CHAPTER SIX.
THE UNFINISHED LETTER--TOO LATE!
Next morning young Milton--or, as he was called by his comrades, JohnMiles--rose with the depressing thought that it was to be his last dayin England. As he was dressing, it flashed across him that he had lefthis unfinished letter on the reading-room table, and, concluding that itwould be swept away in the rush of people there--at all events that, nothaving been folded or addressed, it could not be posted--his depressionwas deepened.
The first thing that roused him to a better frame of mind was the smellof tea!
Most people are more or less familiar with teapots; with the fewteaspoonfuls of the precious leaf which thrifty housekeepers put intothese pots, and the fragrant liquid that results. But who amongcivilians, (save the informed), can imagine a barrack-room teapot?
Open your ears, O ye thrifty ones! while we state a few facts, and therewill be no need to tell you to open your eyes.
Into the teapot which supplied Miles with his morning cup there was put,for _one_ making, eight pounds of tea!--not ounces, observe, butpounds,--twenty-nine pounds of sugar, and six gallons--an absolutecowful--of milk! The pot itself consisted of eight enormous coppers,which were filled with boiling water to the brim.
"Yes, sir," remarked the military cook, who concocted the beverage, to aspeechless visitor one day; "it _is_ a pretty extensive brew; but then,you see, we have a large family!"
A considerable portion of this large family was soon actively engaged inpreparation for immediate embarkation for Egypt. Then the General madethe men a farewell speech. It was a peculiar speech--not altogethersuited to cheer timid hearts, had any such been there, but admirablyadapted to British soldiers.
"Men," said he, "I am very glad to see you parade looking so well andclean and comfortable and ready for active service. You will be dirtyenough, sometimes, where you are going, for the country is hot andunhealthy, and not over clean. You will have hardships, hard times, andplenty of hard work, as well as hard beds now and then, and very likelythe most of you will never come back again; but you would be unworthy ofthe name of British soldiers if you allowed such thoughts to troubleyour minds. I sincerely express the hope, however, that you will allcome home again safe and sound. I have not the slightest doubt thatevery man of you will do his duty in the field faithfully and well; butI'm not so sure of your wisdom in camp and barracks, so I will give youa word of advice. There is far more danger in getting drunk in hotcountries than in England. Let me advise you, then, not to get drunk;and I would warn you particularly against the vile stuff they will offerfor sale in Egypt. It is rank poison. If you had stomachs lined withbrass you might perhaps stand it--not otherwise. Then I would warn youagainst the sun. In Egypt the sun is sometimes like a fiery furnace.Never expose yourself when you can avoid doing so, and, above all, nevergo outside your tents without your helmets on. If you do, you'll repentit, and repentance will probably come too late. I wish you all aprosperous voyage, and may God keep you all!"
Delivered in a sharp, stern, unsentimental tone, this brief speech hadprobably a much more powerful effect on the men than a more elaborateexhortation would have had. The impression was deepened by the remarksof an old officer, who made a very brief, soldierly speech after theGeneral, winding up with the information that he had himself been inEgypt, and assuring them that if they did not take care of themselvesthere was little chance of a man of them returning alive!
"May you have a pleasant passage out," he said, in conclusion; "and, inthe name of the Portsmouth Division, I wish you victory in all yourbattles, and a hearty good-bye."
The men who were not going away were then called on to give theirdeparting friends three cheers, which they did with right good-will.Captain Lacey, who was in charge of the detachment, stepped to thefront, drew his sword, gave the order to shoulder arms, form fours,right turn, quick march, and away they went with the united bands of tworegiments playing "The girl I left behind me!"
The girls they were about to leave behind them were awaiting them at thebarrack-gates, with a considerable sprinkling of somewhat older girls tokeep them company. Many of the poor creatures were in tears for the menwhom they might never see again, and lumps in several manly throatsrather interfered with the parting cheer delivered by the detachment atthe gate. Most of them accompanied the soldiers as far as the Dockyardgates. Emily Armstrong was not among them. She had parted the previousnight from her husband at his earnest request, and returned by rail toher father's house, there to await, as patiently as she might, thereturn of her "Willie."
