look, and then by the light--a bluish colour 'twas--he saw all the
coast clear away to Manacle Point, and off the Manacles, in the thick of
the weather, a sloop-of-war with top-gallants housed driving stern
foremost towards the reef. It was she, of course, that was burning the
flare. My father could see the white streak and the ports of her quite
plain as she rose to it, a little outside the breakers, and he guessed
easy enough that her captain had just managed to wear ship, and was
trying to force her nose to the sea with the help of her small bower
anchor and the scrap or two of canvas that hadn't yet been blown out of
her. But while he looked, she fell off, giving her broadside to it foot
by foot, and drifting back on the breakers around Carn dû and the
Varses. The rocks lie so thick thereabouts, that 'twas a toss up which
she struck first; at any rate, my father couldn't tell at the time, for
just then the flare died down and went out.
'Well, sir, he turned then in the dark and started back for Coverack to
cry the dismal tidings--though well knowing ship and crew to be past any
hope; and as he turned, the wind lifted him and tossed him forward "like
a ball," as he'd been saying, and homeward along the foreshore. As you
know, 'tis ugly work, even by daylight, picking your way among the
stones there, and my father was prettily knocked about at first in the
dark. But by this 'twas nearer seven than six o'clock, and the day
spreading. By the time he reached North Corner, a man could see to read
print; hows'ever, he looked neither out to sea nor towards Coverack, but
headed straight for the first cottage--the same that stands above North
Corner to-day. A man named Billy Ede lived there then, and when my
father burst into the kitchen bawling, "Wreck! wreck!" he saw Billy
Ede's wife, Ann, standing there in her clogs, with a shawl thrown over
her head, and her clothes wringing wet.
'"Save the chap!" says Billy Ede's wife, Ann. "What d' 'ee mean by
crying stale fish at that rate?"
'"But 'tis a wreck, I tell 'ee. I've a-zeed 'n!"
'"Why, so 'tis," says she, "and I've a-zeed'n, too; and so has everyone
with an eye in his head."
'And with that she pointed straight over my father's shoulder, and he
turned; and there, close under Dolor Point, at the end of Coverack town,
he saw another wreck washing, and the point black with people like
emmets, running to and fro in the morning light. While he stood staring
at her, he heard a trumpet sounded on board, the notes coming in little
jerks, like a bird rising against the wind; but faintly, of course,
because of the distance and the gale blowing--though this had dropped a
little.
'"She's a transport," said Billy Ede's wife, Ann, "and full of horse
soldiers, fine long men. When she struck they must ha' pitched the
hosses over first to lighten the ship, for a score of dead hosses had
washed in afore I left, half-an-hour back. An' three or four soldiers,
too--fine long corpses in white breeches and jackets of blue and gold. I
held the lantern to one. Such a straight young man."
'My father asked her about the trumpeting.
'"That's the queerest bit of all. She was burnin' a light when me an' my
man joined the crowd down there. All her masts had gone; whether they
were carried away, or were cut away to ease her, I don't rightly know.
Anyway, there she lay 'pon the rocks with her decks bare. Her keelson
was broke under her and her bottom sagged and stove, and she had just
settled down like a sitting hen--just the leastest list to starboard;
but a man could stand there easy. They had rigged up ropes across her,
from bulwark to bulwark, an' beside these the men were mustered, holding
on like grim death whenever the sea made a clean breach over them, an'
standing up like heroes as soon as it passed. The captain an' the
officers were clinging to the rail of the quarter-deck, all in their
golden uniforms, waiting for the end as if 'twas King George they
expected. There was no way to help, for she lay right beyond cast of
line, though our folk tried it fifty times. And beside them clung a
trumpeter, a whacking big man, an' between the heavy seas he would lift
his trumpet with one hand, and blow a call; and every time he blew, the
men gave a cheer. There (she says)--hark 'ee now--there he goes agen!
But you won't hear no cheering any more, for few are left to cheer, and
their voices weak. Bitter cold the wind is, and I reckon it numbs their
grip o' the ropes; for they were dropping off fast with every sea when
my man sent me home to get his breakfast. Another wreck, you say? Well,
there's no hope for the tender dears, if 'tis the Manacles. You'd better
run down and help yonder; though 'tis little help any man can give. Not
one came in alive while I was there. The tide's flowing, an' she won't
hold together another hour, they say."
