The outdoor life agreed with Phil thoroughly, and he had scarcely been
with the menagerie a month before all his paleness had disappeared, and
he felt and looked in the best of health.
Constantly accompanying Jim and the old soldier upon some journey, the
beginning of one week would find them at some sunny spot on the southern
sea-coast, while at the end they would be slowly trudging to the north,
having called _en route_ at the headquarters in London, there to take
possession of some other animal. And while they carried out this work
others did the same, for the menagerie was a large and profitable
concern. At the London headquarters there were cages and houses
innumerable, in which the various animals were kept. But seldom indeed
was any particular one a tenant of his cage for more than a fortnight,
for, much to Phil's surprise, the demand for lions, tigers, and other
wild beasts was extraordinarily large. Now it was a zoological garden
that wished to replace the lose of one of its show animals, and now some
wealthy nobleman with a fancy for a private menagerie. Then, too,
demands came from the Continent, and had to be attended to. The animals
were placed in well-built, warm, but properly ventilated cages, capable
of being lifted from their wheels if necessary, and in these they
journeyed by road to their several destinations. In no case was the
railroad used, for it was as yet very far from attaining to its present
efficiency, and experience had taught the owner of the menagerie that
beasts from foreign parts required to be treated like hot-house flowers,
and protected from the chills and biting winds met with in England.
Two months and more passed pleasantly, and by that time Phil was quite
accustomed to his work, and moreover, from frequent calls at the
menagerie in London, had met all the other hands.
"I like the life immensely, and am sure it agrees with me," he answered
with enthusiasm one day when Jim suddenly turned upon him and asked him
the question. "I earn more than I did some weeks ago, and in a very
pleasant manner compared with the other employment. Besides, I have
been amongst a number of working men and find that I can rub shoulders
with them and not quarrel. It is just what I wanted to know, and now
that I have had the experience I shall not be long in leaving this
employment and enlisting in the army."
"You must do just as you like there, lad," replied Jim briskly. "Each
chap settles that kind of thing for hisself. For my part, though, I've
been too long and too contented at this here work to want to change."
And indeed there was no doubt that Jim enjoyed his life to the full. A
contented and merry fellow, he was just the one to make his companions
look upon the bright side of things. Not that Phil was ever inclined to
do otherwise. Up at daylight, as blithe as a lark, he was off with the
horses to the nearest water so soon as the sun had lifted the mist from
the ground. Then, tethering them to the wagon shafts again, he would
slip off the thick rugs which covered them and groom them thoroughly,
all the while giving vent to that peculiar "hiss" which seems necessary
for this purpose, in a way that would have aroused the envy of many a
stable lad.
That done, the canvas bin that stretched from the tip of the shaft was
filled with corn, and while the sleek-coated animals set to work to
consume it, Phil produced an iron tripod, gathered a pile of sticks, and
set them alight. A box placed in proper position kept the breeze away
on a gusty day, and in a twinkling, it seemed, the kettle above was
singing, and a jet of white steam blowing into the cool morning air.
Now came the time he enjoyed most of all. Armed with a frying-pan, he
sat down to prepare rashers of bacon, and if it were an extraordinary
day, possibly eggs too. A shout would rouse Jim and the old soldier,
and in five minutes the folding-table was set up, the tea made, and all
three heartily devouring their breakfast.
"We might be in Ameriky, or some such place," remarked Jim one morning.
"It's a treat being in the country this fine weather, and it does yer
good to get up early and prepare yer own grub."
"A precious lot of preparing you do, I notice," laughed Timms. "Why,
ever since Phil joined us he's done all that."
"You've got me there, mate, I owns," Jim grinned. "The young un's a
beggar to work, and saves us a deal of trouble. Before he come I used
to act as cook. Now I lies abed and takes it easy, as I ought to, on
account of my age."
Phil joined heartily in the laugh, for he knew well how Jim and Timms
could work. As to his own share, he was glad to have plenty to do, and
especially when he found he could help his two comrades, who had shown
themselves such excellent fellows.
Phil liked the majority of those he met at the menagerie in London, and
as for himself the other hands soon took his measure, and readily
acknowledged that he was a hard-working and straight lad, willing to be
friends with all. A few, however, were of the opposite opinion. There
was a small clique of rowdy fellows who took an instant dislike to Phil,
probably because, seeing what they were, he held aloof from them, and
these, and in particular one of them, set themselves to make things
unpleasant for him.
"Ought to ha' been a lord or summat of the sort," this worthy sneered
one day as Phil passed the doorway round which they were lounging.
