"Then I will help to fill the trenches," said I, with that spirit of bravado which we so often feel or assume in youth.
The corporal said something approvingly; then the rector sighed, as he dipped a pen in an inkhorn, and placed on his desk a printed document, preparatory to filling up the blanks, or fifteen replies to questions always asked of a recruit at attestation.
"What is your name?" he began.
Now it was that my heart failed me, and the question had to be repeated three times, as I could not tell an untruth.
"Do you hear me," he added, gently; "your name?"
"Basil Gauntlet."
He threw down the pen and half rose from his chair.
"The son of Major Gauntlet, of Granby's Dragoons?"
"Yes," I replied, while both of the soldiers turned, and faced me inquiringly, and with unconcealed interest in their eyes.
"Oh, Basil," exclaimed the rector, who knew at once both me and my story, "this is sad, most sad. Consider, I pray you, consider well. I have some right to say this, for your father was one of my dearest and earliest friends."
"Sir, you know howhisfather has treated me; thus, that which might have been dire necessity at first, has now become my choice. I am resolved to be a soldier, so I beg of you to hasten over this most mortifying scene, and let me begone."
In the irritation I felt at my position, I spoke somewhat sternly, even ungraciously, to this good man; so Charters came to my aid, and urged that time pressed, so the formal oath was administered, which bound me "faithfully and honestly to defend his Majesty King George, his heirs and successors, in person, crown, and dignity, against all enemies, and to obey all the orders of his Majesty, his heirs and successors, and of the generals and officers set over me," &c.
This oath made me irrevocably a soldier.
The old rector shook my hand, and his voice faltered, for he felt more emotion than I did, as he accompanied us to the porch of his house, where he kindly bade us adieu.
"We shall have a most disastrous war ere long," said he, "and I may say in the words of Goldsmith, 'Go, my boy, and if you fall, though distant, exposed and unwept for a time, by those who love you, the most precious tears are those with which Heaven bedews the unburied head of the soldier.' Farewell, my friends. God bless you!"
"We thank you, sir," replied Charters, with a profound salute, and with an air that had something lofty and noble in it, as he sprang on his horse and gathered up his reins; "a good man's blessing can never be given in vain, especially to such reckless dogs as we are; but, believe me, sir, that though but poor soldiers now, my comrades and I can never forget that we have been, and may again be,gentlemen!"
We were once more on the open highway. I was glad the scene was over, but I still seemed to see the mild and benevolent face of the old rector, and to hear his parting words.
"So we have really had the honour of enlisting the heir to a baronetcy?" said Kirkton. "You were right to come with us. I thought you were meant for better things than to be squire to a knight of the bluebag."
"What is that?"
"A lawyer. Were we quartered in Bath your story would make your fortune. Any heiress would marry you for the prospect of the title."
"That is flattering," said I; and then thinking of Ruth, I added, "Why not for love?"
"Bah!" said Charters, "people don't marry for that, except in plays and novels."
"Jack, you are a misanthrope in spite of yourself," said Kirkton; "but as this youth is the heir to a baronetcy——"
"I beg to have your promises of keeping the matter a secret when we reach the regiment?" said I, with great earnestness.
"Why?" asked they.
"Because I owe nothing to my family, and hate them as they hate me—the living at least. Whatever I may do to gain honour or promotion, will never be acknowledged by my comrades, who will be certain to attribute success to the fortuitous circumstance of family and name."
"Egad! you are right, boy, and I love and respect your spirit," said Charters. "I have more than once seen a poor fellow gain the ill-will and malevolence of his comrades for being better born or better bred than those among whom his lot was cast, and thus bitterness came with prosperity."
"Your solemn pledge, then, that you will keep my secret?" said I, earnestly.
They promised, and I may add that the worthy fellows never betrayed it; but they too had each a secret, which they confided to me as we sat together over a glass of beer in a wayside tavern, a few miles from Rothbury.
"If I had not had the misfortune to have been born a genius, I should perhaps never have been a soldier," said Kirkton.
"A genius—you?" exclaimed the corporal, laughing.
"Sorry am I to say it, for 'tis the fate of geniuses to be restless and unfortunate. True; Boetus, who wrote on the battle of Philippi, died in prison; Plautus was a baker's drudge and turned a hand-mill; Terentius Publius was the slave of a Roman senator——. And I, Thomas Kirkton, am a private in the Scots Greys!"
"'Tis an ungrateful world, my friends," added the other, with an air of tragi-comedy that made us both laugh.
Tom Kirkton was the son of a thrifty and prudent Scottish clergyman, who had educated him for the Church, in the hope that he might be his assistant and successor; but the wild life led by Tom when at college, a natural impetuosity of temper, a genius for everything but application—rash adventures and excitements—with stories of nights spent in gambling and carousing, and rumours of variousintrigues d'amour, led to his formal expulsion by the Reverend Principal, and ultimately drove him into the ranks of the Scots Greys.
Time and experience had somewhat tempered the reckless tenor of his ways, and, though his boisterous manner was rather startling at times, I could not but deem myself fortunate in having a companion so well educated as he.
The story of Charters was indeed a singular one.
Five miles north-east of Dumfries there stands a tall, square, and ancient fortress called the Castle of Amisfield, between the two head streams of the Lochar. For centuries this great tower had been the stronghold and residence of the Scoto-Norman family of Charters, of whom my comrade, the corporal, was the last representative.
In that tower he was born and reared, until he joined the army as an officer. At the age of eighteen he found himself a lieutenant in the 1st Dragoon Guards, and the inheritor of a splendid fortune, which he lavished in London with the reckless prodigality of a Timon. He was at that time on leave of absence, seeking a transfer into a light dragoon regiment.
When rambling one night near Hydepark Corner, he heard the cries of a lady whose carriage had been stopped by footpads. He hurried to her rescue, and narrowly escaped a pistol-shot; but, closing with the fellow who fired it, struck him down, on which his companions fled, leaving Charters in possession of the field of battle.
The rescued lady proved to be a foreigner of very attractive face and figure, with bright blue eyes, and a profusion of fair hair, amid which, as well as on her neck and arms, many diamonds were sparkling. She was richly dressed, and was returning, apparently, from a ball.
"You will permit me, madam, to escort you home?" said Charters, bowing, hat in hand.
She entreated that he would not give himself so much trouble.
"But, madam," urged Charters, "those fellows may return, and I cannot rest until I know that you are safe in your own residence."
"But which is your way, sir?"
"Your way is mine, madam—nay, I insist upon it." And with great gallantry he sprang up beside the servant on the footboard behind the carriage, and the lady, pleased, perhaps, to see that he was a handsome young man, made no further objection to his escort.
"Drive home," said she.
Pleased with the adventure, and considerably attracted by the personal charms of the lady, especially by her broken English, which had a child-like lisp in its sound, Charters slipped a handsomedouceurinto the hand of the footman as the carriage rumbled along, and asked the name of his lady; but the man proved to be a foreigner also, and replied in German, of which the questioner knew not a word.
"Good!" said Charters; "the mystery increases."
