From that time on there was no lack of work. The spirits of the me, went up fifty per cent, and the general health improved in like ratio. Hard work proved the best of tonics.
And, of a truth, a tonic was needed. It took the Guards--the flower of the British army--two days march from Aladyn to the sea at Varna, a distance of ten miles. So reduced were they by sickness, that five miles a day was all they could manage, and even then their packs were carried for them.
For those in charge there was no rest, by day or Light, until the embarkation was complete. When Jim Carron followed his last horse on board theHimalaya, he tumbled into a bath and then into a bunk, and slept for twenty-four hours without moving a finger.
But he had ample time, when he woke up, fresh and hungry, to admire that most wonderful sight of close on seven hundred ships, of all shapes and sizes--from the statelyAgamemnon, flying the Admiral's flag, to the steam-tugPigmy, wrestling valiantly with a transport twenty times her size--as they crept slowly across the Black Sea, with 80,000 men on board for the chastisement of the Russian Bear. A sight for a lifetime, indeed, but one which no man who remembers or thinks of would ever wish to set eyes on again.
Jim and his fellows, however, rejoiced in it, for without doubt it meant business at last, and they had almost begun to despair.
So, in due time, they came in sight of the tented mountains and the coast; and after what seemed to the ardent ones still more vacillation and delays, the launches and flat-boats got to work, and the long strip of shingle which lay between the sea and a great lake behind became black with men.
All was eagerness and anticipation. The voyage had had a good effect on bodies sorely weakened by disease, and the prospect of active employment at last a still better effect on hearts that had grown heavy with disappointment.
But ten days of life-giving sea cannot entirely undo the mischief of the sickly months ashore. Numbers died on the voyage. Of those who landed, few indeed were the men they had been when they left England six months before, but hearts ran high if bodies were worn and weak.
That was the busiest day those regions had seen since time began. To the few bewildered inhabitants it seemed as though the whole unknown world was emptying itself on their shores.
Before sunset over 60,000 men were landed, and still there were more to come. All that coast, from Eupatoria to Old Fort, was like an ant-hill dropped suddenly on to a strange place, over which its tiny occupants swarmed tumultuously in the endeavour to accommodate themselves to the new conditions.
The weather, which had held up during the day, broke towards evening. The surf reared viciously up the shingle beach, and the rain came down in torrents. The tents were still aboard ship; men and officers alike sat and soaked throughout the dreary night in extremest misery. Jack among them. He had been sent on in advance of his corps to make observations and dispositions for the accommodation of the ordnance, and carried--according to instructions--nothing but his great-coat rolled up lengthwise and slung over his shoulder, a canteen of water, and three days' provision of cooked salt meat and biscuit in a haversack. The men had their blankets in addition, and their rifles and bayonets and ammunition.
When the deluge broke on them, and the spray came flying up the beach in sheets, drenching them alike above and below, the men huddled together and tried to improvise shelters with their great-coats and blankets. But Nature was pitiless and seemed to bend her direst energies to the task of damping their spirits. With their bodies she had her will, but their spirits were beyond her, for they were on Russian territory at last, and that meant business.
Jack sat on the wet shingle, back to back with one of his fellows, and the rain soaked through him, till his very marrow felt cold.
Some of the men near him, crouching under their sopping blankets, started singing, and "God save the Queen" and "Rule Britannia" rolled brokenly along the lines for a time. But by degrees the singing died away, the wet blankets exerted their proverbial influence, and silent misery prevailed.
The weather had broken before the cavalry got ashore, so Jim spent that night very gratefully in the comfort of his bunk on theHimalaya, and wondered how they were faring on land.
He was up before sunrise, however, and hard at work, though the waves were still high, and landing horses would be no easy matter.
And worse [end of line is blank]
He came on Jack prowling anxiously among the black masses just wakening into life again.
"Hello, Jim!" he said hoarsely. "Where were you? Did you get damp?"
"We're not landed yet. Too rough for the horses."
"Lucky beggars! I never had such a night in my life. It was ghastly. Why the deuce couldn't they let us have some tents? Those French beggars had theirs, and the beastly Turks too. We're the worst-managed lot I ever heard of."
