Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWO.

  SHOWS SOME OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE FALSE STEP, AND INTRODUCES THEREADER TO PECULIAR COMPANY.

  Our hero soon discovered that the sergeant was an old campaigner, havingbeen out in Egypt at the beginning of the war, and fought at the famousbattle of Tel-el-Kebir.

  In his grave and undemonstrative way and quiet voice, this man relatedsome of his experiences, so as not only to gain the attention of hiscompanion in arms, but to fascinate all who chanced to be within earshotof him--not the least interested among whom, of course, was our friendMiles.

  As the sergeant continued to expatiate on those incidents of the warwhich had come under his own observation, three points impressedthemselves on our hero: first, that the sergeant was evidently a man ofserious, if not religious, spirit; second, that while he gave all duecredit to his comrades for their bravery in action, he dwelt chiefly onthose incidents which brought out the higher qualities of the men, suchas uncomplaining endurance, forbearance, etcetera, and he never boastedof having given "a thorough licking" to the Egyptians, nor spokedisparagingly of the native troops; lastly, that he seemed to layhimself out with a special view to the unflagging entertainment of hisyoung comrade.

  The reason for this last purpose he learned during a short halt at oneof the stations. Seeing the sergeant standing alone there, Miles, afteraccosting him with the inevitable references to the state of theweather, remarked that his comrade seemed to be almost too young for therough work of soldiering.

  "Yes, he is young enough, but older than he looks," answered thesergeant. "Poor lad! I'm sorry for him."

  "Indeed! He does not seem to me a fit subject for pity. Young, strong,handsome, intelligent, he seems pretty well furnished to begin thebattle of life--especially in the army."

  "`Things are not what they seem,'" returned the soldier, regarding hisyoung questioner with something between a compassionate and an amusedlook. "`All is not gold that glitters.' Soldiering is not made up ofbrass bands, swords, and red coats!"

  "Having read a good deal of history I am well aware of that," retortedMiles, who was somewhat offended by the implication contained in thesergeant's remarks.

  "Well, then, you see," continued the sergeant, "all the advantages thatyou have mentioned, and which my comrade certainly possesses, weighnothing with him at all just now, because this sudden call to the warsseparates him from his poor young wife."

  "Wife!" exclaimed Miles; "why, he seems to me little more than a boy--except in size, and perhaps in gravity."

  "He is over twenty, and, as to gravity--well, most young fellows wouldbe grave enough if they had to leave a pretty young wife after sixmonths of wedded life. You see, he married without leave, and so, evenif it were a time of peace, his wife would not be recognised by theservice. In wartime he must of course leave her behind him. It hasbeen a hard job to prevent him from deserting, and now it's all I can doto divert his attention from his sorrow by stirring him up with tales ofthe recent wars."

  At this point the inexorable bell rang, doors were banged, whistlessounded, and the journey was resumed.

  Arrived at Portsmouth, Miles was quickly involved in the bustle of theplatform. He had made up his mind to have some private conversationwith the sergeant as to the possibility of entering her Majesty'sservice as a private soldier, and was on the point of accompanying hismilitary travelling companions into the comparative quiet of the streetwhen a porter touched his cap--

  "Any luggage, sir?"

  "Luggage?--a--no--no luggage!"

  It was the first moment since leaving home that the thought of luggagehad entered into his brain! That thought naturally aroused otherthoughts, such as lodgings, food, friends, funds, and the like. Onturning to the spot where his military companions had stood, hediscovered that they were gone. Running to the nearest door-way hefound it to be the wrong one, and before he found the right one andreached the street the two soldiers had vanished from the scene.

  "You seem to be a stranger here, sir. Can I direct you?" said aninsinuating voice at his elbow.

  The speaker was an elderly man of shabby-genteel appearance and politeaddress. Miles did not quite like the look of him. In thecircumstances, however, and with a strangely desolate feeling ofloneliness creeping over him, he did not see his way to reject a civiloffer.

  "Thank you. I am indeed a stranger, and happen to have neither friendnor acquaintance in the town, so if you can put me in the way of findinga respectable lodging--a--a _cheap_ one, you will greatly oblige me."

