Miles and his friend Brown, after their work at the jetty, had chanced
to return to the Institute at the moment referred to in the last
chapter, when the poor young widow, having become resigned, had been led
through the passage to her bedroom. Our hero happened to catch sight of
her face, and it made a very powerful impression on him--an impression
which was greatly deepened afterwards on hearing of her death.
In the reception-room he found Armstrong still in earnest conversation
with his wife.
"Hallo, Armstrong! still here? Have you been sitting there since I left
you?" he asked, with a smile and look of surprise.
"Oh no!" answered his friend; "not all the time. We have been out
walking about town, and we have had dinner here--an excellent feed, let
me tell you, and cheap too. But where did you run off to?"
"Sit down and I'll tell you," said Miles.
Thereupon he related all about his day's experiences. When he had
finished, Armstrong told him that his own prospect of testing the merits
of a troop-ship were pretty fair, as he was ordered for inspection on
the following day.
"So you see," continued the young soldier, "if you are accepted--as you
are sure to be--you and I will go out together in the same vessel."
"I'm glad to hear that, anyhow," returned Miles.
"And _I_ am very glad too," said little Emily, with a beaming smile,
"for Willie has told me about you, Mr Miles; and how you first met and
took a fancy to each other; and it _will_ be so nice to think that
there's somebody to care about my Willie when he is far away from me."
The little woman blushed and half-laughed, and nearly cried as she said
this, for she felt that it was rather a bold thing to say to a stranger,
and yet she had such a strong desire to mitigate her husband's
desolation when absent from her that she forcibly overcame her modesty.
"And I want you to do me a favour, Mr Miles," she added.
"I'll do it with pleasure," returned our gallant hero.
"I want you to call him Willie," said the little woman, blushing and
looking down.
"Certainly I will--if your husband permits me."
"You see," she continued, "I want him to keep familiar with the name
I've been used to call him--for comrades will call him Armstrong, I
suppose, and--"
"Oh! Emmy," interrupted the soldier reproachfully, "do you think I
require to be _kept in remembrance_ of that name? Won't your voice,
repeating it, haunt me day and night till the happy day when I meet you
again on the Portsmouth jetty, or may-hap in this very room?"
Miles thought, when he heard this speech, of the hoped-for meeting
between poor Mrs Martin and her Fred; and a feeling of profound sadness
crept over him as he reflected how many chances there were against their
ever again meeting in this world. Naturally these thoughts turned his
mind to his own case. His sinful haste in quitting home, and the agony
of his mother on finding that he was really gone, were more than ever
impressed on him, but again the fatal idea that what was done could not
be undone, coupled with pride and false shame, kept him firm to his
purpose.
That evening, in barracks, Miles was told by his company sergeant to
hold himself in readiness to appear before the doctor next morning for
inspection as to his physical fitness for active service in Egypt.
Our hero was by this time beginning to find out that the life of a
private soldier, into which he had rushed, was a very different thing
indeed from that of an officer--to which he had aspired. Here again
pride came to his aid--in a certain sense,--for if it could not
reconcile him to his position, it at all events closed his mouth, and
made him resolve to bear the consequences of his act like a man.
In the morning he had to turn out before daylight, and with a small band
of men similarly situated, to muster in the drill-shed a little after
eight. Thence they marched to the doctor's quarters.
It was an anxious ordeal for all of them; for, like most young soldiers,
they were enthusiastically anxious to go on active service, and there
was, of course, some uncertainty as to their passing the examination.
The first man called came out of the inspection room with a beaming
countenance, saying that he was "all right," which raised the hopes and
spirits of the rest; but the second appeared after inspection with a
woe-begone countenance which required no interpretation. No reason was
given for his rejection; he was simply told that it would be better for
him not to go.
Miles was the third called.
As he presented himself, the doctor yawned vociferously, as if he felt
that the hour for such work was unreasonably early. Then he looked at
his subject with the critical air of a farmer inspecting a prize ox.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Nineteen, sir."
"Are you married?"
Miles smiled.
"Did you hear me?" asked the doctor sharply. "You don't need to smile.
Many a boy as long-legged and as young as you is fool enough to marry.
Are you married?"
