Boys of the Light Brigade: A Story of Spain and the Peninsular War

by Herbert Strang

  *CHAPTER II*

  *Some Introductions*

  The Grampus--A Turn with the Foils--An Interruption--Enter aRegidor--Flour and Water--A Soft Answer--Pepito--Biographical--CaptainO'Hare--Mr. Vaughan is announced

  It began to rain when Jack was still two miles out of Salamanca, and hewas wet and chilled when, having put up the stranger's horse, he enteredthe regidor's house and sought the general room, where, as he knew fromthe sounds of laughter proceeding from it, his friends and comrades wereassembled. There was a universal shout as Jack pushed open the door.

  "Here's the commissary-general!" cried a tall, fair-headed subaltern ofseventeen years. "Look here, Jack, if this corn-chandler business ofyours gets you promotion before me, I'll--I'll punch your head."

  "Thanks! Pommy, my dear, unless you're careful, respectful, you know,you'll find your next billet will be a stable or a pig-stye; you cantake your choice. A pig-stye would be the easier got, perhaps--thiscountry teems with porkers; but there are plenty of mules too, and onemore won't matter."

  "All the same, Lumsden," said Harry Smith, a lieutenant of twenty-one,"I don't wonder Pomeroy's jealous. We didn't all have the luck to bebabies in Spain! But let me introduce a friend of mine--an oldschool-chum. Lumsden--Dugdale, Percy Dugdale, otherwise the Grampus."

  Jack found his right hand engulfed in a huge fist, and shaken almost toa jelly. It belonged to a tall young man in civilian dress, stout,massive, broad-shouldered, with a rubicund, open, ingenuous face, and asmile that bespoke friendliness at once.

  "Heard of you," said Dugdale cordially. "Heard of your little bet.Reminds me of my wager with Blinks of Merton when I was a freshman. Betme a pound to a polony I wouldn't screw up a proctor; loser to eat thepolony. I won--and bought a champion polony in St. Aldate's. Blinksstood us a supper to be let off. Ha! ha!"

  The Honourable Percy Dugdale's chuckle had a quality of its own. Whileit seldom resulted from what others would have regarded as wit orhumour, it never failed to breed sympathetic laughter, and the room rangwith appreciative merriment.

  "What's this bet of yours, Lumsden?" asked Bob Shirley, lieutenant inJack's company.

  "Oh, a little affair with Pomeroy! He's so desperately cocksure ofeverything, and what is worse, he will talk, you know. Said he'd holdme at boxing, at wrestling, at swimming, at every mortal thing,including fencing, so I bet him before we left Alcantara that I'd givehim points at them all, and we're going to begin with the foils."

  "What are the stakes?" asked Shirley. "Why didn't I hear of this?"

  "It's a guinea to a Bath bun. Pomeroy's amazing fond of Bath buns; andas at present I haven't a guinea, at least to spare, and he hasn't abun, we're going to settle up when we get back to London, and youfellows can come to Gunter's and see Pommy shell out twopence, if youlike."

  "No time like the present," said Smith. "We've half an hour beforesupper, and nothing to do. If you fellows are game we'll make a ringnow."

  "I'm ready," said Pomeroy, pulling off his jacket, "if the corn-dealeris."

  "By all means," retorted Jack, laughing; "but I hope, for the sake ofthe company, your riposte is better than your repartee."

  "No more cackle!" cried Smith. "Let's get to business. Where are thefoils?"

  At a word from Jack, a tall, strapping Rifleman, who had followed himinto the room, disappeared for half a minute, and returned with a coupleof foils in his hands. He handed one to his master, who had meanwhilepeeled, and the other to Reginald Pomeroy. The two faced one another;they were of equal height, but otherwise presented a strong contrast.Both were tall, but Jack was slight and lissom, with dark hair, browneyes, and clear-cut features, while Reginald Pomeroy was heavier inbuild, fresh-complexioned, with blue eyes and light curly hair. Inbrief, if Jack was Norman, Pomeroy was as clearly Saxon, and as theystood there, they were worthy representatives of the two fine strains ofour present English race. They were always sparring, always girding ateach other, but at bottom they were the best of friends, and had indeedbeen inseparable chums ever since they entered the Charterhousetogether.

