"Dear Katie;--At home, you see, without having answered your last
kind letter of counsel and sympathy. But I couldn't write in
town, I was in such a queer state all the time. I enjoyed
nothing, not even the match at Lord's, or the race; only walking
at night in the square, and watching her window, and seeing her
at a distance in Rotten Row."
"I followed your advice at last, though it went against the grain
uncommonly. It did seem so unlike what I had a right to expect
from them--after all the kindness my father and mother had shown
them when they came into our neighborhood, and after I had been
so intimate there, running in and out just like a son of their
own--that they shouldn't take the slightest notice of me all the
time I was in London. I shouldn't have wondered if you hadn't
explained; but after that, and after you had told them my
direction, and when they knew that I was within five minutes'
walk of their house constantly (for they knew all about Grey's
schools, and that I was there three or four times a week), I do
think it was too bad. However, as I was going to tell you, I went
at last, for I couldn't leave town without trying to see her; and
I believe I have finished it all off. I don't know. I'm very low
about it, at any rate, and want to tell you all that passed, and
to hear what you think. I have no one to consult but you, Katie.
What should I do without you? But you were born to help and
comfort all the world. I shan't rest till I know what you think
about this last crisis in my history."
"I put off going till my last day in town, and then called twice.
The first time, 'not at home.' But I was determined now to see
somebody and make out something; so I left my card, and a message
that, as I was leaving town next day, I would call again. When I
called again at 6 o'clock, I was shown into the library, and
presently your uncle came in. I felt very uncomfortable, and I
think he did too; but he shook hands cordially enough, asked why
I had not called before, and said he was sorry to hear I was
going out of town so soon. Do you believe he meant it? I didn't.
But it put me out, because it made it look as if it had been my
fault that I hadn't been there before. I said I didn't know that
he would have liked me to call, but I felt that he had got the
best of the start."
"Then he asked after all at home, and talked of his boys, and how
they were getting on at school. By this time I had got my head
again; so I went back to my calling, and said that I had felt
that I could never come to their house as a common acquaintance,
and, as I did not know whether they would ever let me come in any
other capacity, I had kept away till now."
"Your uncle didn't like it, I know; for he got up and walked
about, and then said he didn't understand me. Well, I was quite
reckless by this time. It was my last chance, I felt; so I looked
hard into my hat, and said that I had been over head and ears in
love with Mary for two years. Of course there was no getting out
of the business after that. I kept on staring into my hat; so I
don't know how he took it; but the first thing he said was that
he had had some suspicions of this, and now my confession gave
him a right to ask me several questions. In the first place, had
I ever spoken to her? No; never directly. What did I mean by
directly? I meant that I had never either spoken or written to
her on the subject--in fact, I hadn't seen her except at a
distance for the last two years--but I could not say that she
might not have found it out from my manner. Had I ever told
anyone else? No. And this was quite true, Katie, for both you and
Hardy found it out."
"He took a good many turns before speaking again. Then he said I
had acted as a gentleman hitherto and he should be very plain
with me. Of course I must see that, looking at my prospects and
his daughter's, it could not be an engagement which he could look
on with much favor from a worldly point of view. Nevertheless, he
had the highest respect and regard for my family, so that, if in
some years' time I was in a position to marry, he should not
object on this score; but there were other matters which were in
his eyes of more importance. He had heard (who could have told
him?) that I had taken up very violent opinions--opinions which,
to say nothing more of them, would very much damage my prospects
of success in life; and that I was in the habit of associating
with the advocates of such opinions--persons who, he must say,
were not fit companions for a gentleman--and of writing violent
articles in low revolutionary newspapers, such as the _Wessex
Freeman_. Yes, I confessed I had written. Would I give up these
things? I had a great mind to say flat, no, and I believe I ought
to have; but as his tone was kind, I couldn't help trying to meet
him. So I said I would give up writing or speaking publicly about
such matters, but I couldn't pretend not to believe what I did
believe. Perhaps, as my opinions had altered so much already,
very likely they might again."