Indeed it grew greater still when the carriage, after traversing the Park by the bank of the Serpentine, drew up before the lighted portal of a large and handsome edifice of brick, having no less than three spacious quadrangles, ornamented with columns, quoins, and elaborate cornices of stone. Charters immediately recognised Kensington Palace. Save the porch—near which stood two sentinels of the Foot Guards in their boxes—and one or two windows, the whole façade of the building was enveloped in darkness, for the king was absent, having gone on what proved to be his last visit to Hanover.
Charters assisted the fair unknown to alight, and led her to the door of the palace, with an air of confidence so perfect, that anyone might have supposed the house to be his own. Then she perceived that he wore the Windsor uniform, at that time the usual dress of all officers when on leave or on half-pay. Attracted, no doubt, by his air, which, though gentle and soft to her, was proud, dashing, and careless, she paused upon the threshold to thank him for his ready courage and escort—then, after a little pretty hesitation, added, that she could not think of permitting him to retire without joining her at supper.
"I cannot but accept, madam," said he, kissing her right hand, from which she had coquettishly drawn the kid glove, as if, perhaps, to show its beauty.
"You have no fear?" she whispered, with a soft side-glance in her clear blue eye, as she took his proffered arm.
"None, madam; moreover, I am the foe of all restraint and prejudice."
"Then you should not have become a soldier."
"I can understand the restraints of the service, but I cannot abide the shallow and hackneyed usages of society."
It seemed to Charters that her little hand pressed his arm rather palpably at that moment, and she whispered—
"If seen here—if known—"
"By whom?" asked Charters, hastily. "You have no husband, I hope?"
"No—nor lover—none here at least," replied the lady, laughing, as she threw off her white silk capuchin or hood, and then Charters saw quite enough of fair ringlets, and a neck and shoulders of great beauty and wondrous delicacy, to remove any scruples or fears which had occurred to him. He was in for an adventure now, and felt himself compelled to go through with it. A retreat was not to be thought of.
"By what name am I to have the honour of addressing you?" asked Charters, in a half-whisper, as they sat down to supper, with the German valet in close attendance, and in a snug little room in that portion of the palace which had been built by the Lord Chancellor Finch. It was panelled and richly gilded, and from the walls one or two dark Holbeins looked grimly down upon theirtête-à-tête. "Pray tell me, madam," he urged; "for I am dying of curiosity."
"Call me Sophia," said the lady, looking down for a moment, and then bending her bright eyes on him smilingly; "and you?" she inquired.
"I am Lieutenant Charters, of the 1st Dragoon Guards," replied the other. "Sophia?" he repeated, in a soft, low voice, as he mentally ran over all the names of the female members of the royal family, for he concluded that his new friend must be a princess at least. Thus some very wild ideas began to float through his busy brain; but at that moment he could remember no Sophia among all the ladies who were about the Court.
Amid all the rings that glittered on her hand—and a beautiful little hand it was—he could see no plain marriage hoop; so his mind felt considerably relieved on that score. The valet in attendance wore the royal livery; but an earl's coronet and the letter Y were on all the plate, and graven somewhat ostentatiously, too.
Though some years his senior, this lady, by the charm of her manner, her wit, and conversation, bewildered Charters so much, that in less than an hour he was desperately in love with her; but she seemed resolved to preserve her incognita, and they separated, with an arrangement, however, to meet next day in Hyde Park, at an early hour, and before it was thronged by promenaders.
In short, they met frequently there, and oftener still in the green alleys of old Kensington Gardens—I mean that portion of them which was laid out by Wise, the gardener of Queen Anne; and Charters' love for his unknown became a confirmed passion, so much so that he thought of visiting the Horse Guards and withdrawing his application for a transfer to a light dragoon regiment, as he now anticipated with dread a separation from his captivating Sophia.
As she expressed a wish to visit the opera one night, he begged permission to escort her there; and on their entrance all eyes were turned towards them. Her fine hair was dressed to perfection; her bright eyes sparkled; her soft cheek was flushed with pleasure, and the richness of her dress and the splendour of her diamonds so enhanced her fair and remarkable beauty, that Charters was enchanted and felt proud of her.
Yet he could not conceal from himself that she was the object of more than common—and more than well-bred—interest. The ladies whispered to each other behind their fans, and some of the gentlemen looked at Sophia so boldly and so laughingly, that Charters felt inclined to teach them a rough lesson, if he could but fix upon one or two in particular.
They had seats next the royal box, which was empty, as the king was still absent, though expected to arrive at St. James's next day.
The opera over, Charters escorted Sophia to her carriage, and proposed to accompany her home, for he was resolved to remain in a state of suspense no longer. If her rank was so great that she concealed her name from him, why accompany him to the opera, where she was certain of recognition? The mystery was now greater than ever!
On attempting to step into her carriage she said—
"You must not—you cannot come with me—to-night at least."
"Why?" he asked, with surprise.
"The king returns to-morrow from Hanover."
"The king!" repeated Charters, in a bewildered manner. "What has he to do with the love I bear you—the love you have made me so happy by accepting."
"Alas! I cannot tell you here; but we must meet no more," said she, sighing deeply.
The pressure of carriages compelled them to separate. Sophia sank back upon her cushioned seat, and covered her face with her handkerchief, as if she wept bitterly. The heart of Charters was filled with acute sorrow and vague alarm; but could he have seen her fair little face, he would have found it convulsed with—laughter!
"Hallo, Charters! so your fair one is gone?" said some one whose voice he recognised; and turning angrily, he found himself face to face with Frederick Shirley, a cornet of his own regiment. "A rare scrape you are in!" the cornet added, with a loud laugh.
"How so, sir?" asked Charters, sharply.
"What on earth tempted you to appear in an opera box with that woman?"
"Thatwoman?" he repeated, fiercely; "what woman—who?"
"She who just left you in that absurd turn out—for it is absurd—horses, harness, and all," continued the unabashed Shirley; "coronets, plating, and panels."
"Who is she?" asked Charters, somewhat crestfallen.
"What—is it possible that you do not know?" queried Shirley, with an air of utter bewilderment.
"I know that she is adorable, and is called Sophia——"
"Sophia Amelia de Walmoden, Countess of Yarmouth, and bosom friend of his majesty the king!" added Shirley, with another burst of laughter, as he took the arm of Charters and led him away.
Charters was stupified!
He had been thus fooled by the mere mistress of this very unattractive king, some of whose "amorous sallies" in Hanover had excitedher jealousy, and she was now anxious to revenge herself by exciting his in turn; for she was certain that the Defender of the Faith would hear of her appearance at the opera with a handsome young cavalry officer. So Charters trembled with rage at the thought of his own folly, and began to school himself—however difficult and unpalatable the task—to hate her as much as he had formerly loved her.
Shirley's laughter galled him to the soul at first; but afterwards, over their wine, he showed about a dozen of little pink and peagreen notes, which he had received from his faithless Walmoden, all signed "Sophia."