'Well, sure enough, the end was coming fast when my father got down to
the point. Six men had been cast up alive, or just breathing--a seaman
and five troopers. The seaman was the only one that had breath to speak;
and while they were carrying him into the town, the word went round that
the ship's name was the _Despatch_, transport, homeward bound from
Corunna, with a detachment of the 7th Hussars, that had been fighting
out there with Sir John Moore. The seas had rolled her further over by
this time, and given her decks a pretty sharp slope; but a dozen men
still held on, seven by the ropes near the ship's waist, a couple near
the break of the poop, and three on the quarter-deck. Of these three my
father made out one to be the skipper; close by him clung an officer in
full regimentals--his name, they heard after, was Captain Duncanfield;
and last came the tall trumpeter; and if you'll believe me, the fellow
was making shift there, at the very last, to blow "God save the King."
What's more, he got to "Send us victorious," before an extra big sea
came bursting across and washed them off the deck--every man but one of
the pair beneath the poop--and _he_ dropped his hold before the next
wave; being stunned, I reckon. The others went out of sight at once; but
the trumpeter--being, as I said, a powerful man as well as a tough
swimmer--rose like a duck, rode out a couple of breakers, and came in on
the crest of the third. The folks looked to see him broke like an egg at
their very feet; but when the smother cleared, there he was, lying face
downward on a ledge below them; and one of the men that happened to have
a rope round him--I forget the fellow's name, if I ever heard
it--jumped down and grabbed him by the ankle as he began to slip back.
Before the next big sea, the pair were hauled high enough to be out of
harm, and another heave brought them up to grass. Quick work, but master
trumpeter wasn't quite dead; nothing worse than a cracked head and three
staved ribs. In twenty minutes or so they had him in bed, with the
doctor to tend him.
'Now was the time--nothing being left alive upon the transport--for my
father to tell of the sloop he'd seen driving upon the Manacles. And
when he got a hearing, though the most were set upon salvage, and
believed a wreck in the hand, so to say, to be worth half-a-dozen they
couldn't see, a good few volunteered to start off with him and have a
look. They crossed Lowland Point; no ship to be seen on the Manacles,
nor anywhere upon the sea. One or two was for calling my father a liar.
"Wait till we come to Dean Point," said he. Sure enough on the far side
of Dean Point they found the sloop's mainmast washing about with
half-a-dozen men lashed to it, men in red jackets, every mother's son
drowned and staring; and a little further on, just under the Dean, three
or four bodies cast up on the shore, one of them a small drummer-boy,
side-drum and all; and, near by, part of a ship's gig, with H. M. S.
_Primrose_ cut on the stern-board. From this point on, the shore was
littered thick with wreckage and dead bodies,--the most of them Marines
in uniform; and in Godrevy Cove, in particular, a heap of furniture from
the captain's cabin, and amongst it a water-tight box, not much damaged,
and full of papers, by which, when it came to be examined, next day, the
wreck was easily made out to be the _Primrose_, of eighteen guns,
outward bound from Portsmouth, with a fleet of transports for the
Spanish War, thirty sail, I've heard, but I've never heard what became
of them. Being handled by merchant skippers, no doubt they rode out the
gale, and reached the Tagus safe and sound. Not but what the Captain of
the _Primrose_ (Mein was his name) did quite right to try and club-haul
his vessel when he found himself under the land; only he never ought to
have got there, if he took proper soundings. But it's easy talking.
'The _Primrose_, sir, was a handsome vessel--for her size, one of the
handsomest in the King's service--and newly fitted out at Plymouth Dock.
So the boys had brave pickings from her in the way of brass-work, ship's
instruments, and the like, let alone some barrels of stores not much
spoiled. They loaded themselves with as much as they could carry, and
started for home, meaning to make a second journey before the preventive
men got wind of their doings, and came to spoil the fun. But as my
father was passing back under the Dean, he happened to take a look over
his shoulder at the bodies there. "Hullo!" says he, and dropped his
gear, "I do believe there's a leg moving!" and running fore, he stooped
over the small drummer-boy that I told you about. The poor little chap
was lying there, with his face a mass of bruises, and his eyes
closed--but he had shifted one leg an inch or two, and was still
breathing. So my father pulled out a knife, and cut him free from his
drum--that was lashed on to him with a double turn of Manilla rope--and
took him up and carried him along here, to this very room that we're
sitting in. He lost a good deal by this; for when he went back to fetch
the bundle he'd dropped, the preventive men had got hold of it, and were
thick as thieves along the foreshore; so that 'twas only by paying one
or two to look the other way that he picked up anything worth carrying
off--which you'll allow to be hard, seeing that he was the first man to
give news of the wreck.