  "Gad, reminds me of the mill between Jones of Jesus and De Crespigny ofthe House, in Merton meadow," said Dugdale with his capacious chuckle.

  "'His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire, Shows spirit proud, and prompt to ire,'"

  quoted Shirley, amid a chorus of groans.

  "Shut up, Shirley!" cried Jack; "if you begin spouting poetry you'llshatter my nerve."

  "Yes, by George," said Smith, "we had enough of _Marmion_ on the wayout. Shirley's a long way too fond of poetry. Now, you two, are youready? Buttons on the foils? That's right. Now then!"

  "Charge, Chester, charge; on, Stanley, on!'"

  shouted Shirley, who was irrepressible, and who, indeed, was said tohave got _Marmion_ by heart a week after it was issued, in February ofthis year.

  The duel began. The combatants were pretty evenly matched, and as thespectators watched thrust and parry, lunge and riposte, now cheeringone, now the other, the air became charged with electric excitement.Right foot well forward, left arm well behind his head, Jack watched hisopponent with the keenness of a hawk, and for a time seemed to contenthimself with standing on the defensive. He knew his man, and heldhimself in with the confident expectation that Pomeroy would by and bybecome reckless.

  "Two to one on Pomeroy!" shouted Dugdale, who was growing excited.

  "Done!" said Smith. "Name your stakes."

  "Anything you like; I'm not particular. I want a new pair of breeches.Yours won't fit me, but mine'll fit you with a little trimming'. Gad,Lumsden was nearly pinked that time. Make it two pairs!"

  "D'you mind moving aside?" said Shirley, who, being head and shouldersshorter than Dugdale, found his view obstructed by six feet two and aback broad in proportion.

  "Sorry; get on my back if you like," said Dugdale. "Won a bet by runninga race with young Jukes of Pembroke on my back. I don't mind."

  But Shirley contented himself with edging in to a place beside the bigsportsman.

  The foils clashed; Pomeroy made a rapid lunge at Jack, who instantlystraightened himself, and before his opponent could recover his guard,Jack's foil was out, and slid along the other, and with a dexterous turnof the wrist he sent the weapon flying out of Pomeroy's hand, over thering of onlookers, to the other end of the room, where it clatteredagainst the wall and fell with a clash to the floor.

  "Oh, come now! I never lose my wagers. I make a point of it," saidDugdale with a rueful look.

  "End of the first round; that's Lumsden's," said Smith quietly. "Fiveminutes' rest, then to it again. Give you six to one next round."

  "No, thanks! I'll wait a bit. Can't afford to part with all my pants.What's that?"

  Above the voices of the officers discussing the details of the matchrose the clamour of a repeated battering on the door.

  "Oh, I say!" cried Dugdale, "we can't have this interrupted. Is thedoor locked?"

  "Fast," replied Shirley, adding:

  "'And neither bolt nor bar shall keep My own true--love--from--'"

  The quotation remained unfinished, for Jack laid Shirley on his back andsat on him. The knock was repeated again and again, with increasingloudness; the door was rattled with ever-growing vehemence.

  "Set your back against the door, Giles," said Jack. "It'll take someforce to move your fourteen stone of muscle."

  The big Rifleman set his straight back against the door, planted hisfeet firmly on the floor so that his body formed an obtuse angle, andcrossed his arms on his breast. The knocking continued.

  "Can't come in," shouted a shrill-voiced ensign. "We're busy."

  From outside an angry voice bawled in reply.

  "Be quiet, you fellows," cried Smith. "Let us hear who it is."

  The noise inside the room was hushed, and through the door came muffledtones of angry and excited remonstrance.