His appearance in public with the Countess of Yarmouth had given rise to much speculation and gossip in the vicinity of Kensington Palace, and St. James's too; and Shirley was unwise enough to boast frequently of having seen the notes in the possession of Charters; consequently, the latter soon found a secret influence at work against him at headquarters, and that there was little chance of obtaining either a transfer to another corps, or an extension of leave. This was unpleasant, as his funds were so much impaired by extravagance, that he could scarcely rejoin the Dragoon Guards.
While he was in this dilemma, Shirley called at his hotel one morning, and mentioned in confidence, that if he would give up Walmoden's letters, he would find, on looking at theGazette, the position of his affairs materially altered.
Further information he stated himself to be unable, as yet, to afford; so poor Charters, though not of a temper to be threatened even by the king, was scared by the thought of his creditors, and gave up the letters of the Countess to Shirley.
Impatiently he waited for the nextGazette; but on opening it, how great was his astonishment and rage to find the following notice:—
"1st Dragoon Guards. Cornet Frederick Shirley to be Lieutenant,viceCharters,who resigns!"
For some time he could scarcely believe his eyesight. Then he called for his horse and rode to the Horse Guards; but neither the Commander-in-Chief nor the military secretary would receive him, and for weeks he remained a prey to despair and mortification. He sought in vain for the perfidious Shirley, who kept sedulously out of his way, and had now left London.
"My commission, the pride of my heart, was gone," said Charters with a sigh, as he concluded his story; "and by my own folly and extravagance, together with the active assistance of others, my fortune was nearly gone too. Friends disappeared as my purse emptied, and ere long I knew not what to do, or whither to turn me.
"As for Shirley, my lieutenancy availed him but little, as he was dismissed from the service soon after for declining togo outwith a brother officer. Gradually he became a gambler, a blackleg—in fact, a common robber in London, and his fate was a fearful one; so in my heart, I now forgive him.
"Was he executed?" I inquired.
"Worse. His brother, Sir Jasper Shirley, being out of town, at his place in Hants, the household plate was lodged, as usual, at his banker's. It was valuable, for among it was a princely service he had received from the empress-queen when he was our Ambassador at Vienna; and when a sudden order came to the wary old butler, desiring him to get it all out, as Sir Jasper was returning to town, he showed the letter to my ci-devant friend, Fred Shirley, who said 'it was all right, as his brother would be in London to-morrow.'
"The butler, however, still had his secret fears; and after bringing home the plate, borrowed from a friend a bulldog—a surly and savage brute of great strength and ferocity, which he chained to the chest over night.
"Shortly before daybreak, a dreadful noise was heard in the apartment where the plate lay. Lights were procured—the butler and other servants hurried to the place, and found that a window had been forced by the usual implements of a housebreaker, who lay on the floor dead, but still warm, and in a pool of blood, for his throat and tongue were completely torn out by the fangs of the ferocious dog; and who think you he proved to be? Sir Jasper's younger brother—Frederick Shirley.
"So," added Charters, through his clenched teeth, "so perished he who betrayed me!
"Drinking, gambling, and reckless dissipation among thecondottieriof London society, soon brought me like the prodigal of old to the husks and the swine trough; till one day, when my better angel triumphed over the evil spirit who had guided me so long, I conceived the idea of endeavouring to regain, by mere force of merit, the commission of which I had been so lawlessly deprived.
"Inspired by this resolution, so consistent with my warm and sanguine temperament, I enlisted in the Scots Greys; but my evil genius still follows me, for I have never got beyond the rank of corporal.
"I am not the man I once was, and may never rise higher. Perhaps I am too reckless, too much soured in temper, and too much of a misanthrope, to deserve a commission, or it may be that the secret vengeance of the king and his devil of a Walmoden, still pursues me even here. I cannot see my future, but, happily,
"'There is a Providence doth shape our ends,Rough hew them how we will.'"
Having now related how I became a soldier, almost in desperation and misanthropy, I shall soon show how such emotions gave place to better, to braver, and to higher aspirations, fanned by that blessedhopewhich never dies in the heart of youth.
I learned—but not for a long time after this period—that when news of the step I had taken was brought by the sorrowing old Rector to Netherwood, it gave great satisfaction to my worthy grandfather, and still more to my affectionate cousin Tony, who drained a full bumper to the health of the Frenchman whose bullet should rid them of me for ever; and then Sir Basil was actually barbarous enough to shake him by the hand and say—
"Zounds! Tony, my boy, you may be heir to my title as well as acres, and die a baronet yet!"
After travelling eighteen miles we reached Rothbury, a quaint old market town of Northumberland, pleasantly situated in a valley overlooked by a lofty ridge of rocks. Our head-quarters were here, but some of our troops were billeted at Bickerton, Caistron, and other townships of the parish.
The Coquet flowed through the town, and every morning one of our first duties was to take our horses there to water, which was done by beat of kettledrum, for as yet the Greys, being Horse Grenadiers, had no brass trumpets.
On the morning after our arrival at Rothbury, I was brought before my commanding officer, Colonel George Preston. Tall, handsome, and venerable in aspect, he was a noble veteran officer, though somewhat of an eccentric character in his way. He was now far advanced in life, and had been from his boyhood in the Scots Greys, having entered the regiment as a kettledrummer in the last years of Queen Anne.
He was a captain at the battle of Val, where, at the head of only thirty Greys, he made so furious a charge upon a great body of French cavalry, that he routed and drove them fairly off the field. He then pulled out his purse, and gave each trooper a ducat with his left hand, for hisrightwas so swollen by the vigorous use he had made of his broad sword, that the hilt had to be sawn in two by the regimental armourer before he could be released from it.
Under his old-fashioned scarlet uniform, which was cut somewhat in the mode of Queen Anne's days, he wore abuff coat, and this was, no doubt, the last appearance of such a garment in any European army.
He received me gravely but kindly, and said,
"So, boy, you have resolved to become a soldier?"
"Yes, noble sir," said I; for as Charters had informed me, this was then the mode of addressing the commanding officer of a regiment.
"You are very young, and seem somewhat different from the common run of our recruits. Your name is rather uncommon, too. I presume that your parents——"
"They are in their graves. I have none to advise or regret me—none whom I can regret."
(Did no thought of Poor Ruth arrest this sweeping speech?)
"Good! you are then the best of food for gunpowder. Your age——"
"I am about eighteen, sir."
"You look older than that—in face, especially."
"Sir, those who have undergone such years as I have, frequently do so."
In truth, I looked older than my age. My figure was tall, well formed and developed, while my face had a matured expression, and somewhat resolute aspect, especially about the eyes. Colonel Preston, though a stern man, and a strict disciplinarian, felt a deep interest and pride in his regiment, and thus he narrowly examined every recruit before passing him into the ranks, and every man's name and character there, were graven on his memory.
