On the evening of the third day after the conversation narrated in the
last chapter, Sergeant Hardy sat in an easy-chair on the verandah of the
Soldiers' Institute at Alexandria, in the enjoyment of a refreshing
breeze, which, after ruffling the blue waters of the Mediterranean, came
like a cool hand on a hot brow, to bless for a short time the land of
Egypt.
Like one of Aladdin's palaces the Institute had sprung up--not exactly
in a night, but in a marvellously short space of time. There was more
of interest about it, too, than about the Aladdin buildings; for whereas
the latter were evolved magically out of that mysterious and undefinable
region termed Nowhere, the Miss Robinson edifice came direct from smoky,
romantic London, without the advantage of supernatural assistance.
When Miss Robinson's soldier friends were leaving for the seat of war in
Egypt, some of them had said to her, "Three thousand miles from home are
three thousand good reasons why you should think of us!" The "Soldiers'
Friend" took these words to heart--also to God. She did think of them,
and she persuaded other friends to think of them, to such good purpose
that she soon found herself in possession of funds sufficient to begin
the work.
As we have seen, her energetic servant and fellow-worker, Mr Thomas
Tufnell, was sent out to Egypt to select a site for the building. The
old iron and wood Oratory at Brompton was bought, and sent out at
Government expense--a fact which speaks volumes for the Government
opinion of the value of Miss Robinson's work among soldiers.
In putting up the old Oratory, Tufnell had transformed it to an extent
that might almost have made Aladdin's Slave of the Lamp jealous.
Certainly, those who were wont to "orate" in the building when it stood
in Brompton would have failed to recognise the edifice as it arose in
Egypt on the Boulevard Ramleh, between the Grand Square of Alexandria
and the sea.
The nave of the old Oratory had been converted into a room, ninety-nine
feet long, with couches and tables running down both sides, a
billiard-table in the centre, writing materials in abundance, and
pictures on the walls. At one end of the room stood a pianoforte,
couches, and easy-chairs, and a door opened into a garden facing the
sea. Over the door were arranged several flags, and above these, in
large letters, the appropriate words, "In the name of the Lord will we
set up our banners." At the other end was a temperance refreshment bar.
On a verandah facing the sea men could repose on easy-chairs and smoke
their pipes or cigars, while contemplating the peculiarities of an
Eastern climate.
It was here that our friend Sergeant Hardy was enjoying that blessed
state of convalescence which may be described as gazing straight forward
and thinking of nothing!
Of course there were all the other appliances of a well-equipped
Institute--such as sleeping-cabins, manager's room, Bible-class room,
lavatory, and all the rest of it, while a handsome new stone building
close beside it contained sitting-rooms, bed-rooms, club-room for
officers, kitchens, and, by no means least, though last, a large
lecture-hall.
But to these and many other things we must not devote too much space,
for old friends in new aspects claim our attention. Only, in passing
from such details, it may not be out of place to say that it has been
remarked that the sight of Miss Robinson's buildings, steadily rising
from the midst of acres of ruins, while men's minds were agitated by the
bombardment and its results, produced a sense of security which had a
most beneficial and quietening effect on the town! Indeed, one officer
of high rank went so far as to say that the Institute scheme had given
the inhabitants more confidence in the intentions of England than
anything yet done or promised by Government!
In a rocking-chair beside the sergeant reclined a shadow in loose--
remarkably loose--fitting soldier's costume.
"What a blessed place to sit in and rest after the toils and sufferings
of war," said Hardy, to the shadow, "and how thankful I am to God for
bringing me here!"
"It's a hivenly place intirely," responded the shadow, "an' 'tis mesilf
as is thankful too--what's left o' me anyhow, an' that's not much. Sure
I've had some quare thoughts in me mind since I come here. Wan o' them
was--what is the smallest amount o' skin an' bone that's capable of
howldin' a thankful spirit?"
"I never studied algebra, Flynn, so it's of no use puttin' the question
to me," said Hardy; "besides, I'm not well enough yet to tackle
difficult questions, but I'm real glad to see you, my boy, though there
_is_ so little of you to see."
"That's it, sarjint; that's just where it lies," returned Flynn, in a
slow, weak voice. "I've bin occupied wi' that question too--namely, how
thin may a man git widout losin' the power to howld up his clo'es?"
"You needn't be uneasy on that score," said Hardy, casting an amused
glance at his companion, "for there's plenty o' flesh left yet to keep
ye goin' till you get to old Ireland. It rejoices my heart to see you
beside me, thin though you are, for the report up country was that you
had died on the way to Suez."
"Bad luck to their reports! That's always the way of it. I do think
the best way to take reports is to belaive the exact opposite o' what's
towld ye, an' so ye'll come nearest the truth. It's thrue I had a close
shave. Wan day I felt a sort o' light-hiddedness--as if I was a kind o'
livin' balloon--and was floatin' away, whin the doctor came an' looked
at me.
"`He's gone,' says he.
"`That's a lie!' says I, with more truth than purliteness, maybe.
