The cause of it all was Nandy. Nandy had found a nice out-of-the-way
corner of the foreshore, with a patch of mud above the water's edge, and,
after a good roll in it (it was a trifle smellier than the baths at
Hi-jeen Villa, but nothing amiss), had waded out into the tide for a
thorough wash. He was standing in water up to his armpits and rinsing the
mud out of his hair, when, happening to glance shorewards, he caught a
glimpse of scarlet, and rubbed his eyes to see a red-coated soldier
standing on the beach and overhauling his clothes, which he had left there
in a heap.
"Hi!" sang out Nandy. "You leave those clothes alone: they're mine!"
The soldier put up a hand and seemed to be beckoning, cautious-like.
Nandy waded nearer. "Looky-here, lobster--none of your tricks!" he said.
"They-there clothes belong to me."
"I ain't goin' to be a lobster, as you put it, much longer," said the
soldier. "I'm a-goin' to cast my shell." And with that he begins to
unbutton his tunic. "If you try to interfere, young man, I'll wring your
neck; and if you cry out, I carry a pistol upon me--" and sure enough he
pulled a pistol from his pocket and laid it on the stones between his
feet. "I'm a desperate man," he said.
"Hullo!" said Nandy, beginning to understand. "Desertin', eh?"
The soldier nodded as he flung the tunic down on the beach--and Nandy took
note of the figures 32 in brass on the collar. "It's all along of a
woman," said he.
"Ah!" said Nandy, sympathetic. "There's lots of us in the world taken
that way."
"Looky-here," said the soldier, "if you try any sauce with me, you'll be
sorry for it; and, what's more, you won't get this pretty suit o' scarlet
clothes I was minded to leave you for a present."
"Thank you," said Nandy.
"They won't fit so badly if you turn up the bottoms o' the pantaloons: and
you can't look worse than you do in a state o' nature."
"All right," said Nandy; "only make haste about it; for 'tis cold standin'
here in the water."
To tell the truth a rare notion had crept into his head. This scarlet
uniform--for scarlet it was, with white and yellow facings--had come as a
godsend. He would walk home in it, and if it didn't frighten twenty
shillings out of Aunt Barbree he must have lost the knack of lying.
"You can't be in more of a hurry than I am," answered the soldier,
stripping to the very buff--for everything he wore, down to his shirt,
carried the regimental mark. The only part of Nandy's wardrobe he spared
were the boots, which wouldn't fit him at all.
"So long!" said the soldier, having lit his pipe: and with that he gave a
shake to settle himself down in Nandy's clothes, picked up his pistol and
scrambled up through the bushes. In thirty seconds he was over the cliff
and out of sight, and Nandy left to stare at his new uniform.
He picked up the articles gingerly and slipped them on, one by one.
There was a coarse flannel shirt with a leather stock, a pair of woollen
socks, black pantaloons with a line of red piping, spatterdashes, a tunic
such as I've described--with pipe-clayed belt and crossbelt--and last of
all a great japanned shako mounted with a brass plate and chin-strap and a
scarlet-and-white cockade like a shaving-brush. When his toilet was
finished, Nandy stepped down to the edge of the tide to take a look at his
own reflection. It seemed to him that he cut a fine figure; but somehow
he couldn't fetch up stomach to wear that rory-tory shako, but took his
way towards Merry-Garden carrying it a-dangle by the chin-strap.
However, by the time he reached the gate he had begun to feel more
accustomed to his grandeur, and likewise that in for a penny was in for a
pound: so, clapping the blessed thing tight on his head and pulling down
the strap, he marched up the steps with a bold face.
The verandah was empty, and he strode along it and past the laylock-bush
where--scarce ten minutes before--Dr. Clatworthy had received such a
desperate shock. A little way beyond it was a path leading round to the
back door, and Nandy was making for this when his ears caught the sound of
laughing and the jingling of teacups from the line of arbours, and he
spied Susannah coming towards the house with a teapot in one hand and an
empty cream-dish in the other. For the moment she didn't recognise him.
"Attention! Stand at ease!" said Nandy, drawing himself up to the salute.
"The Lord deliver us!" screamed Susannah, dropping teapot and cream-dish
together: and at the sound of it a dozen gentlemen in regimentals came
rushing out from their arbours. Before Nandy knew whether he stood on his
heels or his head one of these gentlemen had gripped him by the collar,
and was requiring him to say instanter what the devil he meant by it.
"Why, damme," shouted someone, "if 'tisn't the uniform of the
Thirty-second! Here! Shilston! Appleshaw!"
"What's wrong?"
"The fellow belongs to yours."
"The deuce he does! Slew him round and show his face."
"Oh, Nandy, Nandy!"--this was Miss Sophia's voice--"Have you really been
and gone and enlisted!"
"No, miss, I ha'n't,"--by this time Nandy was blubbering for very fright.
He tore himself loose and fell at Miss Sophia's feet. "But I was takin' a
bath, miss--for my skin's sake, as advised by you--and a sojer came and
took my clothes by main force,"--here Nandy sobbed aloud--"I--I think,
miss, he must ha' meant to desert!"
"Hey!" One of the officers took him again by the collar. "What's that
you're saying? A deserter . . . left you these clothes and bolted? . . .
Oh, stop your whining and answer! When? Where?"
Nandy checked his tears--but not his sobs--and pointed. "Down by the
foreshore, sir . . . not a quarter of an hour since . . . he took the way
up the Lynher, towards St. Germans . . ."
"Here, Appleshaw, this is serious! Trehane, Drury--you'll help us?
A man of ours, deserted. . . . You'll excuse us, ladies--we'll bring the
fellow back to you if we catch him. Show us the way, youngster--down by
the creek, did you say? Tallyho, boys! One and all! Yoicks forra'd!
Go-one away!"--and, dragging Nandy with them, the pack pelted out of the
garden.