General Bounce Part 10

"Ay," replies Bill, "them black beggars has got plenty of lush--more's the pity; and they doesn't give none to their wives--more's their sense. Ax your pardon, sir," he adds, turning to Charlie, "but we shall advance right upon their centre, now, anyways, shan't us?"

Ere Charlie could reply he was interrupted by Bill's comrade, who seemed to have rather a _penchant_ for Kaffir ladies. "Likely young women they be, too, Bill, those n.i.g.g.e.rs' wives; why, every Kaffir has a dozen at least, and we've only three to a company; wouldn't I like to be a Kaffir?"

"_Black!_" replied Bill, in a tone of intense disgust.

"What's the odds?" urged the matrimonial champion, "a black wife's a sight better than none at all;" and straightway he began to hum a military ditty, of which fate only permitted him to complete the first two stanzas:--

"They're sounding the charge for a brush, my boys!

And we'll carry their camp with a rush, my boys!

When we've driven them out, I make no doubt We'll find they've got plenty of lush, my boys!

For the beggars delight To sit soaking all night, Black although they be.

And when we get liquor so cheap, my boys!

We'll do nothing but guzzle and sleep, my boys!

And sit on the gra.s.s with a Kaffir la.s.s, Though s.m.u.tty the wench as a sweep, my boys!

For the Light Brigade Are the lads for a maid, Black although she may be."

"Come, stow that!" interrupted Bill, as the _ping_ of a ball whistled over their heads, followed by the sharp report of a musket; "here's music for your singing, and dancing too, faith," he added, as the rear files of the advanced guard came running in; and "Old Swipes"

exclaimed, "By Jove! they're engaged. Attention! steady, men!--close up--close up"--and, throwing out a handful of skirmishers to clear the bush immediately in his front and support his advanced guard, he moved the column forward at "the double," gained some rising ground, behind which he halted them, and himself ran on to reconnoitre. A sharp fire had by this time commenced on the right, and Charlie's heart beat painfully whilst he remained inactive, covered by a position from which he could see nothing. It was not, however, for long. The "Light-Bobs" were speedily ordered to advance, and as they gained the crest of the hill a magnificent view of the conflict opened at once upon their eyes.

The Rifles had been beforehand with them, and were already engaged; their dark forms, hurrying to and fro as they ran from covert to covert, were only to be distinguished from the savages by the rapidity with which their thin white lines of smoke emerged from bush and brake, and the regularity with which they forced position after position, compared with the tumultuous gestures and desultory movements of the enemy. Already the Kaffirs were forced across the ford of which we have spoken, and, though they mustered in great numbers on the opposite bank, swarming like bees along the rising ground, they appeared to waver in their manuvres, and to be inclined to retire. A mounted officer gallops up, and says a few words to the grey-headed captain. The "Light-Bobs" are formed into column of sections, and plunge gallantly into the ford. Charlie's right-hand man falls pierced by an a.s.sagai, and as his head declines beneath the bubbling water, and his blood mingles with the stream, our volunteer feels "the devil" rising rapidly to his heart. Charlie's teeth are set tight, though he is scarce aware of his own sensations, and the boy is dangerous, with his pale face and flashing eyes.

The "Light-Bobs" deploy into line on the opposite bank, covered by an effective fire from the Rifles, and advance as if they were on parade.

"Old Swipes" feels his heart leap for joy. On they march like one man, and the dark ma.s.ses of the enemy fly before them. "Well done, my lads!" says the old captain, as, from their flank, he marks the regularity of their movement. They are his very children now, and he is not thinking of the little blue-eyed girl far away at home. A belt of _mimosas_ is in their front, and it must be carried with the bayonet! The "Light-Bobs" charge with a wild hurrah; and a withering volley, very creditable to the savages, well-nigh staggers them as they approach. "Old Swipes" runs forward, waving them on, his shako off, and his grey locks streaming in the breeze--down he goes! with a musket-ball crashing through his forehead. Charlie could yell with rage, and a fierce longing for blood. There is a calm, matronly woman tending flowers, some thousand miles off, in a small garden in the north of England, and a little girl sitting wistfully at her lessons by her mother's side. They are a widow and an orphan--but the handsome lieutenant will get his promotion without purchase; death-vacancies invariably go in the regiment, and even now he takes the command.