[Illustration: _'My father cut him free from his drum.'_]
'Well, the inquiry was held, of course, and my father gave evidence, and
for the rest they had to trust to the sloop's papers, for not a soul
was saved besides the drummer-boy, and he was raving in a fever, brought
on by the cold and the fright. And the seaman and the five troopers gave
evidence about the loss of the _Despatch_. The tall trumpeter, too,
whose ribs were healing, came forward and kissed the Book; but somehow
his head had been hurt in coming ashore, and he talked foolish-like, and
'twas easy seen he would never be a proper man again. The others were
taken up to Plymouth, and so went their ways; but the trumpeter stayed
on in Coverack; and King George, finding he was fit for nothing, sent
him down a trifle of a pension after a while--enough to keep him in
board and lodging, with a bit of tobacco over.
'Now the first time that this man--William Tallifer he called
himself--met with the drummer-boy was about a fortnight after the little
chap had bettered enough to be allowed a short walk out of doors, which
he took, if you please, in full regimentals. There never was a soldier
so proud of his dress. His own suit had shrunk a brave bit with the salt
water; but into ordinary frock an' corduroys he declared he would not
get, not if he had to go naked the rest of his life; so my father--being
a good-natured man, and handy with the needle--turned to and repaired
damages with a piece or two of scarlet cloth cut from the jacket of one
of the drowned Marines. Well, the poor little chap chanced to be
standing, in this rig out, down by the gate of Gunner's Meadow, where
they had buried two score and over of his comrades. The morning was a
fine one, early in March month; and along came the cracked trumpeter,
likewise taking a stroll.
'"Hullo!" says he; "good mornin'! And what might you be doin' here?"
'"I was a-wishin'," says the boy, "I had a pair o' drum-sticks. Our lads
were buried yonder without so much as a drum tapped or a musket fired;
and that's not Christian burial for British soldiers."
'"Phut!" says the trumpeter, and spat on the ground; "a parcel of
Marines!"
'The boy eyed him a second or so, and answered up: "If I'd a tab of turf
handy, I'd hang it at your mouth, you greasy cavalryman, and learn you
to speak respectful of your betters. The Marines are the handiest body
o' men in the service."
'The trumpeter looked down on him from the height of six foot two, and
asked: "Did they die well?"
'"They died very well. There was a lot of running to and fro at first,
and some of the men began to cry, and a few to strip off their clothes.
But when the ship fell off for the last time, Captain Mein turned and
said something to Major Griffiths, the commanding officer on board, and
the Major called out to me to beat to quarters. It might have been for a
wedding, he sang it out so cheerful. We'd had word already that 'twas
to be parade order; and the men fell in as trim and decent as if they
were going to church. One or two even tried to shave at the last moment.
The Major wore his medals. One of the seamen, seeing I had work to keep
the drum steady--the sling being a bit loose for me, and the wind what
you remember--lashed it tight with a piece of rope; and that saved my
life afterwards, a drum being as good as a cork until it's stove. I kept
beating away until every man was on deck; and then the Major formed them
up and told them to die like British soldiers, and the chaplain read a
prayer or two--the boys standin' all the while like rocks, each man's
courage keeping up the others'. The chaplain was in the middle of a
prayer when she struck. In ten minutes she was gone. That was how they
died, cavalryman."
'"And that was very well done, drummer of the Marines. What's your
name?"
"John Christian."
'"Mine's William George Tallifer, trumpeter of the 7th Light Dragoons,
the Queen's Own. I played 'God save the King' while our men were
drowning. Captain Duncanfield told me to sound a call or two, to put
them in heart; but that matter of 'God save the King' was a notion of my
own. I won't say anything to hurt the feelings of a Marine, even if he's
not much over five foot tall; but the Queen's Own Hussars is a tearin'
fine regiment. As between horse and foot, 'tis a question o' which gets
the chance. All the way from Sahagun to Corunna 'twas we that took and
gave the knocks--at Mayorga and Rueda and Bennyventy." (The reason, sir,
I can speak the names so pat, is that my father learnt 'em by heart
afterwards from the trumpeter, who was always talking about Mayorga and
Rueda and Bennyventy.) "We made the rear-guard, under General Paget, and
drove the French every time; and all the infantry did was to sit about
in wine-shops till we whipped 'em out, an' steal an' straggle an' play
the tomfool in general. And when it came to a stand-up fight at Corunna,
'twas the horse, or the best part of it, that had to stay sea-sick
aboard the transports, an' watch the infantry in the thick o' the caper.
