Private William Fox was swaggering down the road to Shorncliffe Camp;
that is to say, he was trying to swagger as much as his 5ft. 2in. of
stature would allow. For the prettiest girl in Folkestone was holding
on affectionately to his left arm, and in his right hand he displayed
to full advantage his new silver-topped cane, the result of several
weeks' savings.
"Little Willie," as his comrades of the 210th line called him, was the
most "special" of "special enlistments." He had enlisted at a time
when a war scare was running riot throughout the country, and the
inspector-surgeon had passed him, saying that he was sure to grow to
standard height as he was only just eighteen, although it was evident
to anyone who glanced at the set look of his shoulders that he would
never be a hair's-breadth taller than he was. It was certainly rather
trying to his three-month-old martial dignity to have the street
urchins asking him as he strutted through the town whether "his ma
knew he was out"--but that was nothing to the jeers of the men of his
company, and Little Willie had not found the life of a soldier of the
Queen as alluring as the recruiting sergeant had painted it.
But on this particular summer afternoon he had forgotten all that, for
was not Nellie, his own little Nellie, tripping along by his side?--and
he never thought of his grievances when she smiled those sunny smiles
of hers. He had known her for years; as children they had made mud-pies
in the gutter together, and when he was a little older he used to spend
the pence he got for holding horses and running errands in sweets for
Nellie; and now that they were grown up, and that she was in service
and he was wearing a red coat, they "walked out" together, and talked
of getting married.
"When I get my stripes, Nell, we'll get spliced, thet's what we'll do."
Nell nodded her assent.
"'Ow long'll thet be, Will?"
"Not so very long, neither," he said, his boyish face lighting up with
the ambition of a future field-marshal--"a year or two, maybe, maybe
less--they're a-wanting good, steady men loike me."
Here a loud voice behind them put an end to further confidences. "Ullo,
little 'un, where are yer a-going, so 'aughty-like? Yer won't as much
as look at a pal!"
The two stopped and looked round as Big Bob finished his sentence,
Willie with disgust written on every feature, Nellie with unqualified
admiration in her brown eyes. Big Bob was accustomed to that sort of
thing from the girls he condescended to talk to; he was certainly a
very handsome man--fair, curly hair, a fierce moustache, and light-blue
eyes that looked down protectingly on womankind in general. So without
further ado he ranged up on the other side of Nellie with a "Pleased to
meet yer, miss."
For the rest of that walk poor Little Willie was decidedly "out of it."
He had to dodge lamp-posts and walk on the curb, so that his six-foot
rival should not be forced into the hedge on the other side; however,
there was one consolatory thought in his mind, namely, that if Nellie
managed to impress Big Bob favourably--as he had little doubt she
would--the latter perhaps would give up making Willie's barrack-room
life a burden to him.
Nellie _did_ make a good impression on Big Bob; but, alas, for poor
little Willie, it was not a one-sided affair. Next time the two lovers
went for a stroll, Nell was distinctly patronizing.
"Why don't yer grow, Will? Yer ain't as tall as me by a inch, and yer
does look small in a red coat!"
This was an awful blow; up till now, Nellie had been the only one
person who told him he looked well in his uniform, and now that she
should turn on him like this!
"Garn!" he answered, "where's the use in bein' a lamp-post?"
"But Big Bob--I mean Mr. Jones--'e ain't no lamp-post. 'E's a good
sight broader in the shoulders than ever you'll be. Why, 'e'd make two
of yer, 'e would!"
"Well, 'e don't draw no double pay, no 'ow, and don't yer forget it,
neither!"
After half an hour's walk these amenities produced a decided coolness,
and when Big Bob strolled up and offered them the pleasure of his
company, it was a great relief to both. But Little Willie felt very
miserable indeed when he thought over the day's events, as he lay on
his hard barrack bed that night and courted sleep in vain.
"I'll make it up with her on Sunday," he kept on saying to himself by
way of consolation. But when Sunday came round again, after a long,
weary week of bullying, Nellie was absent from the rendezvous, and he
wandered disconsolately all over Folkestone in the hope of meeting
her. He did meet her--but hanging proudly on the stalwart arm of Bob
Jones! Poor Willie did not even reply to her "Good afternoon," but went
straight back to his cheerless barrack-room and spent the remainder of
the day in putting a vicious polish on his captain's sword and buttons,
by way of relieving his feelings.
Captain Archie Trevor was Little Willie's hero--he worshipped him at a
distance, and proved his devotion by the care he took of that officer's
effects. Captain Trevor's boots were the admiration of the parade,
and even the colonel wondered how they always looked so bright and
spotless. Willie was an ideal soldier's servant, and was quite happy
if he won an occasional word of approbation from his hero; for Willie
had never forgotten how, during his first march-out with the battalion,
when he was staggering along under his heavy rifle, with blistered feet
and aching legs, wondering how long it would be before his knees gave
way altogether, his stalwart captain had come up and cheered him with
a few words, and had carried his rifle for him all the rest of the
long, weary day. "I'd give a month's pay, thet I would, to shake 'ands
with the captain," he had afterwards said to a comrade, in a burst of
confidence; and so it came about that there was never such an ideal
soldier's servant as Little Willie.