"He seemed to be rather amused at that, and said he sincerely
hoped they might. But now came the most serious point; he had
heard very bad stories of me at Oxford, but he would not press me
with them. There were too few young men whose lives would bear
looking into for him to insist much on such matters, and he was
ready to let bygones be bygones. But I must remember that he had
himself seen me in one very awkward position. I broke in, and
said I had hoped that had been explained to him. I could not
defend my Oxford life; or could not defend myself as to this
particular case at one time; but there had been nothing in it
that I was ashamed of since before the time I knew his daughter."
"On my honour, had I absolutely and entirely broken off all
relations with her? He had been told that I still kept up a
correspondence with her."
"Yes, I still wrote to her, and saw her occasionally; but it was
only to give her news of a young man from her village, who was
now serving in India. He had no other way of communicating with
her."
"It was a most curious arrangement; did I mean that this young
man was going to be married to her?"
"I hoped so."
"Why should he not write to her at once, if they were engaged to
be married?"
"They were not exactly engaged; it was rather hard to explain.
Here your uncle seemed to lose patience, for he interrupted me
and said, 'Really, it must be clear to me, as a reasonable man,
that, if this connexion were not absolutely broken off, there
must be an end of everything, so far as his daughter was
concerned. Would I give my word of honor to break it off at once,
and completely?' I tried to explain again; but he would have
nothing but 'yes' or 'no.' Dear Katie, what could I do? I have
written to Patty that, till I die, she may always reckon on me as
on a brother; and I promised Harry never to lose sight of her,
and to let her know everything that happens to him. Your uncle
would not hear me; so I said, "No." And he said, 'Then our
interview had better end,' and rang the bell. Somebody, I'm sure,
has been slandering me to him; who can it be?"
"I didn't say another word, or offer to shake hands, but got up
and walked out of the room, as it was no good waiting for the
servant to come. When I got into the hall the front door was
open, and I heard her voice. I stopped dead short. She was saying
something to some people who had been out riding with her. The
next moment the door shut, and she tripped in in her
riding-habit, and grey gloves, and hat, with the dearest little
grey plume in it. She went humming along, and up six or eight
steps, without seeing me. Then I moved a step, and she stopped
and looked and gave a start. I don't know whether my face was
awfully miserable, but, when our eyes met, her's seemed to fill
with pity and uneasiness, and inquiry, and the bright look to
melt away altogether; and then she blushed and ran down stairs
again, and held out her hand, saying, 'I am so glad to see you,
after all this long time.' I pressed it, but I don't think I said
anything. I forget; the butler came into the hall, and stood by
the door. She paused another moment, looked confused, and then,
as the library door opened, went away up stairs, with a kind
'good-bye.' She dropped a little bunch of violets, which she had
worn in the breast of her habit, as she went away. I went and
picked them up, although your uncle had now come out of the
library, and then made the best of my way into the street."
"There, Katie, I have told you everything, exactly as it
happened. Do write to me, dear, and tell me, now, what you think.
Is it all over? What can I do? Can you do anything for me? I feel
it is better in one respect. Her father can never say now that I
didn't tell him all about it. But what is to happen? I am so
restless. I can settle to nothing, and do nothing, but fish. I
moon away all my time by the water-side, dreaming. But I don't
mean to let it beat me much longer. Here's the fourth day since I
saw her. I came away the next morning. I shall give myself a
week; and, dear, do write me a long letter at once, and interpret
it all to me. A woman knows so wonderfully what things mean. But
don't make it out better than you really think. Nobody can stop
my going on loving her, that's a comfort; and while I can do
that, and don't know she loves anybody else, I ought to be
happier than any other man in the world. Yes, I ought to be, but
I ain't. I will be, though; see if I won't. Heigho! Do write
directly, my dear counsellor, to your affectionate cousin. T.B.
"P. S.--I had almost forgotten my usual budget. I enclose my last
from India. You will see by it that Harry is getting on famously.