Miles flushed, looked suddenly stern, squared his shoulders, drew
himself up with an air that implied, "You won't catch _me_ tripping
again;" and said firmly, yet quite respectfully--
"No, sir."
The doctor here took another good look at his subject, with a meaning
twinkle in his eye, as if he felt that he had touched a tender point.
Then he felt his victim's pulse, sounded his chest, and ordered him to
strip. Being apparently satisfied with the result of his examination,
he asked him if he "felt all right."
Reflecting that his mother had often told him he was made up of body,
soul, and spirit, and that in regard to the latter two he was rather
hazy, Miles felt strongly inclined for a moment to say, "Certainly not,"
but, thinking better of it, he answered, "Yes, sir," with decision.
"Have you anything to complain of?" asked the doctor.
The mind of our hero was what we may style rapidly reflective. In
regard to the decrees of Fate, things in general, and his father's
conduct in particular, he had a decided wish to complain, but again he
laid restraint on himself and said, "No, sir."
"And do you wish to go to Egypt?"
"Yes, sir!" was answered with prompt decision.
"Then you may go," said the doctor, turning away with an air of a man
who dismisses a subject from his mind.
When all the men had thus passed the medical examination, those of them
who were accepted mustered their bags and kits before Captain Lacey,
commander of the company to which they were attached, and those who
wanted anything were allowed to draw it from the stores.
Captain Lacey was a fine specimen of a British soldier--grave, but kind
in expression and in heart; tall, handsome, powerful, about thirty years
of age, with that urbanity of manner which wins affection at first
sight, and that cool, quiet decision of character which inspires
unlimited confidence.
As the troop-ship which was to convey them to Egypt was to start sooner
than had been intended, there was little time for thought during the few
hours in England that remained to the regiment. The men had to draw
their pith helmets, and fit the ornaments thereon; then go the
quartermaster's stores to be fitted with white clothing, after which
they had to parade before the Colonel, fully arrayed in the martial
habiliments which were needful in tropical climes. Besides these
matters there were friends to be seen, in some cases relatives to be
parted from, and letters innumerable to be written. Miles Milton was
among those who, on the last day in Portsmouth, attempted to write home.
He had been taken by Sergeant Gilroy the previous night to one of the
Institute entertainments in the great hall. The Sergeant had tried to
induce him to go to the Bible-class with him, but Miles was in no mood
for that at the time, and he was greatly relieved to find that neither
the Sergeant nor any of the people of the Institute annoyed him by
thrusting religious matters on his attention. Food, lodging, games,
library, baths, Bible-classes, prayer-meetings, entertainments were all
there to be used or let alone as he chose; perfect freedom of action
being one of the methods by which it was sought to render the place
attractive to the soldiers.
But although Miles at once refused to go to the class, he had no
objection to go to the entertainment.
It was a curious mixture of song, recitation, addresses, and readings,
in which many noble sentiments were uttered, and not a few humorous
anecdotes and incidents related. It was presided over by Tufnell, the
manager, a soldierly-looking man, who had himself originally been in the
army, and who had, for many years, been Miss Robinson's right-hand man.
There could not have been fewer than a thousand people in the hall, a
large proportion of whom were red-coats and blue-jackets, the rest being
civilians; and the way in which these applauded the sentiments, laughed
at the humour, and rejoiced in the music, showed that the provision for
their amusement was thoroughly appreciated.
Whether it was the feeling of good-fellowship and sympathy that pervaded
the meeting, or some word that was dropped at a venture and found root
in his heart, Miles could not tell, but certain it is that at that
entertainment he formed the resolution to write home before leaving.
Not that he had yet repented of the step he had taken, but he was sorry
for the manner in which he had done so, and for allowing so much time to
elapse that now the opportunity of seeing his parents before starting
was lost.
As it was impossible for him to write his letter in the noise of the
barrack-room, he went off next day to the reading-room of the Institute,
and there, with no other sounds to disturb him than the deep breathing
of some studious red-coats, and the chirping pen of a comrade engaged
like himself, he began to write.