"An' would ye belave it?--I began to mind from that hour! It was the
doctor saved me widout intindin' to--good luck to him! Anyhow he kep'
me from slippin' my cable that time, but it was the good nursin' as
brought me back--my blissin' on the dear ladies as give their hearts to
this work all for love! By the way," continued Flynn, coughing and
looking very stern, for he was ashamed of a tear or two which _would_
rise and almost overflow in spite of his efforts to restrain them--but
then, you see, he was very weak! "By the way," he said, "you'll niver
guess who wan o' the nurses is. Who d'ee think?--guess!"
"I never _could_ guess right, Flynn."
"Try."
"Well, little Mrs Armstrong."
"Nonsense, man! Why, she's nursin' her old father in England, I
s'pose."
"Miss Robinson, then?"
"H'm! You might as well say the Prime Minister. How d'ee s'pose the
Portsmuth Institute could git along widout _her_? No, it's our friend
Mrs Drew!"
"What! The wife o' the reverend gentleman as came out with us in the
troop-ship?"
"That same--though she's no longer the wife of the riverend gintleman,
for he's dead--good man," said Flynn, in a sad voice.
"I'm grieved to hear that, for he _was_ a good man. And the pretty
daughter, what of her?"
"That's more nor I can tell ye, boy. Sometimes her mother brings her to
the hospital to let her see how they manage, but I fancy she thinks her
too young yet to go in for sitch work by hersilf. Anyhow I've seen her
only now an' then; but the poor widdy comes rig'lar--though I do belave
she does it widout pay. The husband died of a flyer caught in the
hospital a good while since. They say that lots o' young fellows are
afther the daughter, for though the Drews are as poor as church rats,
she's got such a swate purty face, and such innocent ways wid her, that
I'd try for her mesilf av it wasn't that I've swore niver to forsake me
owld grandmother."
Chatting thus about times past and present, while they watched the
soldiers and seamen who passed continuously in and out of the
Institute--intent on a game, or some non-intoxicant refreshment, or a
lounge, a look at the papers, a confab with a comrade, or a bit of
reading--the two invalids enjoyed their rest to the full, and frequently
blessed the lady who provided such a retreat, as well as her
warm-hearted assistants, who, for the love of Christ and human souls,
had devoted themselves to carry on the work in that far-off land.
"I often think--" said Hardy.
But what he thought was never revealed; for at that moment two ladies in
deep mourning approached, whom the sergeant recognised at a glance as
Mrs Drew and her daughter Marion. The faces of both were pale and
sorrowful; but the beauty of the younger was rather enhanced than
otherwise by this, and by contrast with her sombre garments.
They both recognised the sergeant at once, and, hastening forward, so as
to prevent his rising, greeted him with the kindly warmth of old
friends.
"It seems such a long time since we met," said the elder lady, "but we
have never forgotten you or the comrades with whom we used to have such
pleasant talks in the troop-ship."
"Sure am I, madam," said the sergeant, "that they have never forgotten
_you_ and your kind--kind--"
"Yes, my husband was _very_ kind to you all," said the widow, observing
the delicacy of feeling which stopped the soldier's utterance; "he was
kind to every one. But we have heard some rumours that have made me and
my daughter very sad. Is it true that a great many men of your regiment
were killed and wounded at the battle fought by General McNeill?"
"Quite true, madam," answered the sergeant, glancing at the daughter
with some surprise; for Marion was gazing at him with an intensely
anxious look and parted lips. "But, thank God, many were spared!"
"And--and--how are the two fine-looking young men that were so fond of
each other--like twins almost--"
"Sure, didn't I tell ye, misthress, that they was both ki--"
"Hold your tongue, Flynn," interrupted the widow, with a forced smile.
"You are one of my most talkative patients! I want to hear the truth of
this matter from a man who has come more recently from the scene of
action than yourself. What do you think, Mr Hardy?"
"You refer to John Miles and William Armstrong, no doubt, madam," said
the sergeant, in a somewhat encouraging tone. "Well, if Flynn says they
were killed he has no ground whatever for saying so. They are only
reported missing. Of course that is bad enough, but as long as a man is
only missing there is plenty of room for hope. You see, they may have
managed to hide, or been carried off as prisoners into the interior; and
you may be sure the Arabs would not be such fools as to kill two men
like Miles and Armstrong; they'd rather make slaves of 'em, in which
case there will be a chance of their escaping, or, if we should become
friendly again wi' these fellows, they'd be set free."
"I'm so glad to hear you say so, and I felt sure that my desponding
patient here was taking too gloomy a view of the matter," said Mrs
Drew, with a significant glance at Marion, who seemed to breathe more
freely and to lose some of her anxious expression after the sergeant's
remarks.
Perhaps at this point a little conversation that took place between Mrs
Drew and her daughter that same evening may not be out of place.
"Dear May," said the former, "did I not tell you that Flynn took too
gloomy a view of the case of these young soldiers, in whom your dear
father was so much interested? But, darling, is it not foolish in you
to think so much about Miles?"