"I like both your spirit and bearing, boy," said he. "Sixty years ago, I was a poor and penniless lad, so I e'en became a private trooper in the Scots Greys, and behold me now! I am Lieutenant-Colonel of the regiment, and hope, please God, to die a General, and go to my grave under a salute of cannon. Ere long, my lads," he continued to me, and several other recruits, who had just been ushered into the Orderly room, "we must all be in France or Germany, and there we shall find what the fortune of war has in store for us. Remember that the sword of a brave man is always sharp, but that of a coward for ever wants grinding! Stand by me, my lads, and I shall never fail you, and in me you see a living example of the reward that may await sobriety, steadiness, and a strict obedience to orders. Put Basil Gauntlet into Captain Lindsay's troop; attach the rest to Captain Cunninghame's. The tailor and the roughrider will soon make dragoons of them all."
I was conducted to my billet. Fortunately it was in the same tavern where Kirkton and Charters were quartered, and with them I shared the first instalment of my pay, which at that time was small enough, when a cornet had but a half-crown per diem, and a lieutenant-colonel of Dragoons only eight shillings and six-pence!
My bounty-money was soon dissipated, for under pretence of fraternising with me, or teaching me many matters that might be useful, several of those rogues who are usually known in barracks as "old soldiers," or "knowing ones," stuck close to me and to the other recruits, so long as our cash lasted.
The next day saw me arrayed in full uniform. The largest mirror in the tavern (it measured only six inches each way) by no means afforded me sufficient scope for the admiration of my own person in this new attire; though I could view it, when reflected at full length, in the shop-windows, while passing along the streets, into which I at once issued, as Kirkton said, "to exhibit my war-paint."
In those days—this was in the year before we fought at Minden—the Greys wore double-breasted scarlet coats, lined with blue, having slit sleeves; long slashed pockets were in each skirt, and a white worsted aiguilette dangled from the right shoulder. We wore long jack-boots, and tall grenadier caps, with the Scottish Thistle and circle of St. Andrew in front. Our cloaks were scarlet lined with blue shalloon, and in front they had rows of large flat buttons set two and two, on white frogs, or loops of braid. On our collars we wore a grenade in memory that at its formation, a portion of the regiment had been armed with that formidable weapon, the same as the Scots Horse Grenadier Guards.
Everywhere the proud motto of the corps met my eye; on the standards and kettledrums, on our caps, carbines, and pistol-barrels, and on the blades of our long straight broadswords, I read the words—
SECOND TO NONE!
That short sentence seemed full of haughty spirit; it gave me a new life, and fired my heart with lofty inspirations. I repeated it, dreamed and pondered over it, and as our departure for the seat of war was daily looked for, I longed for active service, and for the peril and adventure ever consequent thereto.
The brusque manners, rough words, oaths and expletives used by some of my comrades, certainly shocked and somewhat blunted my chivalry. To be sure all gentlemen then swore to their hearts content: and I am sorry to say the army carried the fashion to an extreme, and there a quiet fellow was sure to be mocked and stigmatized as a methodist or quaker.
In all the many wars which succeeded its first formation, when it was raised by Sir Thomas Dalyell and Graham of Claverhouse, in 1678, to fight against the hapless covenanters, our regiment had borne a great and glorious part. At the battle of Drumclog and at Airsmoss where Richard Cameron the field-preacher fell, the Greys were, unhappily, the terror of their own countrymen; and even now, after the lapse of so many generations, traditions of those dark days still lingered in our ranks—handed orally down from veteran to recruit.
In better times they had served in the wars of Anne and of the earlier Georges, and always with honour, for in every campaign they captured a colour, and at the battle of Ramillies surrounded and disarmed the French Regiment du Roi, capturing no less thanseventeen standards.*
* Fact:vide"Regimental Record."
Our officers were all gentlemen of high spirit, who belonged to the best families in Scotland; and so attached were their men to them, that the corps seemed to be but one large family. Punishments—especially degradations—were almost unknown; yet "auld Geordie Buffcoat," as they named Preston, was one of the most strict colonels in the service.
Every regiment has its own peculiar history and traditions, just as a family, a city or a nation have; these are inseparably connected with its own honour, achievements and badges, and with the military glory of the country, and thus inspire and foster the fine sentiment ofesprit du corps.
But to resume:—
We marched southward by easy stages, and during the spring of the year were quartered at Newmarket, where the inns have ever been proverbial for the excellence of their stabling and other accommodation, and where the race-ground and extensive heath were so admirably adapted for training the cavalry, who were all subjected to severe drill in anticipation of foreign service.
By this time I had gone from squad to squad, rapidly through all the phases which a recruit has to pass—position-drill and sitting up till my spinal column was erect as a pike; club-exercise to expand the chest and strengthen the muscles of the arm. Then came pacing and marching; then equitation, embracing all the skilful and ready aids by which to guide and control my horse in all his paces, and to acquire a firm seat in every variety of movement—to govern him also by my legs and bridle hand, so as to leave my right at the fullest liberty for the use of my weapons. Then I had the exercise of the latter to acquire—the sword, carbine, and pistol. Other hours were devoted to lance, post, and stick practice. Even a smattering of farriery was not omitted; so the first six months which followed mydébutas a Scots Grey left me little leisure for reflection, or for the study of ought else than would conduce to make me a perfect dragoon, skilled in all the science of destroying human life. I learned, moreover, that aperfectdragoon is not made in a day.
Colonel Preston daily superintended in person the training of his recruits; and the presence of the fine old man, with his mingled kindness and enthusiasm, kindled a kindred spirit even in the breast of the dullest fellow among us.
It seemed to me—but it might be fancy—that he took particular interest in myself, for he frequently spoke to me with such words of encouragement or praise, that my young heart swelled with gratitude; and I felt certain when the time came, that I would follow the brave old man, even to the cannon's mouth, with the devotion of a son, rather than the mere obedience of a soldier.
An anecdote of our veteran colonel, then current, related that when George II., who frequently displayed much favour and partiality for the Greys (notwithstanding his hatred of the Scots), was reviewing them in Hyde Park one day before the Marshal Duke de Broglie and a prince of the House of Bourbon, Louis Philippe, Duke of Orleans, he said—
"Monseigneur le Prince, did you ever see a finer regiment?"
"They are fine indeed," replied the Prince, as the royal staff passed along the line; "but pardon me if I think them inferior to our Gendarmes de la Garde. Did your majesty ever seethem?"
"No," replied the king; "but I have little doubt that my Scots Greys have—eh, Colonel Preston?"
"Yes," said the Colonel, grimly, "wehaveseen them."
"Where?" asked Louis Philippe.
"At Dettingen, when auld Jamie Campbell, who was killed at Fontenoy, led us to the charge against them."
"Well—well," said the king, impatiently, "and what followed?"
"We cut them to pieces, and there I took theirwhite standard, cleaving the bearer down to the breeks; and the prince, if he chooses, may see it now, hanging in Westminster Hall."
At Newmarket my chivalry received a severe shock, by being present at the execution of a Light Dragoon who was shot for desertion. He had been sentenced to three hundred lashes by a regimental court-martial. On this, he appealed to a general court, which, instead of confirming the former sentence, inflicted the penalty of—death!