I am more glad than I can tell you that my friend East has taken
him as his servant. He couldn't be under a better master. Poor
Harry! I sometimes think his case is more hopeless than my own.
How is it to come right? or mine?"
ENGLEBOURN
"DEAR COUSIN,--You will believe how I devoured your letter;
though, when I had read the first few lines and saw what was
coming, it made me stop and tremble. At first I could have cried
over it for vexation; but, now I have thought about it a little,
I really do not see any reason to be discouraged. At any rate,
Uncle Robert now knows all about it, and will get used to the
idea, and Mary seems to have received you just as you ought to
have wished that she should. I am thankful that you have left off
pressing me to write to her about you, for I am sure that would
not be honorable; and, to reward you, I enclose a letter of hers,
which came yesterday. You will see that she speaks with such
pleasure of having just caught a glimpse of you that you need not
regret the shortness of the interview. You could not expect her
to say more, because, after all, she can only guess; and I cannot
do more than answer as if I were quite innocent too. I am sure
you will be very thankful to me some day for not having been your
mouthpiece, as I was so very near being. You need not return the
letter. I suppose I am getting more hopeful as I grow
older--indeed, I am sure I am; for three or four years ago I
should have been in despair about you, and now I am nearly sure
that all will come right."
"But, indeed, cousin Tom, you cannot, or ought not to wonder at
Uncle Robert's objecting to your opinions. And then I am so
surprised to find you saying that you think you may very likely
change them. Because, if that is the case, it would be so much
better if you would not write and talk about them. Unless you are
quite convinced of such things as you write in that dreadful
paper, you really ought not to go on writing them so very much as
if you believed them."
"And now I am speaking to you about this, which I have often had
on my mind to speak to you about, I must ask you not to send me
that _Wessex Freeman_ any more. I am always delighted to hear
what you think; and there is a great deal in the articles you
mark for me which seems very fine; and I dare say you quite
believe it all when you write it. Only I am afraid lest papa or
anyone of the servants should open the papers, or get hold of
them after I have opened them; for I am sure there are a great
many wicked things in the other parts of the paper. So, please do
not send it to me, but write and tell me yourself anything that
you wish me to know of what you are thinking about and doing. As
I did not like to burn the papers, and was afraid to keep them
here, I have generally sent them on to your friend Mr. Hardy. He
does not know who sends them; and now you might send them
yourself straight to him, as I do not know his address in the
country. As you are going up again to keep a term, I wish you
would talk them over with him, and see what he thinks about them.
You will think this very odd of me, but you know you have always
said how much you rely on his judgment, and that you have learnt
so much from him. So I am sure you would wish to consult him;
and, if he thinks that you ought to go on writing, it will be a
great help to you to know it."
"I am so very glad to be able to tell you how well Martha is
getting on. I have always read to her the extracts from the
letters from India which you have sent me, and she is very much
obliged to you for sending them. I think there is no doubt that
she is, and always has been, attached to poor widow Winburn's
son, and, now that he is behaving so well, I can see that it
gives her great pleasure to hear about him. Only, I hope he will
be able to come back before very long, because she is very much
admired, and is likely to have so many chances of settling in
life, that it is a great chance whether attachment to him will be
strong enough to keep her single if he should be absent for many
years."
"Do you know I have a sort of superstition, that your fate hangs
upon theirs in some curious manner--the two stories have been so
interwoven--and that they will both be settled happily much
sooner than we dare to hope even just now."
"Don't think, my dear cousin, that this letter is cold, or that I
do not take the very deepest interest in all that concerns you.
You and Mary are always in my thoughts, and there is nothing in
the world I would not do for you both which I thought would help
you. I am sure it would do you harm if I were only a go-between.
Papa is much as usual. He gets out a good deal in his chair in
the sun this fine weather. He desires me to say how glad he
should be if you will come over soon and pay us a visit. I hope
you will come very soon."
"Ever believe me, dear Tom,
"Your affectionate cousin,
"KATIE."
"November.