"What's this?" asked Jim, staring open-mouthed at a muffled figure at his feet--stiff and stark, though all around were stirring. "Why doesn't he get up?"
"He's got up," said Jack through his teeth. "He's dead, and there's a score or more like him. Dead of the cold and want of everything. Hang it! why aren't we Frenchmen or Turks!" A sore speech, born of great bitterness.
And Jim felt it almost an insult be so warm and hearty and well-fed, with that dumb witness of the dreadful misery of the night lying silent at his feet.
And the thought of it all bore sorely on him and brought the lump into his throat. To pull through the bad times at Varna; to come all that way across the sea, indomitable spirit overcoming all the weaknesses of the flesh; to land at last in the high flush of hope,--and then to die like dogs of cold and misery, on the wet shingle, before their hope had smallest chance of realisation! Oh, it was hard! It was bitter hard!
When he reported on board it was decided to make for Eupatoria, where there was a pier, but before they got under way the weather showed signs of improvement, and presently the landing began, and for the next two days both the boys had so much on their hands that they had no time to think of anything but the contrarinesses of horses and guns, and the disconcerting effects of high seas on things unused to them.
In spite of all they lacked, however, the men's spirits rose as soon as the sun shone out and warmed them. They were on Russian soil at last, and that made up for everything. All they wanted now was Russians to come to grips with--Russians in quantity and of a fighting stomach.
Sebastopol was thirty miles to the south, and between them and it lay rivers, and almost certainly armies; and on the third day they set off resolutely to find them. And that day Jim had his first trying experience of playing target to a distant enemy in deadly sober earnest.
He had wondered much what it would feel like, and how his inner man would take it. As for the outer, he had promised himself that that should show no sign, no matter what happened.
The Hussars were feeling the way in advance, when a bunch of Cossacks appeared on the hills in front, and representatives of Britain and Russia took eager stock of one another. They were rough-looking fellows on sturdy horses, and carried long lances. They rode down the hill as though to offer battle, and the Englishmen were keen to try conclusions with them. But behind them, in the hollows, were discovered dense masses of cavalry waiting for the game to walk into the net. And when the wary game declined, the cavalry opened out and disclosed hidden guns, and the game of long bowls began.
The first shots went wide, and Jim watched them go hopping along the plain with much curiosity. Then came the vicious spurt of white smoke again, and the man and horse alongside him collapsed in a heap; the horse with a most dolorous groan, the man--Saxelby, a fine young fellow of his own troop--with a gasping cry, his leg shorn clean off at the knee.
Jim's heart went right down into his stomach for a moment as the blood spirted over him, and he felt deadly sick.
His first impulse was to jump down and help poor Saxelby, but he feared for himself if he did so--feared he would fall in a heap alongside him and perhaps not be able to get up, for he felt as weak as water.
He clenched his teeth till they ached. He dropped his bridle hand on to his holster to keep it from shaking, and clasped his horse so tightly with his knees that he resented it and began to fret and curvet. Jim bent over and patted him on the neck, and two troopers got down and carried Saxelby away. The horse stopped jerking its legs and lay still, with its eyes wide and white, and its nostrils all bloody, and its teeth clenched and its lips drawn back in a horrid grin.
The guns had found their range and were spitting venomously now. Half a dozen more of his men were down. He was quite sure he would be next. He thought in a whirl for a moment,--of Gracie; she would marry Jack, and all that matter would be smoothed out;--and of Mr. Eager, the dear fellow!--and his father, and he wished they had seen more of one another;--and Sir Denzil, he was not such a bad old chap after all. He thought they would be sorry for him. And Mme Beteta, he wondered---- Well, maybe he would know all about it in a minute or two.
Then his heart rose suddenly right up into his head, and he was filled with a vast blazing anger at this being shot at with never a chance of a stroke in reply. If they would only let them go for those d----d Russians he would not feel so bad about it! But to be shot down like pheasants! It was not business! It was all d----d nonsense! He began to get very angry indeed.