It was long before I forgot the horrors of that scene; the grey light of the early morning—our pale faces on parade—the ominous silence—the almost whispered words of command—the pallid prisoner, as he knelt beside his black deal coffin, and the shriek with which he fell within it as the death volley rang across the far extent of the open heath, and then the trumpet sounding to form open column and pass the poor corpse by files, announced that all was over.
I have stated that I was placed in the troop of Captain Francis Lindsay, which for a time separated me from my friends, Charters and Kirkton. This was one of the nine troops of Light Horse, or Hussars, lately formed, one of which had been added to every regiment of heavy cavalry.
In a speech recently made in Parliament, His Majesty observed "that the late success of his ally in Germany had given a happy turn to his affairs, which it would be necessary to improve."
The loyal Commons took the hint and liberally granted new supplies, both for the service of Frederick of Prussia, who was then at hostilities with the French monarch, and for enabling the army in Hanover to co-operate with him vigorously; and war having two years before been declared against France, an expedition—of which we were to form part—was prepared for a descent upon the coast of that country.
We were detached from the regiment, and ordered from Maidenhead to Southsea Common, where we were encamped and brigaded with the light troops of other dragoon corps, for instruction in the Prussian exercise; and I may state without vanity that the light troop of the Greys in aspect, mount, and discipline, were allowed by those who saw them far to excel every other in the camp.*
* "Theflowerof the Hussars is the troop commanded by Captain Lindsay, quartered at Maidenhead, where they have been practising the Prussian exercise, and for some days have been digging large trenches and leaping over them; also leaping high hedges with broad ditches on the other side. Their captain on Saturday last swam his horse over the Thames and back again, and the whole troop were yesterday to swim the river."—Weekly Journal, May 23, 1758.
Resolved to rise in the service by my own merit alone, I strained every energy to become master of my drill in all its principles and theory. The sword or foil was never out of my hand when I could find an antagonist; thus I became an expert swordsman, as well as an excellent horseman, and a decidedly good average shot with pistol or carbine. With either, I would put a bullet through a common playing card, when passing it on the ground at full gallop. This devotion to my profession, and my rapid progress did not fail to recommend me to Captain Lindsay, a brave and high-spirited officer, to whom we were all devoted. He was a handsome fellow too, and generous as a prince—to use a common phrase—especially when on service, sharing whatever he possessed with his men.
It was while here under canvas, working hard, drilling, trenching and ditching, teaching myself and my horse—a noble grey, sixteen hands high, and a model of temper and courage—to swim when fully accoutred, that in a tavern near the camp, an old, tattered, and liquor-stained copy of the "Weekly Journal" one evening fell in my way. Books, periodicals, and papers were then almost unknown in camp and barracks, though the gallant General Wolfe had striven hard to encourage the formation of regimental libraries, and since I had donned the red coat, I had neglected everything connected with literature, save a French grammar, of which during my scanty leisure hours, or when on guard, I laboured hard to make myself master.
While lingering over a pint of beer, I read every word of the "Journal," even to the obituary; and in the column of the latter, was a notice that gave me a shock, as if struck by a bullet.
It recorded the death of my grandfather four months ago by a sudden attack of gout in the head, caused, it was stated, by the grief he experienced on hearing that his well-beloved heir, Mr. Anthony Gauntlet, had been killed by a fall from his horse when riding furiously near Kirk Yetholm. "Thus," continued the paper, "the estates of Netherwood, worth thirty thousand per annum, pass to Mr. Anthony's only sister, the charming Miss Aurora Gauntlet, who becomes one of the richest heiresses on the Border, and thus disappears one of our oldest baronetcies, the first Sir John Gauntlet of that ilk, having been one of those,infeftin lands in Canada with power of castle, pit and gallows, in the usual form, by the earth and stone of the castle hill of Edinburgh, and by the hand of Charles I., in person, in 1633."
"Disappears!" I muttered, through my clenched teeth. "True, the title disappears; but only for a time I trust."
I sat long buried in thought after this. Thirty thousand pounds per annum! That money by right was mine; this cousin, this Aurora, whom I had never known, never seen, and whom I hated in my heart as a fresh usurper, would doubtless be married by some one—a fortune-hunter, a needy adventurer perhaps—and thus my patrimony would go to the enrichment of strangers, while I——
Thick and fast, fierce thoughts crowded upon me; I had little more than enough to pay for the poor glass of beer I had drunk, but I threw it on the table, and walked sullenly off without waiting for the change.
As I walked along the road, other emotions came over me—emotions that were prouder, better, more lofty and more soothing, for I saw the white tents of the camp—my new home—shining in the setting sun, as they dotted all Southsea Common.
I remembered the story of one whose fate was somewhat, if not exactly, similar—the poor Scottish baronet, Sir Robert Innes, who became a private in the foot regiment of Colonel Winram, of Liberton, and remained there long in obscurity, as private Robert Innes, till a former friend recognised him when on duty as sentinel one day before the quarters of the colonel.
On discovering that he was thus honoured by having a baronet to guard his door, Winram obtained Innes a commission, and gave him in marriage his only daughter and heiress, Margery. I thought I would strive to be like him, and until the lucky spoke of Fortune's wheel turned upmost, I would relinquish, save in my secret heart, all pride of birth or position of family, and the past, and forget too the important monosyllable, of which my unnatural grandfather had left nothing undone to deprive me. This was a brilliant bit of romance, no doubt, but unlike Winram, poor old Colonel Preston had no inheritance save his sword and his quaint uniform; and no beautiful daughter to bestow. I had no former friends to recognise me, and bring about a striking denouement, so I might be sentinel at his door for a hundred years before he could befriend me as Sir Robert Innes was befriended by Colonel Winram.
As a supplement to the notice I had seen, next day on parade the trumpet-major of the Light Horse, who usually acted as our postman, handed me a large thick letter. It bore the Berwick postmark, and was addressed in the familiar handwriting of Mr. Nathan Wylie.
My heart sprang to my lips, but I had only time to thrust the missive into one of my holsters, for the trumpets sounded to "fall in" and I was kept in an agony of suspense and anxiety to learn the contents—which seemed rather bulky—during the whole of a long and tedious morning parade, with its subsequent drill on the common.
What could this letter be about, what its contents? Money? It seemed too hard for bank-notes. Was it about Ruth—poor little Ruth whose soft image now rose so upbraidingly before me; for sooth to say, in the hurly-burly of camp and quarters, I had quite forgotten her.
The moment parade and drill were over, I rushed away to a quiet nook, and tore the packet open. It contained a letter from Nathan Wylie, short, dry, and professional, together with an old parchment, snuff-coloured by time.
It briefly stated that in his last will and testament, my respected grandfather had cut me off with the sum of one shilling sterling, which the writer herein inclosed, together with a document which he sent, doubtless as a taunt upon my private's uniform—the diploma of the Netherwood baronetcy.
Lord Anson, Vice-Admiral of the Red, having put to sea with seventeen sail of the line (one of these was the haplessRoyal George, which afterwards sunk in Portsmouth harbour), and several frigates, with some smaller craft, to block up Brest, and favour the descent to be made on the French coast, our expedition was prepared with great rapidity, and Charles Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, who had lately succeeded to the Dukedom of Marlborough, arrived in camp, to take command of the troops.
