The trumpet-major now contrived to place himself near her, Anne's
presence having evidently been a great pleasure to him since the moment
of his first seeing her. She was quite at her ease with him, and asked
him if he thought that Buonaparte would really come during the summer,
and many other questions which the gallant dragoon could not answer, but
which he nevertheless liked to be asked. William Tremlett, who had not
enjoyed a sound night's rest since the First Consul's menace had become
known, pricked up his ears at sound of this subject, and inquired if
anybody had seen the terrible flat-bottomed boats that the enemy were to
cross in.
'My brother Robert saw several of them paddling about the shore the last
time he passed the Straits of Dover,' said the trumpet-major; and he
further startled the company by informing them that there were supposed
to be more than fifteen hundred of these boats, and that they would carry
a hundred men apiece. So that a descent of one hundred and fifty
thousand men might be expected any day as soon as Boney had brought his
plans to bear.
'Lord ha' mercy upon us!' said William Tremlett.
'The night-time is when they will try it, if they try it at all,' said
old Tullidge, in the tone of one whose watch at the beacon must, in the
nature of things, have given him comprehensive views of the situation.
'It is my belief that the point they will choose for making the shore is
just over there,' and he nodded with indifference towards a section of
the coast at a hideous nearness to the house in which they were
assembled, whereupon Fencible Tremlett, and Cripplestraw of the Locals,
tried to show no signs of trepidation.
'When d'ye think 'twill be?' said Volunteer Comfort, the blacksmith.
'I can't answer to a day,' said the corporal, 'but it will certainly be
in a down-channel tide; and instead of pulling hard against it, he'll let
his boats drift, and that will bring 'em right into Budmouth Bay. 'Twill
be a beautiful stroke of war, if so be 'tis quietly done!'
'Beautiful,' said Cripplestraw, moving inside his clothes. 'But how if
we should be all abed, corpel? You can't expect a man to be brave in his
shirt, especially we Locals, that have only got so far as shoulder fire-
locks.'
'He's not coming this summer. He'll never come at all,' said a tall
sergeant-major decisively.
Loveday the soldier was too much engaged in attending upon Anne and her
mother to join in these surmises, bestirring himself to get the ladies
some of the best liquor the house afforded, which had, as a matter of
fact, crossed the Channel as privately as Buonaparte wished his army to
do, and had been landed on a dark night over the cliff. After this he
asked Anne to sing, but though she had a very pretty voice in private
performances of that nature, she declined to oblige him; turning the
subject by making a hesitating inquiry about his brother Robert, whom he
had mentioned just before.
'Robert is as well as ever, thank you, Miss Garland,' he said. 'He is
now mate of the brig Pewit--rather young for such a command; but the
owner puts great trust in him.' The trumpet-major added, deepening his
thoughts to a profounder view of the person discussed, 'Bob is in love.'
Anne looked conscious, and listened attentively; but Loveday did not go
on.
'Much?' she asked.
'I can't exactly say. And the strange part of it is that he never tells
us who the woman is. Nobody knows at all.'
'He will tell, of course?' said Anne, in the remote tone of a person with
whose sex such matters had no connexion whatever.
Loveday shook his head, and the tete-a-tete was put an end to by a burst
of singing from one of the sergeants, who was followed at the end of his
song by others, each giving a ditty in his turn; the singer standing up
in front of the table, stretching his chin well into the air, as though
to abstract every possible wrinkle from his throat, and then plunging
into the melody. When this was over one of the foreign hussars--the
genteel German of Miller Loveday's description, who called himself a
Hungarian, and in reality belonged to no definite country--performed at
Trumpet-major Loveday's request the series of wild motions that he
denominated his national dance, that Anne might see what it was like.
Miss Garland was the flower of the whole company; the soldiers one and
all, foreign and English, seemed to be quite charmed by her presence, as
indeed they well might be, considering how seldom they came into the
society of such as she.
Anne and her mother were just thinking of retiring to their own dwelling
when Sergeant Stanner of the --th Foot, who was recruiting at Budmouth,
began a satirical song:--
When law'-yers strive' to heal' a breach',
And par-sons prac'-tise what' they preach';
Then lit'-tle Bo-ney he'll pounce down',
And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!
Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.
When jus'-ti-ces' hold e'qual scales',
And rogues' are on'-ly found' in jails';
Then lit'tle Bo'-ney he'll pounce down',
And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!
Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.
When rich' men find' their wealth' a curse',
And fill' there-with' the poor' man's purse';
Then lit'-tle Bo'-ney he'll pounce down',
And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!
Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.
Poor Stanner! In spite of his satire, he fell at the bloody battle of
Albuera a few years after this pleasantly spent summer at the Georgian
watering-place, being mortally wounded and trampled down by a French
hussar when the brigade was deploying into line under Beresford.
While Miller Loveday was saying 'Well done, Mr. Stanner!' at the close of
the thirteenth stanza, which seemed to be the last, and Mr. Stanner was
modestly expressing his regret that he could do no better, a stentorian
voice was heard outside the window shutter repeating,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.
The company was silent in a moment at this reinforcement, and only the
military tried not to look surprised. While all wondered who the singer
could be somebody entered the porch; the door opened, and in came a young
man, about the size and weight of the Farnese Hercules, in the uniform of
the yeomanry cavalry.
''Tis young Squire Derriman, old Mr. Derriman's nephew,' murmured voices
in the background.
Without waiting to address anybody, or apparently seeing who were
gathered there, the colossal man waved his cap above his head and went on
in tones that shook the window-panes:--
When hus'-bands with' their wives' agree'.
And maids' won't wed' from mod'-es-ty',
Then lit'-tle Bo'-ney he'll pounce down',
And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!
Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.
It was a verse which had been omitted by the gallant Stanner, out of
respect to the ladies.
The new-comer was red-haired and of florid complexion, and seemed full of
a conviction that his whim of entering must be their pleasure, which for
the moment it was.
'No ceremony, good men all,' he said; 'I was passing by, and my ear was
caught by the singing. I like singing; 'tis warming and cheering, and
shall not be put down. I should like to hear anybody say otherwise.'
'Welcome, Master Derriman,' said the miller, filling a glass and handing
it to the yeoman. 'Come all the way from quarters, then? I hardly
knowed ye in your soldier's clothes. You'd look more natural with a spud
in your hand, sir. I shouldn't ha' known ye at all if I hadn't heard
that you were called out.'
'More natural with a spud!--have a care, miller,' said the young giant,
the fire of his complexion increasing to scarlet. 'I don't mean anger,
but--but--a soldier's honour, you know!'
The military in the background laughed a little, and the yeoman then for
the first time discovered that there were more regulars present than one.
He looked momentarily disconcerted, but expanded again to full assurance.
'Right, right, Master Derriman, no offence--'twas only my joke,' said the
genial miller. 'Everybody's a soldier nowadays. Drink a drap o' this
cordial, and don't mind words.'
The young man drank without the least reluctance, and said, 'Yes, miller,
I am called out. 'Tis ticklish times for us soldiers now; we hold our
lives in our hands--What are those fellows grinning at behind the
table?--I say, we do!'
'Staying with your uncle at the farm for a day or two, Mr. Derriman?'
'No, no; as I told you, six mile off. Billeted at Casterbridge. But I
have to call and see the old, old--'
'Gentleman?'
'Gentleman!--no, skinflint. He lives upon the sweepings of the barton;
ha, ha!' And the speaker's regular white teeth showed themselves like
snow in a Dutch cabbage. 'Well, well, the profession of arms makes a man
proof against all that. I take things as I find 'em.'
'Quite right, Master Derriman. Another drop?'
'No, no. I'll take no more than is good for me--no man should; so don't
tempt me.'
The yeoman then saw Anne, and by an unconscious gravitation went towards
her and the other women, flinging a remark to John Loveday in passing.
'Ah, Loveday! I heard you were come; in short, I come o' purpose to see
you. Glad to see you enjoying yourself at home again.'
The trumpet-major replied civilly, though not without grimness, for he
seemed hardly to like Derriman's motion towards Anne.
'Widow Garland's daughter!--yes, 'tis! surely. You remember me? I have
been here before. Festus Derriman, Yeomanry Cavalry.'