His quickened ear had caught the rattle of artillery coming up behind. But it had stopped. Why the deuce had it stopped? Why couldn't someone do something before they were all bowled over?
Then at last there came a roar on their flank, and some of the newer horses kicked and danced, and Jim, staring hard at the Russians, saw a lane cleft through them where the shot had gone.
He clenched his teeth now to keep in a wild hurrah. It was an odd feeling. He knew nothing about those fellows under the hill, but he hated them like sin and rejoiced in their destruction. He would have liked to slaughter every man of them with his own hand. If he had been able to get at them he would have hacked and slashed till there wasn't one left.
No more balls came their way now. The guns turned on one another, and presently the Russians limbered up and retired--and it was over, and he was still alive. And then he was thankful.
Jim went off in search of Saxelby and the other half-dozen wounded men, as soon as he came in, and found them trimmed up and bandaged, just starting in litters for the ships, and all very angry at being knocked out before they had had a chance.
Then they crossed the Bulganak and bivouacked for the night, in grievous discomfort still from lack of tents and shortage of provisions, but strung to cheerfulness by the fact that they were really in touch with the enemy at last--triumph surely of mind over matter. Notwithstanding which, the morning disclosed another pitiful tale of deaths from cold and exposure--brave fellows who would not knock under in spite of pains and weakness, and had dragged themselves along lest they should be "out of the fun," and died silently where they lay for lack of the simple necessities of life.
Rightly or wrongly the blame fell on the commissaries, and the dead men's comrades flung them curses hot enough to fire a ship. For meeting the Russians in fair fight was one thing, and altogether to their liking; but this lack of foresight and provision took them below the belt in every sense of the word, and was like an unexpected blow from the fist of one's backer.
At noon next day they came to a shallow river winding between red clay banks, a somewhat undignified stream whose name they were to blazon in letters of blood on the rolls of fame--the Alma.
The Russians were strongly entrenched on the hills on the other side and in great force, and every man knew that here was a giant struggle and glory galore for the winners.
It was a great fight, but it was mostly rifle and bayonet and the grim reaction from those deadly slow months at Varna. And the Engineers had little to do but watch the others, as they dashed through the muddy stream, and climbed the roaring heights in the face of death, and captured the great redoubt at dreadful cost. And the cavalry were miles away on the left, covering the attack on that side from five times their own weight of Russian cavalry, who never came on, and so they had nothing to do and were disgusted at being out of it.
So neither Jack nor Jim were in that fight, but afterwards they climbed the hill with separate searching parties and met by chance in the redoubt on top, and looked on sights unforgettable, which made a deep and grim impression on them both.
It was the first battlefield they had ever set eyes on, and they spoke very little.
"God! Isn't it awful?" said Jack through his teeth, as they stood looking down the hill towards the river flowing unconcernedly to the sea, just as it had done when they came to it at noon, just as it had done all through the dreadful uproar when men were falling in their thousands. The ground between was strewn and heaped and piled with dead bodies.
But Jim had no words for it. He could only shake his head.
While they were still gazing awe-stricken at the ghastly piles of broken men, among which the litter-men were prowling in anxious search for wounded, a group of brilliantly clad officers came up from the French camp, where the rows of comfortable white tents set English teeth grinding with envy and chagrin. And among them they saw Prince Napoleon and Colonel Carron.
Their father saw them in the redoubt and came up at once. "Glad to see you still alive, boys," he said cheerfully. "Hot work, wasn't it?"
"Awful, sir. Were you in it?" asked Jack.
"Oh yes. We came across there"--pointing to a burnt-out village on the river-bank--"and then up here. Here's where we got the guns up to relieve Bosquet. We've paid pretty heavily, but it's shown them what we're made of. You weren't in it, I suppose, Jim?"
"No sir; we were waiting over yonder for some cavalry to come on, but they wouldn't. Worse luck!"
"Your chances will come, my boy. And you, Jack?"
"We had very little to do, sir. We were away in the rear there."
"Your men did splendidly. Canrobert was just saying that he doubted if our men would have managed that frontal business as yours did."