"DEAR TOM,--I hear that what you in England call a mail is to
leave camp this evening; so, that you may have no excuse for not
writing to me constantly, I am sitting down to spin you such a
yarn as I can under the disadvantages circumstances in which this
will leave me.
"This time last year, or somewhere thereabouts, I was enjoying
academic life with you at Oxford; and now here I am, encamped at
some unpronounceable place beyond Umbala. You won't be much the
wiser for that. What do you know about Umbala? I didn't myself
know that there was such a place till a month ago, when we were
ordered to march up here. But one lives and learns. Marching over
India has its disagreeables, of which dysentery and dust are
about the worst. A lot of our fellows are down with the former;
amongst others my captain; so I am in command of the company. If
it were not for the glorious privilege of grumbling, I think that
we should all own that we liked the life. Moving about, though
one does get frozen and broiled regularly once in twenty-four
hours, suits me; besides, they talk of matters coming to a
crisis, and no end of fighting to be done directly. You'll know
more about what's going on from the papers than we do, but here
they say the ball may begin any day; so we are making forced
marches to be up in time. I wonder how I shall like it. Perhaps,
in my next, I may tell you how a bullet sounds when it comes at
you. If there is any fighting, I expect our regiment will make
their mark. We are in tip-top order; the colonel is a grand
fellow, and the regiment feels his hand down to the youngest
drummer boy. What a deal of good I will do when I'm a colonel!
"I duly delivered the enclosure in your last to your convict, who
is rapidly ascending the ladder of promotion. I am disgusted at
this myself, for I have had to give him up, and there never was
such a jewel of a servant; but, of course, it's a great thing for
him. He is covering sergeant of my company, and the smartest
coverer we have, too. I have got a regular broth of a boy, an
Irishman, in his place, who leads me a dog of a life. I took him
chiefly because he very nearly beat me in a foot-race. Our senior
major is a Pat himself, and, it seems, knew something of Larry's
powers. So, one day at mess, he offered to back him against
anyone in the regiment for 200 yards. My captain took him up and
named me, and the race came off next day; and a precious narrow
thing it was, but I managed to win by a neck for the honor of the
old school. He is a lazy scatter-brained creature, utterly
indifferent to fact, and I am obliged to keep the brandy flask
under lock and key; but the humour and absolute good-temper of
the animal impose upon me, and I really think he is attached to
me. So I keep him on, grumbling horribly at the change from that
orderly, punctual, clean, accurate convict. Depend upon it, that
fellow will do. He makes his way everywhere, with officers and
men. He is a gentleman at heart, and, by the way, you would be
surprised at the improvement in his manners and speech. There is
hardly a taste of Berkshire left in his _deealect_. He has read
all the books I could lend him or borrow for him and is fast
picking up Hindustanee. So you see, after all, I am come round to
your opinion that we did a good afternoon's work on that precious
stormy common when we carried off the convict from the
authorities of his native land, and was first under fire. As you
are a performer in that line, couldn't you carry off his
sweetheart and send her out here? After the sea voyage there
isn't much above 1,000 miles to come by dauk; and tell her, with
my compliments, he is well worth coming twice the distance for.
Poor fellow! It is a bad lookout for him, I'm afraid, as he may
not get home this ten years; and, though he isn't a kind to be
easily lolled, there are serious odds against him, even if he
keeps all right. I almost wish you had never told me his story.
"We are going into cantonments as soon as this expedition is
over, in a splendid pig district, and I look forward to some real
sport. All the men who have had any tell me it beats the best fox
hunt all to fits for excitement. I have got my eye on a famous
native horse, who is to be had cheap. The brute is in the habit
of kneeling on his masters, and tearing them with his teeth when
he gets them off, but nothing can touch him while you keep on his
back. 'Howsumdever,' as your countrymen say, I shall have a shy
at him, if I can get him at my price.
