JACK BECOMES A LANCER.
‘And so you’d like to be a soldier, would you?’ said the sergeant
jokingly.
‘I think I should,’ replied Jack with a blush; ‘the men did look so
grand. I’ve never seen a Lancer regiment before.’
‘It’s not all beer and skittles in the army,’ said the sergeant; ‘but a
lad of mettle might do worse. You know what the song says,’ and the
sergeant sang in a bass voice:
‘A soldier’s life’s a life of glory,
Told in song and gallant story,
and so on; but you need not believe all that. However, now let us get
some breakfast;’ and after a wash, feeling quite himself again save for
his sore feet and stiff knee, Jack was soon seated at table with the
sergeant and his wife.
The regiment, Jack heard, was going to London to form a guard of honour
and escort to the Queen on some state function.
‘And tired enough the chaps’ll be when they get in to-night,’ said the
sergeant.
After breakfast he and Jack had a long talk, and it was quite clear that
the sergeant was heart and soul in his profession, and thought there was
no other to equal it.
Jack had a great dread of being a drag and an expense to his mother. He
felt certain that Mr Phogg would give him a reference that would spoil
his chance of getting employment--at least anything better than an
errand boy’s or a porter’s place. A hundred times rather than that he
would be a soldier; that was, at any rate, an honourable profession.
During the day he wandered about the barracks and had a good look at the
guard, particularly admiring the trumpeter, a boy of about his own age,
who from time to time, arrayed in his gay Lancer uniform, came forth and
sounded different calls.
When the regiment returned at night he heard the men laughing and joking
and relating much that had passed on the march up to London and during
their progress through the crowded Metropolis; of the princes, lords,
and other celebrated people they had seen; and, lastly, how well her
Majesty and the Prince Consort looked.
As he again turned in on the sergeant’s sofa his mind was made up. He
would be a soldier, and his regiment should be the gallant ‘Death or
Glory Boys.’
In the morning he announced his intention to the sergeant while he was
enjoying his morning smoke.
‘Well, Jack,’ he said, ‘you might do worse. If you’ve quite made up your
mind, come with me.’
Together they crossed the barrack square, passing on their way the young
trumpeter whom Jack had so much admired.
‘Where’s the major, Will?’ asked Barrymore.
‘In his quarters, I think, sergeant.’
‘Right.’
They went on to a room near the band-quarters, where they found a rather
stout, shortish man, busy at a table copying out music.
‘Hallo, Bob, what’s the trouble?’ he asked, looking up.
‘A recruit, Ted.’
‘Ah, that’s good; I want a real smart lad in the trumpets, one who will
take an interest in his work and take up second cornet in the band.’
‘I’ve got the very article, Ted; look at him,’ and the sergeant gave
Jack a smack on the back.
Jack, thus brought into prominence, coloured up as he stood in the
presence of the two non-commissioned officers, for Ted Joyce was the
trumpet-major.
Trumpet-major Joyce looked keenly at Jack. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.
‘Sixteen and a half, sir.’
‘Sir no one here but the officers,’ said the trumpet-major, who was a
pleasant, rather fussy little man. ‘Know anything about music?’ he
asked.
‘Yes, sir--I mean’---- and Jack paused.
‘Call me major,’ said the trumpet-major.
‘Yes, major; I can play the piano pretty well.’
‘No pianos in the band,’ said the trumpet-major with a smile; ‘but if
you can read well that’s something. You can’t beat time or rhythm into
some of my trumpeters. Your lips look all right too; if you can use your
tongue well I can make a good trumpeter of you.’
Jack had not the faintest notion of what the trumpet-major meant. The
latter picked up a trumpet lying on a chair, and handing it to Jack
said, ‘Now, put your lips together and try and sound that.’
Jack took the trumpet, drew a long breath, and blew with all his might,
making no sound at all.
‘Squeeze your lips and make an action with your tongue as though you
were trying to spit a bit of cotton-wool off it into the mouthpiece,’
said the trumpet-major.
Jack, with a smile, did as he was bidden, and at the third or fourth
attempt succeeded in making a most unearthly sound.
‘Capital, capital!’ said the trumpet-major, rubbing his hands; ‘in three
months we shall have you sounding on the square.’
‘I think he’ll do,’ said Barrymore gleefully.
‘First-class,’ agreed the trumpet-major.--‘What’s your full name?’
‘John Harrington Blair.’
‘Are you perfectly willing to serve the Queen for twelve years?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you ever been injured in such a way as to unfit you for service?’
‘No.’
‘Of course you’ve never served in the Royal Artillery, Engineers,
Cavalry, or Infantry?’
‘No.’
‘And you do not belong to the Militia?’
‘No.’