Very well they behaved, too; 'specially the 4th Regiment, an' the 42nd
Highlanders, an' the Dirty Half-Hundred. Oh, ay; they're decent
regiments, all three. But the Queen's Own Hussars is a tearin' fine
regiment. So you played on your drum when the ship was goin' down?
Drummer John Christian, I'll have to get you a new pair o' drum-sticks
for that."
'Well, sir, it appears that the very next day the trumpeter marched into
Helston, and got a carpenter there to turn him a pair of box-wood
drumsticks for the boy. And this was the beginning of one of the most
curious friendships you ever heard tell of. Nothing delighted the pair
more than to borrow a boat off my father and pull out to the rocks
where the _Primrose_ and the _Despatch_ had struck and sunk; and on
still days 'twas pretty to hear them out there off the Manacles, the
drummer playing his tattoo--for they always took their music with
them--and the trumpeter practising calls, and making his trumpet speak
like an angel. But if the weather turned roughish, they'd be walking
together and talking; leastwise, the youngster listened while the other
discoursed about Sir John's campaign in Spain and Portugal, telling how
each little skirmish befell; and of Sir John himself, and General Baird,
and General Paget, and Colonel Vivian, his own commanding officer, and
what kind of men they were; and of the last bloody stand-up at Corunna,
and so forth, as if neither could have enough.
'But all this had to come to an end in the late summer, for the boy,
John Christian, being now well and strong again, must go up to Plymouth
to report himself. 'Twas his own wish (for I believe King George had
forgotten all about him), but his friend wouldn't hold him back. As for
the trumpeter, my father had made an arrangement to take him on as
lodger as soon as the boy left; and on the morning fixed for the start,
he was up at the door here by five o'clock, with his trumpet slung by
his side, and all the rest of his belongings in a small valise. A Monday
morning it was, and after breakfast he had fixed to walk with the boy
some way on the road towards Helston, where the coach started. My father
left them at breakfast together, and went out to meat the pig, and do a
few odd morning jobs of that sort. When he came back, the boy was still
at table, and the trumpeter standing here by the chimney-place with the
drum and trumpet in his hands, hitched together just as they be at this
moment.
'"Look at this," he says to my father, showing him the lock, "I picked
it up off a starving brass-worker in Lisbon, and it is not one of your
common locks that one word of six letters will open at any time. There's
_janius_ in this lock; for you've only to make the rings spell any
six-letter word you please and snap down the lock upon that, and never a
soul can open it--not the maker, even--until somebody comes along that
knows the word you snapped it on. Now, Johnny here's goin', and he
leaves his drum behind him; for though he can make pretty music on it,
the parchment sags in wet weather, by reason of the sea-water getting at
it; an' if he carries it to Plymouth, they'll only condemn it and give
him another. And, as for me, I sha'n't have the heart to put lip to the
trumpet any more when Johnny's gone. So we've chosen a word together,
and locked 'em together upon that; and, by your leave, I'll hang 'em
here together on the hook over your fireplace. Maybe Johnny'll come
back; maybe not. Maybe, if he comes, I'll be dead an' gone, an' he'll
take 'em apart an' try their music for old sake's sake. But if he never
comes, nobody can separate 'em; for nobody beside knows the word. And if
you marry and have sons, you can tell 'em that here are tied together
the souls of Johnny Christian, drummer of the Marines, and William
George Tallifer, once trumpeter of the Queen's Own Hussars. Amen."
'With that he hung the two instruments 'pon the hook there; and the boy
stood up and thanked my father and shook hands; and the pair went forth
of the door, towards Helston.
'Somewhere on the road they took leave of one another; but nobody saw
the parting, nor heard what was said between them. About three in the
afternoon the trumpeter came walking back over the hill; and by the time
my father came home from the fishing the cottage was tidied up, and the
tea ready, and the whole place shining like a new pin. From that time
for five years he lodged here with my father, looking after the house
and tilling the garden. And all the while he was steadily failing; the
hurt in his head spreading, in a manner, to his limbs. My father watched
the feebleness growing on him, but said nothing. And from first to last
neither spake a word about the drummer, John Christian; nor did any
letter reach them, nor word of his doings.
