Читать книгу A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War - Brereton Frederick Sadleir - Страница 5

Whether or not honest kind-hearted old Joe Sweetman was a donkey was yet to be proved, as the reader will ascertain for himself if he will only have patience to bear with the narrative till the end; but certain it was that Joe and Tony were not alone in thinking well of Phil.

“He’s a likely youngster,” the adjutant had more than once remarked to the colonel, “and he’ll make an excellent N.C.O. once he has sufficient service. He’s well educated, and always well-behaved, and with your permission, Colonel, I will give him a trial in the orderly-room.”

“Do just as you like,” the latter had answered. “I leave these matters in your hands; only, if you make him a clerk, do not take him altogether from his other duties. He might lose his smartness in the ranks, and what I want is not alone N.C.O.’s who can write well, but men who can be an example to the others, and, above all, have authority over them. Keep your eye on the lad, and let me know how he gets on.”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll see how he performs his duties, and mention the subject to you another day.”

Phil had thus already attracted attention, and a hint to that effect, passed from the sergeant-major through the colour-sergeant to himself, encouraged him to persevere in his drill. Not long afterwards the battalion received orders to proceed to Windsor, and there relieve another of the Guards regiments. By that time Phil and Tony had completed their recruits’ course, and had taken their places in a company of the regiment.

“We couldn’t ha’ been luckier, Phil, could we?” remarked Tony, with a grunt of satisfaction, as the two stood on the parade-ground waiting for the bugle to sound the “Fall in”. “I said weeks back as I’d stick to yer through thick and thin, and here we are, yer see, both in the same company, and always falling-in alongside of one another. But it won’t last long, mate, and don’t you go for to try and make believe it will. I ain’t so blind as I can’t see that before long you’ll wear a corporal’s stripes. All the fellers says the same, and it’s bound to be true.”

“I must say I hope it will,” Phil replied cheerfully. “It is my aim and object to become an N.C.O. But we needn’t think of parting, Tony. We’ll still be in the same company, and if we don’t stand side by side, we shall be close together in the barrack-room. Besides, you may get the stripes sooner than I.”

“Me, mate? That’s a good un! There ain’t a chance.”

“You never know, Tony; and although it seems far away now, it will come, especially if you always keep out of trouble, as you have done up to this.”

“Yus, it might,” Tony agreed, after a long pause. “Every chap gets a chance, they say, and I’ll see if I can’t win them stripes just to show yer, Phil, that I’ve stuck to me oath. And it won’t be getting into trouble as will lose ’em for me. I used to be a regular wild un, but I’ve given that up months ago; besides, I heerd Sergeant Irving a-saying only a few days ago that the chap as was quiet was bound to get on. ‘What’s the good of larking about as some of these idjuts do?’ he says. ‘Them as drinks is certain to get into trouble, and come before the colonel, and what good does it do ’em? They loses their chance of promotion, and they ruins their health. Besides that, they goes down the quickest when the troops is on active service.’”

“Yes, that is very true, I believe,” Phil answered. “But to return to the stripes. You must win them, Tony, and if only you stick to your work I am sure you will succeed. Then in the course of time you’ll be made sergeant, and later perhaps become sergeant-major. What a fine thing it would be! You would have a good pension to look forward to, and one of these days could end your service while still a young man, but with the comfortable feeling that you were provided for for life.”

“Hum! that’s flying away to the skies, mate,” Tony chuckled, “but there’s plenty of time to see, and – look up! there goes the bugle.”

Both lads fell in with their company, now dressed in all the pride of bearskins and whitened belts and pouches, and having been duly inspected, marched stiffly erect out through the barrack-gate, up Sheet Street, and into the famous old castle.