"Noble defenders of our country!" observed an enthusiastic citizen, asthey passed through the gates.
"Food for powder," remarked a sarcastic publican, as he turned away toresume his special work of robbing powder of its food and his country ofits defenders.
Proceeding to the Embarkation Jetty, the detachment was marched on boardthe troop-ship, where the men were at once told off to their respectivemesses, and proceeded without delay to make themselves at home by takingpossession of their allotted portion of the huge white-painted fabricthat was to bear them over the waves to distant lands.
Taking off their belts and stowing them overhead, they got hold of theirbags, exchanged their smart uniforms for old suits of clothes, andotherwise prepared themselves for the endurance of life on board atransport.
To his great satisfaction, Miles found that several of the comrades forwhom he had by that time acquired a special liking, were appointed tothe same mess with himself. Among these were his friend WillieArmstrong, Sergeants Gilroy and Hardy, Corporal Flynn, a private namedGaspard Redgrave, who was a capital musician, and had a magnificenttenor voice, Robert Macleod, a big-boned Scotsman, and Moses Pyne, along-legged, cadaverous nondescript, who was generally credited withbeing half-mad, though with a good deal of method in his madness, andwho was possessed of gentleness of spirit, and a cheerful readiness tooblige, which seemed a flat contradiction of his personal appearance,and rendered him a general favourite.
While these were busy arranging their quarters a soldier passed withseveral books in his hand, which he had just received from one of theladies from the Institute.
"Hallo, Jack!" cried Moses Pyne; "have the ladies been aboard?"
"Of course they have. They've been all over the ship alreadydistributin' books an' good-byes. If you want to see 'em you'll have tolook sharp, Moses, for they're just goin' on shore."
"See 'em!" echoed Moses; "of course I wants to see 'em. But for them,I'd be--"
The rest of the sentence was lost in the clatter of Moses' feet as hestumbled up the ladder-way. Remembering his letter at that moment,Miles followed him, and reached the gangway just as the visitors wereleaving.
"Excuse me," he said to one of them, stopping her.
"Oh! I'm so glad to have found you," she said.
"I have been looking for you everywhere. Miss Robinson sent you thislittle parcel of books, with her best wishes, and hopes that you willread them."
"Thanks, very much. I will, with pleasure. And will you do me afavour? I left a letter on the reading-room table--"
A sudden and peremptory order of some sort caused a rush which separatedMiles from the visitor and cut short the sentence, and the necessity forthe immediate departure of all visitors rendered its being finishedimpossible.
But Miss Robinson's representative did not require to be told that aforgotten letter could only want posting. On returning, therefore, tothe Institute, she went at once to the reading-room, where she found noletter! Making inquiry, she learned from one of the maids that a sheetof paper had been found with nothing on it but the words, "Dearestmother, I'm so sorry"; and that the same had been duly conveyed to MissRobinson's room. Hasting to the apartment of her friend, she knocked,and was bidden enter.
"You have got an unfinished letter, it seems?" she began.
"Yes; here it is," interrupted Miss Robinson, handing the sheet to herassistant. "What a pity that it gives no
clew to the writer--noaddress!"
"I am pretty sure as to the writer," returned the other. "It must havebeen that fine-looking young soldier, John Miles, of whom we have seen alittle and heard so much from Sergeant Gilroy."
Hereupon an account was given of the hurried and interrupted meeting onboard the troop-ship; and the two ladies came to the conclusion that asnothing was known about the parents or former residence of John Miles nosteps of any kind were possible. The letter was therefore carefully putby.
That same evening there alighted at the railway station in Portsmouth anelderly lady with an expression of great anxiety on her countenance, andmuch perturbation in her manner.
"Any luggage, ma'am?" asked a sympathetic porter--for railway portersare sometimes more sympathetic than might be expected of men so muchaccustomed to witness abrupt and tender partings.