  "It's very bad language, but
I can't understand it," said Smith, who nowhad his ear against the oak. "Here, Jack, you're the only fellow whoknows the lingo; leave that drain-pipe and see if you can make anythingof it."

  Jack rose from his wriggling seat, and, going to the door, shouted "Whoare you?" in Spanish. A moment later he turned to the company and said:"By George! it's the regidor himself. We'd better let him in."

  "Not till I've licked you," said Pomeroy. "Let the old boy wait."

  "That's Pommy all over," said Smith; "I'm Reginald Pomeroy, and hangcivility! The regidor's our host, and we owe him a littleconsideration."

  "Exactly," put in Jack. "Heave over, Giles, and let me open the door."

  He turned the key, threw the door open, and gave admittance to theoddest figure imaginable.

  "Pommy's Bath bun--underbaked!" said Shirley under his breath. The restof the company were too much surprised for speech or laughter. Theintruder was presumably a man, but he was so completely covered with anenvelope of paste that form and feature were undiscoverable. Twounmistakable arms, however, were wildly gesticulating; an equallyobvious fist was being shaken towards the group; and a human voice wascertainly pouring out a stream of violent language, of which no onethere, not even Jack, could make out a word.

  "Come, Senor Regidor," said Jack in Spanish, "what is the matter?Really, you talk so fast that I cannot understand you."

  He laid his hand on the regidor's arm, but drew it back hastily; it wascovered with wet flour.

  "Shut the door, Giles," he said, wiping his hand; "this needs anexplanation. In fact" (he gave a quizzical glance from the floor to thecompany) "it needs clearing up!"

  Taking the fuming regidor gingerly by the hand, he led him to the middleof the room, where, with Pomeroy's assistance, he set to work to scrapeaway the clinging paste that swathed the poor man from head to foot.The first shock of surprise being over, the rest of the officers werenow fairly bubbling with merriment, for the regidor was too angry tokeep still, and never ceased from objurgating some person unknown.Dugdale had stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth to stifle hislaughter, and Smith was thumping Shirley vigorously on the back. Aftersome minutes' scraping with the foils, the new-comer was revealedstanding in a circle of clammy flour--a little, round, pompousindividual, with a very red and wrathful face, made ludicrous by thestiff moustache, to which a coating of flour obstinately adhered.

  "Now, Senor Regidor," said Jack soothingly, "tell us all about it. Ihope the mischief has gone no deeper than your clothes."

  And then the little alderman unfolded his pitiful story. It appearedthat he had gone round his premises in the rain, to see that all wassafely locked up for the night, when he found that his barn at the backof the house had been left open--not only the lower door, but also theupper door, through which sacks of flour entered the loft. It was verydark, and he had been unable in the rain and wind to obtain a light.Feeling his way into the barn, he had crept up the ladder leading to theloft, stumbling as he did so over an empty sack that covered the lasttwo or three steps. Then, arrived at the top, he had lifted thetrap-door, and raised head and shoulders above the opening, when withoutwarning he was smothered by an avalanche of flour, which took him soentirely by surprise that he had fallen backward, and only saved himselffrom a headlong descent to the foot of the ladder by clutching at a ropethat dangled a few inches in front of him. It was no accident, hedeclared, for he had heard the scurry of some living creature moving inthe loft. On recovering from his shock he had mounted again andsearched the place as thoroughly as he could in the darkness, butwithout success. He had then locked up the barn securely, and beingconvinced that he was the victim of a practical joke on the part of oneof the subalterns billeted upon him, he had come to demand satisfactionfor the insult, and compensation for the irreparable damage done to hisclothes.

