"PONTIUS PILATE'S GUARDS."
"Welcome back Ruthven!" cried Hector Logan.
"Ruthven, my hearty, how goes it with you?"
"Glad to see you with us again, though regret that you have crape on
your arm."
Such were the greetings of Roland on his first appearance at mess,
when he rejoined, warmly welcomed by all; even the usually stolid
visages of the mess-waiters brightened as he took his seat.
"A fresh cooper of wine to drink the health of Roland Ruthven,"
exclaimed the President, who, though a young sub, had seen powder
burned with the Royals in Burmah. "Welcome back to the Guards of
Pontius Pilate!"
He had not been very long absent, but after all he had undergone at
Ardgowrie it was a relief to Roland to hear the old "shop" talk
again--the old regimental jokes and news, who was for guard
to-morrow, who was on detachment; a moose-hunting party bound for the
shore of the St. Lawrence; how the last time "the Darnel's phaeton
was tooled by Logan, the horses "come home with devil a thing but the
splinter bar at their heels; the expected "row" with the colonists;
the ball or race that was coming off; the buttons of this corps, the
facings or epaulettes of that corps, and so forth.
His old chum, Hector Logan, a tall and very handsome fellow, and some
others, could see by the deepened lines between Roland's dark
eyebrows, that something even more than his father's death affected
him; and also, that his old flow of brilliant conversation was gone.
They could detect that "something was wrong--a screw loose
somewhere," but could not conceive what it was.
Ere he rejoined he had commissioned Logan to sell his horses--even to
Royal Scot, with whom he was wont to ride over the raspers
everywhere; to withdraw his name from several races and subscription
lists; and he had every way curtailed his expenses--shorn down
everything to the great surprise of more than one heedless young
fellow, and of the mess in general.
"What the deuce does it all mean?" they asked of one another.
"What is up, Ruthven?" asked Logan seriously; "is there anything
wrong? Your father dies, leaving you a fine old estate totally
unencumbered--a deuced deal more than we can say for many old
estates--and you sell off your horses, dogs, and so forth----"
"How do you know it is unencumbered?" asked Roland, with some
sharpness of manner. "It is loaded--heavily loaded, indeed!" he
added, bitterly, as he thought of the long-hidden _will_.
"Are you going in for a new excitement--that of being poor?"
"Oh, Hector, you don't know who it is you chaff! Are the Darnels in
Montreal?" he asked, after a pause.
"Yes;" I saw la belle Aurelia yesterday in busy Paul Street, close to
the Hôtel-Dieu; I knew her at once by the long glossy ringlet, the
_suivez-moi_--come-follow-me-lads--that hung down her back."
"How your tongue runs on, Hector!"
"Pardon me; I forgot that you were hit in that quarter."
"Positively, Hector, I'll punch your head."
"A fellow always makes a fool of himself about some girl or woman at
some time, and it is your case now, though I must admit that Aurelia
Darnel is one of the most attractive girls I have seen, and does
credit to your taste, Roland. Now that you are Laird of Ardgowrie
you'll make great running in that quarter."
"Aurelia is too rich to care a straw even about Ardgowrie."
"I don't know that, Ruthven."
But the latter was in no mood for jesting, especially on such a
subject, and abruptly spoke of something else; for now, with all his
intense longing to see Aurelia once more, he actually dreaded the
thought of meeting her.
"Better that I should avoid her, but in doing so, what will she think
of me?" he pondered, while manipulating a cigar (we had not yet
fought in the Crimea, thus cigarettes were as yet unknown among us).
"To see her again will be but torture. What course ought I to
follow--must I pursue, when, penniless as I know myself to be _now_,
her love is denied me! I must quit even the dear old regiment in
time, and begin a life of exile in India."
The latter conviction, which had come strongly home to the heart of
Roland Ruthven, filled him with sincere regret, for he loved the
Royals, and was proud of them. A regiment, old in history, is, says
some one (Kinglake, we think), like the immortal gods, ever young and
ever glorious.
And great, indeed, in fame, rich in glory, and old in history, are
the First Royal Scots--the most ancient regiment in the world, for
their traditions go back in an unbroken line to the twenty-four
Scottish Guards of Charles III. of France; thence to the Scottish
Garde du Corps which saved the life of St. Louis in 1254 in
Palestine, and fought in all the wars of France, at Agincourt, the
conquest of Naples, and at Pavia, where they were nearly cut to
pieces; even Francis was taken prisoner.
In after years there were engrafted on them the remains of those
gallant Scottish bands which served in Bohemia under Sir Andrew Gray,
and under Sir John Hepburn in all the wars of Gustavus Adolphus, and
as the regiment of the Lords Douglas and Dunbarton--Dunbarton of "the
druns"--they returned to Scotland after the Restoration, and now at
this day their standards are so loaded by embroidered trophies, that
the blue silk--the national colour of Scotland--is nearly hidden,
while the _mere list_ of the battles and sieges in which they have
been engaged--ever with glory and honour--occupy ten closely printed
pages of the War Office Records. Even their rivals for three hundred
years, the famous Regiment de Picardie, could not equal this, though
in the French service they were wont to quiz the Royals as having
been "the Guards of Pontius Pilate who slept upon their posts."
In all the armies of Europe we can find no parallel to their annals,
for there is nothing like it in the military history of any other
country.
Among all our noble British Infantry--that infantry which, as
Bonaparte said, "never knew when it was beaten," and which, as Green
tells us in his "History of the English People" was first created
when William Wallace of Elderslie, drew up his Scottish spearmen, in
those solid squares before which the united chivalry of England and
Aquitaine went down: Amid all our "unconquerable British Infantry,"
we say, none have such a brilliant inheritance of glory as the old
Royal Regiment.
Hence it was that Roland Ruthven, whose family had served with it for
three or four generations, looked forward with extreme reluctance and
regret to the coming time when, by exchange or otherwise, he would be
compelled to serve in the ranks of another; and that the time was not
a distant one was rendered fully evident by letters which he had
received from his legal agents, Messrs. Hook and Crook, W.S.,
Edinburgh.
These assured him that they had obtained some certain knowledge of
the movements and marriage of his uncle Philip, and of his having
left heirs. They had traced him to Jamaica, and would ere long send
proofs of the said marriage, and of there being an heir to Ardgowrie.
"An heir to Ardgowrie!" muttered Roland, through his clenched teeth.
Half expected though the tidings were, they sounded like a species of
death-knell to him now.
"You look disturbed, old fellow," said Hector Logan, as Roland
crushed up and then tore the letter to pieces.
"I am disturbed!" said he.
"What are these--lawyer's letters?"
"Yes, Hector."
"Hah--a lawyer I always look upon as a species of rook with a devil
of a long bill. You'll get over it, I hope," he added, rolling the
leaf of his cigar round his finger.
"I have got over it already," replied Roland; but his looks belied
his words; "but it is hard to have one's first and dearest hopes
blighted," he continued, thinking of Aurelia Darnel;
"disappointments, however, I suppose we get used to, like the eels to
the skinning."
"Can I help you, Ruthven? Logan Braes are not exactly like the Bank
of England; but if a few hundreds----"
"You cannot help me, old fellow--thanks."
"Why?"
"I cannot, and may not, tell you; it is a family trouble--a secret,
and a sore one."
Some days elapsed before--under the alteration of his
circumstances--he could summon up courage to visit the Darnels; but
he felt the imperative necessity of doing so, after all the
hospitality he had received; and then, he would gradually cease to go
near them, whatever view might be taken of his changed conduct; but
after all that had passed between himself and Aurelia one visit was
necessary, and then--what next?
He shivered as he thought of it with sorrow and shame.