Many a time did Phil stand motionless by his sentry-box, looking over the terrace-wall at a scene not to be surpassed in any other quarter of Her Majesty’s wide dominions – the green fields of Berkshire, with old Father Thames winding hither and thither amongst them, now flowing placidly along between banks of shimmering corn and grass, and anon swirling past with a splash and a gurgle which broke up the reflections of boats and houses brightly mirrored on its surface. Then, sloping his gun, he would march across in front of the terrace gardens and the windows of the royal apartments, and, turning his eyes in the opposite direction, admire the three miles of absolutely straight and undulating road, lined on either side by its double row of grand old oaks and beeches, and ending in a green knoll, surmounted by a pile of masonry, on which is set a large equestrian statue familiarly known as “the Copper Horse”. Away on either side the wide stretches of the park would attract his attention, while far beyond the town, appeared the faint blue and reddish band which marks the position of Windsor Forest.

Many times, too, whilst on sentry-go, did he stand as rigid as his own ramrod, heels close together, and gun at the “present”, as the Queen and the Prince Consort with their children sauntered by. He had even exchanged words with them, for, attracted by his height, and possibly persuaded by the pleading of the infant princes, the Prince had stopped in front of our hero and questioned him as to his age and his parentage. The remarkable manner in which he had been adopted appealed to their curiosity, and before long they had learned Phil’s story.

When not for guard, Phil and Tony generally managed to find plenty of occupation in their spare hours. In the winter there were long walks to be taken, and in the summer there was the river, a never-failing source of enjoyment, and in those days far less crowded than in this twentieth century, when excursion trains, bicycles, and tooting steam-launches have done not a little to mar its pleasant peacefulness. Hard by the Brocas boats could be obtained, and here a number of soldiers were to be found every afternoon, idling by the river-side and gazing at the youth of Eton disporting on the water, or themselves seated in boats sculling up and down the stream.

Phil and Tony were occupied in this way one hot summer afternoon, and having sculled up to the Clewer reach, rowed in to the bank, and made fast there for a while.

“It’s mighty hot, young un, ain’t it?” remarked Tony, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “Phew! it is hot! Why, if we was bound to row these boats, we’d hate the sight of the river. What do yer say to a snooze?”

“Just the thing, Tony. It’s too hot for any kind of exercise, so let’s tie up and wait an hour; then we can pull up to the lock and down again. It’ll be time for tea then.”

Accordingly the two laid in their paddles, and stretching themselves on the bottom of the boat beneath the shade of an overhanging tree, soon fell asleep, lulled by the gentle ripple of the water. An hour passed, and still they slumbered placidly, the wash of a big boat as it slipped by them failed to rouse them. They heard nothing, and even the hoarse chuckles of a few comrades on the bank above them did not disturb them.

“What say, Jim? Shall we let ’em go?” grinned one.

“Yes, send ’em along, Tom. It’ll be a proper joke to watch ’em when they wakes up and looks about ’em,” was the answer. “Now, shake off that rope, and pitch it into the boat. So – oh! Gently, man! Shove ’em off as quiet as if they was babies in a cradle.”

It was a huge joke to those upon the bank, but upon the unconscious occupants of the craft it was wasted. They stirred neither hand nor eyelid, but, locked firmly in the arms of Morpheus, glided down the river, totally unmindful of the shouts which followed them and of the angry “Boat ahead! Where are you coming to? Steer to the left!” which was hurled at them on more than one occasion. Suddenly a louder shout awoke Phil, and, sitting up with a start, he stared around, his eyes wide-open with astonishment, to find that he and Tony were drifting in midstream past the Brocas, and were already within 50 feet of the bridge.

“Why, we’re adrift!” he exclaimed in a bewildered tone. “Here, Tony, wake up or we shall be on the bridge!”

“Eh, what!” grunted Tony, rubbing his eyes. “Adrift! What’s that row about?”

The shout which had aroused Phil was repeated at that moment and, taken up immediately, assumed a perfect roar, in the intervals of which a loud clattering as of wheels rapidly passing over cobble stones, and the stamp of horses’ hoofs were heard.

“Sounds like a cart or something coming down the street,” said Phil. “Look out, Tony, something’s wrong!”

