234

THE STORY OF A RECRUIT.

time we were friends as long as we were together. I
stroked her neck and christened her by the name of my
dead sweetheart at home.

Several of my newly joined comrades were what the
serjeants called “mother sick,’ and there were a few
desertions in consequence. For my part, being a parish
*prentice, I had nothing of that kind to disturb me.
Moreover, I found that if I did my duty I had not so
much to complain of, after all. So that there is some
advantage in orphanhood. Many of the recruits, too,
were very awkward in the management of their nags,
after they had learned to ride; which is not to be wondered
at, considering they had never touched a horse before.
These poor creatures drew down upon themselves the
| objurgations of the troop serjeant-major, who was a
terrible swearer. As for me, my mare “ Peggy” came at
my call.

We were in the midst of these preparations when news
came of the sudden termination of the war. Paris had
surrendered to the Allies. Wellington had beaten Soult
at Toulouse. There was to be peace. The old Emperor
had abdicated, the papers said. There was to be no more
war, now that Corsican upstart had given himself way It
can’t say that I was pleased at this news, for I had enlisted,
in my then state of mind, as the quickest, most honourable
way of getting out of life—for fighting in short. What
I had seen of garrison life, during my short stay at the
depdt, had not made me very much in love with it. You
see, (I do not know whether I am making my meaning
clear), but when a man has once known a pure attach-
ment, he has a great disgust for any thing of a contrary
nature. In this I humbly wish it to be understood that
I am not setting myself up above my neighbours.

Well, the head-quarters came home, and We joined the
service-troops. After this, I cannot say that the life was
to my taste. While drilling, my mind was fully occupied.
When I had learned my duty, however, I really did not
know what to do with myself. If I went to the canteen
to listen to the stories of our brave comrades, who had
seen the real thing abroad, I was made so sick by the
quantities of beer I had to swallow, that I gave it up in
despair. I had actually no friend, so to speak, but
“ Pegoy,” to whom I devoted every spare moment which
I was allowed by the regulations. The other men used
to laugh, and say that Jack Richard’s mare had curry-
comb enough for a dozen; but as I had put them up to
several things which eased their work, they bore me very
good will.

Maidstone was our station at this time. Here we
remained, without being called upon to change quarters.
Having been recruited up to our full strength, we made a
good show on parade, as may be imagined. Several
royal and noble personages did us the honour to review
us; we were well treated by the inhabitants, and altogether
we felt tolerably comfortable. There was some talk of
reducing us, I believe, but the P. R——t was too
fond of cavalry to permit that. At least such is my
private opinion as an old hussar.

On turning back to my last page, I find that I have
written that I had no friend but “Peggy.” In that I
was mistaken. I had un odd sort of friend in Sam
Phillips. That is to say, ifa man can be called a friend
who never says a word to you. Nevertheless, Sam and
I understood each other, just as Peggy and I understood
each other. He was a good soldier, had been with the

a ee ae

regiment through some severe actions, was obedient, sober,
and attentive to his duty; but beyond “yes” or “no,”
nothing could be got out of Sam. His morose temper it
was which alone prevented his advancement. He slept
in the next bed to mine in the barrack-room. In the dead
of the night, after the not very edifying conversation of
our room-mates was followed by snores, I could hear Sam
growling under his rug. It seemed to me as if he was
swearing to himself. I used to listen attentively to try
and catch what the oaths of such a curious character could
consist of. For a long time, I listened in vain. At
length, a word here and there was, or became to me by
practice, plainer than the others,—when all of a sudden
the truth flashed upon me. It was not swearing. Sam
was saying his prayers.

Well, in the early part of 715 we were going on in the
usual way, when, one day, which I shall never forget, I
was confined to barracks, for over-staying my leave the
night before. The fact was that I had supped with some
Journeyman tradesmen of my acquaintance in the town,
and forgotten all about time. If I had not been a bit of
a favourite with the captain, I should have got into a
worse scrape.

As I was lolling about the yard, pipe in mouth, who
should come in at the gates, looking so cheerful that I
hardly knew him, but Sam Phillips!

“ Heard the news, Jack?” he shouted. .

“No. What news?” I shouted back.

“Why! He’s out again!”

“Who's out again? Joe Coblins?” (This Joe
Coblins was a disorderly character, who had twice before
broken out of barracks while under punishment.)

“ Who's talking of Joe Coblins? I mean Nap. !

Yes, it was quite trae! Napoleon had broken out of
Hlba, landed in France, and was in full march upon
Paris, with all the French soldiers joining him like mad.
It was also quite apparent to us that the old ——th
would have to go to work again in the old style.

If any one in the regiment had a doubt upon the sub-
ject, 1t must have been soon dissipated by the orders which
came down. Every strap, every buckle was to be seen to.
The colonel himself, always a particular man, now exa-
mined each girth separately. Every man jack of us had
new chain curbs issued to him. All the ornamental
saddle hamper was cut away, and pitched to the Jews, as if
it cost nothing. Every body was considerably brisker
than bees.

As for us farriers, we had the hardest time of all till
the regiment was reported ready for active service, and
ordered to embark for Belgium.

Here I will lay down my pen, and have a smoke,

m9

II.

For Belgium! I think I see poor Peggy now in the
slings, as she was hoisted on board the troop-ship which
was to carry us to Ostend. The piteous way in which
she looked back at me would have touched a heart as
hard as stone. But it was not long before I was beside
her; making her as comfortable in her stall as I could. It
was a horrid narrow confined space which you were ex-
pected in those days to look upon as a horse-box on
board ship. However, I made the best of things, as I
have always done from that time to this.

To shorten matters, I will skip what followed till we