Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  DIFFICULTIES MET AND OVERCOME.

  Miles and his friend Brown, after their work at the jetty, had chancedto return to the Institute at the moment referred to in the lastchapter, when the poor young widow, having become resigned, had been ledthrough the passage to her bedroom. Our hero happened to catch sight ofher face, and it made a very powerful impression on him--an impressionwhich was greatly deepened afterwards on hearing of her death.

  In the reception-room he found Armstrong still in earnest conversationwith his wife.

  "Hallo, Armstrong! still here? Have you been sitting there since I leftyou?" he asked, with a smile and look of surprise.

  "Oh no!" answered his friend; "not all the time. We have been outwalking about town, and we have had dinner here--an excellent feed, letme tell you, and cheap too. But where did you run off to?"

  "Sit down and I'll tell you," said Miles.

  Thereupon he related all about his day's experiences. When he hadfinished, Armstrong told him that his own prospect of testing the meritsof a troop-ship were pretty fair, as he was ordered for inspection onthe following day.

  "So you see," continued the young soldier, "if you are accepted--as youare sure to be--you and I will go out together in the same vessel."

  "I'm glad to hear that, anyhow," returned Miles.

  "And _I_ am very glad too," said little Emily, with a beaming smile,"for Willie has told me about you, Mr Miles; and how you first met andtook a fancy to each other; and it _will_ be so nice to think thatthere's somebody to care about my Willie when he is far away from me."

  The little woman blushed and half-laughed, and nearly cried as she saidthis, for she felt that it was rather a bold thing to say to a stranger,and yet she had such a strong desire to mitigate her husband'sdesolation when absent from her that she forcibly overcame her modesty."And I want you to do me a favour, Mr Miles," she added.

  "I'll do it with pleasure," returned our gallant hero.

  "I want you to call him Willie," said the little woman, blushing andlooking down.

  "Certainly I will--if your husband permits me."

  "You see," she continued, "I want him to keep familiar with the nameI've been used to call him--for comrades will call him Armstrong, Isuppose, and--"

  "Oh! Emmy," interrupted the soldier reproachfully, "do you think Irequire to be _kept in remembrance_ of that name? Won't your voice,repeating it, haunt me day and night till the happy day when I meet youagain on the Portsmouth jetty, or may-hap in this very room?"

  Miles thought, when he heard this speech, of the hoped-for meetingbetween poor Mrs Martin and her Fred; and a feeling of profound sadnesscrept over him as he reflected how many chances there were against theirever again meeting in this world. Naturally these thoughts turned hismind to his own case. His sinful haste in quitting home, and the agonyof his mother on finding that he was really gone, were more than everimpressed on him, but again the fatal idea that what was done could notbe undone, coupled with pride and false shame, kept him firm to hispurpose.

  That evening, in barracks, Miles was told by his company sergeant tohold himself in readiness to appear before the doctor next morning forinspection as to his physical fitness for active service in Egypt.

  Our hero was by this time beginning to find out that the life of aprivate soldier, into which he had rushed, was a very different thingindeed from that of an officer--to which he had aspired. Here againpride came to his aid--in a certain sense,--for if it could notreconcile him to his position, it at all events closed his mouth, andmade him resolve to bear the consequences of his act like a man.

  In the morning he had to turn out before daylight, and with a small bandof men similarly situated, to muster in the drill-shed a little aftereight. Thence they marched to the doctor's quarters.

  It was an anxious ordeal for all of them; for, like most young soldiers,they were enthusiastically anxious to go on active service, and therewas, of course, some uncertainty as to their passing the examination.

  The first man called came out of the inspection room with a beamingcountenance, saying that he was "all right," which raised the hopes andspirits of the rest; but the second appeared after inspection with awoe-begone countenance which required no interpretation. No reason wasgiven for his rejection; he was simply told that it would be better forhim not to go.

  Miles was the third called.

  As he presented himself, the doctor yawned vociferously, as if he feltthat the hour for such work was unreasonably early. Then he looked athis subject with the critical air of a farmer inspecting a prize ox.

  "How old are you?" he asked.

  "Nineteen, sir."

  "Are you married?"

  Miles smiled.

  "Did you hear me?" asked the doctor sharply. "You don't need to smile.Many a boy as long-legged and as young as you is fool enough to marry.Are you married?"

