick. We had some difficulty in waking
them, after which we all proceeded to the hut, made a hearty supper of
barley bread and cheese and spring water. Our host placed a log of wood
on the fire, and we slept upon the bed of heather that formed the
working material for his brooms until morning, when the kind-hearted old
man trudged off to the village, and soon returned with a can of nice new
milk and a huge loaf of barley bread, of which we ate our fill; and
after promising him to return to our homes, where, he said, "all would
blow over in the course of a day or two," we left him, and made our way
on to the high road. We then held a council as to whether we should
return home, or continue our course as far as Sheffield, and enlist in a
regiment that we knew to be quartered there.
Hal Glover was the first to turn tail, and at once commenced his journey
homewards. Ned bid him good-bye and called him "chicken-hearted," and
trudged on with me in a contrary direction. However, he frequently
turned round to look at Harry's fast receding form.
At last we came to a sharp turn in the road. A tear stood in the boy's
eye as he came to a standstill.
"I cannot leave _Harry_ and my _mother_, Fred." said he; "I will go back
to W--, let the consequences be what they may. Good-bye, Trenchard,"
and as he took my hand in his I could see the big tears rolling down his
cheeks. He could not speak; but he pulled me towards him, as much as to
say, "Come with me," and if the truth must be told, I would rather have
returned with him than have gone on; but I thought of the taunts and
jeers that I should be sure to experience from the greater part of the
lads in the village. So I wended my way to Sheffield.
I arrived at Sheffield on the same night, and at once inquired my way to
the barracks. The Second Dragoon Guards (Queen's Bays) were lying there
at that time. Entering the gates, I was at once interrogated by the
sentry as to what I wanted.
"I want to enlist," said I.
It was nightfall. A rousing fire was burning in the guard-room, through
the window of which I could perceive a group of soldiers seated around,
some smoking, some eating, others talking and laughing, more or less.