NEW FRIENDS.
"Why unite to banish care?
Let him come our joys to share;
Doubly blest our cup shall flow
When it soothes a brother's woe;
'Twas for this the powers divine
Crowned our board with generous wine."
TANNAHILL.
"The first skirmish, perhaps, and the first general action certainly,
will see you an officer; you shall be one yet, my boy, and a gallant
one, I hope," said Warriston, shaking Quentin's hand.
The weird sisters' prophecy was not more grateful to the ears of the
Scottish usurper than these words were to Quentin Kennedy; but he
asked,--
"If I should be disabled before appointment?"
"Ah, the devil! don't think of that; you would get only a private
soldier's pension."
"That is not very encouraging."
"'Tis better for the volunteer to be shot outright than merely
mutilated. But remember, that many of our best officers have joined
the army as simple volunteers. There was Lord Heathfield, the
gallant defender of Gibraltar, began life as a volunteer with the
23rd at Edinburgh; and one of our Highland regiments, the 71st, I
think, had as many as fifteen such cadets serving in its ranks during
the American war, and splendid officers they have all become. I did
not serve in America, for our corps was then in the Dutch service.
The Prussian army under old Frederick was the Paradise of such
volunteers, and I know one instance in which a soldier of my father's
regiment was made a general in one year, by Frederick's mere caprice."
"A general!" exclaimed Monkton, who was somewhat soured by the
slowness of his promotion.
"It was at the battle before Prague, and while my father, John
Warriston of that ilk, then a very young man, commanded the senior
battalion of the Prussian Foot Guards, that Marshal Daun forced
Frederick to raise the siege and retire. As the Prussians fell back,
their left wing became confused by the fury of the Austrian advance.
Frederick's aides-de-camp were all killed, and he was compelled to
gallop about, giving his own orders, accompanied by a single orderly,
Strutzki, the old Putkammer Hussar, in whose arms he died thirty
years after. The ground was rough and his horse was weary, so it
stumbled suddenly and threw him at a place where the field was
covered by the killed and wounded of my father's battalion, which was
then retreating, but in good order. As Frederick gathered himself
up, a soldier who lay near him wounded, exclaimed,--
"'Sire, sire, get a brigade of guns into position on yonder eminence,
or it is all up with your left wing!'
"'How so, fellow?' asked the king, whose temper was no way improved
by his tumble.
"'Because there is an ambuscade in the valley beyond it.'
"'I have twice tried to make a stand, comrade.'
"'Try a third time, Father Frederick.'
"'Why?'
"'A third chance is ever the lucky one.'
"'Good; I'll throw forward the Putkammer Hussars, and let the brigade
of Seydlitz support them.'
"'But try the effect of a few round shot in the defile,' persisted
the wounded man. 'A devil of a day this for us, Father Frederick!
Macchiavelli, in his 'Art of War,' declares the invention of
gun-powder a mere matter of smoke, not to be deemed of the smallest
importance. Ach, Gott! I wish he was here before Prague with this
Austrian bullet in the calf of his leg.'
"'What, my friend, you are a reader as well as a soldier?'
"'Yes, sire, I have had the honour to read all the works of your
majesty.'
"'A man of sense!" said Frederick, taking a pinch of rappee; 'your
name?'
"'Peter Schreutzer, of Colonel Warriston's battalion of the Guards.'
"Frederick drew from one of his fingers a ring of small value (he was
not a man given to trinkets or adornment), and gave it to the
soldier, saying:
"'If you escape this field of Prague, bring this ring to me yourself,
comrade Peter.'
"Mounting his horse, he galloped after his retreating army, and
overtaking a few pieces of artillery he posted them on the height
indicated by Schreutzer, and opened fire on the wooded defile--a
measure which dislodged a great ambuscade of Marshal Daun's infantry,
and saved from destruction the Prussian left wing, the retreat of
which was nobly covered by the Warriston battalion.
"Three months after this, when Frederick was seated in his tent,
surrounded by his staff and dictating orders, a private of the Guards
limped in, supported by a stick, and kneeling presented him with a
ring.
"'Ach, Gott, what is this?' said Frederick; 'Oho, 'tis my student of
Macchiavelli; well, comrade, I followed your advice and saved my left
wing.'
"'Thank God, who inspired me with the idea!' said Schreutzer.
"'For that day's work I name you a captain in the Line,' exclaimed
the king.