'The rest of the tale you'm free to believe sir, or not, as you please.
It stands upon my father's words, and he always declared he was ready to
kiss the Book upon it, before judge and jury. He said, too, that he
never had the wit to make up such a yarn; and he defied anyone to
explain about the lock, in particular, by any other tale. But you shall
judge for yourself.
'My father said that about three o'clock in the morning, April
fourteenth, of the year 'fourteen, he and William Tallifer were sitting
here, just as you and I, sir, are sitting now. My father had put on his
clothes a few minutes before, and was mending his spiller by the light
of the horn lantern, meaning to set off before daylight to haul the
trammel. The trumpeter hadn't been to bed at all. Towards the last he
mostly spent his nights (and his days, too) dozing in the elbow-chair
where you sit at this minute. He was dozing then (my father said) with
his chin dropped forward on his chest, when a knock sounded upon the
door, and the door opened, and in walked an upright young man in scarlet
regimentals.
'He had grown a brave bit, and his face was the colour of wood-ashes;
but it was the drummer John Christian. Only his uniform was different
from the one he used to wear, and the figures "38" shone in brass upon
his collar.
'The drummer walked past my father as if he never saw him, and stood by
the elbow-chair and said:--
'"Trumpeter, trumpeter, are you one with me?"
'And the trumpeter just lifted the lids of his eyes, and answered, "How
should I not be one with you, drummer Johnny--Johnny boy? If you come,
I count: while you march, I mark time: until the discharge comes."
'"The discharge has come to-night," said the drummer; "and the word is
Corunna no longer." And stepping to the chimney-place, he unhooked the
drum and trumpet, and began to twist the brass rings of the lock,
spelling the word aloud, so,--C-O-R-U-N-A. When he had fixed the last
letter, the padlock opened in his hand.
'"Did you know, trumpeter, that, when I came to Plymouth, they put me
into a line regiment?"
'"The 38th is a good regiment," answered the old Hussar, still in his
dull voice; "I went back with them from Sahagun to Corunna. At Corunna
they stood in General Fraser's division, on the right. They behaved
well."
'"But I'd fain see the Marinys again," says the drummer, handing him the
trumpet; "and you, you shall call once more for the Queen's Own.
Matthew," he says, suddenly, turning on my father--and when he turned,
my father saw for the first time that his scarlet jacket had a round
hole by the breast-bone, and that the blood was welling there--"Matthew,
we shall want your boat."
'Then my father rose on his legs like a man in a dream, while they two
slung on, the one his drum, and t'other his trumpet. He took the lantern
and went quaking before them down to the shore, and they breathed
heavily behind him; and they stepped into his boat, and my father pushed
off.
'"Row you first for Dolor Point," says the drummer. So my father rowed
them out past the white houses of Coverack to Dolor Point, and there, at
a word, lay on his oars. And the trumpeter, William Tallifer, put his
trumpet to his mouth and sounded the _Revelly_. The music of it was like
rivers running.
[Illustration: _The trumpeter sounded the Revelly._]
'"They will follow," said the drummer. "Matthew, pull you now for the
Manacles."
'So my father pulled for the Manacles, and came to an easy close outside
Carn dû. And the drummer took his sticks and beat a tattoo, there by the
edge of the reef: and the music of it was like a rolling chariot.
'"That will do," says he, breaking off; "they will follow. Pull now for
the shore under Gunner's Meadow."
'Then my father pulled for the shore, and ran his boat in under Gunner's
Meadow. And they stepped out, all three, and walked up to the meadow. By
the gate the drummer halted, and began his tattoo again, looking out
towards the darkness over the sea.
'And while the drum beat, and my father held his breath, there came up
out of the sea and the darkness a troop of many men, horse and foot, and
formed up among the graves; and others rose out of the graves and formed
up,--drowned Marines with bleached faces, and pale Hussars, riding
their horses, all lean and shadowy. There was no clatter of hoofs or
accoutrements, my father said, but a soft sound all the while like the
beating of a bird's wing; and a black shadow lying like a pool about the
feet of all. The drummer stood upon a little knoll just inside the gate,
and beside him the tall trumpeter, with hand on hip, watching them
gather; and behind them both my father, clinging to the gate. When no
more came, the drummer stopped playing, and said, "Call the roll."