"They paid," said Jim.
"And are still paying," said the Colonel, as they stood watching the French ambulances, with their trim little mules, trotting off towards the coast, carrying a dozen wounded men in quick comfort, while the English litter-men crept slowly along on their jogging four-mile tramp, which proved the death of many a sorely wounded man and purgatory to the rest.
"Truly, your arrangements are not up to the mark." said Colonel Carron. "How have you stood the nights? Somebody was saying you had no tents."
"Last night was the first time we've had any, and they've all been sent on board again," said Jack gloomily.
"That's too bad. It's hard on the men."
"We lose a number every night with the cold."
"Bad management---- The Prince is off. I must go. Good luck to you, boys! I shall come over and look you up from time to time. Keep out of mischief!" And he waved a cheery hand and was gone, and the boys went down among the ghastly piles to do what they could.
But it was heart-breaking work; the total of misery was so immense, and the means of alleviation so feeble in comparison.
The French wounded were safe on board ship within an hour after they were picked up. It was two days before all the English were disposed of, though every man who could be spared set his hand to the work.
In the afternoon of the second day after the fight, Jim was going wearily down the hill, after such a time among the dead and wounded as had made him almost physically sick.
All the French, and he thought almost all the English, wounded had been seen to. The Russians had necessarily been left to the last.
As he passed a grisly pile he thought he caught a faint groan from inside it, and set to work at once hauling the dead men apart, with tightened face and repressed breath. The job was neither pleasant nor wholesome, but there was no one else near at hand and he must see to it.
Right at the bottom of the pile, soaked with the blood of those who had fallen on top of him, he came upon a young fellow, an officer, just about his own age. And as he dragged the last body off him, he opened his eyes wearily and groaned.
Jim put his pocket-flask to the white lips, and the other sucked eagerly and a touch of colour came into his face. He lay looking up into the face bending over him, and then his chest filled and he sighed.
"Where are you hurt?" asked Jim, expecting no answer, but full of sympathy.
"Leg and side," said the wounded one, in English with an accent.
"I'll fetch a litter."
"Stay moment. Only dead men--two days. Good to see a live one. . . . Did you win?"
"Yes, we won, but at very heavy cost."
"Glad you won."
"That doesn't sound good," said honest Jim, with disfavour.
"You would feel same. Hate Russians. . . . Pole."
"I see," said Jim, whose history was nebulous, but equal to the occasion.
"Forced to fight," said the wounded man. "Done with it now."
"Take some more rum--it'll warm you up; and I'll find a litter for you."
"Have you bread? I starve. . . ."
"I'll see if I can get you something."
"Open his roll." And the wounded man turned his eyes hungrily on the nearest dead body. And Jim, opening the linen roll which each Russian carried, found a lump of hard black bread and placed it in his hand.
"I thank. You will come again?" asked the young Pole anxiously.
"I'll come back all right, as soon as I've found a litter." And he left the wounded man feebly gnawing his chunk of black bread like a starving dog.
He found a litter in time, and the weary eyes brightened a trifle at sight of him.
"You are good," he murmured. "You save me."
And Jim, thinking what he would like himself in similar case, went along by his side till they found a doctor resting for a moment, and begged him to examine the new-comer.
"His leg must go. The body wound will heal," said the medico. "Seems to have had a bad time. Where did you find him?"
"I found him under fifteen dead men."
"Then he owes you his life."
"Yes, yes," said the wounded one "I am grateful. Take the leg off."
"He's a Pole, forced to fight against his will," said Jim, at the doctor's astonishment.
"I see"--as he screwed a tourniquet on the shattered limb. "We're sending all their wounded to Odessa."
At which the young man groaned.
"Hold his hand," said the doctor. "He's pretty low." And Jim held the twitching hand while the knife and the saw did their work, and was not sure whether it was his hand that jumped so or the other's.
The other hand suddenly lay limp in his, and he thought the man was dead.
"Fainted," said the doctor. "He's been bleeding away for two days."