"Thinks he owns the show--that's what it is. I'll take the gent down;
see if I don't, and right away too. Hi, you, Phil Western, or
whatever's yer name," he shouted, "come here! I want to speak to yer.
Now look here, Mr Dook, you're a pretty fine bird, but where do you
come from? That's what we're arter. Chaps of your sort don't take to
being hands in a menagerie every day, and that's the truth, I reckon. I
suppose yer wanted to hide away. That's it, ain't it?"
Now Phil had often been annoyed by this same young man, who went by the
name of "Tony", and in particular by the jeering way in which he shouted
names and various other pleasantries after him every time he happened to
pass.
"You want to know where I come from," he replied calmly, standing close
to the circle. "Then I'm afraid you will have to want."
"Eh! What! Have to want, shall I?" Tony growled. "Now none of yer
cheek. You're too proud, that's what you are, my young peacock, and
you've got to get taken down."
"That's possible," Phil rejoined, and was on the point of turning away
to avoid a quarrel when the pleasant Tony sprang to his feet and
shouting "Possible! Should just about think it is!" grasped him by the
arm and swung him round till they faced one another.
"Leave go!" cried Phil, losing his temper.
"Sha'n't till I've took yer down," Tony snapped.
"Then take that!" and Phil dashed his fist into the young man's face.
A scuffle at once ensued, and after a short and fiercely contested
round, a ring was formed. But at this moment the owner of the menagerie
put in an appearance and stopped the fight, with the natural result that
there was bad blood between Phil and Tony from that day, and the latter
never ceased to vow that he would have an ample revenge for the black
eye he had received.
Now Tony had another disagreeable trait. Besides being a bully, he was
also cruel, and took every opportunity of teasing a big brown bear which
happened to be his special charge. The more Bruin snarled and showed
his teeth, the harder Tony prodded him with his stick, till at times the
poor beast was almost mad with rage. It was a dangerous game to play,
and could have but one ending, and that was within an ace of being a
fatal one for Tony.
It happened upon a day when Phil and his two companions had returned to
London and were enjoying a well-earned rest after a few longer tramps
than usual. By the merest chance, too, it was a holiday in the
menagerie, for some valuable animals had recently arrived, and in
consequence, the wives and children and other relatives of the various
hands had gathered, by the owner's special request, to have tea with
their friends and see the wild beasts in their new home.
Phil was sitting in the van with Jim, sipping a cup of tea, and quite
unaware of the fact that Tony was engaged in his usual practice of
stirring up the bear for his own amusement and to excite the fear of a
few by-standers.
Suddenly there was a snarl, a crash, and the sound of breaking woodwork,
and then shrieks of terror and the noise of a wild stampede.
"What's that? Something's up," cried Phil, and springing down the steps
he ran towards the spot where the animals were kept.
A fearful sight met his eye, for the end of the flimsy cage in which
Bruin was kept a prisoner was splintered, and close beside it. Tony lay
motionless, and full length upon the ground, with the bear crouching
over him and clutching his head with a paw armed with murderous-looking
claws.
Not a soul was near, for all had fled for their lives. As Phil ran
forward, the enraged animal crouched lower over its victim, and snarled
fiercely, showing a row of teeth and gums.
"Help, Jim! The bear is killing Tony," shouted Phil, turning his head
for a moment, but still running towards the scene of the conflict.
As he passed a wagon he snatched up a long pitchfork. Rushing at the
bear, which reared itself on end, Phil swung the fork above his head and
brought it down with a smash on the animal's nose, shouting at the same
time in the hope of frightening it.
But Bruin was thoroughly aroused, and, stung to further anger by the tap
upon his head, he darted from the prostrate man and came open-mouthed at
Phil.
It was a terrifying sight, and many another might have taken to his
heels and not been called a coward. But Phil's mouth hardened till it
was a thin, straight line. Standing with his feet planted wide apart,
and the fork well in front of him, he kept his ground and lunged at the
animal with all his might, driving the prongs well into its chest.
There was a roar of pain and anger, and Bruin drew back for a moment,
but only to rise upon his hind-legs and advance with arms ready to crush
the life out of Phil's body, and gleaming teeth with which to tear his
flesh.
On he came, and, waiting his time, Phil once more plunged the prongs
deep into his chest, where they remained fast. A second later the bear
had shattered the pole with his paw, and, rushing at his enemy, had
beaten him to the ground and fallen upon him--dead.
It was a narrow shave, as Jim remarked.
"You're the biggest, yes, the biggest idiot I ever see, young un," he
said severely, as Phil lay in his bunk. "Here you go and attack a bear
as is always pretty wild, and only with a thing as is little better than
a toothpick. I can't make yer out. If it was me as was laid under that
there beast I might see some reason for it, though even then you'd be
pretty mad, I reckon; but when it's Tony, who's always a-naggin' at yer,
why, it fairly does for me."