"I've nothing more to say. There's nobody you knew here, except
the convict sergeant, and it is awfully hard to fill a letter
home unless you have somebody to talk about. Yes, by the way,
there is one little fellow, an ensign, just joined, who says he
remembers us at school. He can't be more than eighteen or
nineteen, and was an urchin in the lower school, I suppose, when
we were leaving. I don't remember his face, but it's a very good
one, and he is a bright gentlemanly youngster as you would wish
to see. His name is Jones. Do you remember him? He will be a
godsend to me. I have him to chum with me on this march.
"Keep up your letters as you love me. You at home little know
what it is to enjoy a letter. Never mind what you put in it;
anything will do from home, and I've nobody much else to write to
me.
"There goes the 'assembly.' Why, I can't think, seeing that we
have done our day's march. However, I must turn out and see
what's up."
* * * * * * * * * *
"December.
"I have just fallen on this letter, which I had quite forgotten,
or, rather, had fancied I had sent off to you three weeks and
more ago. My baggage has just come to hand, and the scrawl turned
up in my paper cases. Well, I have plenty to tell you now, at any
rate, if I have time to tell it. That 'assembly' which stopped me
short sounded in consequence of the arrival of one of the
commander-in-chief's aides in our camp with the news that the
enemy was over the Sutlej. We were to march at once, with two
six-pounders and a squadron of cavalry, on a fort occupied by an
outlying lot of them which commanded a ford, and was to be taken
and destroyed, and the rascals who held it dispersed; after which
we were to join the main army. Our colonel had the command, so we
were on the route within an hour, leaving a company and the
baggage to follow as it could; and from that time to this, forced
marching and hard fighting have been the order of the day.
"We drew first blood next morning. The enemy were in some force
outside the fort, and showed fight in very rough ground covered
with bushes, out of which we had to drive them, which we did
after a sharp struggle, and the main body drew off altogether.
Then the fort had to be taken. Our two guns worked away at it
till dark. In the night two of the gunners, who volunteered for
the service, crept close up to the place, and reported that there
was nothing to hinder our running right into it. Accordingly the
colonel resolved to rush it at daybreak, and my company was told
off to lead. The captain being absent, I had to command. I was
with the dear old chief the last thing at night, getting his
instructions; ten minutes with him before going into action would
make a hare fight.
"There was cover to within one hundred and fifty yards of the
place; and there I, and poor little Jones; and the men, spent the
night in a dry ditch. An hour before daybreak we were on the
alert, and served out rations, and then they began playing tricks
on one another as if we were out for a junketing. I sat with my
watch in my hand, feeling queer, and wondering whether I was a
greater coward than the rest. Then came a streak of light. I put
up my watch, formed the men; up went a rocket, my signal, and out
into the open we went at the double. We hadn't got over a third
of the ground when bang went the fort guns, and the grape-shot
were whistling about our ears; so I shouted 'Forward!' and away
we went as hard as we could go. I was obliged to go ahead, you
see, because every man of them knew I had beaten Larry, their
best runner, when he had no gun to carry; but I didn't half like
it, and should have blessed any hole or bramble which would have
sent me over and given them time to catch me. But the ground was
provokingly level; and so I was at the first mound and over it
several lengths in front of the men, and among a lot of black
fellows serving the guns. They came at me like wild cats, and how
I got off is a mystery. I parried a cut from one fellow, and
dodged a second; a third rushed at my left side. I just caught
the flash of his tulwar, and thought it was all up, when he
jumped into the air, shot through the heart by Sergeant Winburn;
and the next moment Master Larry rushed by me and plunged his
bayonet into my friend in front. It turned me as sick as a dog. I
can't fancy anything more disagreeable than seeing the operation
for the first time, except being struck oneself. The supporting
companies were in in another minute, with the dear old chief
himself, who came up and shook hands with me, and said I had done
credit to the regiment. Then I began to look about, and missed
poor little Jones. We found him about twenty yards from the place
with two grape-shot through him, stone dead, and smiling like a
child asleep. We buried him in the fort. I cut off some of his
hair, and sent it home to his mother. Her last letter was in his
breast pocket, and a lock of bright brown hair of some one's. I
sent them back, too, and his sword.