He came round, however, and tried to smile when he saw Jim still there. And presently he murmured:
"I thank." And then he looked down at his hand all caked with blood, and tried feebly to get a ring off his finger.
"Take!" he said. But Jim shook his head.
"Yes, yes." And he wrestled feebly again with the ring.
"Better humour him," said the doctor. "It'll do him more good than to refuse."
So Jim worked the ring off for him, and slipped it on his own finger, and the wounded man said "I thank!" and lay back satisfied.
Jim saw him carried down to the boat and wished him luck, and then strode away to his own quarters, which consisted of a seat on the side of a dry ditch--dry at present, but which would be soaking with dew before morning--with his brown horse picketed alongside, as hungry and low-spirited as his master.
Jim looked at his ring and thought of its late owner, and hoped he would get over it, and wondered how soon his own turn would come. For the thing that amazed him was that any single man could come alive out of a fight like that at the Alma.
His horse nuzzled hungrily at him, and he suddenly bethought him of the black bread in the Russians' linen rolls. He jumped up, tired as he was, and trode away to the battlefield again, and came back with chunks of hard tack and black bread enough to make his brown and some of his neighbours happy for the night.
Marshal St. Arnaud, sore sick as he was, was eager to press on at once after the discomfited Russians. But "an army marches on its stomach," and it was two full days before Lord Raglan could make a move. Those two lost days might have changed the whole course of the campaign, and saved many thousands of lives. The defective organisation of the British transport and commissariat slew more than all the Russian bullets.
On the third morning, as the sun rose all the trumpets, bugles, and drums in the French army pealed out from the summit of the captured hill, and presently the allied armies wereen routeagain for Sebastopol.
The next day, however, saw a sudden change of plans and a most remarkable happening. The allied chiefs gave up the idea of attacking the town from the north, on which side all preparations had been made for their reception, and decided, instead, to march right round and take it on its undefended south side. And so began that famous flank march to Balaclava which was to turn all the defences of the fortress.
And on that selfsame day the Russian chief, Menchikoff, decided to march out of Sebastopol into the open, and so turn the flank of the allies. And the two lines of march crossed at Mackenzie's farm.
The Russians had got out first, however, and it was only their rear-guard upon whom the English chanced, and immediately fell, and put to rout. They chased them for several miles and took their military chest and great booty of baggage which, being left to the men as lawful prize, cheered them greatly.
When Jim got back from the chase the new owners were offering for sale dazzling uniforms, and decorations, and handsome fur coats, at remarkable prices. He had no yearning for Russian uniforms or decorations, but as he suffered much from the cold of a night he bought two of the wonderful coats for five pounds each, and, when they halted, he sought out Jack and made him happy with one of them.
Next day the allied forces crossed the Tchernaya by the Traktir Bridge and marched on Balaclava.
And here Jim's threefold reputation as a hard rider, the best-mounted man in his regiment, and a man who did, brought him a chance of fresh distinction.
In abandoning the coast and marching inland, the army had cut itself off from its base of supply--the fleet. It was urgently necessary that word should be sent to the admirals to move on round the coast past Sebastopol and meet the army in its new quarters.
Just as they were crowding over Traktir Bridge a rider came galloping up with dispatches for Lord Raglan--Lieutenant Maxse of theAgamemnon. He had left Katcha Bay that morning, and offered at once to ride back with orders for the fleet to move on. A brave offer, for the country was all wild forest and lonely plain and valley, infested with prowling bands of Cossacks, and the night was falling.
An hour later Maxse, on a fresh horse, was galloping back to the coast.
"If anything should happen to him," said the Chief, "we shall be in a hole." And he sent for Lord Lucan.
"I want your best horseman and your best horse, Lucan, and a man who will put a thing through."
"That's young Carron of the Hussars, sir."
And Jim, paraded for inspection on his big brown horse--quite filled out and frolicsome with its load of black bread the day but one before--seemed likely in the Chief's eyes.
"Mr. Carron," he said. "I have a dangerous task for you. I am told you are the man for it. Lieutenant Maxse left here an hour ago for the ships. They must get round at once and meet us at Balaclava. Here is a copy of the order. If Maxse has not got through you will deliver it to Admiral Dundas in Katcha Bay. Don't lose a moment. The welfare of the army depends on you."