"I didn't think of that, though," answered Phil cheerfully, for by a
piece of good fortune he had escaped with a severe shaking and a fright.
"There was the bear killing someone, and I was the first on the spot
and therefore bound to do something."
"Get on with yer! Bound to do something! Yes, it's run away most of us
would do--least--I don't know, though; I expects we'd have had a try to
drive the brute off. But for you, a kid like you, Phil, to tackle the
job all alone, and with only a pitchfork too, why, it just knocks all
the stuffin' out of me. Give us yer flipper, mate. You're a true un,
and don't you go a-telling me yer didn't know it was Tony as lay there.
I heard yer shout it. So no more of them fibs."
Jim got quite indignant, and then shook Phil's hand, squeezing it so
hard that he could have shouted with the pain.
"And that chap Tony's goin' to live too," he went on. "If he don't say
summat out o' the ord'nary, blest if I won't set to work and give him
the biggest hidin' he ever had. That is, when he's strong again. Now,
young un, turn over and get to sleep. You've had a roughish time, and a
go of grog ain't sufficient to pull yer round."
Phil obediently curled himself up and promptly fell asleep, but only to
dream that it was. Joe Sweetman who lay helpless upon the ground, while
the figure that was crouching over him, and that rushed at himself when
he ran to the rescue, was none other than "old Bumble", rendered furious
by the joke played upon his statue. It was an awful moment when Phil
plunged the fork into the old gentleman's massive chest, and so upset
him that he awoke, to find himself drenched with perspiration, but
decidedly better for all that, while through the open door he could see
Jim, pipe in mouth and in his shirt sleeves, squatting over the fire and
preparing breakfast.
Another month passed, making the third that Phil had spent in his new
employment, and ending also his seventeenth year. Short as the time had
been it had done much for him. He had filled out a little, and though
his face was still that of a boy, his limbs and body were big, so that,
if he could only pass inspection, he was quite fitted to take his place
in the ranks as a full-grown man. By this time he had completed a long
journey into the country, and having returned to London with Jim and the
old soldier, he was not long in looking up his friend, Sergeant-major
Williams.
"Back again, sir, and filled out and healthier-looking, too! How do you
like the life?" the latter exclaimed.
"I never spent a better or more profitable three months, never in my
life," said Phil emphatically. "We've had grand weather, and always
fresh scenery. The work was not too hard, and my comrades were all that
I could wish for. In addition, I have saved close upon five pounds,
which was simply impossible when I was living here."
"Ah, glad you like it, lad! But I thought you would; and now I suppose
you'll be off again soon?"
"Yes, but not with the van and my old comrades," said Phil. "The best I
can do there is to become a foreman in charge of a number of cages. I
mean to enlist and try my fortune in the army."
"Bless the lad!" exclaimed the sergeant-major. "He's as long-headed as
a lawyer, and always thinking of the future. But you couldn't do better
than that. Keep it always in your mind's eye and you'll get on. Now,
what regiment will you go for? I'm from the Guards, and of course I say
there's none to beat them. It's the truth too, as others can tell you."
"I've been thinking it over," Phil answered, "and I have decided to
become a Grenadier--one of the old Grenadiers."
The sergeant-major's features flushed, and he looked not a little
flattered, for he too was one of the Grenadier Guards, and he knew it
was because of his connection with it that Phil had decided to enlist in
that regiment.
"You couldn't do better, sir," he exclaimed, "and what's more, by
joining them I'll be able to make your start easier. I am not so old
but that some of the non-commissioned officers--N.C.O.'s as we call
'em--remember Owen Williams. I've many a pal there, and as soon as
you're ready I'll take you right along to the barracks and see you
'listed myself."
A day was fixed, and having learned a few more details, Phil returned to
his friends. The latter were genuinely sorry to hear that he was to go,
and of all, Jim was perhaps the saddest.
"No one to cook the breakfast no more, now you're off, young un," he
said, with a ring of true regret in his voice. "Never mind; that chap
Tony's come back, and I'll turn him on to the job. If he kicks there'll
be trouble, and then I'll do as I promised yer."
But Jim was disappointed. For three weeks Tony had lain in bed at a
hospital, and for the first six days it was a matter of life and death.
The bear's claws had lacerated his scalp so severely that it was a
wonder he survived. But by dint of careful nursing he recovered, and on
the very day that Phil had been to see the sergeant-major he returned to
the menagerie. But he was a changed man. A double escape from death
had cured him of his rowdiness, and when he came towards Phil
shamefacedly, offering his hand as though he could not expect it to be
shaken, he was filled with deep gratitude for the truly gallant deed
that had saved his life.