‘Come along over to the Orderly Room,’ said the trumpet-major; ‘we shall
find the regimental there.’
The three departed, and in the Orderly Room, beside the clerks, Jack saw
the regimental sergeant-major, the man who, though not a commissioned
officer, after the colonel and adjutant is the most important personage
in a cavalry regiment. The regimental was one of the few men in the
regiment who wore a decoration, besides which he was a fine,
soldierly-looking fellow, with a pair of whiskers that were the envy of
all the subalterns in the corps.
The trumpet-major promptly stated his business, and the regimental
produced an attestation paper which one of the clerks filled up as Jack
answered the questions. Then he was put under the standard.
‘Five feet six full; put him down five six and a quarter,’ called out
the regimental, as he adjusted the standard above Jack’s head; ‘chest
thirty-five,’ he went on, ‘complexion fair, hair brown, eyes hazel.’
Then to Jack, ‘Open your mouth,’ and concluded, ‘Teeth sound.’
‘You can get him before the doctor this morning, Joyce,’ said the
regimental, ‘and then we’ll swear him in. You’ve got a fine lad there.’
‘Now, Jack,’ said Barrymore as they crossed the square, ‘you’ll soon be
as much a soldier as I am. The trumpet-major will take charge of you for
the present, and when you’ve been before the doctor come over to my
quarters.’
Jack accompanied the trumpet-major to his room, and later on was taken
before the doctor, where he was thoroughly examined and pronounced fit
to serve her Majesty.
‘You’re now due to a day’s pay,’ said the trumpet-major. ‘By the way,
how are you off for money--do you want any?’
‘No, I’ve got several shillings, thanks.’
‘Then stick to them. And just take a word of advice on the first day of
your service. Be smart, scrupulously clean, and remember ours is a
handsome uniform and wants keeping clean; be obedient--obedience is the
first duty of a soldier; and don’t try and ape the manners of the men.
Don’t forget you are still a boy; keep away from smoking; above all,
keep away from drink, and don’t let the example of any of your comrades,
especially of those who ought to know better, lead you into ways that
are bound, sooner or later, to end badly for you.’
These words of the trumpet-major occurred to Jack’s mind on many a
future day, and it was by acting up to them to the best of his ability
that he owed much of his later success. He passed another night on the
kindly sergeant’s sofa, then next morning was taken before the local
magistrate to be sworn in. On his return to barracks Jack was handed
over to the trumpet-major, who was just returning from practice.
‘Now, Blair,’ he said, ‘you’re a soldier. From this very minute your
training begins. We’ll go over to the Orderly Room, see the regimental,
and then you’d better make the acquaintance of your future comrades.’
In the Orderly Room a regimental number was given Jack, details of his
pay, &c., explained, and then he was marched over to the regimental
tailor’s, where he was measured for his uniform. These items being
settled, he returned to the trumpet-major’s quarters, where he found the
youth whom Sergeant Barrymore had called Will, now clad in the neat blue
and white undress of the regiment, talking to the trumpet-major.
‘Ha, here you are,’ said Joyce. ‘Good.--Now, Hodson, I shall give him
into your charge. There’s a spare bed in your room, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, major.’
‘Right; then Blair can have it. I’ll see Sergeant Linham later and get
him entered in mess. Now take him over and make him known to the boys.’
Trumpeter Hodson, who had a merry, mischievous eye, looked at Jack as
they went off; then said abruptly, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Blair.’
‘Dick?’
‘No, Jack.’
‘What made you join?’
Jack looked at his companion and laughed. ‘I might as well ask you that,
might I not?’ he said.
‘You may, and the answer’s simple. My dad shoved me in. I had nothing to
say in the matter.’
‘Do you like being a trumpeter?’
Will Hodson shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’d rather be a swell on five
thousand pounds a year,’ he said; ‘but every one must do something.
We’re soldiers. The governor put in twenty-five years, grandfather was
killed at Waterloo, and I dare say some of my forebears were banging a
drum or handling a pike at’---- and he paused for a word.
‘Blenheim or Ramillies?’ suggested Jack.
‘Ah, that’s it,’ said Will Hodson quite calmly; ‘the name slipped my
memory for a moment. But, I say, you’re a cut above the usual ruck, you
know; you won’t find it all honey here, I can tell you.’
‘Oh, I can rough it well enough,’ said Jack stoutly.
‘I hope you can. Well, here we are,’ and Hodson opened a door which
stood at the head of a flight of stone steps they had just ascended.
‘Chums,’ he cried, ‘an illustrious arrival has come amongst us. Allow me
to introduce to you John Blair, askewer, taterpeeler to his Highness the
King of the Cannibal Islands.’
Jack paused on the threshold of the door and gazed with interest for the
first time at a barrack-room.