Jim saluted.
"How will you go?"
"Mackenzie's farm and the post-road, sir."
"You are armed? You may meet Cossacks."
"Sword and revolver. I shall manage all right."
"Come round with the ships and report to me at Balaclava."
Jim saluted once more, and spurred away.
The distance was only some twenty miles, an easy two hours' ride. The dangers lay in the hostile country and the prowling Cossacks, for in the long defile from the farm to the Belbec, and then again in the broken country between the Belbec and the Katcha, there were a thousand places where a rider might be picked off from the hill-sides and never catch a glimpse of his adversary.
However, it was no good thinking of all that, and Jim was not one to cross bridges before he came to them, or to meet trouble half-way. His big brown had a long, easy stride which was almost restful to his rider, and Jim had a seat that gave his horse the least possible inconvenience, and between them was completest sympathy and friendship.
And as to the dark, unless he absolutely ran into Cossacks he reckoned it all in his favour. It kept down his pace indeed, but at the same time it hid him from the watchful eyes on the hill-sides and the leaden messages they might have sent him.
He received warm commendation for that night's ride, but, as simple matter of fact, he enjoyed it greatly, and had no difficulties beyond keeping the road in the dark and making sure it was the right one. Plain common-sense, however, bade him always trend to the left when cross-roads offered alternatives, and after leaving Mackenzie's he never set eyes on a soul till he found the Belbec an hour before midnight, and rode up through the wreathing mists of the river-bed to the highlands beyond.
The dew was drenching wet and the night cold, but he got into his big fur coat, which had been rolled up behind his saddle, and suffered not at all.
His thoughts ran leisurely back to them all at home,--Gracie, and Mr. Eager, and his grandfather, and Lord Deseret, and Mme Beteta, and his father's amazing revelation concerning her. He wondered whether they would ever learn the truth, and if not, how the tangle would be straightened out. He thought dimly, but with no great fear now, that they would probably both be killed if there was much fighting such as that at the Alma, so there was no need to trouble about the future.
Charlie Denham, indeed, never ceased to philosophise that it was always the other fellow who was going to be killed; but if every one thought that, it was evident, even to Jim's unphilosophic mind, that there must be a flaw somewhere.
Anyway, when a man's time came he died, and there was no good worrying oneself into the blues beforehand.
A hoarse challenge broke suddenly on his musings, and a darker blur on the road just in front resolved itself into half a dozen horsemen. They had heard his horse's hoofs, and waited in silence to see who came.
He had pulled the hood of his fur coat right up over his busby, and the heavy folds covered him almost down to the feet. He decided in a moment that safety lay in silence, so he rode straight on, waved a hand to the doubtful Cossacks, and was past Telegraph Hill before they had done discussing him.
He wondered if Maxse had met them and how he had fared.
An hour later he forded the Katcha and turned down the valley towards the sea. Boats were still plying between the sandy beach and the ships. The Jacks eyed him for a moment with suspicion, but gave him jovial welcome when they found that only his outer covering was Russian.
Lieutenant Maxse had just been put aboard theAgamemnon, he found, and a minute or two later he was following him. So Jim had the pleasure of steaming past the sea-front of Sebastopol to Balaclava Bay, where they found the ancient little fort on the heights bombarding the British army with for tiny guns.
They brought it to reason with half a dozen round shot, and presently steamed cautiously in round the awkward corners, and dropped anchor opposite the house where Lord Raglan had taken up his quarters.
And now force of circumstances left the cavalry stranded high and dry, with nothing to do but range the valley now and again in quest of enemies who never showed face, and growl continually at the untowardness of their lot.
They had indeed had little enough to do so far, but always in front of them had been the hope of active employment and its concomitant rewards. But what use could cavalry be in a siege? And had they lived through all those hideous months at Varna, and come across the sea only to repeat them outside Sebastopol? They grizzled and growled, and expressed their opinions on things in general with cavalier vehemence.
