Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
A Gallant Grenadier, by Captain F.S. Brereton, RAMC.
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________________________________________________________________________A GALLANT GRENADIER, BY CAPTAIN F.S. BRERETON, RAMC.
CHAPTER ONE.
PHILIP WESTERN.
"You positively annoy me, Joseph, and make me feel more angry than Icare to admit. The matter is a serious one, and I am deeply distressed.After thirteen years of the most careful bringing-up there is completeand absolute failure. It is a miserable reward. And then, to makematters worse, you laugh at me, and egg the lad on to even greatercrimes!"
"Fiddlesticks, sir! Humbug! A miserable reward indeed!" was thespirited answer. "No one but yourself would admit it. He is a finelad, though a little wild I will own; but for all that a generous,good-hearted boy. Let him alone! Don't worry him with all thesegoody-goody ideas. There is plenty of time for him to settle down, andmeanwhile he will come to no harm, and, I'll be bound, will bring nodiscredit on you." The speaker shook his head knowingly, and helpedhimself to a large pinch of snuff.
"How can you argue like that, Joseph, when you know what the lad hasdone?" the former speaker replied with much sternness. "I holdpractical joking to be at any time disgraceful, but when one's adoptedson is one of three who actually laid a booby-trap for the mayor of thistown in broad daylight, and made him a laughing-stock for all, thendiscreditable is the least one can say of it. It is positivelyscandalous."
"Nonsense, Edward! Barrington deserved all he got. He is an odiousman, and the fright those youngsters gave him will teach him to mind hisown business in future, and not meddle with other people's affairs.Serve him right, I say! Just because a lad breaks one of his windowswith a catapult, and by pure accident, he gets the followinghalf-holiday stopped for the whole school. If he hadn't blustered somuch, and looked so fierce, I've no doubt the culprit would have givenhimself up; but he was afraid of the consequences, and most naturally,too. Ha, ha, ha! It was funny! I saw his worship immediately after hehad fallen a victim to the joke. He was quivering with mingled fear andrage, and the laughter of the by-standers did not help to soothe him."
Joseph threw himself violently back in his chair, causing it to creak inan alarming manner and almost overturn, and gave vent to roars oflaughter, followed by chuckles of intense amusement, produced in suchdeep tones that they seemed to come from the smart Wellingtons he wore.He was a stout, comfortable-looking man of middle height, with a round,clean-shaven face, which, now that he was laughing, was as red as fireand wrinkled in all directions. He had a shiny head, almost devoid ofhair, and a double chin which half hid the wide collar and large bow hewore, while smartly-cut trousers and coat, a wide expanse of shirtfront, and a double-breasted waistcoat, which seemed almost too small toreach across his massive chest and "corporation", completed anappearance which made Joe Sweetman remarkable. He looked a gentlemanall over, and his merry laugh and jovial manner made one certain at oncethat he was a general favourite.
Opposite him, seated in an uncomfortable armchair, and hugging one kneewith his bony hands, was a big, gaunt man, whose heavy face and dullleaden-looking eyes seemed never to have lightened with a smile. Asquare chin, set off by long Dundreary whiskers, and knitted browsshowed him to be a man of fixed purpose; one who, having made up hismind upon a subject of any importance, would adhere to his decision withexasperating stubbornness, refusing to be persuaded by any argument, andholding firmly to his convictions, though their falseness was apparentto everyone but himself.
A hard, bigoted man was Edward Western, and even good-natured JoeSweetman was often within an ace of losing his temper when conversingwith him. An educated man, and in his younger days an officer in a lineregiment, Edward had suddenly taken it into his head that a soldier'slife was not the calling he should follow. Once convinced of this hesent in his papers, and now for years had acted as the vicar ofRiddington, a town of some importance in Hampshire. A wife, holdingsomewhat similar views to his own, and an adopted son of sixteencompleted his family, while Joe Sweetman, his brother-in-law, was soconstantly at the house that he might be said to form one of theestablishment.
The one great aim and object of Edward Western's life was that hisadopted son, Philip, should follow in his footsteps, and one day fillhis place as vicar of the town. Fortune had decreed that he should bechildless, and at first this had not been a matter for regret. But formany years the vicar of Riddington had declared to all his parishioners,when lecturing to them and advising them as to the training of theirchildren, that by careful education they could make them what theywished. "Neglect your offspring," he would say solemnly, shaking awarning finger at his audience, "and they will become the evil-doers ofthe future. They will disgrace you, and even make you almost long todisown them. But with diligence, with never-ceasing care, you willinstil into their minds all that is good, and will train them to followthat profession which you have decided they shall enter. There shouldbe no need to worry yourselves in the future as to what your sons shouldbe. Choose now, while they are infants, and bring them up according toyour wishes."