Our recent successes by land and sea, the territories and victories won by our armies in America, the East and West Indies; the almost daily processions through the streets of London, escorting Spanish treasure to the Tower or to the Mint, accompanied by the captured ensigns of French and Spanish admirals, gradually filled all Britain with a fiery enthusiasm, and fanned the passion of glory in the usually phlegmatic breast of John Bull to such a degree, that nothing now was talked of but war and conquest, and the strange resolution was come to of carrying hostilities into the heart of France!
There were mustered on South sea Common, sixteen regiments of the line, nine troops of Light Horse (ours included) six thousand marines, and three companies of artillery, the whole under the Duke of Marlborough, with Lieutenant-Generals Lord George Sackville, and William, Earl of Ancrum, K.T., with four Major-Generals, Dury, Mostyn, Waldegrave, and Elliot, the future Lord Heathfield, and "Hero of Gibraltar," who led the Light Horse, six hundred in number.
The noble harbour of Portsmouth, which is so deep and so sheltered by high land that the largest ships of the line may there ride out the roughest storm without touching the ground even at the lowest ebb of the tide, presented a scene of unusual bustle and preparation.
It was crowded by craft of every description; ships of the line, frigates, gun-brigs, tenders, store-ships, and transports; its waters being literally alive with man-of-war boats, barges, and launches, skimming to and fro, filled with seamen and marines, or laden with stores, water-casks, and ammunition which were being conveyed from the town or arsenals to the fleet.
Twelve flat-bottomed boats, each capable of holding sixty-three men, were prepared. These were to be rowed by twelve oars each, and were not to draw more than two feet of water. Meanwhile a vast number of scaling ladders, sandbags to form batteries, baskets for fascines, waggons for the conveyance of wounded, of stores and plunder, had been brought to Portsmouth from the Tower.
Several launches and many bridges, each sixty yards in length, together with floats and stages, for landing the troops, horses, and horse artillery, were made in all haste.
Nothing was omitted that might ensure the success of this daring expedition, for which the departure of Lord Alison's fleet to Brest was certain to open the way, as we had long since swept the fleet of France from the seas; and so great was the enthusiasm in London, that Viscount Downe, Sir John Armytage, Sir James Lowther, and many other English gentlemen of distinction joined the fleet and army to serve as private volunteers.
And there, amid that bustling scene in Portsmouth harbour, lay theMonarque, on the quarter-deck of which, the brave Admiral Byng had been judicially murdered, in the preceding year, not as his sentence had it, "for an error in judgment," but to cloak the errors of a ministry!
The infantry destined to serve on our expedition, were three battalions of the Foot Guards; the Eighth, or king's regiment; the famous Twentieth, or Kingsley's; the Welsh Fusileers; the Edinburgh regiment; the Twenty-fourth; Thirtieth; Thirty-third; Thirty-fourth; Thirty-sixth, Sixty-eighth, and the regiments of Richmond and Talbot.
From Southsea Common the whole force was ordered to the Isle of Wight, where for a short time a camp was formed; but on the same night that the order for this movement was issued, I was despatched on duty to London, bearer of a letter from Commodore Howe to the Lords of the Admiralty.
I knew not what its contents were then, but departed on my mission with the document in my sabretasche, my orders being simply to deliver it at the Admiralty office, and to bring back the answer without a moment of delay. I shall now proceed to relate how I was personally concerned in the contents of the document entrusted to me for delivery.
From the day I joined the army, I was full of eagerness to bring myself prominently before my leaders; but my first essay was singularly unfortunate in its sequel.
One evening when on duty as sentry on foot with my carbine, posted near some sea-stores that were piled on the beach, not far from Southsea Castle, I observed two men of a foreign and somewhat suspicious aspect, who were loitering near, and observing with unmistakeable interest the shipping in the harbour, the distant camp on the common, and the stores that were piled near the castle-gate. On perceiving that I observed them they came directly up to me, and touched their hats with great politeness.
"Mon camarade," said one, in very good French, "we are French sailors——"
"Then you have no business to be loitering here," said I, bluntly and hastily.
"Pardonnez-moi, camarade; but we cannot help it."
"Then you are prisoners of war?"
"Nay——" stammered the other.
"What then?"
"Deserters," was the candid response.
"You are very rash to be here at such a time."
"We have escaped from the castle of St. Malo, where we were shamefully treated, and are anxious to offer our services and our knowledge of the coast."
"To us?"
"Oui—mon brave," said the fellow, with a grimace.
"Against your own country?"
"Sacre! our country deserves nothing better at our hands," he continued, smiling and bowing.
My disgust was so strong that I felt tempted to club my carbine and knock the traitor down: but I restrained the emotion and said—
"I am only a private dragoon, and can in no way assist you—so please to move off. It is contrary to orders for me to converse thus, and for you to loiter here."
"We are aware of that," said one, in a deep, growling voice, who had not yet spoken; "but monsieur will perhaps direct us to whom we can apply."
"If you have been in the French Marine service, you should know that well enough yourself."
I paused, and then thinking that, though these men were traitors and rascals, their services or information might be valuable to the general and commodore, I said—
"Messieurs, I may be able to assist you, when relieved from guard. What are your names?"
"Mine is Theophile Damien," said the first speaker.
"And mine, Benoit Bossoit."
"We have both been seamen, and have served on board the privateer ship,le Maréchal Duc de Belleisle, under the famous M. Thurot, in that battle off the Firth of Forth, with your two frigates, theSolebayandDolphin, in May last."
Next day, when relieved from guard, I met those men, by appointment, at a quiet tavern, where we had some wine, for which they paid liberally, seeming to be very well furnished (especially for deserters) with Louis d'ors; and in the course of conversation I spoke freely—far too freely—of the number, strength, and probable objects of our expedition.
The name of one of these men—a tall, muscular, dark, and coarse-looking fellow, whose subdued manner belied his savage aspect—struck me as being singular.
"You are named Damien, are you not?" I said to him.
"Theophile Damien—at monsieur's service."
"It seems familiar to me."
"As to the most of Europe," said he, bitterly, and he ground his strong white teeth as he spoke.
"What causes your hatred to your country—this disloyalty to your king?"
"Tudieu! have I not told you that we were slaves—galley slaves—and confined in St. Malo?"
(I find myself in honourable company, thought I.)
"Slaves without a crime," growled Bossoit.
"At least I had no crime," said the other, "save that I bore the hated name of Damien."
"What," I exclaimed, as a sudden light broke upon me; "are you a kinsman of—"
"Exactly, monsieur, of Robert Francis Damien, you would say—of that unfortunate peasant of Tieuloy, who, in January last year, stabbed King Louis, just as he was stepping into his state coach at Versailles, and so nearly rid France of a tyrant—yes, I am his brother."
"Was not this would-be regicide deranged?" said I, as fresh doubts of the value of such a pilot occurred to me, and I feared for my own honour, if found in company with Frenchmen of such a character, and especially at such a conjecture.