"It may be foolish, mother, but I cannot help it," said Marion, blushing
deeply; for she was very modest as well as simple.
"May, dear, I wonder that you can make such an admission!" said the
mother remonstratively.
"Is it wrong to make such an admission to one's own mother, when it is
true?" asked Marion, still blushing, but looking straight in her
mother's eyes; for she was very straightforward as well as modest and
simple!
"Of course not, dear, but--but--in short, Miles is only a--a--soldier,
you know, and--"
"_Only_ a soldier!" interrupted Marion, with a flash from her soft brown
eyes; for she was an enthusiast as well as straightforward, modest, and
simple! "I suppose you mean that he is only a private, but what then?
May not the poorest private in the army rise, if he be but noble-minded
and worthy and capable, to the rank of a general, or higher--if there is
anything higher? Possibly the Commander-in-Chief-ship may be open to
him!"
"True, my love, but in the meantime his social position is--"
"Is quite as good as our own," interrupted Marion; for she was a
desperate little radical as well as an enthusiast, straightforward,
modest, and simple!
"You know he let out something about his parents and position, and _of
course_ he told the truth. Besides, I repeat that I cannot _help_
loving him, and surely we are not responsible for our affections. We
cannot love and hate to order. I might fall in love with--with--well,
it's no good talking; but, anyhow, I could not help it. I could be
silent if you like, but I could not help myself."
Mrs Drew seemed a little puzzled how to deal with her impetuous
daughter, and had begun to reply, when May interrupted her. Flushing
deeply, for she was very sensitive, and with a feeling that amounted
almost to indignation, she continued--
"I wonder at you, mother--it's so unlike you; as if those unworthy
considerations of difference of rank and station could influence, or
ought to influence, one in such a question as this!"
Mrs Drew paused for a moment. She knew that her daughter gave
expression to the views that had marked the dealings of the husband and
father, so lately lost to them, in every action of his life. Marion's
happiness, too, during the remainder of her days, might be involved in
the result of the present conversation, and she was moved to say--
"My dear, has John Miles ever spoken to you?"
"Oh! mother, how can you ask me? If he had done so, would I have
delayed one minute in letting you know?"
"Forgive me, dearest. I did you wrong in admitting the thought even for
a moment. But you spoke so earnestly--as if you might have some reason
for thinking that he cared for you."
"Don't you know," answered Marion, looking down, and a little confused,
"that men can speak with their eyes as well as their lips? I not only
feel sure that he cares for me, but I feel sure, from the sentiments he
expressed to me on the voyage, that _nothing_ would induce him to talk
to me of love while in his present position."
"How does all this consist, my love," asked Mrs Drew, "with your
knowledge of the fact that he left home in anger, and would not be
persuaded, even by your dear father, to write home a penitent letter?"
Marion was silent. This had not occurred to her before. But love is
not to be turned from its object by trifles. She was all that we have
more than once described her to be; but she was not a meta-physician or
a philosopher, capable of comprehending and explaining occult mysteries.
Enough for her if she loved Miles and Miles loved her, and then, even
if he did not deserve her love, she would remain true--secretly but
unalterably true--to him as the needle is to the pole!
"Has it not occurred to you, dear," said her mother, pursuing her
advantage in a meditative tone, "that if Miles has been so plain-spoken
and eloquent with his blue eye, that your pretty brown ones may have
said something to _him_?"
"Never!" exclaimed the girl, with an indignant flash. "Oh! mother, can
you believe me capable of--of--no, I never looked at him except with the
air of a perfect stranger--at least of a--a--but why should I try to
deny what could not possibly be true?"
Mrs Drew felt that nothing was to be gained from pursuing the subject--
or one aspect of it--further.
"At any rate," she said, "I am glad, for his own sake, poor young
fellow, that Sergeant Hardy spoke so hopefully."
"And for his comrades' sakes as well," said Marion. "You know, mother,
that his friend Armstrong is also reported as missing, and Stevenson the
marine, as well as that dear big bluff sailor, Jack Molloy. By the way,
do you feel well enough to go to the lecture to-night? It is to be a
very interesting one, I am told, with magic-lantern illustrations, and I
don't like to go alone."
"I am going to-night, so you may make your mind easy," said her mother.
"I would not miss this lecturer, because I am told that he is a
remarkably good one, and the hall is likely to be quite full."
In regard to this lecture and some other things connected with the
Alexandrian Institute, our friend Sergeant Hardy learned a good deal
from the lady at the head of it, not long after the time that Mrs Drew
had the foregoing conversation with Marion.
It is scarcely needful to say that the Lady-Superintendent was a capable
Christian as well as an enthusiast in her work.
"Come to my room, Sergeant Hardy, and I'll tell you all about it," she
said, leading the way to her apartment, where the sergeant placed
himself upon a chair, bolt upright, as if he were going to have a tooth
drawn, or were about to illustrate some new species of sitting-drill.