"Kettering," says he, cool and composed, as if he were but giving orders at a common field-day, "take a sub-division and clear that ravine; when you are once across you can turn his flank. Forward, my lads! and if they've any nonsense _give 'em the bayonet_!"

Charlie now finds himself actually in command--ay, and in something more than a skirmish--something that begins to look uncommonly like a general action. Waving the men on with his sword he dashes into the ravine, and in another instant is hand-to-hand with the enemy. What a moment of noise, smoke, and confusion it is! Crashing blows, fearful oaths, the Kaffir war-cry, and the soldiers' death-groan mingle in the very discord of h.e.l.l. A wounded Kaffir seizes Charlie by the legs, and a "Light-Bob" runs the savage through the body, the ghastly weapon flashing out between the Kaffir's ribs.

"You've got it _now_, you black beggar!" says the soldier, as he coolly wipes his dripping bayonet on a tuft of burnt-up gra.s.s. While yet he speaks he is writhing in his death-pang, his jaws transfixed by a quivering a.s.sagai. A Kaffir chief, of athletic frame and sinewy proportions, distinguished by the grotesque character of his arms and his tiger-skin _kaross_, springs at the young lancer like a wild-cat.

The boy's sword gleams through that dusky body even in mid-air.

"Well done, blue 'un!" shout the men, and again there is a wild hurrah! The young one never felt like this before.

Hand-to-hand the savages have been beaten from their defences, and they are in full retreat. One little band has forced the ravine, and gained the opposite bank. With a thrilling cheer they scale its rugged surface, Charlie waving his sword and leading them gallantly on. The old privates swear he is a good 'un. "Forward, lads! Hurrah! for _blue 'un_!"

The boy has all but reached the brink; his hand is stretched to grasp a bush that overhangs the steep, but his step totters, his limbs collapse--down, down he goes, rolling over and over amongst the brushwood, and the blue lancer uniform lies a tumbled heap at the bottom of the ravine, whilst the cheer of the pursuing "Light-Bobs"

dies fainter and fainter on the sultry air as the chase rolls farther and farther into the desert fastnesses of Kaffirland.

CHAPTER XII

CAMPAIGNING AT HOME

THE SOLDIER IN PEACE--THE LION AND THE LAMB--"THE GIRLS WE LEAVE BEHIND US"--A PLAIN QUESTION--THE STRONG MAN'S STRUGGLE--FATHERLY KINDNESS--THE "PEACE AND PLENTY"--A LADY-KILLER'S PROJECTS--WAKING THOUGHTS

In a neat, well-appointed barouche, with clever, high-stepping brown horses and everything complete, a party of three well-dressed persons are gliding easily out of town, sniffing by antic.i.p.ation the breezes of the country, and greeting every morsel of verdure with a rapture only known to those who have been for several weeks in London. Past the barracks at Knightsbridge, where the windows are occupied by a race of giants in moustaches and shirt-sleeves, and the officers in front of their quarters are educating a poodle; past the gate at Kensington, with its smartest of light-dragoon sentries, and the gardens with their fine old trees disguised in soot; past dead walls overtopped with waving branches; on through a continuous line of streets that will apparently reach to Bath; past public-houses innumerable, and grocery-shops without end; past Hammersmith, with its multiplicity of academies, and Turnham Green, and Chiswick, and suburban terraces with almost fabulous names, and detached houses with the scaffolding still up; past market-gardens and rosaries, till Brentford is reached, where the disappointed traveller, pining for the country, almost deems himself transported back again east of Temple Bar. But Brentford is soon left behind, and a glimpse of the "silver Thames" rejoices eyes that have been aching for something farther afield than the Serpentine, and prepares them for the unbounded views and free, fresh landscape afforded by Hounslow Heath. "This is really the country," says Blanche, inhaling the pure air with a sigh of positive delight, while the General exclaims, at the same instant, with his accustomed vigour, "Zounds! the blockhead's missed the turn to the barracks, after all."