"No; no luggage. Yes--a small valise--in the carriage. That's it."
"Four-wheeler, ma'am?"
"Eh! no--yes--yes."
"Where to, ma'am?" asked the sympathetic porter, after the lady wasseated in the cab.
"Where to?" echoed Mrs Milton, (for it was she), in great distress."Oh! where--where shall I drive to?"
"Really, ma'am, I couldn't say," answered the porter, with a modestlook.
"I've--I--my son! My dear boy! Where shall I go to inquire? Oh! what_shall_ I do?"
These would have been perplexing utterances even to an unsympatheticman.
Turning away from the window, and looking up at the driver, the portersaid solemnly--
"To the best 'otel you know of, cabby, that's not too dear. An' ifyou've bin gifted with compassion, cabby, don't overcharge your fare."
Accepting the direction, and exercising his discretion as well as hiscompassion, that intelligent cabby drove, strange to say, straight to anhotel styled the "Officers' House," which is an offshoot of MissRobinson's Institute, and stands close beside it!
"A hofficer's lady," said the inventive cabby to the boy who opened thedoor. "Wants to putt up in this 'ere 'ouse."
When poor Mrs Milton had calmed her feelings sufficiently to admit ofher talking with some degree of coherence, she rang the bell and sentfor the landlord.
Mr Tufnell, who was landlord of the Officers' House, as well as managerof the Institute, soon presented himself, and to him the poor ladyconfided her sorrows.
"You see, landlord," she said, whimpering, "I don't know a soul inPortsmouth; and--and--in fact I don't even know how I came to yourhotel, for I never heard of it before; but I think I must have been senthere, for I see from your looks that you will help me."
"You may depend on my helping you to the best of my power, madam. May Iask what you would have me do?"
With much earnestness, and not a few tears, poor Mrs Milton related asmuch of her son's story as she thought necessary.
"Well, you could not have come to a better place," said Tufnell, "forMiss Robinson and all her helpers sympathise deeply with soldiers. Ifany one can find out about your son, _they_ can. How were you led tosuspect that he had come to Portsmouth?"
"A friend suggested that he might possibly have done so. Indeed, itseems natural, considering my dear boy's desire to enter the army, andthe number of soldiers, who are always passing through this town."
"Well, I will go at once and make inquiry. The name Milton is notfamiliar to me, but so many come and go that we sometimes forget names."
When poor Mrs Milton was afterwards introduced to Miss Robinson, shefound her both sympathetic and anxious to do her utmost to gaininformation about her missing son, but the mother's graphic descriptionsof him did not avail much. The fact that he was young, tall, handsome,curly-haired, etcetera, applied to so many of the defenders of thecountry as to be scarcely distinctive enough; but when she spoke of "Mydear Miles," a new light was thrown on the matter. She was told that ayoung soldier answering to the description of her son had been thererecently, but that his surname--not his Christian name--was Miles.Would she recognise his handwriting?
"Recognise it?" exclaimed Mrs Milton, in a blaze of sudden hope. "Ay,that I would; didn't I teach him every letter myself? Didn't he insiston making his down-strokes crooked? and wasn't my heart almost brokenover his square O's?"
While the poor mother was speaking, the unfinished letter was laidbefore her, and the handwriting at once recognised.
"That's his! Bless him! And he's sorry. Didn't I say he would besorry? Didn't I tell his father so? Darling Miles, I--"
Here the poor creature broke down, and wept at the thought of herrepentant son. It was well, perhaps, that the blow was thus softened,for she almost fell on the floor when her new friend told her, in thegentlest possible manner, that Miles had that very day set sail forEgypt.
They kept her at the Institute that night, however, and consoled hermuch, as well as aroused her gratitude, by telling of the good men whoformed part of her son's regiment; and of the books and kind words thathad been bestowed on him at parting; and by making the most they couldof the good hope that the fighting in Egypt would soon be over, and thather son would ere long return to her, God willing, sound and well.
Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan Page 6