And the worst of it was that the other more actively employed arms were inclined to twit them with their--so far--showy uselessness.
What had they done since they landed, except prance about and look pretty? Why hadn't they been out all over the country bringing in supplies? Where were they at the Alma, when hard knocks were the order of the day?--asked these others.
And, indeed, among themselves they asked bitterly why they had been chained up like that and allowed to do nothing. They had held all the Russian cavalry in check, it is true; but that was but a negative kind of thing, and what they thirsted for was an active campaign and glory.
But now it was Jack's turn, and the Engineers were in their element. Not a man among them but devoutly hoped the place would hold out to the utmost and give them their chance.
It was almost too good to be true--an actual siege on the latest and most approved principles! And they tackled it with gusto, and were planning lines and trenches in their minds' eyes before their tents were up.
As a matter of fact, tents were still things to be looked forward to with such small faith in commissaries and transport as still lingered in their sorely tried bodies, for it had long since left their hearts; food was so scarce that for a couple of days one whole division of the army had tasted no meat; and every morning the first sorrowful duty of the living was to gather up those who had died in the night of cold and cholera, with bitter commination of those whom they considered to blame.
However, all things come in time to those who live long enough, and the tents came up from the ships at last, and rations began to be served out with something like regularity. The busy Engineers traced their lines, and, as soon as it was dark each night, the digging parties went out and set to work on the trenches, and the siege was fairly begun, and Jack and his fellows were as busy and happy as bees.
But Jim, if officially relegated a comparative inaction, found no lack of employment.
He was intensely interested in all that was going on. He rode here and there with messages to this chief and that. For when he reported himself to Lord Raglan at Balaclava, according to instructions, his lordship was pleased to compliment him in his quiet way.
"You did well, Mr. Carron," he said. "I am glad you both got through safely. Much depended on you. By the way, you know my old friend Deseret, I think."
"Lord Deseret was very kind to me in London, sir."
"I remembered, after you left last night, that he had spoken to me of you. And surely," said his lordship musingly, "I must have known your father. Is he still alive?"
Jim hesitated for half a second, and then said simply: "Yes, sir; he is on the staff of Prince Napoleon."
"With Prince Napoleon?" said his lordship, and stared at him in surprise. And then the old story came back to his mind. "Ah, yes! I remember. Well, well! . . . And I suppose you're growling like the rest at having nothing to do?"
"We would be glad to have more, sir."
"I'm afraid it won't be a very lively time for the cavalry. But you seem to like knocking about. I must see what I can do to keep you from getting rusty."
"I shall be very grateful, sir."
And thereafter many an odd job came his way, for the allied lines, from the extreme French left at Kamiesch Bay in the west, to the British right above the Inkerman Aqueduct on the north-east, covered close upon twenty miles, and within that space there was enough going on to keep a man busy in simply acting as travelling eye to the Commander-in-Chief--in carrying his orders and bringing him reports.
And this was business that suited Jim to the full. He saw everything and was constantly meeting everybody he knew, and many besides.
He was galloping home from the French lines one evening, through the sailors' camp by Kadikoi, just above the gorge that runs down to Balaclava. The jolly jacks were revelling in their lark ashore, and showed it in the labelling of their tents with fanciful names. Jim had already seen "Albion's Pets," "Rule Britannia," and "Windsor Castle," and every time he passed he looked for the latest ebullitions of sailorly humour. This time, to his great joy, he found "Britain's Bull-Pups," and "The Bear-Baiters," and "The Bully Cockytoos."
The Bull-Pups and the Bear-Baiters and the Bully Cockytoos, and all the rest, fifty in a line, were hauling along a Lancaster gun, with a fiddler on top fiddling away for dear life, and they all bellowing a chantie that made him draw rein to listen to it. The bands in the French camp were playing merrily as he left it, but in the British lines there was not so much as a bugle or a drum, and the men were feeling it keenly.
So the rough chorus struck him pleasantly, and he stopped to hear it out.