Phil clutched the hand extended and shook it heartily.
"Ah, sir!" Tony blurted out, with tears in his eyes, "I've been a real
brute, and no one knows it better nor myself. But yer saved my life,
Phil Western, yer did, and I ain't ungrateful. If you'd left me to be
torn to pieces it was only what I deserved, for we wasn't the best of
friends, and a chap as can torment a dumb animal must expect something
back in the end. And now, sir, I hear you're going, and if you'll let
me I'll come too."
"Nonsense, Tony!" Phil exclaimed. "You've got a good job, and had
better stick to it."
"I had one, but I ain't now, Phil," Tony replied dolefully. "The boss
give me the sack, saying I'd cost him a good fifty pounds by causing the
death of the bear. So I'm out of work now, and if you're for a soldier,
as they tell me, why, so am I too; and I tell yer I'll stick to yer like
a true 'un if you'll let me come, and one day when you're an officer
I'll be yer servant."
Phil laughed good-naturedly, and flushed red when he saw that here was
one who thought it was within the bounds of possibility that he would
attain to the status of officer.
"It will be a long time before I shall be that, Tony," he said, with a
smile; "but if you really have made up your mind to be a soldier, come
with me. There's been bad blood between us up to this, but now we'll be
good friends and help one another along."
"Ah, we'll be friends, sir, good friends too! I've had my lesson, and I
sha'n't need another. I've acted like a brute up to this, but now I
mean to be steady, and I mean to show yer too that I ain't bad
altogether."
Phil was astonished at the turn matters had taken; but he recognised
that Tony had really made up his mind to reform, and at once determined
to help him to adhere to that resolution.
"Very well, Tony," he said, "we'll enlist together. My month is up
to-morrow, and on the following day we'll take the shilling. I'm going
to join the Grenadier Guards."
"Grenadier Guards or any Guards for me, Phil. It don't make a ha'poth
of difference so far as I'm concerned. Just fix what it's to be, and
I'll be there with yer."
"Then it's settled, Tony. We're for the Guards. Come to the house
where Sergeant-major Williams lives, at nine o'clock the day after
to-morrow."
They shook hands, as though to seal the compact, and separated, Phil
returning to the van, where he spent part of the day in writing to Mr
Western and to Joe, informing them of the step he was taking. To his
previous letter Mr Western had deigned no answer, for he was thoroughly
upset by its contents, and from that day firmly resolved never again to
have any dealings with his adopted son. He was an utter failure and a
scamp, and it only needed Joe Sweetman's efforts to defend him to settle
the matter.
"It is just what I told you would happen," Joe had said defiantly. "The
lad has spirit, and far from being the rogue you think him, is filled
with the desire to see life and make his way in the world. I am not a
great judge of character, but if ever there was a youth unfitted for
office life, that one is Phil. You have only yourself to thank after
all. You have endeavoured to force a profession on him, whereas you
should have given the lad an opportunity of selecting one for himself.
Mark my words, Edward: Phil will live to do well and be a credit to you,
and one of these days you will acknowledge that the step he is taking
now was a good one and for the best. Now I'll write to him, and give
him a few words of advice."
And this Joe did, sending a characteristic letter, written not to damp
Phil's hopes, but to encourage him, and let him see that there was one
old friend at least who still thought well of him.
_Find your own place in the world, Phil_, he wrote; _and if it is a good
one, as I feel sure it will be, there is one who will be proud of you.
You start in the ranks, and so fall into discredit among your friends.
You are on the lowest rung; stick to it, and we will see where you come
out. Meanwhile, my lad, I will send you ten shillings a week, paid
every month in advance. You will find it a help, for soldiers want
spare cash as well as other people_.
At last the morning arrived for Phil and Tony to enlist, and, attended
by the sergeant-major, they made their way to Wellington Barracks. Both
felt somewhat nervous and bashful, especially when they passed the
sentries at the gate.
"My eye!" exclaimed Tony in a whisper, "what swells them coves look!
Shall we wear them hats, do yer think?"
"Of course you will," the sergeant-major, who had overheard the remark,
replied. "That is the Guards' bearskin, and you'll learn to be proud of
it yet. It's a grand head-dress, and there isn't another half as good;
at least that's what I think, though chaps in other regiments would
stick up for theirs in just the same way. And you'll find, too, that
the forage-cap with the red band round it, that's worn well over the
right ear--well over, mind you, youngsters--is as taking a thing as was
ever invented."
