There are periods in the busy round of labour at the great heart in St.
Martin's-le-Grand when some members of the community cease work for a
time and go off to enjoy a holiday.
Such periods do not occur to all simultaneously, else would the great
postal work of the kingdom come to a dead-lock. They are distributed so
that the action of the heart never flags, even when large drafts are
made on the working staff, as when a whole battalion of the employes
goes out for a field-day in the garb of Volunteers.
There are between eight and nine hundred men of the Post-Office, who,
not content with carrying Her Majesty's mails, voluntarily carry Her
Majesty's rifles. These go through the drudgery and drill of military
service at odd hours, as they find time, and on high occasions they
march out to the martial strains of fife and drum.
On one such occasion the Post-Office battalion (better known as the 49th
Middlesex) took part in a sham fight, which Phil Maylands and Peter Pax
(who chanced to have holidays at the time) went out to see. They did
not take part in it, not being Volunteers, but they took pride in it, as
worthy, right-spirited men of the Post could not fail to do.
The 49th Middlesex distinguished themselves on that occasion. Their
appearance as they marched on to the battle-ground--some distance out of
London--bore creditable comparison with the best corps in the service.
So said Pax; and Pax was a good judge, being naturally critical.
When the fight began, and the rattling musketry, to say nothing of
booming artillery, created such a smoke that no unmilitary person could
make head or tail of anything, the 49th Middlesex took advantage of a
hollow, and executed a flank movement that would have done credit to the
42nd Highlanders, and even drew forth an approving nod and smile from
the reviewing officer, who with his cocked-hatted staff witnessed the
movement from an eminence which was swept by a devastating cross-fire
from every part of the field.
When the artillery were ordered to another eminence to check the
movement and dislodge them from the hollow, the gallant 49th stood their
ground in the face of a fire that would have swept that hollow as with
the besom of destruction. They also replied with a continuous discharge
that would, in five minutes, have immolated every man and horse on the
eminence.
When, afterwards, a body of cavalry was sent to teach the gallant 49th a
lesson, and came thundering down on them like a wolf on the fold, or an
avalanche on a Swiss hamlet, they formed square with mathematical
precision, received them with a withering fire that ought to have
emptied every saddle, and, with the bayonet's point, turned them
trooping off to the right and left, discomfited.
When, finally, inflated with the pride of victory, they began to re-form
line too soon, and were caught in the act by the returning cavalry, they
flung themselves into rallying squares, which, bristling with bayonets
like porcupines of steel, keeping up such an incessant roar of musketry
that the spot on which they stood became, as it were, a heart or core of
furious firing, in the midst of a field that was already hotly engaged
all round. We do not vouch for the correctness of this account of the
battle. We received it from Pax, and give it for what it is worth.
Oh! it was, as Phil Maylands said, "a glorious day entirely for the 49th
Middlesex, that same Queen's Birthday," for there was all the pomp and
circumstance of war, all the smoke and excitation, all the glitter of
bright sunshine on accoutrements, the flash of sword and bayonet, and
the smoke and fire of battle, without the bloodshed and the loss of
life!
No doubt there were drawbacks. Where is the human family, however
well-regulated, that claims exemption from such? There were some of the
warriors on that bloodless battle-field who had no more idea of the art
of war than the leg of a telescope has of astronomy. There were many
who did not know which were friends and which were foes. Many more
there were who did not care! Some of the Volunteer officers (though not
many), depending too much on their sergeants to keep them right, drove
these sergeants nearly mad. Others there were, who, depending too much
on their own genius, drove their colonels frantic; but by far the
greater number, both of officers and men, knew their work and did it
well.
Yes, it was indeed a glorious day entirely, that same Queen's Birthday,
for all arms of the service, especially for the 49th Middlesex; and when
that gallant body of men marched from the field of glory, with drums
beating and fifes shrieking, little Pax could scarcely contain himself
for joy, and wished with all his heart that he were drum-major of the
corps, that he might find vent for his feelings in the bursting of the
big drum.
"Now," said Phil, when they had seen the last of the Volunteers off the
field, "what shall you and I do?"
"Ah! true, that is the question," returned Pax; "what are we to do? Our
holidays are before us. The day is far spent; the evening is at hand.
We can't bivouac here, that is plain. What say you, Phil, to walking
over to Miss Stivergill's? I have a general invite from that lady to
spend any holidays I have to dispose of at Rosebud Cottage. It is not
more than two miles from where we stand."
"D'ye think she'd extend her invite to me," asked Phil dubiously.
"Think!" exclaimed Pax, "I am _sure_ of it. Why, that respectable old
lady owns a heart that might have been enshrined in a casket of beauty.
She's a trump--a regular brick."
"Come, Pax, be respectful."