When the gun was up to their camp, the men cast loose and began to foot it merrily to the music, just to show what a trifle a Lancaster gun was to British sailormen. And Jim, as he sat laughing at their antics and enjoying them hugely, suddenly caught sight of a familiar face. Not one of the dancers, but one who stood looking on soberly--it might even he sombrely, Jim could not be sure.
He jumped off his horse and led him round.
"Why, Seth, old man!" he said, clapping the broad shoulder in friendly delight. "What brings you here?"
And young Seth turned and faced him, and had to look twice before he knew him.
"Ech--why, it's Mester Jim!" he said slowly.
"Of course it is. And but for you he wouldn't be here, and he never forgets it. But how do you come to be here, Seth?"
"I come with the rest to fight the Roosians, Mester Jim."
"I wish they'd give us a chance, but it's going to be all long bowls, I'm afraid."
But there was that to be said between them which was not for other ears.
The tars had watched the meeting with much favour, for greetings so friendly between officer and man were not often seen among them in those days, though more possible between sailormen than in the army. When they saw Jim slip his arm through Seth's and draw him along with him, they started a lusty cheer. "Three cheers for young Fuzzy-cap! Hip--hip!" And Jim grinned jovially and waved his hand in reply. And Seth Rimmer, in spite of the taciturnity which they could not understand, was a man of note among them from that day.
"Did you hear all about your poor old dad, Seth?" asked Jim quietly.
"Yes, Mester Jim. Th' passon told me all about it."
"It was a grievous thing. But I don't think I was to blame, Seth. He would go out and ramble about. I did all I could for him."
"I know. I know."
"And Kattie, Seth!Yousurely never thought I had anything to do with that matter?"
"No, Mester Jim. I knowed it wasn't you."
"Do you know who it was, Seth? I would hold him to account if ever I got the chance. But she would not tell me."
"You found her?" asked Seth, with a start that brought them both to a stand.
"She came to me in the street the very last night before we left----"
Seth gave out something mixed up of groan and curse.
"She said she had heard we were going in the morning, and she wanted to say good-bye."
"Th' poor little wench! . . . What did you say to her Mester Jim?"
"I was knocked all of a heap at meeting her like that, Seth. But when I got my wits back I did the only thing I could. I took her to a lady friend who had been very kind to me, and she promised to look after her. And I am quite sure she will. If Kattie only stops with her I think she may be very comfortable there."
"It were good o' yo'. . . ." And then, reverting to Jim's former question, "I know him," he said hoarsely, "an' when th' chance comes----" And the big brown hands clenched as though a man's throat were between them. And Jim thought he would not like to be that man.
"I'm afraid I feel like that too, Seth, though I suppose--I don't know. Poor little Kattie!"
And presently he wrung the big brown hands, that were meant for better work than wringing evil throats, and swung up on to his horse.
"I must get along, Seth. But I'm often through here, and we'll be meeting again. We're about two miles out over yonder, you know. Good-bye!" And he galloped off to his quarters.
He frequently rode across of a night for a chat with Jack, but Jack was a mighty busy man these days, and nights too. He had an inordinate craving for trenches and gabions and facines and parallels and approaches, and could talk of little else, and confessed that he dreamed of them too. And if he could have accomplished as much by day as he did by night, when he was fast asleep--though as a matter of fact it ought to be the other way, for most of the actual work had to be done under cover of darkness and he slept when he could--Sebastopol would have been taken in a week.
As the trenches began to develop, he would take Jim through them for a treat, and explain all that was going on with the greatest gusto. And at times Jim found it no easy matter to conceal the fact that it was all exceedingly raw and dirty, though he supposed it was the only way of getting at them.
And at times shot and shell would come plunging in over the sand-bags and gabions, and then every man would fling himself on his face in the dirt till the flying splinters had gone, and Jim would go home and try to brush himself clean--for Joyce had died of cholera two days out from Varna--and would thank his stars that he belonged to a cleaner branch of the service.
Still, it was fine to watch the shells come curving out from the town with a flash like summer lightning, and hear them singing through the darkness, and see the fainter glare of their explosion; and when he had nothing else on hand he went along to the trenches almost every night to watch the fireworks.