  "With pleasure," said the man, "if you will accompany--"

  "Stay, don't trouble yourself to show me the way," interrupted Miles;"just name a house and the street, that will--"

  "No trouble at all, sir," said the man. "I happen to be going in thedirection of the docks, and know of excellent as well as cheap lodgingsthere."

  Making no further objection, Miles followed his new friend into thestreet. For some time, the crowd being considerable and noisy, theywalked in silence.

  At the time we write of, Portsmouth was ringing with martial music andpreparations for war.

  At all times the red-coats and the blue-jackets are prominent in thestreets of that seaport; for almost the whole of our army passes throughit at one period or another, either in going to or returning from"foreign parts." But at this time there was the additional bustleresulting from the Egyptian war. Exceptional activity prevailed in itsyards, and hurry in its streets. Recruits, recently enlisted, flockedinto it from all quarters, while on its jetties were frequently landedthe sad fruits of war in the form of wounded men.

  "Have you ever been in Portsmouth before?" asked the shabby-genteel man,on reaching a part of the town which was more open and less crowded.

  "Never. I had no idea it was so large and bustling," said Miles.

  "The crowding and bustling is largely increased just now, of course, inconsequence of the war in Egypt," returned the man. "Troops areconstantly embarking, and others returning. It is a noble service! Menstart in thousands from this port young, hearty, healthy, and full ofspirit; they return--those of them who return at all--sickly,broken-down, and with no spirit at all except what they soon get pouredinto them by the publicans. Yes; commend me to the service of my Queenand country!"

  There was a sneering tone in the man's voice which fired his companion'seasily roused indignation.

  "Mind what you say about our Queen while in _my_ company," said Milessternly, stopping short and looking the man full in the face. "I am aloyal subject, and will listen to nothing said in disparagement of theQueen or of her Majesty's forces."

  "Bless you, sir," said the man quickly, "I'm a loyal subject myself, andwouldn't for the world say a word against her Majesty. No more would Idisparage her troops; but, after all, the army ain't perfect, you know.Even _you_ must admit that, sir. With all its noble qualities there'sroom for improvement."

  There was such an air of sincerity--or at least of assumed humility--inthe man's tone and manner that Miles felt it unjustifiable to retain hisindignation. At the same time, he could not all at once repress it, andwas hesitating whether to fling off from the man or to forgive him, whenthe sound of many voices, and of feet tramping in regular time, struckhis ear and diverted his attention. Next moment the head of a regiment,accompanied by a crowd of juvenile admirers, swept round the corner ofthe street. At the same instant a forest of bayonets gleamed upon theyouth's vision, and a brass band burst with crashing grandeur upon hisear, sending a quiver of enthusiasm into the deepest recesses of hissoul, and stirring the very marrow in his bones!

  Miles stood entranced until the regiment had passed, and the martialstrains were softened by distance; then he looked up and perceived thathis shabby companion was regarding him with a peculiar smile.

  "I think you've a notion of being a soldier," he said, with a smile.

  "Where is that regiment going?" asked Miles, instead of answering thequestion.

  "To barracks at present; to
Egypt in a few days. There'll be morefollowin' it before long."

  It was a distracting as well as an exciting walk that Miles had throughthe town, for at every turn he passed couples or groups of soldiers, orsailors, or marines, and innumerable questions sprang into and jostledeach other in his mind, while, at the same moment, his thoughts andfeelings were busy with his present circumstances and future prospects.The distraction was increased by the remarks and comments of his guide,and he would fain have got rid of him; but good-feeling, as well ascommon-sense, forbade his casting him off without sufficient reason.

  Presently he stopped, without very well knowing why, in front of a largeimposing edifice. Looking up, he observed the words SOLDIERS' INSTITUTEin large letters on the front of it.

  "What sort of an Institute is that?" he asked.

  "Oh! it's a miserable affair, where soldiers are taken in cheap, as theysay, an' done for," returned the shabby man hurriedly, as if the subjectwere distasteful to him. "Come along with me and I'll show you placeswhere soldiers--ay, and civilians too--can enjoy themselves likegentlemen, an' get value for their money."

  As he spoke, two fine-looking men issued from a small street close tothem, and crossed the road--one a soldier of the line, the other amarine.