  Miles flushed, looked suddenly stern, squared his shoulders, drewhimself up with an air that implied, "You won't catch _me_ trippingagain;" and said firmly, yet quite respectfully--

  "No, sir."

  The doctor here took another good look at his subject, with a meaningtwinkle in his eye, as if he felt that he had touched a tender point.Then he felt his victim's pulse, sounded his chest, and ordered him tostrip. Being apparently satisfied with the result of his examination,he asked him if he "felt all right."

  Reflecting that his mother had often told him he was made up of body,soul, and spirit, and that in regard to the latter two he was ratherhazy, Miles felt strongly inclined for a moment to say, "Certainly not,"but, thinking better of it, he answered, "Yes, sir," with decision.

  "Have you anything to complain of?" asked the doctor.

  The mind of our hero was what we may style rapidly reflective. Inregard to the decrees of Fate, things in general, and his father'sconduct in particular, he had a decided wish to complain, but again helaid restraint on himself and said, "No, sir."

  "And do you wish to go to Egypt?"

  "Yes, sir!" was answered with prompt decision.

  "Then you may go," said the doctor, turning away with an air of a manwho dismisses a subject from his mind.

  When all the men had thus passed the medical examination, those of themwho were accepted mustered their bags and kits before Captain Lacey,commander of the company to which they were attached, and those whowanted anything were allowed to draw it from the stores.

  Captain Lacey was a fine specimen of a British soldier--grave, but kindin expression and in heart; tall, handsome, powerful, about thirty yearsof age, with that urbanity of manner which wins affection at firstsight, and that cool, quiet decision of character which inspiresunlimited confidence.

  As the troop-ship which was to convey them to Egypt was to start soonerthan had been intended, there was little time for thought during the fewhours in England that remained to the regiment. The men had to drawtheir pith helmets, and fit the ornaments thereon; then go thequartermaster's stores to be fitted with white clothing, after whichthey had to parade before the Colonel, fully arrayed in the martialhabiliments which were needful in tropical climes. Besides thesematters there were friends to be seen, in some cases relatives to beparted from, and letters innumerable to be written. Miles Milton wasamong those who, on the last day in Portsmouth, attempted to write home.He had been taken by Sergeant Gilroy the previous night to one of theInstitute entertainments in the great hall. The Sergeant had tried toinduce him to go to the Bible-class with him, but Miles was in no moodfor that at the time, and he was greatly relieved to find that neitherthe Sergeant nor any of the people of the Institute annoyed him bythrusting religious matters on his attention. Food, lodging, games,library, baths, Bible-classes, prayer-meetings, entertainments were allthere to be used or let alone as he chose; perfect freedom of actionbeing one of the methods by which it was sought to render the placeattractive to the soldiers.

  But although Miles at once refused to go to the class, he had noobjection
to go to the entertainment.

  It was a curious mixture of song, recitation, addresses, and readings,in which many noble sentiments were uttered, and not a few humorousanecdotes and incidents related. It was presided over by Tufnell, themanager, a soldierly-looking man, who had himself originally been in thearmy, and who had, for many years, been Miss Robinson's right-hand man.There could not have been fewer than a thousand people in the hall, alarge proportion of whom were red-coats and blue-jackets, the rest beingcivilians; and the way in which these applauded the sentiments, laughedat the humour, and rejoiced in the music, showed that the provision fortheir amusement was thoroughly appreciated.

  Whether it was the feeling of good-fellowship and sympathy that pervadedthe meeting, or some word that was dropped at a venture and found rootin his heart, Miles could not tell, but certain it is that at thatentertainment he formed the resolution to write home before leaving.Not that he had yet repented of the step he had taken, but he was sorryfor the manner in which he had done so, and for allowing so much time toelapse that now the opportunity of seeing his parents before startingwas lost.

  As it was impossible for him to write his letter in the noise of thebarrack-room, he went off next day to the reading-room of the Institute,and there, with no other sounds to disturb him than the deep breathingof some studious red-coats, and the chirping pen of a comrade engagedlike himself, he began to write.

