About ten years before the time of my story it had happened that in a
famous battle fought between her Majesty's troops and those of a hostile
and savage king, the colours of the 300th Regiment were noticed to be in
imminent peril of capture. The ensign who carried them was wounded, and
already a score of the enemy were rushing forward to seize the prize and
carry it off in triumph to their king. Suddenly, however, there dashed
up to the spot a young cornet of dragoons, who, seeing the peril of his
fellow-officer and the colours he carried, dragged him, flag and all, up
nearly into his own saddle, and started off with his precious burden
towards a place of shelter from the fire and spears of the savages.
Before, however, he had gone twenty yards the poor ensign tumbled to the
ground, shot through the heart, yielding with his dying hands his
colours to the dragoon. That plucky young soldier, wrapping the torn
and stained flag round his body, set his teeth, stooped forward in his
saddle, and, digging his spurs into his horse, galloped for his life.
He had a terrific gauntlet to run, and grandly he ran it. The friendly
trench was in sight, the cheers of his comrades fell like music on his
ears, a vision of glory and honour flashed through his mind, and then
suddenly he reeled forward in his seat--a malignant shot had found him
out at last, and, with the colours round him, he dropped from his horse
into his comrades' arms a dead man.
This hero was an old Randlebury boy; and ever since that day, on every
anniversary of his glorious death, Randlebury kept, and still keeps,
holiday.
All this Charlie was informed of by his faithful chum, Jim Halliday, as
the former was dressing himself on the morning of the eventful holiday
in question.
What possessed him to get up at six, when he was not to start till nine,
I cannot say. He even routed me from under his pillow at five, so
fidgety was he, and as soon as ever I pointed to six he bounced out of
bed as if he was shot.
"What are you up to, getting up at this time?" growled Jim, who, much to
the mutual delight of the boys, slept in the same room with Charlie.
"Oh, you know; I don't want to be behindhand," replied Charlie.
"Behindhand! Why, do you know it's only just six?"
"I know that, and I mean to make the most of my holiday. I say, Jim,
what do they want to give us a holiday for, do you know?"
"They don't want to at all; they've got to."
"Got to? What do you mean?" inquired Charlie, dragging on his boots.
And then Jim, with many yawns and growls, told him the story; and,
without waiting for his comments thereon, rolled over and went off to
sleep again.
Charlie spent his early hour in polishing up things generally. When he
had polished up his rod with the lance-wood top, he polished up his
green can and his hooks. Then he warmed me up with a piece of wash-
leather, and then his many-fanged knife.
By the time these little jobs were accomplished, and Joe's study put in
order, the breakfast bell sounded, and he went down with a mouth sore
with whistling.
He caught sight of Tom Drift at another table, and nodded and waved his
green can to him; he informed every boy within hearing distance that it
was certain to be a fine day, whatever it looked like now; and he made
the wildest and most indiscriminate promises to entertain his whole
acquaintance at no end of a trout supper on the spoils of that day's
sport. Twenty times during breakfast did he pull me out and look
impatiently at my minute-hand slowly making its way from eight to nine;
and as soon as ever the meal was over he rushed upstairs like mad for
his rod and bag, and then tore down again four steps at a time, nearly
knocking the head master over at the bottom.
"Gently, my man," said that gentleman, recognising in this cannon-ball
of a young fellow his little travelling companion. "Why, what's the
matter?"
"I beg your pardon, doctor," said Charlie; "did I hurt you?"
"Not a bit. So you are going to fish to-day?"
"Yes, sir," said the beaming Charlie. "I say, sir, do you think it'll
be a fine day?"
"I hope so--good-bye. I suppose this can will be full when you come
back?"
"Good-bye, sir," said Charlie, secretly resolving that if fortune
favoured him he would present the two finest of his trout to the doctor.
He found Drift ready for him when he reached that young gentleman's
study.
Besides his rod, Tom had a somewhat cumbersome bag, which, as it carried
most of the provisions for the whole party, he was not a little surly
about being burdened with.
Charlie, of course, thought it was his and Tom's dinner.
"Is that the grub?" he cried. "Why, Tom Drift, you have been laying in
a spread! What a brick you are! Look here, I'd carry it--isn't it a
weight, though! If we get all this inside us two we shan't starve!"
And so they started, Charlie lugging along the bag and whistling like a
lark.
"Looks cloudy," said Tom, who felt he must say something or other.
"Never mind, all the better for the trout, you know. I say, I wish I
had my fly on the water this minute."
As Tom was silent, Charlie kept up the conversation by himself.
"I say, Tom Drift," said he, "if your mother could only see us two chaps
going off for a day's fishing she--"
"Look here, draw it mild about my mother, young un. She can take care
of herself well enough."
Charlie blushed to the roots of his hair at this rebuke, and for some
time the flow of his conversation was arrested.