"Since then we have been with the army, and had three or four
general actions; about which I can tell you nothing, except that
we have lost about the third of the regiment, and have always
been told we have won. Steps go fast enough; my captain died of
wounds and dysentery a week ago; so I have the company in
earnest. How long I shall hold it, is another question; for,
though there's a slack, we haven't done with sharp work yet, I
can see.
"How often we've talked, years ago, of what it must feel like
going into battle! Well, the chief thing I felt when the grape
came down pretty thick for the first time, as we were advancing,
was a sort of gripes in the stomach which made me want to go
forward stooping. But I didn't give in to it; the chief was
riding close behind us, joking the youngsters who were ducking
their heads, and so cheery and cool, that he made old soldiers of
us at once. What with smoke, and dust, and excitement, you know
scarcely anything of what is going on. The finest sight I have
seen is the artillery going into action. Nothing stops those
fellows. Places you would crane at out hunting they go right
over, guns, carriages, men, and all, leaving any cavalry we've
got out here well behind. Do you know what a nullah is? Well,
it's a great gap, like a huge dry canal, fifteen or twenty feet
deep. We were halted behind one in the last great fight, awaiting
the order to advance, when a battery came up at full gallop. We
all made sure they must be pulled up the nullah. They never
pulled bridle. 'Leading gun, right turn!' sang out the subaltern;
and down they went sideways into the nullah. Then, 'Left turn;'
up the other bank, one gun after another, the horses scrambling
like cats up and down places that my men had to use their hands
to scramble up, and away on the other side to within 200 yards of
the enemy; and then, round like lightning, and look out in front.
"Altogether, it's sickening work, though there's a grand sort of
feeling of carrying your life in your hand. They say the Sepoy
regiments have behaved shamefully. There is no sign of anything
like funk among our fellows that I have seen. Sergeant Winburn
has distinguished himself everywhere. He is like my shadow, and I
can see he tries to watch over my precious carcase, and get
between me and danger. He would be a deal more missed in the
world than I. Except you, old friend, I don't know who would care
much if I were knocked over to-morrow. Aunts and cousins are my
nearest relations. You know I never was a snuffler; but this sort
of life makes one serious, if one has any reverence at all in
one. You'll be glad to have this line, if you don't hear from me
again. I've often thought in the last month that we shall never
see one another again in this world. But, whether in this world
or any other, you know I am and always shall be,
"Your affectionate friend,
"H. EAST."
CAMP OF THE SUTLEJ, January.
"DEAR MASTER TOM;--The captain's last words was, if anything
happened I was to be sure to write and tell you. And so I take up
my pen, though you will know as I am not used to writing, to tell
you the misfortune as has happened to our regiment. Because, if
you was to ask any man in our regiment, let it be who it would,
he would say as the captain was the best officer as ever led men.
Not but what there's a many of them as will go to the front as
brave as lions, and don't value shot no more than if it was
rotten apples; and men as is men will go after such. But 'tis the
captain's manners and ways, with a kind word for any poor fellow
as is hurt, or sick and tired, and making no account of hisself,
and, as you may say, no bounce with him; that's what makes the
difference.
"As it might be last Saturday, we came upon the enemy where he
was posted very strong, with guns all along his front, and served
till we got right up to them, the runners being cut down and
bayoneted when we got right up amongst them, and no quarter
given; and there was great banks of earth, too, to clamber over,
and more guns behind; so, with the marching up in front and
losing so many officers and men, our regiment was that wild when
we got amongst them, that 'twas awful to see, and, if there was
any prisoners taken, it was more by mistake than not.