The ladies are very smart; and even Mary Delaval (the third occupant of the carriage), albeit quieter and more dignified than ever, has dressed in gaudier plumage than is her wont, as is the practice of her s.e.x when they are about to attend what they are pleased to term "a breakfast." As for Blanche, she is too charming--such a little, gossamer bonnet stuck at the very back of that glossy little head, so that the beholder knows not whether to be most fascinated by the ethereal beauty of the fabric, or wonder-struck at the dexterity with which it is kept on. Then the dresses of the pair are like the hues of the morning, though of their texture, as of their "tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs," it becomes us not to hazard an opinion. Talk of beauty unadorned, and all that! Take the handsomest figure that ever inspired a statuary--dress her, or rather undress her to the costume of the Three Graces, or the Nine Muses, or any of those _dowdies_ immortalised by ancient art, and place her alongside of a moderately good-looking Frenchwoman, with dark eyes and small feet, who has been permitted to dress _herself_: why, the one is a mere corporeal ma.s.s of shapely humanity, the other a sparkling emanation of light and smiles and "tulle" (or whatever they call it) and coquetry and all that is most irresistible. Blanche and Mary, with the a.s.sistance of good taste and good milliners, were almost perfect types of their different styles of feminine beauty. The General, too, was wondrously attired. Retaining the predilections of his youth, he shone in a variety of under-waistcoats, each more gorgeous than its predecessor, surmounting the whole by a blue coat of unexampled brilliancy and peculiar construction. Like most men who are not in the habit of "getting themselves up" every day, he was always irritable when thus clothed in "his best," and was now peculiarly fidgety as to the right turn by which his carriage should reach the barracks where the "Loyal Hussars," under the temporary command of Major D'Orville, were about to give a breakfast of unspeakable splendour and hospitality.

"That way--no--the other way, you blockhead!--straight on, and short to the right!" vociferated the General to his bewildered coachman, as they drew up at the barrack-gate; and Blanche timidly suggested they should ask "that officer," alluding to a dashing, handsome individual guarding the entrance from behind an enormous pair of dark moustaches.

"That's only the sentry, Blanche," remarked Mary Delaval, whose early military experience made her more at home here than her companion.

"Dear," replied Blanche, colouring a little at her mistake, "I thought he was a captain, at least--_he's very good-looking_."

But the barouche rolls on to the mess-room door, and although the ladies are somewhat disappointed to find their entertainers in plain clothes (a woman's idea of a hussar being that he should live and die _en grande tenue_), yet the said plain clothes are so well put on, and the moustaches and whiskers so carefully arranged, and the fair ones themselves received with such _empress.e.m.e.nt_, as to make full amends for any deficiency of warlike costume. Besides, the surrounding atmosphere is so thoroughly military. A rough-rider is bringing a young horse from the school; a trumpet is sounding in the barrack-yard; troopers lounging about in picturesque undress are sedulously saluting their officers; all is suggestive of the show and glitter which makes a soldier's life so fascinating to woman.

Major D'Orville is ready to hand them out of the carriage. Lacquers is stationed on the door steps. Captain Clank and Cornet Capon are in attendance to receive their cloaks. Even Sir Ascot Uppercrust, who is here as a guest, lays aside his usual _nonchalance_, and actually "hopes Miss Kettering didn't catch cold yesterday getting home from Chiswick." Clank whispers to Capon that he thinks "Uppy is making strong running"; and Capon strokes his nascent moustaches, and oracularly replies, "The divil doubt him."

No wonder ladies like a military entertainment. It certainly is the fashion among soldiers, as among their seafaring brethren, to profess far greater devotion and exhibit more _empress.e.m.e.nt_ in their manner to the fair s.e.x than is customary in this age with civilians.