  Such was his story, told at much greater length, and punctuated withmany violent gestures and still more violent expletives. Jack listenedto him patiently, while the rest of the company stood in a ring aboutthem, striving with ill success to hide their merriment. When lack ofbreath at length brought the little man to a stop, Jack spoke to himconsolingly, assuring him that he was mistaken, and that no Britishofficer would so far have forgotten the courtesy due to their obliginghost. The regidor was not appeased; he was on the point of recommencinghis denunciation of the culprit, when Jack stopped him, and said that hewould question his brother officers and convince the regidor that he wasmistaken. He then briefly told his companions the outlines of the storyhe had heard. Just as he came to the point where the shower of flourhad descended on the unfortunate regidor, he was annoyed at hearing aloud chuckle.

  "Pomeroy, that's too bad," he exclaimed. "How can I persuade our hostthat we have had nothing to do with his plight if you disgrace yourselflike that?"

  "Look here, Lumsden," said Pomeroy, "I'm not going to be lectured. As amatter of fact, I didn't make a cheep."

  "Sorry, Pommy," said Jack, with a glance at Dugdale. "Well now, I canassure the regidor, on your honour, that none of you had a hand inthis?"

  Every officer present gave his word. Then Jack put on his coat, and,slipping his arm within the regidor's, led him off with a promise toinvestigate the matter, and see whether any of the officers' servantshad been in fault. The moment their backs were turned, the same loudchuckle was heard, followed by an unmistakable guffaw. Giles Ogbourne,Jack's big servant, while maintaining a rigid position against the wall,was putting his broad face through the oddest contortions of amusement.

  "What are you grinning at?" cried Pomeroy angrily. "Was it you who gavethat oily chuckle just now?"

  "Beg pardon, sir," said Ogbourne, endeavouring to look grave. "I reallycouldn't help it. 'Tis a trick of that young varmint Pepito; I be sure'tis."

  "That imp of a gipsy! I told Lumsden he'd be sorry he ever set eyes onthe creature. Why do you think he is at the bottom of it?"

  "Why, sir, I seed the boy bummelled out of the kitchen, and prowlingaround by the barn, and, sakes alive, 'tis he and no one else."

  "Who's Pepito?" asked Dugdale.

  "A young sprat of a gipsy Jack picked up outside Queluz soon after weleft Lisbon. Here, Ogbourne, you know more about him than I do. Speakup."

  "'Tis just as you say, sir. Mr. Lumsden found the critter on theroadside, a'most dead, and took'm up and fed him, sir. A thoroughbredgipsy, sir. His band had been cut up by the French after the fight byVimeiro; every man of 'em was killed dead except this mortal boy, and a'got a cut in th' arm from a sabre. Mr. Lumsden gave him a good squaremeal, sir, and next day a' hitched hisself on to us, followed us allalong, went a-fetching and a-carrying for Mr. Lumsden, for all the worldlike a little dog. Mr. Lumsden says to me: 'Giles,' says he, 'there'senough women and childer along of us without this young shaver; what'llwe do with him?' I couldn't think of anything, so Mr. Lumsden he takeshim to a Portuguese barber and hands him over some money for the boy'skeep, and tells him to make a barber of him. Bless you, next day thevarmint turns up again, and we can't shake him off nohow. If a' goesaway for a day, back a' comes the next, as perky as a Jack-in-the-box."

  "A sort of millstone round Lumsden's neck," said Shirley.

  "Not but what he's useful," added Ogbourne. "He's first-rate at shiningbuttons and cleaning swords, and all sorts of little odd jobs. Onlyhe's so full of monkey tricks, you can't believe. One night a' put twolive toads in my bed, a' did; another night a' mixed some dubbin wi' mysoup. I tanned him, I did, but though a' blubbered hard enough, nextminute his wicked little black eyes were as mischievous as ever. Mr.Lumsden's got a handful, sir, and that's gospel truth."

  "If that's his character, depend upon it he's responsible for theregidor's whitening," said Smith. "We'll have to abolish the boy; don'tyou think so?"

  "Oh, I say!" struck in Dugdale, "never mind about a scrubby gipsy. Iwish Lumsden would hurry up. I want to see Pomeroy lick him."