This was all, undoubtedly, very true and excellent advice to give, butMr Western went further. "There is no such thing as `breeding' and`noble blood'," he would declare. "Take a lad from the gutter, and Iwill engage that by using towards him the same amount of care as isdevoted to the child of gentlefolks, you will make him a gentleman."
So strongly did he feel upon the subject that, after matureconsideration, he decided to prove the truth of his sayings to all inthe parish. To decide was to act. In spite of Joe Sweetman'sremonstrances he inserted an advertisement in the papers, in which itwas set forth that a certain clergyman, living in a country town, wasanxious to adopt a son.
No difficulty was thrown in his way. An answer reached him by return ofpost, stating that a widow with many children would be glad to disposeof one of them if a good home were offered. A hurried visit and a fewquestions satisfied the vicar that the woman was truthful, and that torelieve her of a child would be an act of charity. A few guineas werehanded to the widow, and Phil Reach, a fair-haired, blue-eyed boy oftwo, was hugged in his mother's arms, smothered with kisses and bigtears, and finally, wondering no doubt what all the commotion meant, washanded over to Mr Western.
He was an interesting little mite too, always happy and bright, and everready for a romp. And to do them justice, Mr Western and his wifeproved a devoted father and mother to their adopted son. They lived forhim, and never for a single moment forgot what was the object of theirlives.
When the child was four years old his training commenced, and from thatday it had proceeded unceasingly. Had his days been made bright andjoyous, success might have attended the efforts of the worthy vicar andhis wife; but Phil Western--as he was now called--seldom knew what itwas to be really happy. Living with an eccentric couple, whoseausterity would have tried an adult, and deprived of playmates, he soonbegan to mope and pine. So much so, that at last the doctor orderedhome lessons to be given up, and after a good deal of persuasion hisadopted parents were prevailed upon to send him to the local school.What a change it was! From sorrow to sunlight. Phil rapidly picked uphis health, and before long had hosts of friends. But at home the oldlife still continued. The training was never for one moment forgotten,and if only the desired end had been attained, Phil would have developedinto one of those abnormally good boys who never do wrong, and whoselives are a pattern to all others. But, unfortunately, this was not thecase.
Phil, indeed
, grew up to be scarcely the studious and sober-minded ladhis adoptive parents had hoped to see. Bottled up by the strictness oflife at home, his spirits simply boiled over when once he left thehouse, and at school his masters knew him as a mischievous butgood-hearted youngster, whose courage and lively nature often led himinto doing stupid things, for which he was afterwards full of regret.There was not a prank played of which he was not the ringleader, and anybatch of culprits mustered outside the doctor's study, waiting forpunishment, was certain to number him in its ranks. And yet he was nota bad boy.
"He is simply incorrigible. I can do nothing with him, and you musttake him away at the end of the term," the worthy doctor had said whendiscussing with Mr Western the affair of the booby-trap laid for themayor. "I shall be sorry to lose the lad, for he is upright andtruthful, and has done much for the school in the way of sports andathletics. But he is never out of mischief, and the example he sets issimply destroying the discipline of the school. Be advised by me,Western, and send him away. He is by no means dull at his work, and ata school where there is more opportunity of controlling him, and wherehe will be separated from his present companions in mischief, he will dowell, I feel sure, and be a credit to you."
But no amount of reasoning could convince Phil's father that his son wasall that the Doctor had said.
"He has disgraced me," he said bitterly to Joe Sweetman, "and all ourcare has been thrown away. I hoped that he would grow up a quiet andwell-behaved young fellow; but he is never out of mischief, so much sothat I am now obliged to send him to a boarding-school, an institutionof which I have the greatest dislike. And I suppose he will soon besent away from there. I really am more than grieved, and how I shalldare to meet his worship the mayor, after what has occurred, I do notknow!"
"Bother the mayor! He's a prig, and got what he deserved!" Joeanswered, with a sniff and a snap of his fingers. "Send Phil away andI'll swear he'll be thankful to you. Of course I know it was foolishand very wrong of those young monkeys to play their tricks on oldBarrington, but then you yourself know what an unpopular man he is. Didhe not try to put an end to the annual procession of the Riddington boysthrough the town, on the plea that they made too much noise? That putthe youngsters' backs up; and then he must needs force his way into theschool and demand that the lad who broke his miserable window should becaned, and in the event of his not being found that the whole schoolshould lose a holiday. A pig of a fellow, sir, and I'm glad Phil andhis pals paid him out."