It was a good four miles from Randlebury to Sharle Bridge; and long ere
they reached it Charlie's arm ached with the ponderous bag he was
carrying. He did not, however, like to say anything, still less to ask
Tom to take a turn at carrying it; so he plodded on, changing hands
every few minutes, and buoying himself up with the prospect of the river
and the trout.
Presently they came within sight of the signpost which marks the
junction of the Gurley and Sharle Bridge roads.
"Here we are at last!" cried Charlie, panting and puffing. "I say, Tom
Drift, I don't believe I could have carried this bag any farther if I'd
tried."
"It'll be lighter when we go home. Hullo! who are these three?" for at
this moment Gus, Margetson, and Shadbolt made their appearance.
"They look like Randlebury fellows by their caps. Oh, I know who one of
them is," added Charlie-- "Margetson, in the fourth; don't you know
him?"
"Rather!" replied Tom; "and the other two are Shaddy and Gus. Who'd
have thought of meeting _them_!" and he gave a whistle, which succeeded
in attracting the attention of the worthy trio.
Of course their surprise at meeting Tom and his companion was no less
great--in fact, they had to inquire who the youngster was.
"Where are you off to?" demanded Gus.
"We're going to try our luck up the Sharle," said Tom.
"You'll be sold if you do," said Gus. "We were down looking at it, and
a pretty state it's in. Old Skinner at the Tannery took it into his
head to leave his gates up last night, and his muck has got into the
river and poisoned every fish in it--hasn't it, Shad?"
"Rather!" replied Shad. "I was glad enough to get my nose away from the
place."
"Here's a go, Charlie!" said Tom, turning to his young companion.
During this short conversation Charlie had passed through all the
anguish of a bitter disappointment. It is no light thing to have the
hope of days snuffed out all in a moment, and he was ready to cry with
vexation. However it couldn't be helped, and he had learned before now
how to take a disappointment like a man. So when Tom appealed to him he
put a good face on it, and said,--
"Awful hard lines. Never mind, let's go back and see the match with the
Badgers, Tom."
"Why don't you come with us?" asked Gus. "We are going to Gurley; have
you ever been to Gurley, young un?"
"No," said Charlie.
"Come along, then, we'll show it you. It's a prime town, isn't it,
Margetson?"
"Don't ask me," said Margetson; "I'd sooner see about Gurley than catch
a seven-pounder, any day."
"And besides," said Tom, "isn't there some good fishing above the lock!
Come along, Charlie; we shall not be baulked of our day's sport after
all."
Charlie joined the party, although he did not conceive any great
admiration for Tom's three friends. His anxiety not to offend his now
reconciled enemy, and the possibility of fishing after all, overruled
him; and still dragging the bag, he trudged along with the others
towards Gurley.
As they approached the town he could not help noticing the number of
holiday-makers and vehicles that passed them. There were drags full of
gaily-dressed ladies; and gentlemen who wore veils; and there were light
jaunty dog-carts with spruce young white-hatted gentlemen perched in
them; there were vans in which corks were popping like musketry fires
and parties on foot like themselves, hurrying forward with loud laughter
and coarse music.
"Surely," thought he, "there's something on at Gurley."
Presently a waggonette, driven by a very loud youth in a check suit, and
with an enormous cigar in his mouth, pulled up in passing, and its
driver addressed Gus.
"So you've found _your_ way here, have you, my young bantam? Catch
_you_ being out of a good thing. Are you going on the grand stand?"
"Don't know," said Gus grandly. "We may pick up a trap in the town."
"Ho, ho! going to do it flash, are you? Well, there's one of you could
do with a little spice," added he, glancing at Charlie. "I suppose my
trap's not grand enough for you."
"Can you give us a lift, then, Bill?" asked Gus, charmed at the idea.
"Yes, to be sure; I've no company to-day. There's just room. Hop in.
I may as well turn an honest penny as not. Here, you young sinner, jump
up beside me on the box." And before Charlie knew where he was or
whither he was going he found himself on the box of the waggonette
beside the flash youth, and his four friends behind him inside.
"Who's your friend, Gus?" he heard Margetson ask.
"Son of Belsham, who keeps the `Green Tiger' at Randlebury. We're in
luck, I can tell you, you fellows."
As Charlie gradually recovered from his bewilderment he felt himself
extremely uncomfortable and ill at ease. From what had been said he had
gathered that the object of the boys in going to Gurley was something
more than to see the town; and he by no means liked Gus's new friend, or
approved of his easy familiarity with a low publican's son. It was not
long before his dawning suspicions were fully confirmed.
"So you're going to see the races?" asked Mr Belsham.
"No, I'm not," replied Charlie, as curtly as he could, for he had no
desire to encourage the conversation of this objectionable person.
"Ain't you? And what are you going to do, then, my young lamb?" And in
the course of this brief sentence Mr Belsham succeeded in interjecting
at least three oaths.
"I shan't speak to you if you swear," said Charlie; "it's wrong to
swear."
"No! is it? Who says that?"
"My father says so," blurted out Charlie, fully satisfied that no better
reason could be demanded.