  "You'll lose this time," said Smith.

  Dugdale made a w
ry face. "Didn't know he was such a paragon. SpeaksSpanish as well as the Don. Learnt it for a bet, I suppose."

  "No," said Pomeroy, laughing. "He lived at Barcelona till he waseleven."

  "Where on earth's Barcelona? Is it where the nuts grow?"

  "Yes--in the big square!" said Smith with a smile.

  Dugdale grunted. "But what was Lumsden doing there?" he asked.

  "Eating, and growing, and learning the lingo, of course," said Pomeroy."His father's a partner in some Spanish firm whose head-quarters are atBarcelona, and lived there, as I say, until Jack was eleven. Then, asthe kid was more or less running wild, I suppose, Mr. Lumsden returnedto London as head of the branch there, and sent Jack to theCharterhouse, and that's where I licked him first--"

  "Now, Pommy, at it again!" said Jack's voice.

  Dugdale chuckled, and Pomeroy looked aggressive; but immediately behindJack, as he re-entered the room, came a figure at the sight of which thewhole group broke out in exclamations of welcome.

  "Peter!" said Smith to Dugdale in a stage whisper.

  The new-comer was a tall man of some thirty-six years, wearing a biggreatcoat and a peaked cap drawn over his brow. His face wasparticularly ugly, but redeemed by a pair of brightgood-tempered-looking eyes. He stood for a moment quizzing the company,while the water streamed from his coat and made a pool on the floor.

  "Bedad," he said, observing the pasty mixture there, "sure if it's roastbeef that it is, it's myself that's thankful; but the flure's a queerplace to mix the Yorkshire."

  "No such luck," said Pomeroy. "No chance of that this side ofPortsmouth; it's only a toad-in-the-hole this time."

  Captain Peter O'Hare laughed when they told him of the regidor's plight.

  "And who was the blackguard that did it?" he asked, suddenly lookingserious. "Such conduct is terribly unbecoming an officer and agentleman."

  "It was Pepito," exclaimed Jack; "that little scamp of a gipsy who'sbeen shadowing me since we left Lisbon. I found him crouching in theregidor's stable, smothered in flour from head to foot. It appears hehad made for the loft as the only dry place, and emptied a bag of flouron the regidor in sheer self-defence, being afraid of a walloping if hewas caught. He jumped out of the upper door and slid down agutter-pipe. I'm afraid that young man will prove a thorn in my side."

  Captain O'Hare having by this time removed his dripping garments, Smithtook the opportunity to introduce his friend Dugdale.

  "He's just escaped from Oxford, O'Hare; heard the bugles sounding andcouldn't sit still."

  "What regiment, sir?" said the captain, shaking hands. "I knew a Dugdalein the 85th."

  Dugdale chuckled.

  "My brother Tom, no doubt. Laid him a poodle to a pork-pie that I'd beat the front first, and here I am."

  "Ah! an amachure, I preshume," said Captain O'Hare, glancing at hiscivilian costume. "Sure, an' I hope you'll like it, for 'tis not allbeer and skittles. And that reminds me; 'tis time we cleared the decksfor supper. You'll stay and take pot-luck, Mr. Dugdale?"

  "Thank you, sir! but, you see--well, we had a little wager--in short,thank you, sir!"

  O'Hare looked puzzled, and still more as he noticed a smile on the facesof the rest of the company.

  "Never mind, Grampus," said Smith with a nudge, "they can fight it outanother time, and meanwhile you've saved your breeches."

  At this moment Rifleman Giles Ogbourne entered the room.

  "Please, sir," he said to Jack, "there's a Mr. Vaughan at the door aswould like to see you. I was to say 'twas he that borrowed your horse awhile ago."

  "Show him in," said Jack.

  "Beg pardon, sir, but he says as he would like to see you alone."

  "Oh, very well!" said Jack, rising, and he followed Giles from the room.