"Me and three or four more settled, when the word came to prepare
for action, to keep with the captain, because 'twas known to
everyone as no odds would stop him, and he would never mind
hisself. The dust and smoke and noise was that thick you couldn't
see nor hear anything after our regiment was in action; but, so
far as I seen, when we was wheeled into line and got the word to
advance, there was as it might be as far as from our old cottage
to the Hawk's Lynch to go over before we got to the guns which
was playing into us all the way. Our line went up very steady,
only where men was knocked down; and, when we came to within a
matter of sixty yards, the officers jumped out and waved their
swords, for 'twas no use to give words, and the ranks was broken
by reason of the running up to take the guns from the enemy. Me
and the rest went after the captain; but he, being so light of
foot, was first by maybe ten yards or so, at the mound, and so up
before we was by him. But, though they was all round him like
bees when we got to him, 'twas not then as he was hit. There was
more guns further on, and we and they drove on all together; and,
though they was beaten, being fine tall men and desperate, there
was many of them fighting hard, and, as you might say, a man
scarcely knowed how he got hit. I kept to the captain as close as
ever I could, but there was times when I had to mind myself. Just
as we came to the last gun's, Larry, that's the captain's
servant, was trying by hisself to turn one of them round, so as
to fire on the enemy as they took the river to the back of their
lines all in a huddle. So I turned to lend him a hand; and, when
I looked round next moment, there was the captain a-staggering
like a drunken man, and he so strong and lissom up to then, and
never had a scratch since the war begun, and this the last minute
of it pretty nigh, for the enemy was all cut to pieces and
drowned that day. I got to him before he fell, and we laid him
down gently, and did the best we could for him. But he was
bleeding dreadful with a great gash in his side, and his arm
broke, and two gunshot wounds. Our surgeon was killed, and 'twas
hours before his wounds was dressed, and 'twill be God's mercy if
ever he gets round; though they do say if the fever and dysentery
keeps off, and he can get out of this country and home, there's
no knowing but that he may get the better of it all, but not to
serve with the regiment again for years to come.
"I hope, Master Tom, as I've told you all the captain would like
as you should know; only, being not much used to writing, I hope
you will excuse mistakes. And, if so be that it won't be too much
troubling of you, and the captain should go home, and you could
write to say as things was going on at home as before, which the
captain always gave to me to read when the mail come in, it would
be a great help towards keeping up a good heart and in a foreign
land, which is hard at times to do. There is some things which I
make bold to send by a comrade going home sick. I don't know as
they will seem much, but I hope as you will accept of the sword,
which belonged to one of her officers, and the rest to her. Also,
on account of what was in the last piece as you forwarded, I send
a letter to go along with the things, if Miss Winter, who have
been so kind, or you would deliver the same. To whom I make bold
to send my respects as well as to yourself, and hoping this will
find you well and all friends.
"From your respectful,
"HENRY WINBURN,
"Colour-sergeant. 101st Regiment."
"March.
"My DEAR TOM;--I begin to think I may see you again yet, but it
has been a near shave. I hope Sergeant Winburn's letter, and the
returns, in which I see I was put down "dangerously wounded,"
will not have frightened you very much. The war is over; and, if
I live to get down to Calcutta you will see me in the summer,
please God. The end was like the beginning--going right up to the
guns. Our regiment is frightfully cut up; there are only 300 men
left under arms--the rest dead or in hospital. I am sick at heart
at it, and weak in body, and can only write a few lines at a
time, but will get on with this as I can, in time for next mail.
* * * * *
"Since beginning this letter I have had another relapse. So, in
case I should never finish it, I will say at once what I most
want to say. Winburn has saved my life more than once, and is
besides one of the noblest and bravest fellows in the world; so I
mean to provide for him in case anything should happen to me. I
have made a will, and appointed you my executor, and left him a
legacy. You must buy his discharge, and get him home and married
to the Englebourn beauty as soon as possible. But what I want you
to understand is, that if the legacy isn't enough to do this, and
make all straight with her old curmudgeon of a father, it is my
first wish that whatever will do it should be made up to him. He
has been in hospital with a bad flesh wound, and has let out to
me the whole of his story, of which you had only given me the
heads. If that young women does not wait for him, and book him, I
shall give up all faith in petticoats. Now that's done I feel
more at ease.
