Читать книгу Jones of the 64th: A Tale of the Battles of Assaye and Laswaree - Brereton Frederick Sadleir - Страница 2

Mine host of the Black Bull was a man who prided himself upon the welcome his house provided, and on such an occasion, when Mr. Benjamin Halbut was the guest, there was extra need for haste. And so it happened that within a very few minutes a meal was announced as being ready.

"In the parlour, your honour," said the maid. "The best parlour, sir, along the passage to the left. My!" she went on, as she passed the lad for whom the sergeant had just fought so handsomely, "but you've found friends to-day! Never mind, laddie; you look a nice little fellow."

"This way, sergeant. Come, my lad," said Mr. Benjamin. "We'll eat and talk. We've much to arrange. Now, seat yourselves, and may this meal not be the last that we may share for many a day to come."

He was so quiet and affable, so friendly, that even the lad who had so strangely come into his company was far from abashed. Not that he felt at his ease, for all this was so strange to him. In the first place, he had never even stepped within the doors of the Black Bull, though many a time, on market days, he had looked within, bashfully and wondering, at the warmth and comfort, and the massive old dressers and chairs, and at the stags' heads hung round the walls. It had never occurred to him that one day he might have the right to enter. And here he was now, seated at a board which groaned beneath the weight of a massive joint of beef, while other dainties to which he was an entire stranger stood on the table! And how he admired the fine gentleman opposite, and envied the coolness of the sergeant!

"If I were only he," he thought. "He is as used to this as to fighting, while I am so strange. My feet hit against every chair I get near, and – oh dear!"

"Come, lad, sit down beside me and let us commence," said Mr. Benjamin, taking him by the hand and drawing him towards a chair. "A fine lad, sergeant, and growing, or he would not be so thin."

"He struck a plucky blow, sir. But he is thin, and no doubt the feeding provided by the farmer was not of the best."

"Where does this farmer come from?" asked Mr. Benjamin, as he carved a slice of beef and placed it before the lad. "Tell me who he is and something about him. And first of all, who are you? What is your name, lad?"

He was so nice and courteous, so thoughtful, that in a little while the lad had forgotten his rags, his dirty hands and smudged face, and was seated chatting easily, and eating the good things provided with a gusto which there was no mistaking.

"Now, your name?" asked Mr. Benjamin, when he saw that the lad was well engaged and feeling more at home.

"Jones, sir – at least that is what they call me," answered the little fellow bravely.

"That is what they call you? How is that? Had you another name?"

"I think so, sir. I was found when I was smaller and taken to the poorhouse, as I was an orphan with no one to claim me."

"Found! That is strange. And the lad speaks well, too."

Mr. Benjamin exchanged glances with the sergeant and became silent and thoughtful. For he had noticed something strange about this protégé of his from the moment when the lad opened his lips. He spoke with a slight Hampshire accent, which had evidently been recently acquired. But there was something refined about the little fellow's voice, so much so that it was difficult to imagine that he was merely a farmer's boy.

"You were found," he said. "Where? Tell us all about it, and how you came to be working for this hulking bully. The fellow looked as if he had thrashed you many a time."

"He has, sir. He said he would kill me some day. None dared to live with him, except his wife and I, and I would have gone long ago had I not been his apprentice. Yes, sir, I was found, they tell me, when I was about five years of age, and a cottager and his wife, of the name of Jones, took me in and cared for me till they died. Then I went to the poorhouse in this town, and from there to the farmer. That is all I know, sir, but perhaps Mrs. Towers, at the poorhouse, could tell you more."

"A foundling, with a mysterious tale behind him, and of late a little slave!"

Mr. Benjamin looked at the lad closely, noting his fair curly hair, now all in disorder, his fine eyes, and the cast of his features.

"A fine little fellow," he thought aloud, "and I'll warrant he has had few friends so far. The farmer's wife, perhaps, for she looked as if she cared for him; and this Mrs. Towers."

"Yes, indeed, sir, they were very good to me," burst in the boy eagerly, loyally supporting the two who had been mentioned. "Mrs. Towers says that she was a mother to me, while Mrs. Ransom was very kind and good when her husband could not see us. Am I to go back to him, sir?"

"Never! I have made a bargain with him, and your articles of apprenticeship are to be cancelled. An attorney will get it done in a couple of weeks. You will have to be taken before a magistrate, and the facts sworn to. Then as soon as the money is paid you will be free from that ruffian. Yes, ruffian, sergeant, and I fear that there are many others like him, who obtain the services of lads such as this and make drudges of them. But your other name, lad?"