That evening A Company had a "smoker" in one of the disused huts of
Shorncliffe Camp. The hut was packed with unbelted warriors, who joined
noisily in the choruses of the popular songs, and passed round buckets
of beer to wet their throats between whiles. Little groups of men
were sitting smoking all over the room, some on biscuit-tins, some on
benches and tables, all chatting and laughing amongst themselves, and
occasionally shouting spicy and personal remarks to the performers, who
used a table as a stage, and were not loth to pause in the middle of a
song and accept a drink from a proffered mug or pail.
One occupant of the room, however, took little interest in the
proceedings. Willie had perched himself in a corner, where he sat
unnoticed; why he had come at all he did not know. Perhaps it was that
anything was preferable to the deserted barrack-room in his present
state of mind. There he sat on an upturned pail, with an untouched mug
of beer beside him, giving no heed to what went on around, dismally
busy with his own thoughts.
"What-ho, Willie," cried Big Bob, as he espied him for the first time.
"What yer so quiet about?"
Willie gave an imperceptible shudder as the bully shouldered his way
through the intervening groups. "'Ere, boys, Little Willie's goin' to
give us a cormic song!"
A roar of applause greeted this announcement, and several of Willie's
particular tormentors closed up around him.
"I carn't sing to-night," protested the victim, feebly.
"More yer can any other time!"
Another round of applause followed this sally.
"Ain't yer going to offer us a tip at yer mug?" Big Bob said, as he
caught up the tankard from the floor.
"In course, if yer ain't wet enough already," answered Willie.
"Mates," said the offended one, pointing dramatically at the youth on
the bucket--"Mates, the nipper's 'inted as 'ow I'm squiffy! Then take
yer bloomin' tipple; Oi'll 'ave none of it!" and he poured the whole
contents of the pot over the luckless young soldier.
Willie rose with an angry flush, but someone from behind caught him by
the ankle and sent him rolling to the floor.
[Illustration: "WEEPIN' WILLIE, TAKE THET."]
"So-o-o, yer wants to fight, does yer?" cried Big Bob, as he jerked the
lad to his feet again. "What proice thet, Sandow!" and he administered
a terrific box on the ear to the half-dazed Willie. It was by no means
the first time that Willie had "gone through the mill," but he was
getting rather sick of the process, and resolved to show fight.
"Yer bloomin' set of bullies!" he blurted out. But just then a leg from
the encircling crowd neatly tripped up our young gallant and deposited
him on the floor again. Once more he struggled to his feet, but as he
looked round the circle of grinning faces, all many inches above him,
and as he thought of his own dear little Nellie "walking out" with the
fellow who was making his life unbearable, he felt a lump rise in his
throat; his fists unclenched, and in another second he had sunk down on
the upturned bucket, sobbing as if his heart would break, and his hot
tears mingled with the beer that was trickling from his hair.
"Law lumme, he's acshally _weepin'_!"
A roar of derision and disgust rose from the astonished soldiers. Then
every man solemnly fetched his drink, and poured it over the prostrate
lad. "'Weepin' Willie,' take thet," was the formula, as each man upset
the contents of his can.
At that moment the door opened, and those who stood nearest it drew
themselves up to "attention" as Captain Trevor, who had heard the noise
as he was passing by, strode into the room.
"What's this?" he said, addressing the crestfallen gang of tormentors.
"Off you all go to your barrack-rooms at once, and don't let this ever
happen again in A Company."
They were only too glad to get off so easily, and in less than a minute
Captain Trevor and Private Fox were alone.
"What does this mean, Fox? Why, surely, man, you've not been _crying_!"
"Please, sir, I couldn't 'elp it, I did feel so wretched like."
"You've left school now, remember that--we don't have men who _cry_ in
the army. Get back to your room at once, and don't let me ever see you
in this state again. I am disappointed in you, Fox."
Poor Willie, sick at heart and sore in limb, crept back to his
barrack-room, where he was greeted with jeers and hoots, but, mindful
of Captain Trevor's warning, his comrades abstained from stronger
measures that night.
The months that followed made his life a perfect pandemonium. All his
room-mates taxed their ingenuity to the utmost in order to devise new
tortures and humiliations for "Weepin' Willie."
His bed was always soaking wet, his kit and accoutrements hidden away.
They painted his buttons, they whitewashed his boots, they borrowed his
blankets. When a man could not sleep, he whiled away the hours of the
night by throwing the heaviest missiles he could lay his hands on at
the luckless youth. On wet afternoons Willie was "crucified" for the
public amusement, a process which consisted in tying up the patient's
wrists just above the door, so that whenever it was opened he got a
severe jerking. And yet through it all he never showed fight and never
complained, but bore blows and jibes alike with stolid indifference.
Although Captain Trevor never alluded to that awful night, Willie
instinctively felt that his hero despised him, and that hurt him more
than all the ill-usage of his room-mates. Nellie he had not seen since,
but she had scribbled him a line in pencil.
"MR. 'WEEPIN' WILLIE,'--You're a disgrace to the army. I hope never to
see you again till you've got given up crying.--NELLIE LINDON."
[Illustration: "SHE APPLIED A CORNER TO HER EYES."]
This masterpiece of sarcasm Willie kept in the lining of his tunic, and
it made him mad every time he thought of it. And so the weary weeks
passed by until the trooping season came, and then, much to the delight
of all the men, A Company was ordered out to the North-West frontier
to join the first battalion as a draft to make good the ravages caused
by sickness and the enemy. As the train steamed out of the station,
Willie saw Nelly Lindon waving her handkerchief to Big Bob, and as his
carriage moved slowly past, she applied a corner to her eyes as if
wiping away an imaginary tear, but there was a mischievous smile on her
lips.