"Let me see. I haven't written for six weeks and more, just
before our last great fight. You'll know all about it from the
papers long before you get this--a bloody business; I am loath to
think of it. I was knocked over in the last of their
entrenchments, and should then and there have bled to death had
it not been for Winburn. He never left me, though the killing,
and plundering, and roystering afterwards was going on all
around, and strong temptation to a fellow when his blood is up,
and he sees his comrades at it, after such work as we have had.
What's more he caught my Irish fellow and made him stay by me
too, and between them they managed to prop me up and stop the
bleeding, though it was touch and go. I never thought they would
manage it. You can't think what a curious feeling it is, the life
going out of you. I was perfectly conscious, and knew all they
were doing and saying, and thought quite clearly, though in a
sort of dreamy way, about you, and a whole jumble of people and
things at home. It was the most curious painless mixture of dream
and life, getting more dreamy every minute. I don't suppose I
could have opened my eyes or spoken; at any rate I had no wish to
do so, and didn't try. Several times the thought of death came
close to me; and, whether it was the odd state I was in, or what
else I don't know, but the only feeling I had, was one of intense
curiosity. I should think I must have lain there, with Winburn
supporting my head, and moistening my lips with rum-and-water,
for four or five hours, before a doctor could be got. He had
managed to drive Larry about till he had found, or borrowed, or
stolen the drink, and then kept him making short cruises in
search of help in the shape of hospital-staff, ambulances, or
doctors, from which Master Larry always came back without the
slightest success. My belief is, he employed those precious
minutes, when he was from under his sergeant's eye, in looting.
At last, Winburn got impatient, and I heard him telling Larry
what he was to do while he was gone himself to find a doctor; and
then I was moved as gently as if I had been a sick girl. I heard
him go off with a limp, but did not know till long after of his
wound.
"Larry had made such a wailing and to-do when they first found
me, that a natural reaction now set in, and he began gently and
tenderly to run over in his mind what could be made out of 'the
captin,' and what would become of his things. I found out this,
partly through his habit of talking to himself, and partly from
the precaution which he took of ascertaining where my watch and
purse were, and what else I had upon me. It tickled me immensely
to hear him. Presently I found he was examining my boots, which
he pronounced 'iligant entirely,' and wondered whether he could
get them on. The 'serjint' would never want them. And he then
proceeded to assert, while _he_ actually began unlacing them,
that the 'captin' would never have '_bet him_' but for the boots
which 'was worth ten feet in a furlong to any man.' 'Shure, 'tis
too late now; but wouldn't I like to run him agin with bare
feet?' I couldn't stand that, and just opened my eyes a little,
and moved my hand, and said, 'Done.' I wanted to add, 'you
rascal,' but that was too much for me. Larry's face of horror,
which I just caught through my half-opened eyes, would have made
me roar, if I had had strength for it. I believe the resolution I
made that he should never go about in my boots helped to pull me
through; but, as soon as Winburn came back with the doctor,
Master Larry departed, and I much doubt whether I shall ever set
eyes on him again in the flesh. Not if he can help it, certainly.
The regiment, what's left of it, is away in the Punjaub, and he
with it. Winburn, as I told you, is hard hit, but no danger. I
have great hopes that he will be invalided. You may depend upon
it he will escort me home, if any interest of mine can manage it;
and the dear old chief is so kind to me that I think he will
arrange it somehow.
"I must be wonderfully better to have spun such a yarn. Writing
those first ten lines nearly finished me, a week ago, and now I
am scarcely tired after all this scrawl. If that rascal, Larry,
escapes hanging another year, and comes back home, I will run him
_yet_, and thrash his head off.
"There is something marvelously life-giving in the idea of
sailing for old England again; and I mean to make a strong fight
for seeing you again, old boy. God bless you. Write again for the
chance, directing to my agents at Calcutta as before.
"Ever your half-alive, but whole-hearted and affectionate friend,
"H. EAST"