  But his thoughts somehow would not work. His pen would not write. Heeven fancied that it had a sort of objection to spell. So it had, whennot properly guided by his hesitating hand. The first part wentswimmingly enough:--

  "Dearest mother, I'm so sorry--"

  But here he stopped, for the memory of his father's severity re-arousedhis indignation, and he felt some doubt as to whether he really wassorry. Then, under the impulse of this doubt, he wrote a long letter,in imagination, in which he defended his conduct pretty warmly, on theground that he had been driven to it.

  "Driven to what?" asked Something within him. "To the course which Ihave taken and am now defending," replied Something-else within himhotly.

  "Then the course was a wrong one, else you wouldn't have to defend it!"rejoined the first Something.

  "Well--yes--n-no, it wasn't," returned the second Something doggedly.

  Before this internal dispute could be carried further, Miles was arousedby a sudden burst of noisy voices, as if a lunatic asylum had been letloose into the hall below. Rising quickly, he hurried down with hisstudious comrades to see what it could be all about.

  "It's only another troop-ship come in, and they've all come up herewithout giving us warning to get ready," said Tufnell, as he bustledabout, endeavouring to introduce order into what appeared to Miles to bethe reproduction of Babel, _minus_ the bricks.

  The fact was that a troop-ship having arrived rather suddenly, asergeant had driven up in hot haste from the docks to make arrangementsfor the reception of the soldiers' wives and children!

  "Look sharp!" he cried, on entering the hall abruptly; "sixteen familiesare on their way to you."

  "All right; we can take 'em in," was the prompt reply; and orders weregiven to set the food-producing machinery of the establishment instantlyin motion. But almost before the preparation had fairly begun, theadvance-guard of the army, largely composed of infantry, burst upon themlike a thunder-clap, and continued to pour in like a torrent. Therewere men shouting, women chattering, tired children whining, and excitedchildren laughing; babies yelling or crowing miscellaneously; parrotsscreaming; people running up and down stairs in search of dormitories;plates and cups clattering at the bar, as the overwhelmed barmaids didtheir best to appease the impatient and supply the hungry; while therumbling of control-wagons bringing up the baggage formed a sort of bassaccompaniment to the concert.

  "You see, it varies with us a good deal," remarked Brown to Miles,during a lucid interval, "Sometimes we are almost empty, a few hourslater we are overflowing. It comes hard on the housekeeper, of course.But we lay our account wi' that, and, do you know, it is wonderful whatcan be done in trying circumstances, when we lay our account wi' them!--Yes, Miss, it's all ready!" shouted the speaker, in reply to a softfemale voice that came down the wide staircase, as it were, over theheads of the turbulent crowd.

  In a moment he disappeared, and Tufnell stood, as if by magic, in hisplace.

  "Yes," said the manager, taking up his discourse where the other hadleft off; "and in a few minutes you'll see that most of these wives andchildren of the soldiers will be distributed through the house in theirbed-rooms, when our ladies will set to work to make acquaintance withthem; and then we'll open our stores of warm clothing, of which the poorthings, coming as they do from warm climates, are often nearly or quitedestitute."

  "But where do you get these supplies from?" asked Miles.

  "From kind-hearted Christians throughout the country, who send us giftsof old and new garments, boots and shoes, shawls and socks, etcetera,which we have always in readiness to meet sudden demands; and I may addthat the demands are pretty constant. Brown told you just now that wehave varied experience. I remember once we got a message from theAssistant Quartermaster-General's office to ask how many women andchildren we could accommodate, as a shipful was expected. We repliedthat we could take 140, and set to work with preparations. After all,only one woman came! To-day we expected nobody, and--you see what wehave got!"

  The genial countenance of the manager beamed with satisfaction. It wasevident that "what he had got" did not at all discompose him, as hehurried away to look after his flock, while the originator--the heartand soul of all this--although confined to her room at that time withspine complaint, and unable to take part in the active work, as she hadbeen wont to do in years gone by, heard in her chamber the softenedsound of the human storm, and was able to thank God that her Soldiers'Institute was fulfilling its destiny.

  "Hallo! Miles!" exclaimed Armstrong, over the heads of the crowd; "I'vebeen looking for you everywhere. D'you know we run a chance of beinglate? Come along, quick!"

  Our hero, who, in his interest in the scene, had forgotten the flight oftime, hurried out after his comrade as the band struck up "Home, sweetHome," and returned to barracks, utterly oblivious of the fact that hehad left the unfinished letter to his mother on the table in thereading-room.