Phil and Tony both agreed, for the men walking about in uniform with
forage-caps on did look smart and well dressed.
"Now here we are at the orderly-room," said the old soldier, a moment
later. "Wait a moment and I'll speak to the sergeant-major."
Phil and Tony stood looking with interest across the parade-ground.
Then they suddenly heard a voice say in a room at the door of which they
were waiting: "Two recruits, and likely-looking fellows, I think you
said, sergeant-major? March them in."
A moment later a big man with bristling moustache, and dressed in a
tight-fitting red tunic, came to the door, and in a voice that made Phil
and Tony start, and which could easily have been heard across the
square, exclaimed: "Now, you two, get together; yes, just like that.
Right turn! Quick march!"
It was a new experience, but Phil, who stood nearest the door, carried
out the order smartly, and, snatching his hat from his head, followed
the sergeant-major. A moment later they were standing in front of a
table covered with green baize, and with a number of books and blue
papers all neatly arranged upon it. Behind it sat an officer, dressed
in a dark-blue uniform, with braided front, and a peaked cap encircled
with a dark band and bearing a miniature grenade in front. It was the
adjutant, and he at once cross-questioned the new recruits.
"Both of you have been in a menagerie," he remarked with some
astonishment, "but surely you--and he pointed towards, Phil--have had
some education?"
"Yes, sir, I have been to a good school," Phil answered, "and before I
joined the menagerie I was a clerk in an office for a short time."
"Ah, just the kind of man we want!" exclaimed the officer. "And both of
you wish to enlist in the Grenadier Guards? Very well; send them across
to the doctor's."
"Right turn! Quick march!" The words almost made Tony jump out of his
skin, but he and Phil obeyed them promptly, and next moment were
breathing a trifle more freely in the open air. A corporal was now sent
for, and he conducted them across to another room. Here they were told
to strip, and a few minutes later were ushered into an inner room, in
which were the regimental doctor and a sergeant who sat with a book
before him. Phil and Tony were sounded and thumped all over, and then
told to hop up and down the floor. They swung their arms round their
heads till they were red in the face, and swung their legs to and fro to
show that they had free movement of their joints. Then their eyes were
tested, and these and their hearing having proved satisfactory, they
were declared fit for the army, and were told to dress themselves.
"What's coming next, Phil?" whispered Tony, with a chuckle. "We've been
interviewed--or whatever they calls it--by the officer, and now we've
been punched all over, like folks used to do with that prize mare the
boss in the old show was so fond of."
"Wait and see," Phil answered, for he too was wondering what their next
experience would be.
They had not long to wait. The same corporal who had conducted them
before took them round to the back of the building, up a steep flight of
stairs, and showed them into the quarter-master's stores. And here they
spent almost an hour, during which time a complete set of uniform, with
the exception of a bearskin, was served out to each of them. Their
civilian clothing was then taken from them and safely packed away, and
feeling remarkably queer, and uncertain how to carry the smart little
cane which had been given them, they were marched away to the
barrack-room, heads in air and chests well to the front, as every new
recruit does when in uniform for the first time, and trying to look as
though they were well used to their new circumstances, whereas every man
they passed grinned, and, nudging his comrade, chuckled: "New uns! Look
at the chest that redheaded cove's got on 'im, and don't the other hold
his nose up?" or something equally flattering.
But Phil and Tony were blissfully ignorant of these facetious remarks,
and in a few minutes had reached the room in which they were to sleep,
and had taken possession of their cots.
The following day they were once more inspected by the adjutant, and
under his eye the regimental tailor chalk-marked their clothing where
alterations were to be made.
In due time both settled down to their new duties and began to learn
their drill on the parade-ground. A few days, and they lost all the
slovenliness of recruits and held themselves erect. Soon they were as
smart as any, and an old friend of Phil's, looking at him now, with his
forage-cap jauntily set over his ear, his tight-fitting tunic and belt,
and the swagger-cane beneath his arm, would scarcely have recognised
him, so much had he altered. But had he only asked Tony, he would
quickly have learnt the truth.
"Yus, that's Phil Western, you bet!" the latter would exclaim; "and I
tell yer what it is, that young chap is downright the smartest lad in
this lot of recruits, and that's saying a deal, as you'll agree if
you'll only take a look at 'em."
So thought Joe Sweetman too, when he visited London on one occasion and
looked his young friend up. "He's every inch a soldier," he exclaimed
admiringly to Mr Western, on his return to Riddington. "As smart and
good-looking a fellow as ever I saw; and that lad means to get on and do
well. Mark my words! That's what he means, and he'll do it too, or I'm
a donkey."