"Owen M., sir."

"Owen M.! M.? What does that refer to, and where did you get the name of Owen?"

"It is my right name, sir," answered the boy proudly, as he looked his questioner in the eyes. "When I was left near the cottage of the Joneses I was wrapped in a rug, and was fully dressed in old clothes. They thought that my own had been removed, so as to make it impossible to trace who I was, or where I came from, and had it not been for a jersey I was wearing next to my body nothing would have been known. Owen M. was worked on the jersey, and that is why I have the name of Owen."

"And the M. may be your Christian name or surname. These Joneses are dead?"

With his usual interest in life Mr. Benjamin asked the question sharply and waited impatiently for the answer, giving an exclamation of satisfaction when the lad replied that the clothing was now in the hands of Mrs. Towers at the poorhouse, and that the Joneses were dead.

"Then we will go there. Come, sergeant, what do you say to helping me in the matter?" he said eagerly. "You took up the cudgels on behalf of this lad Owen, and will like to see the matter through. We will give him a fresh start and make a man of him. What do you say?"

"Ready and willing, sir. He has pluck, by the way in which he struck the bully, and he'll do with a proper training and discipline. In the army, sir, we'd make a fine soldier of him."

The sergeant sat up to his full height; while it was clear from the open admiration with which Owen regarded his defender that service in the army would not be unpleasant to him.

"And you like the idea?" smiled Mr. Benjamin, turning to him. "We will see. He shall have the best. But, first, we will get him some fitting clothing. Come, another cut of beef and a tankard to wash it down, sergeant. You have had a struggle and need some refreshment."

He rose and went to the bell, giving it a lusty tug. When the maid arrived he requested mine host to be sent to him.

"Do me the favour of sending across to the nearest tailor's," he said when the good man appeared, "and tell him to come here at once with clothing suited to this lad."

Half an hour later a hackney coach drew up at the door of the Black Bull, and the three who had refreshed themselves in the famous hostelry stepped into it and were driven away, Mr. Benjamin giving the poorhouse as the address to which they were to be taken. And if Owen Jones had felt strange before when he had been bidden to accompany this fine gentleman, he felt even more so now, while his whole frame was filled with a sense of elation. For he was transformed. The kind lady at the Black Bull had helped to polish him with hot water and a plentiful supply of soap, while the tailor and a haberdasher, who had also been called in to help, had rigged him out in a suit of simple stuff which fitted him well, and in which he looked a little gentleman.

"My, who would have thought as he wasn't a little gentleman!" exclaimed the maid at the Black Bull, as she saw him descend to the hall, hat in hand, his hair well brushed, and his eager little face shining with the application of good Windsor soap. "Don't you look fine!"

Owen greeted her with a bashful smile, and then walked quietly into the room where Mr. Benjamin and the sergeant awaited him. And there his appearance caused more pleasure.

"He will do us credit, never fear," exclaimed the kindly gentleman. "But the coach is here and we will leave."

Paying the bill, and adding something to it for the welcome and help given, he pushed Owen into the coach before him and they drove off. Owen could hardly believe that it was really he. Who could have guessed that he would have ever ridden in a coach! And behind postillion-ridden horses! And was it true that he was not to return to Farmer Ransom? There were to be no more beatings and no more scoldings! No need to creep to bed amidst the sacks in a cold barn, and lie there shivering of a cold night, and awake perhaps stiff with the cold, and hungry because supper had been denied him on the previous night out of pure spite! It was too much to believe. He sat forward in the coach, now looking up at Mr. Benjamin and then out of the windows at the houses and streets, at the boys playing there and at the pedestrians. Why, there was Johnny Banks, a lad who had been at the poorhouse with him, and was now apprenticed to the local baker. He at any rate had had plenty to eat, and Owen had been in the habit of envying him. Now! "I can't believe it!" he said to himself. "And if only they would make me a soldier!"

"Here we are. Tumble out and let us see this good lady. Ring the bell, sergeant. And, postillion, wait here for us."

A few moments later an individual appeared within the ample gate of the poorhouse, dressed in the official uniform of the place, and showing a portly figure and a face indicative of good temper. To the inquiry for Mrs. Towers he responded that she was within, and at once bustled off, impressed by the coach and by the unusually fine appearance of Mr. Benjamin. And in a little while the trio found themselves closeted with the matron, a stout old lady, who hugged Owen with affection, and lifted her fat hands in amazement at finding him in such fine company.