This indignant outburst, and the roar of laughter which followed onJoe's remembering the unhappy mayor's fright, roused Edward Western'sire. He sat rigidly in his chair, staring blankly before him, with afixed expression of annoyance on his face.
"I cannot compel him to follow the profession I have chosen for him," hesaid sternly, "but let him disgrace me again and I will pack him off toLondon and there find a position for him as a clerk, where he will betied to his desk, and where he will have fewer opportunities of doingwrong."
"Pooh! pooh! You're too hard on Phil by a long way," exclaimed JoeSweetman earnestly, springing from his chair and pacing up and down theroom. "Give him a chance. Every dog must have his day, you know. Lethim get rid of some of his wild spirits, and then perhaps he will bequite ready to fall in with your wishes. You accuse me of constantlyegging the lad on. I deny that charge, Edward, and I do most sincerelywish that you could see the facts as they are. Perhaps I should notspeak, for he is your protege, not mine; but, just for a moment looksquarely at the facts. Does the lad lead a happy life in his home? Itell you that he does not. He has comfort and plenty of good food, butthe house is not brightened for the boy, and once within its walls hehas learnt to subdue and cloak a naturally sunny nature simply becausegay laughter and light-hearted chatter are disapproved of. Can youwonder, then, that he is inclined to run riot outside? His high spiritsget the better of him, and he is ready for any fun--fun, mark you,Edward, on which you and I might look and never feel ashamed--for,mischievous though he is, he has a healthy mind."
Joe tossed his head in the air, thrust his fat hands beneath the tailsof his coat, and leaned against the mantel-piece, staring hard at MrWestern. "Come," he continued, with an easy laugh, "think better of it,Edward. Pack the lad off to school, and leave him more to himself.He'll go straight, I'll wager anything upon it."
"Thank you, Joseph! I do not bet," Mr Western replied. "But I will doas you say. Philip shall go away, and his future must depend uponhimself. Not all the arguments in the world will persuade me that thereis any truth in the saying that it is good for young fellows to sowtheir wild oats before settling down to the serious business of life.Now let us go into the garden."
Mr Western rose slowly from his chair, and, opening a large glass door,stepped on to a verandah which surrounded his house and formed a mostcharming spot in which to sit during the heat of a summer's day. Joefollowed him, still chuckling at the memory of the mayor's discomfiture,and together they stood looking out across the well-kept garden, withits beds of bright-coloured flowers, its splashing fountain, and itswalls lined by rows of carefully-pruned trees. It was a scene whichdiffered greatly from the monotony and lack of joyousness which markedPhil Western's daily life at home.
Within the house all was dull and sombre. Scarcely a laugh or a smilebrightened his existence. Stern and full of earnestness, his adoptiveparents gave themselves up to their work, the religious education of theparishioners and the careful bringing-up of their son. Outside therewas a landscape teeming with life and movement; a town of some size inthe hollow below, its streets filled with country folk who had come into attend the market, and across the haze caused by the smoke risinglazily from the chimneys, a huge vista of green trees and fields, brokenhere and there by a wide silvery streak which marked the course of theriver, twisting and twining, now hidden by the foliage, and againrunning through the open fields, flashing in the brilliant sun, andbearing upon its smooth surface a host of tiny boats filled withtownspeople out for an afternoon's enjoyment.
A hundred yards or more beyond the outskirts of Riddington was a large,red-brick building, almost smothered in creeper, and bearing in itscentre a tall tower from the four sides of which the face of a clocklooked out. It was Riddington High School, and the hands of the clockwere pointing close to the hour of four. A moment later there was aloud "whirr", and then the first stroke of the hour, followed almostinstantly by a hubbub in the building below. Hundreds of shrill voicesseemed to have been let loose, and after them the owners; for from allsides of the school lads appeared, rushing out in mad haste, somehatless, others jamming their hats upon their heads, and all in the samecondition of desperate hurry. A minute later they had streamed acrossthe playground and were racing towards the river, to a spot where an oldwaterman stood guard over some dozen boats. Charging down the hill themob of excited lads swept the old man aside, laughed merrily at hisexpostulations, and in a twinkling were aboard and shoving off from theriver-bank.