"Ain't I respectful, you Irish noodle? My language mayn't be choice,
indeed, but you can't find fault with the sentiment. Come along, before
it gets darker. Any friend of mine will be welcome; besides, I half
expect to find your sister there, and we shall be sure to see Miss
Lillycrop and my sweet little cousin Tottie, who has been promoted to
the condition of ladies'-maid and companion."
"Ah, poor Tottie!" said Phil, "her father's illness has told heavily on
her."
"That's true," returned Pax, as every vestige of fun vanished from his
expressive face and was replaced by sympathy, "but I've good news for
her to-night. Since her last visit her father has improved, and the
doctor says he may yet recover. The fresh air of the new house has done
him good."
Pax referred here to a new residence in a more airy neighbourhood, to
which Bones had been removed through the kindness and liberality of Miss
Stivergill, whose respect for the male sex had, curiously enough,
increased from the date of the burglary. With characteristic energy she
had removed Bones, with his wife and a few household goods, to a better
dwelling near the river, but this turned out to be damp, and Bones
became worse in it. She therefore instituted another prompt removal to
a more decidedly salubrious quarter. Here Bones improved a little in
health. But the poor man's injury was of a serious nature. Ribs had
been broken, and the lungs pierced. A constitution debilitated by
previous dissipation could not easily withstand the shock. His life
trembled in the balance.
The change, however, in the man's spirit was marvellous. It had not
been the result of sudden calamity or of prolonged suffering. Before
his accident, while in full vigour and in the midst of his sins, the
drops which melted him had begun to fall like dew. The night when his
eyes were opened to see Jesus was but the culminating of God's work of
mercy. From that night he spoke little, but the little he said was to
express thankfulness. He cared not to reason. He would not answer
questions that were sometimes foolishly put to him, but he listened to
the Word of God, read by his poor yet rejoicing wife, with eager,
thirsting looks. When told that he was in danger he merely smiled.
"Georgie," he whispered--for he had reverted to the old original name of
his wife, which, with his proper name of Blackadder, he had changed on
coming to London--"Georgie, I wish I might live for your sake and His,
but it'll be better to go. We're on the same road at last, Georgie, and
shall meet again."
Aspel marked the change and marvelled. He could not understand it at
all. But he came to understand it ere long. He had followed Bones in
his changes of abode, because he had formed a strange liking for the
man, but he refused to associate in any way with his former friends.
They occasionally visited the sick man, but if Aspel chanced to be with
him at the time he invariably went out by the back-door as they entered
by the front. He refused even to see Phil Maylands, but met Pax, and
seemed not to mind him. At all events he took no notice of him.
Whether his conduct was owing to pride, shame, or recklessness, none
could tell.
The changes of residence we have referred to had the effect of throwing
off the scent a certain gentleman who had been tracking out Abel Bones
with the perseverance, though not the success, of a bloodhound.
The man in grey, after losing, or rather coming to the end, of his clew
at the Post-Office furnace, recovered it by some magical powers known
best to himself and his compeers, and tracked his victim to Archangel
Court, but here he lost the scent again, and seemed to be finally
baffled. It was well for Bones that it so fell out, because in his weak
state it would probably have gone hard with him had he believed that the
police were still on his tracks. As it was, he progressed slowly but
favourably, and with this good news Pax and his friend hurried to
Rosebud Cottage.
What an unmitigated blessing a holiday is to those who work hard! Ah!
ye lazy ones of earth, if ye gain something by unbounded leisure ye lose
much. Stay--we will not preach on that text. It needs not!
To return: Phil and Pax found Tottie and May at The Rosebud as they had
anticipated--the latter being free for a time on sick-leave--and the
four went in for a holiday, as Pax put it, neck and crop.
It may occur to some that there was somewhat of incongruity in the
companionship of Tottie and May, but the difference between the poor
man's daughter who had been raised to comparative affluence, and the
gentleman's daughter who had been brought down to comparative poverty,
was not so great as one might suppose. It must be remembered that
Tottie had started life with a God-fearing mother, and that of itself
secured her from much contamination in the midst of abounding evil,
while it surrounded her with a rich influence for good. Then, latterly,
she had been mentally, morally, and physically trained by Miss
Lillycrop, who was a perfect pattern of propriety delicacy, good sense,
and good taste. She first read to her pupil, and then made the pupil
read to her. Miss Lillycrop's range of reading was wide and choice.
Thus Tottie, who was naturally refined and intelligent, in time became
more so by education. She had grown wonderfully too, and had acquired a
certain sedateness of demeanour, which was all the more captivating that
it was an utterly false index to her character, for Tottie's spirit was
as wildly exuberant as that of the wildest denizen of Archangel Court.
In like manner Pax had been greatly improved by his association with
Phil Maylands. The vigorous strength of Phil's mind had unconsciously
exercised a softening influence on his little admirer. We have said
that they studied and read together. Hence Pax was learned beyond his
years and station. The fitness therefore of the four to associate
pleasantly has, we think, been clearly made out.