The latter, more particularly that maligned cla.s.s, "the young men of the present day," are not p.r.o.ne to put themselves much out of their way for any one, and treat you, fair daughters of England, with a mixture of patronage and carelessness which is far from complimentary.

How different you find it when you visit a barrack or are shown over a man-of-war! Respectful deference waits on your every expression, admiring eyes watch your charming movements, and stalwart arms are proffered to a.s.sist your delicate steps. Handsome, sunburnt countenances explain to you how the biscuit is served out; or moustaches of incalculable volume wait your answer as to "what polka you choose their band to perform." You make conquests all around you, and wherever you go your foot is on their necks; but do not for this think that your image never _can_ be effaced from these warlike hearts. A good many of them, even the best-looking ones, have got wives and children at home; and the others, unenc.u.mbered though they be, save by their debts, are apt to entertain highly anti-matrimonial sentiments, and to frame their conduct on sundry aphorisms of a very faithless tendency, purporting that "blue water is a certain cure for heart-ache"; that judicious hussars are ent.i.tled "to love and to ride away"; with other maxims of a like inconstant nature. Nay, in both services there is a favourite air of inspiriting melody, the burden and t.i.tle of which, monstrous as it may appear, are these unfeeling words, "The girls we leave behind us!" It is _always_ played on marching out of a town.

But however ill our "captain bold" of the present day may behave to "the girl he leaves behind him," the lady in his front has small cause to complain of remissness or inattention. The mess-room at Hounslow is fitted up with an especial view to the approbation of the fair s.e.x.

The band outside ravishes their ears with its enchanting harmony; the officers and male guests dispose themselves in groups with those whose society they most affect; and Blanche finds herself the centre of attraction to sundry dashing warriors, not one of whom would hesitate for an instant to abandon his visions of military distinction, and link himself, his debts, and his moustaches, to the fortunes of the pretty heiress.

Now, Sir Ascot Uppercrust has resolved this day to do or die--"to be a man or a mouse," as he calls it. Of this young gentleman we have as yet said but little, inasmuch as he is one of that modern school which, abounding in specimens through the higher ranks of society, is best described by a series of negatives. He was _not_ good-looking--he was _not_ clever--he was _not_ well-educated; but, on the other hand, he was not to be intimidated--not to be excited--and _not_ to be taken in. Coolness of mind and body were his princ.i.p.al characteristics; no one ever saw "Uppy" in a hurry, or a dilemma, or what is called "taken aback"; he would have gone into the ring and laid the odds to an archbishop without a vestige of astonishment, and with a carelessness of demeanour bordering upon contempt; or he would have addressed the House of Commons, had he thought fit to honour that formidable a.s.semblage by his presence, with an equanimity and _insouciance_ but little removed from impertinence. A quaint boy at Eton, _cool hand_ at Oxford, a deep card in the regiment, man or woman never yet had the best of "Uppy"; but to-day he felt, for once, nervous and dispirited, and wished "the thing was over," and settled one way or the other. He was an only son, and not used to be contradicted. His mother had confided to him her own opinion of his attractions, and striven hard to persuade her darling that he had but to see and conquer; nevertheless, the young gentleman was not at all sanguine of success.

Accustomed to view things with an impartial and by no means a charitable eye, he formed a dispa.s.sionate idea of his own attractions, and extended no more indulgence to himself than to his friends.

"Plain, but neat," he soliloquised that very morning, as he thought over his proceedings whilst dressing; "not much of a talker, but a _devil to think_--good position--certain rank--she'll be a _lady_, though rather a _Brummagem_ one--house in Lowndes Street--place in the West--family diamonds--and a fairish rent-roll (when the mortgages are paid)--that's what she would get. Now, what should I get? Nice girl--'gad, she _is_ a nice girl, with her 'sun-bright hair' as some fellow says--good temper--good action--_and_ three hundred thousand pounds. The exchange is _rather_ in my favour; but then all girls want to be married, and that squares it, perhaps. If she says 'Yes,' sell out--give up hunting--drive her about in a phaeton, and buy a yacht.