  "Here it is, Jack," exclaimed the soldier to his friend; "Miss SarahRobinson's Institoot, that you've heard so much about. Come an' I'llshow you where you can write your letter in peace--"

  Thus much was overheard by Miles as they turned into a side-street, andentered what was obviously one of the poorer districts of the town.

  "Evidently that soldier's opinion does not agree with yours," remarkedMiles, as they walked along.

  "More's the pity!" returned the shabby man, whose name he had informedhis companion was Sloper. "Now we are getting among places, you see,where there's a good deal of drinking going on."

  "I scarcely require to be told that," returned Miles, curtly; for he wasbeginning to feel his original dislike to Mister Sloper intensified.

  It did not indeed require any better instructor than eyes and ears toinform our hero that the grog-shops around him were full, and that alarge proportion of the shouting and swearing revellers inside weresoldiers and seamen.

  By this time it was growing dark, and most of the gin-palaces werebeginning to send forth that glare of intense and warm light with whichthey so knowingly attract the human moths that constitute their prey.

  "Here we are," said Sloper, stopping in front of a public-house in anarrow street. "This is one o' the _respectable_ lodgin's. Most o' theothers are disreputable. It's not much of a neighbourhood, I admit."

  "It certainly is not very attractive," said Miles, hesitating.

  "You said you wanted a cheap one," returned Sloper, "and you can'texpect to have it cheap and fashionable, you know. You've no occasionto be afraid. Come in."

  The arguments of Mr Sloper might have failed to move Miles, but theidea of his being _afraid_ to go anywhere was too much for him.

  "Go in, then," he said, firmly, and followed.

  The room into which he was ushered was a moderately large public-house,with a bar and a number of tables round the room, at which many men anda few women were seated; some gambling, others singing or disputing, andall drinking and smoking. It is only right to say that Miles wasshocked. Hitherto he had lived a quiet and comparatively innocentcountry life. He knew of such places chiefly from books or hearsay, orhad gathered merely the superficial knowledge that comes through theopening of a swing-door. For the first time in his life he stood insidea low drinking-shop, breathing its polluted atmosphere and listening toits foul language. His first impulse was to retreat, but false shame,the knowledge that he had no friend in Portsmouth, or place to go to,that the state of his purse forbade his indulging in more suitableaccommodation, and a certain pride of character which made him alwaysdetermine to carry out what he had resolved to do--all theseconsiderations and facts combined to prevent his acting on the betterimpulse. He doggedly followed his guide to a small round table and satdown.

  Prudence, however, began to operate within him. He felt that he haddone wrong; but it was too late now, he thought, to retrace his steps.He would, however, be on his guard; would not encourage the slightestfamiliarity on the part of any one, and would keep his eyes open. For ayouth who had seen nothing of the world this was a highly commendableresolve.

  "What'll you drink?" asked Mr Sloper.

  Miles was on the point of saying "Coffee," but, reflecting that thebeverage might not be readily obtainable in such a place, he substituted"Beer."

  Instead of calling the waiter, Mr Sloper went himself to the bar tofetch the liquor. While he was thus engaged, Miles glanced round theroom, and was particularly struck with the appearance of a large,fine-looking sailor who sat at the small table next to him, with handsthrust deep into his trousers-pockets, his chin resting on his broadchest, and a solemn, owlish stare in his semi-drunken yet manlycountenance. He sat alone, and was obviously in a very sulky frame ofmind--a condition which he occasionally indicated through a growl ofdissatisfaction.

  As Miles sat wondering what could have upset the temper of a tar whosevisage was marked by the unmistakable lines and dimples of good-humour,he overheard part of the conversation that passed between the barman andMr Sloper.

  "What! have they got hold o' Rattling Bill?" asked the former, as hedrew the beer.

  "Ay, worse luck," returned Sloper. "I saw the sergeant as I came alonglead him over to Miss Robinson's trap--confound her!"

  "Don't you go fur to say anything agin Miss Robinson, old man," suddenlygrowled the big sailor, in a voice so deep and strong that it silencedfor a moment the rest of the company. "Leastways, you may if you like,but if you do, I'll knock in your daylights, an' polish up yourfigur'-head so as your own mother would mistake you fur a batteredsaucepan!"

  The seaman did not move from his semi-recumbent position as he utteredthis alarming threat, but he accompanied it with a portentous frown andan owlish wink of both eyes.