But his thoughts somehow would not work. His pen would not write. He
even fancied that it had a sort of objection to spell. So it had, when
not properly guided by his hesitating hand. The first part went
swimmingly enough:--
"Dearest mother,
I'm so sorry--"
But here he stopped, for the memory of his father's severity re-aroused
his indignation, and he felt some doubt as to whether he really was
sorry. Then, under the impulse of this doubt, he wrote a long letter,
in imagination, in which he defended his conduct pretty warmly, on the
ground that he had been driven to it.
"Driven to what?" asked Something within him. "To the course which I
have taken and am now defending," replied Something-else within him
hotly.
"Then the course was a wrong one, else you wouldn't have to defend it!"
rejoined the first Something.
"Well--yes--n-no, it wasn't," returned the second Something doggedly.
Before this internal dispute could be carried further, Miles was aroused
by a sudden burst of noisy voices, as if a lunatic asylum had been let
loose into the hall below. Rising quickly, he hurried down with his
studious comrades to see what it could be all about.
"It's only another troop-ship come in, and they've all come up here
without giving us warning to get ready," said Tufnell, as he bustled
about, endeavouring to introduce order into what appeared to Miles to be
the reproduction of Babel, _minus_ the bricks.
The fact was that a troop-ship having arrived rather suddenly, a
sergeant had driven up in hot haste from the docks to make arrangements
for the reception of the soldiers' wives and children!
"Look sharp!" he cried, on entering the hall abruptly; "sixteen families
are on their way to you."
"All right; we can take 'em in," was the prompt reply; and orders were
given to set the food-producing machinery of the establishment instantly
in motion. But almost before the preparation had fairly begun, the
advance-guard of the army, largely composed of infantry, burst upon them
like a thunder-clap, and continued to pour in like a torrent. There
were men shouting, women chattering, tired children whining, and excited
children laughing; babies yelling or crowing miscellaneously; parrots
screaming; people running up and down stairs in search of dormitories;
plates and cups clattering at the bar, as the overwhelmed barmaids did
their best to appease the impatient and supply the hungry; while the
rumbling of control-wagons bringing up the baggage formed a sort of bass
accompaniment to the concert.
"You see, it varies with us a good deal," remarked Brown to Miles,
during a lucid interval, "Sometimes we are almost empty, a few hours
later we are overflowing. It comes hard on the housekeeper, of course.
But we lay our account wi' that, and, do you know, it is wonderful what
can be done in trying circumstances, when we lay our account wi' them!--
Yes, Miss, it's all ready!" shouted the speaker, in reply to a soft
female voice that came down the wide staircase, as it were, over the
heads of the turbulent crowd.
In a moment he disappeared, and Tufnell stood, as if by magic, in his
place.
"Yes," said the manager, taking up his discourse where the other had
left off; "and in a few minutes you'll see that most of these wives and
children of the soldiers will be distributed through the house in their
bed-rooms, when our ladies will set to work to make acquaintance with
them; and then we'll open our stores of warm clothing, of which the poor
things, coming as they do from warm climates, are often nearly or quite
destitute."
"But where do you get these supplies from?" asked Miles.
"From kind-hearted Christians throughout the country, who send us gifts
of old and new garments, boots and shoes, shawls and socks, etcetera,
which we have always in readiness to meet sudden demands; and I may add
that the demands are pretty constant. Brown told you just now that we
have varied experience. I remember once we got a message from the
Assistant Quartermaster-General's office to ask how many women and
children we could accommodate, as a shipful was expected. We replied
that we could take 140, and set to work with preparations. After all,
only one woman came! To-day we expected nobody, and--you see what we
have got!"
The genial countenance of the manager beamed with satisfaction. It was
evident that "what he had got" did not at all discompose him, as he
hurried away to look after his flock, while the originator--the heart
and soul of all this--although confined to her room at that time with
spine complaint, and unable to take part in the active work, as she had
been wont to do in years gone by, heard in her chamber the softened
sound of the human storm, and was able to thank God that her Soldiers'
Institute was fulfilling its destiny.
"Hallo! Miles!" exclaimed Armstrong, over the heads of the crowd; "I've
been looking for you everywhere. D'you know we run a chance of being
late? Come along, quick!"
Our hero, who, in his interest in the scene, had forgotten the flight of
time, hurried out after his comrade as the band struck up "Home, sweet
Home," and returned to barracks, utterly oblivious of the fact that he
had left the unfinished letter to his mother on the table in the
reading-room.