Pax, at all events, had not a shadow of a doubt on that point,
especially when the four lay down under the shadow of a spreading oak to
examine the butterflies and moths they had captured in the fields.
"What babies we are," said Phil, "to go after butterflies in this
fashion!"
"Speak for yourself," retorted Pax; "I consider myself an entomologist
gathering specimens. Call 'em specimens, Phil; that makes a world of
difference.--Oh, Tot! what a splendid one you have got there! It
reminds me so of the time when I used to carry you about the fields on
my back, and call you Merry. Don't you remember?"
"No," said Tottie, "I don't."
"And _won't_ you let me call you Merry?" pleaded Pax.
"No, I won't. I don't believe you ever carried me on your back, or that
my name was Merry."
"What an unbeliever!" exclaimed Pax.
"You can't deny that you are merry to-day, Tot," said May.
Tot did not deny it, but, so to speak, admitted it by starting up and
giving sudden chase to a remarkably bright butterfly that passed at the
moment.
"And don't you remember," resumed Pax, when she returned and sat down
again by his side, "the day when we caught the enormous spider, which I
kept in a glass box, where it spun a net and caught the flies I pushed
into the box for it to feed on? No? Nor the black beetle we found
fighting with another beetle, which, I tried to impress on you, was its
grandmother, and you laughed heartily as if you really understood what I
said, though you didn't. You remember that, surely? No? Well, well--
these joys were thrown away on you, for you remember nothing."
"O yes, I do remember something," cried Tottie. "I remember when you
fell into the horse-pond, and came out dripping, and covered from head
to foot with mud and weeds!"
She followed up this remark with a merry laugh, which was suddenly
checked by a shrill and terrible cry from the neighbouring field.
In order to account for this cry, we must state that Miss Lillycrop,
desirous of acquiring an appetite for dinner by means of a short walk,
left Rosebud Cottage and made for the dell, in which she expected to
meet May Maylands and her companions. Taking a short cut, she crossed a
field. Short cuts are frequently dangerous. It proved so in the
present instance. The field she had invaded was the private preserve of
an old bull with a sour temper.
Beholding a female, he lowered his horrid head, cocked his tail, and
made at her. This it was that drew from poor Miss Lillycrop a yell such
as she had not uttered since the days of infancy.
Phil Maylands was swift to act at all times of emergency. He vaulted
the fence of the field, and rushed at Miss Lillycrop as if he himself
had been a bull of Bashan, and meant to try his hand at tossing her.
Not an idea had Phil as to what he meant to do. All he knew was that he
had to rush to the rescue! Between Phil and the bull the poor lady
seemed to stand a bad chance.
Not a whit less active or prompt was Peter Pax, but Peter had apparently
more of method in his madness than Phil, for he wrenched up a stout
stake in his passage over the fence.
"Lie down! lie down! O lie down!" shouted Phil in agony, for he saw
that the brute was quickly overtaking its victim.
Poor Miss Lillycrop was beyond all power of self-control. She could
only fly. Fortunately a hole in the field came to her rescue. She put
her foot into it and fell flat down. The bull passed right over her,
and came face to face with Phil, as it pulled up, partly in surprise, no
doubt, at the sudden disappearance of Miss Lillycrop and at the sudden
appearance of a new foe. Before it recovered from its surprise little
Pax brought the paling down on its nose with such a whack that it
absolutely sneezed--or something like it--then, roaring, rushed at Pax.
As if he had been a trained matador, Pax leaped aside, and brought the
paling down again on the bull's head with a smash that knocked it all to
splinters.
"Don't dodge it," shouted Phil, "draw it away from her!"
Pax understood at once. Tempting the bull to charge him again, he ran
off to the other side of the field like a greyhound, followed by the
foaming enemy.
Meanwhile Phil essayed to lift Miss Lillycrop, who had swooned, on his
shoulders. Fortunately she was light. Still, it was no easy matter to
get her limp form into his arms. With a desperate effort he got her on
his knee; with an inelegant hitch he sent her across his shoulder, where
she hung like a limp bolster, as he made for the fence. May and Tottie
stood there rooted to the earth in horror. To walk on uneven ground
with such a burden was bad enough, but Phil had to run. How he did it
he never could tell, but he reached the fence at last, and shot Miss
Lillycrop over into the arms of her friends, and all three were sent
headlong down into a thick bush.
Phil turned at once to run to the aid of Pax, but there was no occasion
to do so. That youth had reached and leaped the fence like an acrobat,
and was now standing on the other side of it making faces at the bull,
calling it names, and insulting it with speeches of the most refined
insolence, by way of relieving his feelings and expressing his
satisfaction.