  "What! have _you_ joined the Blue Lights?" asked Sloper, with a smile,referring to the name by which the religious and temperance men of thearmy were known.

  "No, I ha'n't. Better for me, p'r'aps, if I had. Here, waiter, fetchme another gin-an'-warer. An' more o' the gin than the warer, mind.Heave ahead or I'll sink you!"

  Having been supplied with a fresh dose of gin and water, the seamanappeared to go to sleep, and Miles, for want of anything better to do,accepted Sloper's invitation to play a game of dominoes.

  "Are the beds here pretty good?" he asked, as they were about to begin.

  "Yes, first-rate--for the money," answered Sloper.

  "That's a lie!" growled the big sailor. "They're bad at any price--stuffed wi' cocoa-nuts and marline-spikes."

  Mr Sloper received this observation with the smiling urbanity of a manwho eschews war at all costs.

  "You don't drink," he said after a time, referring to Miles's pot ofbeer, which he had not yet touched.

  Miles made no reply, but by way of answer took up the pot and put it tohis lips.

  He had not drunk much of it when the big seaman rose hurriedly andstaggered between the two tables. In doing so, he accidentally knockedthe pot out of the youth's hand, and sent the contents into Mr Sloper'sface and down into his bosom, to the immense amusement of the company.

  That man of peace accepted the baptism meekly, but Miles sprang up insudden anger.

  The seaman turned to him, however, with a benignantly apologetic smile.

  "Hallo! messmate. I ax your parding. They don't leave room even for ascarecrow to go about in this here cabin. I'll stand you another glass.Give us your flipper!"

  There was no resisting this, it was said so heartily. Miles grasped thehuge hand that was extended and shook it warmly.

  "All right," he said, laughing. "I don't mind the beer, and there'splenty more where that came from, but I fear you have done some damageto my fr--"

&nb
sp; "Your _friend_. Out with it, sir. Never be ashamed to acknowledge yourfriends," exclaimed the shabby man, as he wiped his face. "Hold on abit," he added, rising; "I'll have to change my shirt. Won't keep youwaitin' long."

  "Another pot o' beer for this 'ere gen'lem'n," said the sailor to thebarman as Sloper left the room.

  Paying for the drink, he returned and put the pot on the table. Then,turning to Miles, he said in a low voice and with an intelligent look--

  "Come outside for a bit, messmate. I wants to speak to 'ee."

  Miles rose and followed the man in much surprise.

  "You'll excuse me, sir," he said, when a few yards away from the door;"but I see that you're green, an' don't know what a rascally placeyou've got into. I've been fleeced there myself, and yet I'm foolenough to go back! Most o' the parties there--except the sailors an'sodgers--are thieves an' blackguards. They've drugged your beer, Iknow; that's why I capsized it for you, and the feller that has got holdo' you is a well-known decoy-duck. I don't know how much of the readyyou may have about you, but this I does know, whether it be much orlittle, you wouldn't have a rap of it in the mornin' if you stayed thenight in this here house."

  "Are you sure of this, friend?" asked Miles, eyeing his companiondoubtfully.

  "Ay, as sure as I am that my name's Jack Molloy."

  "But you've been shamming drunk all this time. How am I to know thatyou are not shamming friendship now?"

  "No, young man," returned the seaman with blinking solemnity. "I'm notshammin' drunk. I on'y wish I was, for I'm three sheets in the wind atthis minute, an' I've a splittin' headache due i' the mornin'. The wayas you've got to find out whether I'm fair an' above-board is to look mestraight in the face an' don't wink. If that don't settle the question,p'r'aps it'll convince you w'en I tells you that I don't care a rapwhether you go back to that there grog-shop or not. Only I'll clear myconscience--leastways, wot's left of it--by tellin' ye that if you do--you--you'll wish as how you hadn't--supposin' they leave you the powerto wish anything at all."

  "Well, I believe you are a true man, Mister Molloy--"

  "Don't Mister me, mate," interrupted the seaman.

  "My name's Jack Molloy, at your service, an' that name don't require nohandle--either Mister or Esquire--to prop it up."

  The way in which the sailor squared his broad shoulders when he saidthis rendered it necessary to prop himself up. Seeing which, Milesafforded the needful aid by taking his arm in a friendly way.