But not all the scholars of Riddington High School had joined in theexcited rush. A tall, big-boned lad of some fifteen years, with hairwhich was almost red in colour, and a boyish, open face, strode from oneof the doors accompanied by two others. Flinging his hat jauntily uponhis head, Phil Western, for it was none other than he, walked across theasphalt which formed the playground of the school, and, putting his twoforefingers in his mouth, produced a loud and prolonged whistle. Twicehe repeated it, and after a minute's silence shouted "Rags! Rags! whereare you?"
In the distance a series of short barks answered, and very soon afox-terrier dog came racing across the grass.
"Ah, he's waiting all right for his master!" exclaimed Phil, with ashort grunt of satisfaction. "Good dog!--the best in the whole ofRiddington. Now, you fellows," he went on, after having greeted hiscanine friend with a pat, "what's the order for to-day? We're allagreed to give that old concern an airing. The last time the goodpeople of this town had a chance of looking at it was in the
year of thequeen's coronation; and that was thirteen years ago. It's gettingmusty, and must certainly have an airing."
"That's exactly what we think, Phil," chimed in one of the other lads, amerry-looking youngster of fifteen. "Riddington started a state barge ahundred years ago, to take the mayor and councillors across the river tothe church on great occasions. On other days they rowed over inordinary boats or went by the bridge--when it wasn't washed away by thefloods. Then a new stone bridge was built, and for a few years theykept up the old custom. But for a long while now it has fallenthrough--sunk into oblivion, as `old Tommy' would say. It is clearlyour duty to revive this extremely interesting--I may say this unique--old custom."
"Bah! Stop it!" exclaimed Phil, with a laugh, snatching his comrade'shat from his head and throwing it at his face. "Tell me whatarrangements you have made."
"Simple. Simple as daylight, Phil. We saunter down to the river-side,and as soon as Peter looks the other way we enter the boat-house.Here's the key. It hangs over the pater's mantel-piece, where it hasbeen for the last two years. He's keeper of the state barge and thebargemen's costumes."
"Splendid, Tommy! Splendid! We'll be off at once. Come on, youfellows. Here, Rags!"
Phil hurried off with his companions in mischief towards an old andsomewhat dilapidated boat-house. The lad who had been addressed asTommy slipped up to the door, and a few moments later all three enteredand closed it behind them.
A match was produced and a small piece of candle lighted.
"This way, you fellows," cried Tommy, leading the way along a narrowshelf to the back of the house. Here there was a small room with aworm-eaten table and chairs and a heavy oak chest.
"It's no use doing things by halves, is it?" asked Tommy, with a broadgrin on his face. "Here, in this old chest, are all the costumes, andif we don't make that old barge look as well as it ever did, I shall beastonished."
"You'll probably get licked, you mean," laughed Phil. "But, all thesame, it's a splendid idea. We won't spoil the show for a ha'porth oftar. Let's see how these things fit."
Ten minutes later, had any councillor of Riddington had sufficientinterest to pay a casual visit to the boat-house, he would have seen asight which would certainly have given a rude shock to his nerves. Forin the old and musty building stalked three figures gorgeously attiredin costumes of red velvet, slashed in all directions with what had oncebeen white, red stockings and big-bowed shoes, heavy chains of brassround their necks, and huge beef-eater hats upon their heads. Beneaththe hats, where bearded faces should have been, were the merrycountenances of three boys who were bent upon a piece of mischief.
"Look here, Phil, you boss this show," said Tommy shortly, looking atthe other lad to see if he agreed. "We're ready. Give your orders andwe'll get aboard."
"Right, Tommy! Help with this tarpaulin. That's right. Now jumpinside, you fellows, and fish out the rowlocks, and see that a couple ofoars are handy. The rudder is already there. Now we can start. Hop inthere and take your places. I'll open the gates and push her out."
Waiting to see that all was ready, Phil pulled the bolt of the gateswhich closed the exit to the river, and threw them open. Then he guidedthe old state barge, all bedecked with gold and colours and curiousdevices, out into the river, giving a lusty push off, and springing injust at the last moment.
"Out oars!" he cried. "Tommy, what are you grinning at? Remember youare a bargeman."
"Beg pardon, sir. Sorry, I'm sure," replied the irrepressible Tommy,with a broad smile on his face. "I say, Phil, what a sight you do lookin those togs! and sha'n't we catch it when they find out who we are?Old Barrington will be furious. He said he'd have our blood--orsomething like that--when we held him up the other day."
