THE MARCH TO CANDAHAR.
IT thrilled Wilfred’s soul, the evening of his arrival, to see the
English uniform in the streets, and to hear his native tongue spoken by
many amidst the motley crowds which throng the streets of Hong Kong.
The young man was not long in making his way to the barracks, and,
reaching them, he felt he had reached his goal. An English sentinel
was pacing up and down before the barrack gate, and a smart young
sergeant was standing before it, tapping his well-polished boot with
a light cane. To him Wilfred forthwith addressed himself, and the two
might shortly afterwards have been seen discussing, at the civilian’s
expense, a couple of cooling drinks at a neighbouring tavern. The
result of this interview was, that on the following morning Wilfred
Smith attained the great purpose of his coming to China, by enlisting
as a private in the ----th Infantry, then under orders to sail for
India.
In a few days all was ready, and the transport sailed. On arriving in
port, Private Smith’s regiment was at once ordered up country, and no
sooner had it reached its destination than Wilfred volunteered to join
the Fortieth Dragoons, then about to start for the seat of war.
Private Smith was at first a mystery to his comrades. That he was
a gentleman by birth they knew at once. That he had nothing of the
“lardy-dardy” fine gentleman about him they found out almost as
quickly. There was no better horseman in the regiment, and he could
groom, and loved to groom, the serviceable creature assigned to him, as
well as he could ride him. He learned his drill in an extraordinarily
short space of time, and seemed to take an interest and delight in
manœuvres which most soldiers would have given worlds or a week’s pay
to be able to shirk. Upon several occasions Private Smith was asked
to become servant to an officer, but he always refused. When it was
pointed out to him that, by accepting the situation, he would have
more liberty, more pay, and various perquisites, he always answered,
“I had rather remain in the ranks and learn my duty,” and remain he
did. One young officer took his refusal very much to heart. “I know
why you refuse, Smith,” he said; “it’s because I am a nobody, and you
are a gentleman; and, to tell you the truth, I thought you could make
a gentleman of me, if we were more together; and you see, with these
confounded rules and customs of the service, I can’t see as much of you
as I wish, while you are in the ranks.” This brave lad and good officer
was a hairdresser’s son from Oxford, and he afterwards fell, sword
in hand, before Candahar. No bad word was ever known to escape from
Smith’s lips, and as he seemed to loathe the coarser temptations of
barrack life, some of the worst set in the regiment took it into their
heads that “Gentleman Smith,” for so they called him, could be bullied
with impunity. They soon found they were mistaken. The troop to which
Smith belonged was quartered in a small barracks in an out-station,
away from the rest of the regiment. One night, the Corporal of Smith’s
room, a man named Tozer, ordered a small trumpeter to climb over the
barrack wall and fetch him a bottle of rum from the shop of a sutler
outside. The boy vainly protested against this order, on the ground
that the drop from the wall was too great, and that, if caught, he
would be severely punished. Upon this, Tozer, who was a big, hulking
fellow, seized the lad with one hand, while with the other he gave him
a violent box on the ear.
“Leave that boy alone,” said Smith, looking up from the camp bed on
which he was sprawling, reading a book.
“What’s that you say?” bellowed the Corporal.
“I said, ‘Leave that boy alone,’ and I say that, if you don’t, it will
be the worse for you.”
The only answer, and that a brutal one, was another buffet upon the
boy’s head. In a moment Smith had sprung from his bed, and with a
well-planted blow had felled the Corporal to the ground. The brute
rose, and muttering, “I’ll make you pay for this,” shambled out of
the room. The boy’s gratitude knew no bounds, and the other men,
crowding about Smith, congratulated him on the discomfiture of the
bully. Next day--for rage, like love, makes men blind--Tozer had the
almost incredible folly to report Private Smith for striking him. An
investigation followed, and it being conclusively proved that Smith had
struck the blow in defence of a lad who had refused to do an illegal
act, he was at once acquitted, and the stripes being cut from Tozer’s
arm, the bully was reduced to the ranks. In a few days Smith was
himself made Corporal. After this, the young fellow grew daily in the
affection of his comrades. Never shirking his own duty, he was always
ready to take upon himself that of another. He sang well, too, and in
the barrack-room was the prince of story-tellers. Sometimes he even
aspired to verse, and his ballads, set to music by the bandmaster of
the regiment, were sung by himself and comrades upon the line of march.
On the first occasion that Corporal Smith came under fire, he had a
narrow escape of his life. A detachment of his regiment had received
orders to eject a strong party of Afghans from an almost inaccessible
position which they held on high ground to the right of the pass by
which they were proceeding to Candahar. As Smith was advancing, a
mounted Afghan fired at him point blank, and the shot striking him in
the region of the heart, he fell off his horse to the ground. The man
was rushing forward, thinking he was dead, when, no doubt, much to his
amazement, Smith rose to his feet and shot him dead with his revolver.
The ball had struck the brass cross upon the little Prayer Book--which,
as his sister’s last gift, Smith always carried inside his uniform,
upon his breast--and, glancing off, gave him a slight flesh wound in
the left arm, while the shock of the concussion brought him to the
ground. A similar escape is said to have occurred at the battle of the
Alma. It was upon the afternoon of August 31st that Corporal Smith won
for himself the proud distinction of the Victoria Cross. He had taken
part in the reconnaisance of the position of the enemy which was made
by the entire Brigade of Cavalry, and the object of the movement having
been effected, he was retiring with the rest of his own troop, when a
young officer was struck by a ball, and was left upon the earth for
dead. Smith, observing this, galloped alone out of the English ranks,
reached the place where the fallen officer was lying, and, finding
he was still alive, put him upon his own horse, and was leading him
back to the English ranks, when two mounted Afghans swooped down upon
him. As the first of these neared him, Smith shot him dead, and with
a second shot brought the horse of the second Afghan to the ground.
Urging the wounded officer to continue his course to the British ranks,
he engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with his dismounted adversary, and,
after a sharp encounter, succeeded in disabling him; then, catching the
horse of his first assailant, he mounted it, overtook his own horse
with its burden, and returned with it triumphantly to his regiment. The
officer’s thigh was broken, and he would undoubtedly have been killed,
had he not been rescued by the gallantry of the brave young Corporal.