  "But come, let us go back," he said. "I must pay for my beer, youknow."

  "Your beer is paid for, young man," said Molloy, stopping and refusingto move. "_I_ paid for it, so you've on'y got to settle with _me_.Besides, if you go back you're done for. And you've no call to go backto say farewell to your dear friend Sloper, for he'll on'y grieve overthe loss of your tin. As to the unpurliteness o' the partin'--he won'tbreak his heart over that. No--you'll come wi' me down to the _Sailors'Welcome_ near the dock-gates, where you can get a good bed for sixpencea night, a heavy blow-out for tenpence, with a splendid readin'-room,full o' rockin' chairs, an' all the rest of it for nothin'. An there'sa lavatory--that's the name that they give to a place for cleanin' ofyourself up--a lavatory--where you can wash yourself, if you like, tillyour skin comes off! W'en I first putt up at the _Welcome_, themessmate as took me there said to me, says he, `Jack,' says he, `you wasalways fond o' water.' `Right you are,' says I. `Well,' says he,`there's a place in the _Sailors' Welcome_ where you can wash yourselfall day, if you like, for nothing!'

  "I do b'lieve it was that as indooced me to give in. I went an' sawthis lavatory, an' I was so took up with it that I washed my hands inevery bason in the place--one arter the other--an' used up ever so muchsoap, an'--would you believe it?--my hands wasn't clean after all! Yes,it's one the wery best things in Portsm'uth, is Miss Robinson'sWelcome--"

  "Miss Robinson again!" exclaimed Miles.

  "Ay--wot have you got to find fault wi' Miss Robinson?" demanded thesailor sternly.

  "No fault to find at all," replied Miles, suffering himself to behurried away by his new friend; "but wherever I have gone since arrivingin Portsmouth her name has cropped up!"

  "In Portsmouth!" echoed the sailor. "Let me tell you, young man, thatwherever you go all over the world, if there's a British soldier there,Miss Sarah Robinson's name will be sure to crop up. Why, don't you knowthat she's `The Soldiers' Friend'?"

  "I'm afraid I must confess to ignorance on the point--yet, stay, now youcouple her name with `The Soldier's Friend,' I have got a faintremembrance of having heard it before. Have I not heard of a MissWeston, too, in connection with a work of some sort among sailors?"

  "Ay, no doubt ye have. She has a grand Institoot in Portsm'uth too, butshe goes in for sailors _only_--all over the kingdom--w'ereas MissRobinson goes in for soldiers an' sailors both, though mainly for thesoldiers. She set agoin' the _Sailors' Welcome_ before Miss Westonbegan in Portsm'uth, an' so she keeps it up, but there ain't noopposition or rivalry. Their aims is pretty much alike, an' so theykeep stroke together wi' the oars. But I'll tell you more about thatwhen you get inside. Here we are! There's the dock-gates, you see, andthat's Queen Street, an' the _Welcome's_ close at hand. It's a teetotalhouse, you know. All Miss Robinson's Institoots is that."

  "Indeed! How comes it, then, that a man--excuse me--`three sheets inthe wind,' can gain admittance?"

  "Oh! as to that, any sailor or soldier may get admittance, even if he'sas drunk as a fiddler, if he on'y behaves his-self. But they won'tsupply drink on the premises, or allow it to be brought in--'cept insideo' you, of coorse. Cause why? you can't help that--leastwise notwithout the help of a stomach-pump. Plenty o' men who ain't abstainersgo to sleep every night at the _Welcome_, 'cause they find the beds andother things so comfortable. In fact, some hard topers have beenindooced to take the pledge in consekince o' what they've heard an' seenin this _Welcome_, though they came at first only for the readin'-rooman' beds. Here, let me look at you under this here lamp. Yes. You'lldo. You're something like a sea-dog already. You won't object tochange hats wi' me?"

  "Why?" asked Miles, somewhat amused.

  "Never you mind that, mate. You just putt yourself under my orders ifyou'd sail comfortably before the wind. I'll arrange matters, an' youcan square up in the morning."

  As Miles saw no particular reason for objecting to this fancy of hiseccentric friend, he exchanged his soft cap for the sailor's straw hat,and they entered the _Welcome_ together.