me; what regiment?’
‘I was in the old 50th for many a year, Captain,’ he said, unconsciously standing erect and giving the salute. ‘I served under Sir Hugh Gough in India, where I got this slash from a Mahratta sabre. Didn’t seem a hard cut neither; the fellow just seemed to swing his wrist, careless-like, as he rode by, but it was nigh deep enough to take the “wick” out of me. Their swords was a deal sharper than ours, and their wooden scabbards kept ’em from getting blunt again. I had a great argument with my sergeant about it once,’ continued the old man. ‘I couldn’t a-bear to see our poor chaps sliced up by them razor-edged tulwars, while our regulation swords was a’most too dull to cut through a quilted cotton helment. Ah! them was fine times,’ said the old soldier, with so genuine a regret in his tones that Howard Effingham almost believed he had, for the first time in his life, fallen across a noble private, pleased with his profession, and anxious to return to it.
‘I have rarely heard a soldier regret the army,’ said he. ‘But you still retain zeal for the service, I am pleased to find.’
‘Well, sir, that’s all very well,’ said the philosophical man-at-arms; ‘but what I was a-thinking of was the “loot.” It’s enough to bring tears into a man’s eyes that served his Queen and country, to think of the things as we passed over. Didn’t Jimmy O’Hara and two or three more men of my company get together once and made bold to stick up the priest of one of them temples. No great things either – gold earrings and bangles, and a trifle of gold mohurs, the priest’s own. There was a copper-coloured, bronze-looking idol – regular heathen god, or some such cretur – which the priest kept calling out “Sammy” to, or “Swammi.” The ugly thing had bright glittering eyes, and Jim wanted to get ’em out badly, but the priest said, “Feringhee wantee like this?” and he picked up a bit of glass, and smiled contempshus like. At last we left him and “Swammi,” eyes and all. I don’t ever deserve to have a day’s luck, sir, agin, as long as I live.’
‘Why so?’ said Mr. Effingham, astonished at the high moral tone, which he had not been used to associate with the light infantry man of the period. ‘Not for taking the image away, surely?’
‘No!’ shouted the old man, roused from his ordinary respectful tone. ‘But for leavin’ him behind! That Sammy, sir, was pure gold, and his eyes was di’monds, di’monds! Think o’ that. We left a thousand pound a man behind, because we didn’t know gold when we seen it. It will haunt me, sir, to my dying day.’
The boys laughed at the unsentimental conclusion of the veteran’s tale. Their father looked grave.
‘I cannot approve of the plunder of religious edifices, Evans; though the temptation was too great for soldiers, and indeed for others in those days.’
The chief personages having retired, Mr. Effingham and his sons essayed to make their couch under the waggon.
‘It is many a year since I had any experience in this kind of thing,’ said he; ‘but, if I remember rightly, it was in Spain that I bivouacked last. This locality is not unlike Estramadura. That rocky ravine, with the track running down it, is just where you would have expected to see the muleteer stepping gaily along beside his mules singing or swearing, as the case might be; and they do both with great vigour.’
‘I remember Don Pedro, Captain,’ said Dick. ‘I mind the wine-skins putty well too. It wasn’t bad stuff; but I don’t know as dark brandy doesn’t come handier if ye wants a stir up. But there’s one thing you can’t have forgot, Captain, that beats this country holler.’
‘You must mean the fleas,’ said Effingham; ‘they certainly could not be surpassed. I hope you don’t mean to rival them here.’
‘Well, I don’t deny, Captain, that in some huts, where the people aren’t particular, in a sandy country, in summer you will find a few, and likewise them other reptiles, ’specially where there’s pine slabs, but in a general way we’re pretty clean in this country, and you’ve no call to be afeard to tackle your blankets.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Evans,’ said Effingham, yawning. ‘I have no doubt that your camp is always fit for inspection. I think we may say good-night.’
Between the keen air of the forest, and the unwonted exercise, a tendency to drowsiness now set in, which Mr. Effingham and his sons discovered by the time that the blankets were drawn over them. The sides of their apartment, represented by the wheels of the waggon, were covered by the canvas tilt, the ceiling was low but sufficient. It was the ideal chamber in one respect. Ventilation was unimpeded, while shelter was secured.
CHAPTER III
THE NEW HOME
When Wilfred awoke from deep untroubled slumber, the sun seemed gazing at the encampment with haughty, fixed regard, as of a monarch, enthroned upon the summit of the purple mountain range.
Unwitting of the lengths (fortunately) to which the unsparing archer could go in Southern lands, he essayed to commence dressing.
Rising hurriedly, he was reminded by a tap on the head from the axle-tree that he was in a bedroom of restricted accommodation. More guarded in his after-movements he crawled outside, first placing on the dewy grass a rug upon which to stand. He commenced his toilette, and cast a comprehensive glance around.
The first thing he saw was the upright form of Richard Evans, who, returning from a search after his hobbled horses, drove them before him towards the camp, at the same time smoking his pipe with a serene and satisfied air. The morning was chilly, but he had not thought a coat necessary, and in a check shirt and moleskin trousers calmly braved an atmosphere not much above forty degrees Fahrenheit.
‘This must be a fine climate,’ said Wilfred to his father. ‘We shall be well wrapped up till breakfast time, at any rate, and yet that old buffer is wandering about in his shirt-sleeves as if he were in Naples.’
‘He is pretty hard-bitten, you may depend,’ said Mr. Effingham. ‘I think some of our old “die-hards” are as tough samples of humanity as could anywhere be met. I do not uphold the British soldier as a model, but they were men in my time, beyond any manner of doubt.’
Dick marched up his team to the waggon, whence the lodgers had by this time issued – Andrew to make a fire near the tent, and Jeanie to penetrate that sacred enclosure, and presumably to act as tire-woman in the interior.
The shafts, which had served Dick as a sleeping apartment during the night, aided by a shroud of tarpaulin, were uplifted, and bagging being thereon stretched, were converted into a manger for the chaff and maize, which the horses quickly commenced to consume.
Presently Jeanie issued from the tent, and finding the camp-kettle boiling, proceeded to make tea. Andrew, in the meantime, milked the cow. The gridiron was brought into requisition, and certain mutton chops broiled. Eventually Mrs. Effingham and her daughters issued from the tent, fresh and dainty of aspect as if they had just left their bedrooms at The Chase. Then the day commenced, and also breakfast.
‘Good-morning, O mother! Hail, O tender maidens! What do you think of camping out?’ was Wilfred’s greeting, ‘Have you been sitting up weeping, or did you forget everything till daylight, as we did?’
‘We all slept like tops,’ said Annabel. ‘I never was so sleepy in my life. I was almost off before I could undress. I think it’s splendid. And oh! what is there for breakfast?’
Grilled chops, smoking cups of tea, with bread and butter, constituted the repast. Worse meals have been eaten. The appetites were, like the travellers, highly respectable. By the time the meal was finished, Mr.