"Oh, bother Barrington! I know he said we were a disgrace to the town,and that he'd keep a special eye upon us in future," answered Phil, witha laugh. "But pull hard, you fellows. I'll run up past the town; thereare lots of boats there that we'll go close to. Let's make 'em believeall's correct. Keep straight faces, and pass them as though nothingwere wrong."
"My eye, what fun!" chuckled Tommy. "But, all right, Phil! we'll do asyou say."
Slowly, and with a stately stroke, the two lads plied their oars, whilePhil, looking almost double his real size in his strange costume, satupright in the stern, the dog Rags by his side, and steered the bargestraight up the centre of the river. Soon they were close to the boats,and not many minutes had passed before their presence caused asensation.
"Blest if it bain't his wushup, the mayor!" cried a hulking countrymanout for a day on the river. "Row along, boys, and let's get closer."
From every side cries and shouts of astonishment and pleasure resounded,and all pressed towards the centre. And through them all the old bargeswept grandly on its way, while its bargemen and the steersman kept arigid silence and hastily jerked down their caps to hide the giggleswhich would come in spite of all their efforts. On they swept, and soona throng of boats was following in their wake, while others ahead lay ontheir oars and waited. Suddenly, as they approached one of these, Philleant forward and, shading his eyes with his hand, stared at theoccupants.
"Keep on, you fellows," he muttered. "There's a boat ahead of us withmy pater and mater aboard, and I believe the mayor too. There'll betrouble now, I expect."
And this was exactly the case. It was a lovely day, and, persuaded byJoe Sweetman, Mr and Mrs Western had engaged a boat, and, happening tomeet the mayor before embarking, had invited him to join the party.Even as the barge appeared in sight, Mr Western was apologising for hisson's disgraceful behaviour, and telling the mayor what a disappointmentPhil was to him.
"Why, as I live," exclaimed Joe Sweetman suddenly, "that's the old statebarge! What is happening, Barrington?"
"State barge! Yes, so it is. What can it be doing out here?" themayor, a fat-faced personage, replied. "I have not given my permission.We must see to this, Mr Western."
A moment later the barge slipped past, and in spite of Phil's efforts toconceal his identity he was recognised.
"It's that rascal Western!" exclaimed the mayor, getting red with anger."Stop, sir! What do you mean? Are you stealing that barge?"
At the mayor's angry order Tommy and his companion ceased rowing, and,seeing that all was discovered, Phil swept his hat from his head andpolitely wished all "good afternoon."
Mr Barrington almost exploded with rage. "Take that barge back atonce, you young rascal," he shouted. "I'll have you up for stealing.How dare you? Take it back at once!"
But meanwhile a crowd had gathered, and quickly understanding the joke,they laughed long and loudly and cheered the three boys. As for JoeSweetman, he was convulsed, and this added not a little to the mayor'sill-temper.
Mr Western had not spoken a word. All the while he gazed sternly atPhil, as though he could not trust himself to speak, and he had landedat the steps and was on his way home before he opened his lips.
"The mayor is right," he said bitterly. "Philip is a disgrace, and Iwill not allow him to stay at home a single day longer than I can help.I know an excellent institution where boys of his character can be urgedinto obedience. He shall go there, and nothing shall persuade me toremove him till he has changed utterly and completely."
"What! You would send Phil to a school for backward and incorrigibleboys?" exclaimed Joe Sweetman.
"Yes, that is exactly the class of institution I mean. I know of oneclose to London, and will send him there, so that he may be tamed intoobedience."
"Then I tell you that you will do that boy a grievous wrong," cried Joe,roused to anger by Edward Western's words. "Only boys of vicious natureare sent to such schools. Of the backward ones I say nothing, forPhil's wits are as ready as any boy's, and he is decidedly not a dunce.Nor is he vicious, as you seem to think. For Heaven's sake look with amore open mind at the matter. Here is a merry, good-hearted lad whom,because he gets into mischief, you would pack off to a s
chool for unrulyboys. I hope you will not insist on sending him to this place, for, asI have said, he is not so bad as you think."
"Yes, I insist, Joseph, and no amount of argument will alter thatdecision."
"Ah, I wish I had the power to compel you to do so!" said Joe bitterly."But perhaps it is all for the best. Such schools, no doubt, are muchas the others, save that a boy starts as it were with a black markagainst his name. Let us hope that the headmaster of the one in yourthoughts will see at a glance what sort of a lad he has in reality todeal with, and treat him accordingly."
A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War Page 1