"Lor'!" she said, "to think that you should have such friends! Little Owen, as came to the house without a single one, and well-nigh starved!"

"Let us have the tale, my good woman," said Mr. Benjamin, as he bowed to the old dame's curtsy, and sat on a chair. "This lad here has made friends with the sergeant and myself, and we are desirous of finding out a little about him. He tells us that his name is Owen M. Jones."

"As near as we know, sir," was the answer. "But, bless yer, begging your pardon for so doing, sir, he's better than a Jones. That's the name of the poor folk who first found him. It was a dark night – let me see, yes, it will be nine years ago – when they heard a coach passing along the road, which runs some yards from their cottage. That wasn't anything out of the common, for fifty and more pass by perhaps in the day. But it stopped for a while and then went on again at a gallop. Mrs. Jones told me that herself. It drove on as if there were soldiers or some one of that sort behind, and it was soon gone out of hearing. Then there came the cry of a child who is frightened at being left all alone, and when they ran out to see who it was, there was young Owen, a tiny little fellow then, seated on the roadside, with his knuckles in his eyes."

"And like the kind-hearted folks they were they brought him in and fed him, I suppose?" said Mr. Benjamin.

"That they did, sir. They weren't that well off, neither. But they had none of their own, and they took the boy in and cared for him. Then Mr. Jones walked in here as soon as it was day, and came to the house. The guardians heard his tale and saw the boy, but they never learned anything about the coach that had brought him, nor where he came from. And as the Joneses said they were willing to adopt him, why Owen stayed with them till the old couple died, and that would be six years ago."

"And nothing was learned about his coming?"

"Nothing, sir. Foundlings are common enough, and I don't suppose as the guardians would spend much in making inquiries. Besides, the boy seemed to be the child of common parents, for his clothes were rough. But Mrs. Jones knew better, and so do I. I'll show you, sir."

She went off into another room, where they heard her pulling open the doors of a cupboard; and finally she returned, bringing a tiny little undervest which she handed to Mr. Benjamin.

"Made in India," he said at once, "and of the finest material. This garment was in all probability made for the boy, and if so, then he was born out there. Yes, I am sure of it, for look at this, sergeant. Those letters, Owen M., were stitched by a native woman. The work is characteristic. I am perfectly sure of what I say."

All stared at the tiny garment, which was redolent of lavender, while Owen, who had never regarded it with any importance before now, looked at the letters stitched in one corner with great interest.

"Perhaps the lad can help us," suggested the sergeant. "Tell us, boy, whether you remember the coach."

"Of course he does!" exclaimed Mrs. Towers. "Why, I asked him many a time. Tell the gentlemen, Owen."

"I remember the coach well, and being left beside the road," said Owen promptly; "and I recollect the journey. I am sure that I was strange to the country, and I can see now the ship in which I came. How long we were at sea I do not know, but it was for a long while. And all that time I was tended by a black woman, who was very kind. I seem to remember places so different from these here. A bright sun, many trees, and very big houses. There were soldiers, too, and one big soldier who often threw me on his shoulder. But it may be a dream. I may have imagined it all."

"One minute, Owen," interrupted Mrs. Towers, whose interest was fully aroused. "Mrs. Jones said that when you came you could speak well, but that whenever you cried you called out in a tongue which was strange to her. You did it here too, that I remember, though bless me if I know what the words meant. Have you forgotten?"

"Tell me," said Mr. Benjamin encouragingly, shifting a little farther on to his chair and looking closely at Owen. "What were the words?"

Owen repeated them as well as he was able, and though they were but childish expressions, which he had learned when beginning to speak, they were pronounced as undoubtedly hailing from India.

"Which proves that he actually came from India," said the sergeant.

"Exactly so. He probably landed and was kidnapped, for some purpose of which we are ignorant. There is something very interesting about this, sergeant. I know the country well, and I say without hesitation that no child but those belonging to Englishmen in high places would have been dressed in such a garment. Probably our little friend is the son of an Englishman employed in India, and was sent home because of the death of his mother, or more likely because of the climate. Beyond that one cannot go. There is some dark secret attached to his capture. But the fact remains that he was kidnapped, and brought away from his guardians. Then his identity was hidden. I should say that he may very well have come from Bristol or some other port, and it is not to be wondered at that his loss did not occasion very much disturbance. If his parents were abroad, considering how slowly news travels, it is not at all wonderful that no rumour of his having been found in this locality failed to reach his guardians. Perhaps he was sent home to relatives, who may themselves have had something to do with the kidnapping. There have been cases quite as disgraceful before. But the important thing is that one little garment is left as a clue, and that the lad can speak a few words of the Indian tongue, and remembers places which may without a great stretch of imagination be allowed to correspond with some Indian city – Bombay or Calcutta, for instance."

"Lor'! To think that he may be a gentleman!" exclaimed Mrs. Towers, lifting her hands. "Well, I always said as much. He speaks different from other lads, and he's better behaved. There's always been something queer about little Owen. And I've tried to keep it up too, sir. I've encouraged him to speak well, to address his betters as he should, and to be gentle in his play."

"And you've succeeded well, ma'am," exclaimed the sergeant with enthusiasm.

"Very well indeed, madam," agreed Mr. Benjamin. "Is there nothing more to tell us?"

"Nothing, sir. He stayed here till a year ago, when the guardians apprenticed him to Mr. George Ransom, a farmer that's not the best-loved of all living about Winchester."

"A thorough ruffian," exclaimed Mr. Benjamin indignantly. "Well, madam, our friend the sergeant here very pluckily interfered when this farmer was about to ill-use the boy to-day, and beat him handsomely in the fight which followed. Now I propose to have the boy's apprenticeship cancelled, and shall look to his future. But we must do more than that. I will send here for you to-morrow, and will have you taken in a coach to my attorney's, where I will ask you to make a plain statement of all the facts you have already mentioned. If you can remember more, all the better. We will hunt up others who may have known him, and the sergeant and I will add our evidence. I can swear that he can speak some words of Hindustani, for instance, and that may, one of these days, be valuable evidence. When the statement is completed we will have it attested before a magistrate, and then carefully locked away with this garment. Then, supposing one day we happen to hear of these parents, we shall be able to help in proving that Owen is actually their missing son. And I promise you that I shall leave no stone unturned to effect that end. Now, sergeant, we will drive on to the barracks. Owen, for the time being, shall wear the uniform of a soldier."

He felt in his pocket for a guinea, which he placed in Mrs. Towers's fat hand, and then led the way to the coach. An hour later he was with the Colonel of the local detachment, and when he left that evening it had been arranged that Owen should enlist as a band boy, and should be instructed in the playing of the fife.

"And at the same time I can put him up to the use of his fists, as well as side-arms and a pike," said the sergeant heartily. "And remember this, youngster, there's many a lad who has stepped it at first behind the drum-major, and who afterwards has shouldered a sergeant's pike and done fine service. Never fear, sir, I'll keep an eye on the lad."

"Turn him out a man, that is what I want," said Mr. Benjamin. "I might have put him on a stool in an office in London, or have found some other work for him; but the lad interests me, and I want to see how he gets on. There is nothing like the rough life of the army for that. He will rub shoulders with every sort, and you will be able to keep an eye upon him. Don't interfere, sergeant. Let him fight his own battles till he shows that he is unable to do so, and don't help him at all. Let him rise by his own exertions. When the time comes I shall have a fit post for him."

And so, when a week had passed, Owen Jones was a full-fledged soldier, Jones of the 64th, and his name had been borne on the regimental strength. By then his apprenticeship with the farmer had been cancelled, while twenty guineas had been paid to his late master. Then a full statement of his history had been made before a magistrate and had been signed, the document having afterwards been deposited with the attorney.

Owen looked a fine little fellow in his red-tailed tunic, his red waistcoat and pantaloons, and felt a proud lad when he first donned them. There is no need to tell how he became introduced to his comrades of the regiment; how he met with and accepted with good temper all their good-natured chaff; and how, when a few days had passed, he endeavoured to take a leaf from the sergeant's book, and attacked a lad of greater proportions who had attempted to bully him, and how, despite the greatest perseverance, he had been ultimately worsted, and had retired to his quarters with swollen eyes. He showed his grit and pluck, even if he were defeated, and thereafter was respected. And as the days and weeks passed, and the latter grew into months, Owen filled out wonderfully. A heavy sack which was suspended from the beams of the quarters given to his friend the sergeant kept his muscles in good play, for every day he spent an hour hammering at it with his fists, while the sergeant afterwards gave him instruction in boxing. And so, what with playing the fife, skylarking, and becoming an expert in the use of every kind of fire-arm and weapon of defence, Owen passed three years with the detachment, at first at Winchester and afterwards in other places. When he was seventeen years of age, as near as could be guessed, Mr. Benjamin Halbut again put in an appearance, and our hero found that a new life was about to be opened for him.