If she says 'No,' get _second leave_--go to Melton in November--and hang on with the regiment, which ain't a bad sort of life, after all.

So it's hedged both ways. Six to one and half-a-dozen to the other.

Very well; to-day we'll settle it."

With these sentiments it is needless to remark that Sir Ascot was none of your sighing, despairing, fire-eating adorers, whose violence frightens a woman into a not unwilling consent; but a cautious, quiet lover, on whom perhaps a civil refusal might be the greatest favour she could confer. Nevertheless, he liked Blanche, too, in his own way.

Well, the band played, and the luncheon was discussed, and the room was cleared for an impromptu dance (meditated for a fortnight); and some waltzed, and some flirted, and some walked about and peeped into the troop-stables and inspected the riding-school, and Blanche found herself, rather to her surprise, walking _tete-a-tete_ with Sir Ascot from the latter dusty emporium, lingering a little behind the rest of the party, and separated altogether from the General and Mary Delaval.

Sir Ascot having skilfully detached Lacquers, by informing him that he had made a fatal impression on Miss Spanker, who was searching everywhere for the credulous hussar; and having thus possessed himself of Blanche's ear, now stopped dead-short, looked the astonished girl full in the face, and without moving a muscle of his own countenance, carelessly remarked, "Miss Kettering, would you like to marry me?"

Blanche thought he was joking, and although it struck her as an ill-timed piece of pleasantry, she strove to keep up the jest, and replied, with a laugh and low curtsey, "Sir Ascot Uppercrust, you do me too much honour."

"No, but will you, Miss Kettering?" said Sir Ascot, getting quite warm (for him). "Plain fellow--do what I can--make you happy--and all that."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Sir Ascot Uppercrust, you do me too much honour.'"

_Page 182_]

Poor Blanche blushed crimson up to her eyes. Good heavens! then the man was in earnest after all! What had she done--she, the pet of "Cousin Charlie," and the _protegee_ of Frank Hardingstone--that such a creature as this should presume to ask her such a question? She hesitated--felt very angry--half inclined to laugh and half inclined to cry; and Sir Ascot went on, "Silence gives consent, Miss Kettering--'pon my soul, I'm immensely flattered--can't express what I feel--no poet, and that sort of thing--but I really am--eh!--very--eh!" It was getting too absurd; if she did not take some decisive step, here was a dandy quite prepared to affiance her against her will, and what to say or how to say it, poor little Blanche, who was totally unused to this sort of thing, and tormented, moreover, with an invincible desire to laugh, knew no more than the man in the moon.

"You misunderstand, Sir Ascot," at last she stammered out; "I didn't mean--that is--I meant, or rather I intended--to--to--to--decline--or, I should say--in short, _I couldn't for the world_!" With which unequivocal declaration Blanche blushed once more up to her eyes, and to her inexpressible relief, put her arm within Major D'Orville's, that officer coming up opportunely at that moment; and seeing the girl's obvious confusion and annoyance, extricating her, as he seemed always to do, from her unpleasant dilemma and her matter-of-fact swain.

And this was Blanche's first proposal. Nothing so alarming in it, young ladies, after all. We fear you may be disappointed at the blunt manner in which so momentous a question can be put. Here was no language of flowers--no giving of roses and receiving of carnations--no h.o.a.rding of locks of hair, or secreting of bracelets, or kidnapping of gloves--none of the petty larceny of courtship--none of the dubious, half-expressed, sentimental flummery which _may_ signify all that mortal heart can bestow, or _may_ be the mere coquetry of conventional gallantry. When _he_ comes to the point, let us hope his meaning may be equally plain, whether it is couched in a wish that he might "be _always_ helping you over stiles," or a request that you will "give him a _right_ to walk with you by moonlight without being scolded by mamma," or an inquiry as to whether you "can live in the country, and _only_ come to London for three months during the season," or any other roundabout method of asking a straightforward question. Let us hope, moreover, that the applicant may be _the right one_, and that you may experience, to the extent of actual impossibility, the proverbial difficulty of saying--No.