"At Rosbach, where in the same year Frederick defeated the French,
Peter gained his majority in the morning and his lieutenant-colonelcy
in the evening. Then came the affair of Dresden, where the advice
given by him at a council of war was so sound and skilful that he was
appointed major-general. What think you of that, my young
volunteer--in one year to have the private's shoulder-knot replaced
by the aiguilette of a general officer?"
"It was talent, but strangely favoured by kingly caprice," said
Monkton.
"Schreutzer succeeded my father in command of the Guards, when he
fell under Frederick's displeasure and quitted the Prussian service
in disgust. Remind me on the march to-morrow to tell you how that
came about, for it is rather a good story."
"And now to bed," said Monkton, who had imbibed a considerable
quantity of wine; "at last we may put our 'beating orders' in the
fire, for march is the word!"
"What are they?" asked Quentin.
"Warrants to raise men by beat of drum," explained the captain,
politely. "They are originally signed by the royal hand, but copies
are taken from them, and signed by the secretary of state for war,
and without them no officer can beat a recruiting drum anywhere. You
have raised nearly a hundred men here, Dick, and must have made
something of it."
"Much need," grumbled the lieutenant, making ineffectual attempts to
buckle on his sword, as if he was going to bed with it. "I am Dick
Monkton, of Monkton in Lothian, of course; but in name only, for
those paternal acres are so covered by original sin in the shape of
mortgages that never a penny comes to me; so I am compelled to live
and be jolly on six shillings and sixpence per diem, less the
infernal income-tax; and being a fellow of a generous disposition, I
am always losing my heart and my money among the fair sex."
"Good night, Mr. Kennedy," said Captain Warriston; "if you are still
in the same mood of mind to-morrow, you may turn my letter to some
account. The drum will beat at daybreak."
"Put your pride in a knapsack or wherever else it can be conveniently
carried, my boy," said Monkton, making a fearful lurch over a chair;
"volunteer and come with us to fight Nap and his Frenchmen." Then he
began to sing, tipsily:
"'Since some have from ditches
And coarse leather breeches
Been raised to be rulers and wallowed in riches,
Prythee, Dame Fortune, come down from thy wheel;
For if the gipsies don't lie
I shall be a general at least ere I die!'
"Ah, damme, but we are not in the Prussian service, like that old
cock, Peter Shooter, or what's his name?"
Monkton was becoming seriously tipsy, so Quentin, on receiving a
warning glance from Captain Warriston, took his candle and retired to
No. 20 for the night, feeling sensibly that he had imbibed more wine
than he was wont to do after supper at Rohallion.
He could not sleep, however, till the night was far advanced, and the
knowledge that drum was to beat by daybreak kept him nervously
wakeful, lest he might not hear it, and perhaps be left behind. The
drum was to beat, and _for him_! There was a strange charm in the
idea: it seemed to realize somewhat of his old day-dreams and
romantic aspirations. Already he felt himself a soldier, and bound
for service and adventure! How much would he have to relate when he
wrote to the good old quartermaster, announcing that he was off to
join the army, and _his own_ old corps, the 25th, whose memory he so
treasured, though his name, alas! was long since forgotten in its
ranks.
And there was Flora--dear, loving, gentle Flora. When was he to
write to her, and through what channel? Ah, if he could calculate on
promotion like that of Peter Schreutzer! He had only been absent
from Flora a night and a day, just four-and-twenty hours, and already
weeks seemed to have elapsed, (what would months--what would years
seem?) while the arrival of Cosmo and long prior events seemed to
have happened but yesterday. Under these circumstances, severance
frequently causes the same inverted ideas of time, that a sudden
death or other great calamity occasion.
At the moment Quentin was dozing off to sleep, and to dream of past
pleasures or of future triumphs (the ensign being long since in deep
slumber on a sofa), he heard his two new friends parting in the
corridor after having had one bottle more.
"I say, Warriston, old boy, see me to my door, and just shove me
in--there's a good fellow--here it is--thanks," stammered Monkton;
"may you not have been rash in giving such a fi--fi--fiery old Turk
as Middleton of ours, a letter for--for--damme, a perfect
stranger--perfect stranger?"
"Not at all," he heard Warriston reply; "the lad has a bearing I
like, and on his own good and unerring conduct as a gentleman and
volunteer must depend his chances of ever wearing these honourable
badges on his shoulders. (He shook his large gold epaulettes as he
spoke.) One o'clock--in three hours the drum will beat! I hope we
shall have a fine day; last night the rain fell as if old Noah had
hove up his anchor again. Good-night, Monkton--sleep if you can."