"His reason was wavering—poverty and the long wanderings of an unsettled life had made it so; but instead of confining him in a prison or fortress, he died of the most dreadful tortures," replied the first Frenchman.
"So I have heard."
"The king's wound was slight; but my brother was beaten to the earth by the sword hilt of Guillaume de Boisguiller, a captain of the French Guards, several of whom in the first transports of their zeal and fury, burned him severely with their torches, while he lay prostrate at their feet. A fortnight after this he was tried and tortured. Shall I tell you what followed?Tête Dieu!my blood boils, and my heart sickens at the memory of it. After making theamende honorablein the Church of Notre Dame, he was conveyed to the Place de Grove, where vast multitudes were assembled; where every window was filled with eager faces—and every housetop bore a living freight.
"The Provost of the merchants, the Echevins and other magistrates of Paris, in their robes, with all the great lords and ladies of the court, occupied the windows of the gloomy Maison aux Piliers, or Hotel de Ville, on the spire and pavilions of which banners waved as for a festival. In the square, beyond the scaffold and the troops who circled it, scarcely was there breathing space, so closely, so densely were the spectators massed; but a silence like that of death hushed every tongue, for they knew that a scene of horror was about to ensue."
The Frenchman paused; the perspiration stood in bead-drops on his brow; his face was deadly pale, and I could not fail to feel deeply interested, while thinking at the same time, that the language and bearing of himself and his companion were very different from what one might expect to find in a couple of runaway privateersmen.
"If, on that terrible day," he resumed, "voices were heard, it was the murmur of those at a distance—those who were too far off to see—the thousands who crowded the narrow vistas of the Rue de la Tannerie, the Rue de la Mortellarie, the Rue du Mouton, and the Quai de la Grêve, for all Paris had flocked to witness my brother's execution.
"At five o'clock, just as the grey light of a dull March morning stole over the pale-faced multitude, the punishment began. My brother's right hand was half consumed by fire, and then struck off. Amid the agony, though his limb shrivelled and blood burst forth,O mon Dieu!the poor soul neither winced nor asked for mercy; but when pincers, red hot and glowing, and ladles filled with boiling oil, molten lead and flaming resin, were applied to his arms, thighs, and breast, he uttered shrieks so piercing that every heart grew sick and every face grew pale. On his bones the very flesh was broiled, and his blood hissed in steam around him! He was then disembowelled."
"Assuredly that must have put a period to his sufferings?" said I, in a low voice.
"No—the principle of life was strong within him, for my poor brother was one of the most athletic of our peasants in Artois. These agonies—this butchery were insufficient to glut the rage of the courtiers and the fury of his judges. Four strong young horses were now harnessed to his four limbs, and lashed in opposite directions, but failed to sever his mangled frame, and he had now ceased to cry or moan."
"Failed, say you?" I exclaimed, becoming more and more interested, in spite of myself, by the Frenchman's detail of this revolting execution.
"Yes—so the chief executioner, with a sharp knife, severed the sinews at the joints of the arms and thighs. Anew, the long whips were cracked—again the horses strained upon their traces, and a leg and arm were torn from the body of my brother, who looked—mother of mercy!—yes, looked after them, as they were dragged along the pavement, with the blood spirting from vein and artery; but on the severance of the other two limbs, he expired.
"His remains were then cast into a fire, which was kept burning all day, and all the succeeding night."
"Were you present at this horrible scene?" I asked, after a pause.
"No—I was with Monsieur de Thurot, cruising off the coast of Scotland. On my return to France, I found my brother's family and name, even to the most remote degree, proscribed, and the cottage in which we were all born, at Tieuloy, in Artois, razed to its very foundations in token of infamy, and the place where it stood had been salted and sown with grass. On hearing of all this, some bitter words escaped me, so I was placed in the castle of St. Malo. There I made a vow to achieve both freedom and revenge. I have fulfilled the first part of that vow, and,Dieu-merci! I am here."
A peculiar glance, the meaning of which at that time I could not understand, passed between the speaker and his companion; and as the story of the former seemed a strange one, I conducted them at once to Captain Lindsay of our troop.
He questioned them in a manner that displayed considerable contempt for the new character they wished to assume; and then sent them with a note to Commodore Howe, who at once accepted their services, and it was with a dispatch containing some real or pretended information they had given, that I was sent to London, on the evening when the troops began to move for the Isle of Wight; and I departed, happy in heart and high in spirit, furnished with an order to the constables of parishes and others, to furnish me with such relays of horses as I might require.
Four days' pay were given to me in advance; but as I left the camp, Captain Lindsay generously and kindly put a half-guinea in my hand, and desired me to "make myself comfortable, and for the honour of the corps, to avoid all scrapes and doubtful company by the way."
It was a lovely May evening when I left busy Portsmouth. The shadows of the tossing branches of the old limes and sycamores that bordered the wayside were cast far across the yellow corn; the white and purple lilacs, the golden laburnum trees, and the tall hollyhocks with their gorgeous crimson flowers, made beautiful the gravelled avenues that led to many a villa and farm, while the fertile uplands that sloped in distance far away, were half hidden in the warm haze of the summer sunset.
I felt proud of my showy uniform, proud of my beautiful grey charger, and proud of the mission on which I was departing, though in the humble capacity of an orderly dragoon; and I was happy in the prospect of two days of perfect freedom from the routine and trammels of the camp, for a soldier, however young and enthusiastic, soon learns that he is no longer "the lord of his own proper person."
My chain bridle and steel scabbard jangled in unison to the clank of my horse's hoofs, as he trotted rapidly along the level highway, and in my young heart swelled anew all the pride of being a soldier, a horseman, and an armed one.
Within a week I should probably be treading the soil of hostile France, even as I was then treading the soil of peaceful and happy England. France! might I ever return from thence? Many of us were fated there to find our last home, and might I not be one of the doomed? I thrust aside the thought—not that I feared death, I was too young and too hopeful for that; but shrunk from the idea of perishing with the mass, before I had achieved what I conceived to be my mission; before I had won myself a right to bear with honour the name my forefathers had bequeathed to me, and before I had resumed that title, the diploma of which the miserable Nathan Wylie had sent in mockery to the private soldier!
Night came on and the road grew dark and lonely; there was no light save that of the stars, which I saw reflected at times in the bosom of the Wye, and twelve tolled from the steeples of St. Mary and St. Nicholas, as I entered the quaint old market town of Guildford, and rode straight to the Red Lion, where I stabled my horse and ordered a relay for the morrow.
A forty miles' ride gave me a good appetite; I supped and retired to bed, where I slept without a dream even of the future, for I was weary.
The next day was far advanced before I set forth again; but I proceeded slower now, the hack furnished to me by the innkeeper proving very different in mettle from my fine grey charger. In short, the animal nearly broke down by the way, and though the distance between Guildford and the metropolis is only about thirty miles, evening closed in before I saw at a distance the vast and dusky dome of St. Paul's, rising in sombre grandeur from amid the yellow haze, formed by the smoke and by the myriad lights of London.
