The Queen's Scarlet Part 21

"Quite right, too! Where do you come from?"

There was no reply, and the colonel frowned.

"Where are you going to-night?"

d.i.c.k shook his head, and the colonel frowned again.

"Well, I have no right to inquire, I suppose, but you are not fit to go on tramp again to-night, my lad," continued the colonel, kindly; "and you had better mind where you go to sleep. Those instruments of yours are good, are they not?"

"Oh, yes," said d.i.c.k, eagerly; "they are both of the best make."

"And you have practised a great deal?"

"Oh, yes, sir--a great deal."

"Doesn't it seem strange to you, then, that a decentish-looking young fellow, who can play well, should be regularly on tramp and coming to enlist?"

"Yes, sir, very."

"Well, he had better stay here to-night--eh, Doctor?"

"Most advisable," said the keen-looking surgeon.

"Wilkins, you had better take charge of your fellow-musician," said the colonel.

"Yes, sir," came in rather an offended tone, which the colonel noticed.

"He had better go with the bandsmen, perhaps; he would be more comfortable.--Look here, sir, I shall make inquiries about you. Come to enlist, eh? Wouldn't care to join our band, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir!" cried d.i.c.k, eagerly.

"Beg pardon, sir, we are quite full," said the bandmaster, importantly.

"Of what, Mr Wilkins?" said the colonel, sternly. "Incompetents? I am not much of a judge, sir, but I know enough music to be able to say that ours is one of the worst bands in the army. I shall have inquiries made about this Richard or d.i.c.k Smithson, and, if the results are favourable, he had better stay. See that he is looked after for the night!"

The colonel sauntered off; followed by the doctor, and d.i.c.k stood gazing after him, wondering whether they would find out who he was and whence he came, when the bandmaster said in an ill-used tone of voice--

"Here, you had better come with me!" and he led the way to the portion of the barracks which formed the bandsmen's quarters, where d.i.c.k pa.s.sed the night.

"Eh? No! Why, it is! Well, I'm blessed!"

The fat sergeant's e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns when, one morning, d.i.c.k Smithson, the new recruit to the band, hurried up to take his place with the awkward squad and learn a sufficiency of the drill to carry himself correctly and march with the men.

"How in the world did you manage it, my lad? Here, I know: you were the chap who played in the mess. Well, how are you? There, fall in!" cried the sergeant, suddenly altering his tone and manner. "We'll have a talk by-and-by."

For the next hour or two d.i.c.k was going through the customary instruction, and being barked at with the rest, ordered here and there, made to perform the balance-step, and put through his facings generally.

The sergeant bullied him in the time-worn style, and stared at him as if he had never seen him before, till the recruits were drawn up in line, hot, weary and worried; for, though the stout sergeant was not very active, he did not spare himself, much less the fresh, raw lads he was drilling into shape.

Then, after some exceedingly severe strictures, he turned suddenly to d.i.c.k.

"Here you, Number Fourteen; you've been through all this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hah! Taught by some clumsy worn-out duffer who belonged to the old school! You've a lot to learn, my lad, but you needn't stop with this rough lot; you can drill with one of the regular squads."

Some of the men turned to look sourly at the new recruit, and were yelled at by the sergeant.

"Eyes front!" he roared. "Keep your heads up there! I'm speaking to Number Four from the left, not to you! Steady there! Right face!

Dis--miss!"

The rank was broken, and, as the tired squad hurried off to the barrack-room, the sergeant drew his cane from under his arm, and called to d.i.c.k, the stern, rigid look giving place to a pleasant, cheery smile as he shook hands.

"You meant it, then?" he said.

"Yes, I meant it," replied d.i.c.k, smiling back.

"Well, I'm glad to see you, my lad. Don't you take no notice of what I said before those louts. You're all right; you'll have to go through the course, but I can soon report you as being pretty perfect. You could hold your own now with most of the fellows in the band."

"I think I can soon get on," said d.i.c.k, who felt glad of a friendly word.

"Of course you can. You well-educated chaps know your right leg from your left; lots of these fellows never seem to. You'll be all right there in the band."

He nodded and walked away, while d.i.c.k was soon after obeying the dinner call, and forcing himself to bear his grievance, as he sat down to partake of the roughly-cooked coa.r.s.e beef and potatoes which formed the day's rations, and wondered how long it would be before he grew hardened to his new life and able to forget the many little refinements and luxuries to which he had been accustomed.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

QUAVERING AMONG CROTCHETS.

"It is very horrid in some things," thought d.i.c.k Smithson as he would think of his position at night in the comparative silence of his narrow bed--comparative silence, for each of his brother bandsmen had a habit of performing nocturnes on nasal instruments in a way not pleasing to a weary, sleepless person--"very horrid."

For so many things jarred: the want of privacy, the common ways of his companions, the roughness of the food, and the annoyances--petty annoyances--he had to submit to from the little bandmaster.

But d.i.c.k did not repent. He was d.i.c.k now--d.i.c.k Smithson--even to himself; and after the first few days, far from repenting the wild step he had taken, he rejoiced in the calm rest which seemed to have come over him. There was no one to accuse him of dishonourableness, to remind him of the death of his cousin, no relations to meet who would reproach him for all that he had done.

There was ease at night, so little time for thought. The military routine kept him busy; and as he had embraced this life, he worked like a slave to master his duties, and the time rapidly glided by.

There was always a smile for him whenever he met the big sergeant, while the others he had encountered that first day were ready with a friendly nod.

There was a band practice one afternoon, and d.i.c.k took his place with the rest, listening to the men, who, whatever their instrument, began to run through difficult bits regardless of their neighbours; but there was only one person present whom this chaos of wild sounds affected--to wit, the recruit, who listened with an intense longing to ram his fingers in his ears, as one man began to cut and slash out notes from the trombone in the key of G; while another practised difficult runs in E flat upon the clarionet, another ran through a strain in F upon the cornet, and the hautbois-performer, the ba.s.soon, the contra-ba.s.s, and the keyed-trumpet toiled away in major, minor, flat, sharp, or in whatever key his music might be set.

The bewildering, maddening row--it deserved no other term--went on till the bandmaster, looking mildly important in his spectacles, entered the room, walked up to his stand--across which a baton had been laid--gave a sharp tap, and there was instant silence, broken, however, by sundry dull pops, as men drew the crooks out of their bra.s.s instruments, and drained away the condensed breath.

"We'll try that march from _Forst_ again," said the bandmaster; and the men began to turn over the leaves of their music, while others adjusted the cards ready upon their bra.s.s instruments.

d.i.c.k stood by the regular flute-player, who, rather grudgingly, made room at his tall stand; and then, as the bandmaster called attention with a fresh tap of the baton and opened the score, the flautist said: