The Young Dragoon: Every Day Life of a Soldier

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Drayson Alfred Wilks. The Young Dragoon: Every Day Life of a Soldier

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

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Situate about a quarter of a mile from the village near which my father resided, was the parish church, a venerable structure clad with ivy. Near by a large yew-tree spread its branches over the centre of the churchyard. About one hundred yards from the church stood the cottage of Nicholas Hartley (more generally known by the name of “Old Nick”), the sexton and bell-ringer. He also carried on the business of a cobbler. “Old Nick” was by no means so sober a man as he ought to have been, considering the serious nature of his calling. He was quite as often to be found at the Green Man as at his own cottage. There were several youths in the village, including myself, who were prone to practical joking, and one unfortunate night we concocted a scheme to set the whole of the people in the village in wonder and fright.

It was a dark and stormy night in December, more than twenty years ago, when our plans were matured and successfully accomplished. Eight of us met, by a preconcerted arrangement, in the old churchyard, a little before midnight. One of the actors in the drama was the son of the blacksmith, who had found a key to open the door of the belfry. With this we gained admission. Thence unbolting a door, we were enabled to reach the roof of the chancel; this was composed of lead, and was quite flat, with a high stone coping all round it. Having gone so far we descended to the churchyard, and tied fast together the legs of the chimney-sweeper’s donkey, that pastured among the grave-stones. Sheltered under the yew-tree, and binding him so as to prevent his struggling, we attached a stout waggon-rope, procured from my father’s barn, to Neddy’s body. Leaving one to guide his ascent with a guy rope, the rest of us hauled him up to the roof of the chancel. We then untied the rope that bound his legs, and enveloped him in a snow-white sheet, tying his long ears down to his neck with a piece of twine, and so adapting the sheet to his body as to prevent its getting disarranged by the very high wind.

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“I feel very dry,” said the one who had now commenced to eat the herrings.

“Divil doubt you, an’ so you ought to feel dhry, you murtherin cannibal, for there you sit ating two as fine fellows of your own spacies as ever tuk a bath in the salt say,” said an old looking soldier.

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