I had left behind me the little village of Wandsworth, which is finely situated on the declivities of two small hills, and was traversing the common, then a wild and open waste covered with grass, gorse, and tall waving weeds through which the roadway passed. Clouds had now obscured the stars, and the night was so dark that I had some difficulty in tracing my path, though the accumulated glare of the innumerable street lamps and other lights of the vast city was very distinct but a few miles off, rendering the foreground darker.
When about the middle of the common, I heard the sharp report of a pistol and then the scream of a woman. These alarming sounds, and the flash of the explosion, came from the very path I had to traverse, so I spurred on my jaded hack, and found a carriage stopped on the common by two armed and mounted highwaymen, with crape masks on their faces. Such gentry were at that period still in the zenith of their perilous fame.
They had fired a shot to make the postillion pull up, and were now stationed one at each window of the carriage, demanding the purses and other valuables of the travellers.
My holster pistols were at the demi-pique saddle of my troop horse, which I had left at Guildford; so drawing my sword, I rode boldly up and demanded what was the matter, and who fired the shot I had heard.
"You had better ride on and attend to your own affairs," replied a surly fellow, with a horrible oath, as he coolly reloaded his pistol.
"Surrender your weapon, rascal," I exclaimed, resolutely, "or I shall cut you to the teeth!"
"Fire at him, Bill," cried he to his comrade. "Zounds! are we both to be cowed by a saucy shoulder-knot?"
On hearing this, his comrade urged his horse furiously round from the other side of the carriage. Then I heard another female shriek as he levelled a bright-barrelled blunderbuss, the bell-muzzle of which was so near my face that the light flashed on it as he drew the trigger, for happily it only burned priming; otherwise my head would have been blown to atoms, as on inspection afterwards I found this formidable firearm was loaded with slugs of lead and iron.
"Hung fire, by all that's infernal!" exclaimed the fellow; but his exclamation of wrath ended in a howl of agony, when by a stroke of my sword I hewed off half of his right hand, and the weapon fell on the road, together with three of his fingers. On this they put spurs to their horses and galloped away at a break-neck pace.
With a shout of victory I pursued them for a few hundred yards across the common, and then returned at a canter to the carriage, the occupants of which proved to be two ladies, who, by their manner and difference of years, appeared to be mother and daughter. They had with them a waiting-maid, and it was she whose cries I had twice heard.
Their air was distinguished; the younger was a very beautiful girl with fair hair and a delicate complexion, but this was all I could discern by the light of a carriage lamp, which one of the footmen—a rascal who had hitherto hidden himself among some fern—now held within the window, while the ladies were putting on their rings, gloves, and bracelets which they had drawn off to surrender at the moment I came so luckily to their rescue.
"Mamma, dear mamma, all danger is past. They are gone, and we are safe; be assured, be satisfied," I heard the soft voice of the younger say imploringly to the elder, who was excessively agitated.
"Ladies," said I, touching my cap, "be composed now, I pray you; those fellows have fled, and are not likely to return. Fortunately, I have put a mark upon one that he will not easily efface."
"Sir," replied the elder lady, in a voice still tremulous with alarm, "accept our deepest gratitude. To you we owe our rescue. Our money and jewels would have been a trifling loss, but how know we that these men might not have murdered us here on this lonely heath? and we hear of such dreadful things in these days."
"But was your servant here without pistols?"
"No, a pair of loaded horse-pistols are always in the rumble with John," replied the young lady.
"Why did you not use them, fellow?" said I, turning sharply to the valet.
He reddened and stammered something about the danger or rashness of one man encountering two, but his knees were trembling under him, and the hand which held the carriage lamp shook as if with palsy. In fact, he seemed so convulsed with fear that the young lady and I could not forbear laughing at him.
"When passing this way again, I shall take care to travel by daylight, or with a bolder escort than you, John Trot," said she, while the maid-servant, whose face I had not yet seen, as she sat in a dark corner, loudly and bitterly expressed her contempt for the unfortunate knight of the shoulder-knot, and for his lack of valour.
"We left the residence of a friend near Croydon about sunset, and should have been in London long since," observed her mother, "but a wheel came off at the cross road which leads to Kingston, and thus we were detained until this unpleasant hour. Have you, sir, also come from Croydon?"
"Nay, madam, I have just come from Portsmouth."
"Portsmouth!" echoed both ladies, with voices expressive of interest and animation.
"With despatches from Commodore Howe for the Lords of the Admiralty," said I, with an emotion of vanity difficult to repress, especially at my age then.
"Are you one of those who are bound for France?"
"Yes, madam."
"When does the fleet sail with the army?"
"Next week, 'tis said; but nothing definite has yet transpired," I replied, with all the air of a staff officer.
"Poor boy!" I heard her say, with something like a sigh, and with winning softness of tone, as the valiant John Trot asked if the carriage was to move on.
"As the night has become so dark, madam," said I, "you must allow me to have the honour of escorting you to town. You have still to pass Clapham Common, and its reputation for safety is somewhat indifferent. Even in Lambeth I have heard that robberies have been frequent of late."
"But how can we trespass so far upon your kindness, sir?" urged the young lady, whose voice made my heart beat faster.
"Believe me, madam, I deem it a great honour and happiness to have been of service to you, and for to-night, at least, your way shall be mine. I am pretty well mounted, and very well armed."
"Fortunately, you are also proceeding to London," said her mother; "therefore I accept your polite offer with gratitude."
I bowed nearly to my horse's mane, and then said to the valet—
"Hand up that blunderbuss, John; it may serve as a trophy, and remind your lady of to-night's engagement on Wandsworth Common."
"And the three fingers—oh—ugh?" asked John, with chattering teeth.
"Those you may pocket, if you please," said I, while withdrawing the charge, which, as I have said, proved to be slugs. I put the weapon in the rumble, and then the carriage was driven off.
As it rolled over the dark heath, I rode at a quick trot behind it; but frequently, when our pace became slower as we ascended a slope and the horses walked, the ladies conversed with me, and then I rode abreast of the open windows.
It was evident that by being muffled in my trooper's cloak, and having on a small foraging cap, I was taken for an officer; thus the elder lady gave me her card, and expressed, in the usual polite terms, the delight it would afford them to see me at their residence in some modish square (I failed to catch the name), if I had leisure to-morrow morning, as they had to leave town again at mid-day.
I felt piqued, and an emotion somewhat of bitterness and mortification stole into my heart; and while secretly cursing alike the rules of society and my own false position, I thanked her for the kind invitation, but without the least intention of availing myself of it. After this, I became a little reserved; but it was a difficult task to be so with the young lady, who was a lovely girl, and lively too. She conversed with me gaily, and asked if I longed for foreign service; if I thought the war would be protracted; if we were sure to beat the French; if I was not afraid—she begged pardon for such a silly question—of being shot in battle; and a hundred other pretty nothings, while her sweet face and sparkling eyes seemed to come out of the gloom of the travelling carriage, and then to fade into it again, as we passed an occasional dim street-lamp, all of which in those by-gone days I need scarcely say were lighted by oil.