As Phil spoke the clatter of hoofs and wheels became deafening, and before either could realise what was happening, two maddened horses dashed on to the bridge, dragging a carriage after them in which a gentleman was seated. On the back of one of the beasts was a postilion, and before Phil had time to exclaim, “It’s a royal carriage!” the vehicle had collided with a cart coming in the opposite direction, there was a crash and a sound of breaking woodwork, and next second rider and passenger were shot as if from a catapult over the low rail of the bridge into the water.

“Quick! get your paddle out!” cried Phil, snatching one up and plunging it into the water.

Tony, now fully awake, sprang up and hastily obeyed, but with such vigour that he swung the boat round till it lay across the stream. Next moment, driven by the swirl of the water, it was hurled against a support of the bridge and capsized immediately.

When Phil rose to the surface a few seconds later, and had shaken the water from his eyes, he saw the boat shooting bottom-uppermost through the archway of the bridge, with Tony clinging to it. The stream had already swept him through, and just in front of him, splashing helplessly, was the unfortunate postilion, his eyes glaring round in search of help, and his mouth wide-open as he shouted to the people on the bank.

“All right! I’ll be with you in a moment,” cried Phil, striking out in his direction. A minute later he was by his side, and, grasping him by the shoulder, supported him till the overturned boat floated past them.

Both clutched it, and hung on for their lives.

“There he is, there’s the other!” shouted a crowd of people on the bridge, and, hearing them, Phil hoisted himself as high as possible and searched the water carefully. There was a swirl some fifteen feet away, and two clutching hands suddenly appeared, to be swallowed up an instant later.

Leaving the boat Phil struck out with all his might, to find nothing when he reached the spot; but, plunging beneath the surface, he let the stream sweep him on, and groped with outstretched hands on either side. Something touched his fingers, and, grasping it he pulled it to him; holding tightly with both hands he kicked frantically till his head appeared above the water. Another second and the head of the unconscious passenger was reclining on his shoulder, and a burst of hearty cheering was ringing in his ears. Breathless and exhausted after the struggle, Phil looked round and caught sight of the boat drifting down to him. Treading water for a few minutes he supported the figure in his arms, and at last reached out for and obtained a firm hold of the keel, to which he clung, unable to make another effort, so much was he fatigued.

But help was at hand. A boat had been hastily pushed off from the river-bank, and before long all four had been lifted from the water and carried up the steps on to terra firma. A doctor was hastily summoned, and meanwhile the gentleman and the postilion were removed to a cottage.

As for Phil, five minutes’ rest upon the ground made him feel himself again. Then, shaking the water from him, and bashfully exchanging handshakes with the enthusiastic crowd who surrounded him, and would not be denied, he slipped away with Tony, and, aided by a waterman, righted the capsized boat and proceeded to bail the water out.

“Come along, let’s get out of this, Tony!” he exclaimed fretfully. “I never came across such a bother, and I hate a fuss like this.”

“But you’ll stop and give yer name, Phil? They’re certain to want it, ’specially as the cove has summat to do with the castle.”

“Oh, they can find out later on! Come along and let’s get away,” repeated Phil, in far more terror now than he had been when the boat upset.

“Wait a minute, my men,” suddenly sang out a voice from the bank. “I want to find out who you are.”

Phil reluctantly helped to push the boat alongside, while a gentleman who he knew had some connection with the castle pushed his way to the front of the crowd and, coming down the steps, held his hand out towards him.

“Shake hands, my brave young fellow,” he said earnestly. “I never saw a more gallant deed, and you can have every cause for satisfaction, for you have saved the life of one of our Queen’s most honoured guests. What is your name?”

“Private Western, sir,” answered Phil with flushed cheeks. “Private Phil Western, Number 1760.”

“Then, Western, you can expect to hear from me again. You are a credit to your regiment, and your officers and all your comrades shall know what a fine lad you are. Now, I will not detain you. You had better get off and change your clothes.”

“Three cheers for the sodger boy!” a voice in the crowd shouted; and these were given with a gusto which made Phil’s heart flutter, while Tony stood upright in the boat, looking more pleased and proud than he had ever done before.