Chapter XXX: A Night on Vedette Duty

During the next few days the enemy kept pretty quiet, and on the night of the 24th Jack’s troop mounted picket for vedette duty at No. 1 Turkish Redoubt. In the evening rain set in, and it poured down for hours. There was an old wagon-shed at the back of the redoubt which was used as a picket-house by the men on guard, and while there they were fairly comfortable.

Sergeant Barrymore, Jack, Brandon, Pearson, and the others of the relief, wrapped in their cloaks, were huddling round the fire and blessing their luck in being out on such a nasty night, when a jingle of spurs was heard and a rough voice cried, ‘Ha, hum! not much trouble to surprise this picket, I’m thinking;’ and Sergeant Linham stepped into the circle of firelight.

‘Hallo, Jim!’ said Barrymore, ‘what brings you here?’

‘First, my legs; second, I’m not feeling sleepy; third, I got a bottle of rum down in Balaclava to-day from a friend of mine in the commissariat; so I thought a tot round would be welcome to you.’

‘Forward, true friend and comrade,’ said Brandon, ‘for has it not been written: “Wine maketh glad the heart of man”?’

‘You’ve got a quotation for everything, Frank?’ said Pearson; ‘you’re like an encyclopædia with the covers off.’

‘Compliments fly when friends meet’ replied Brandon.

‘Blair, throw on another handful of roots and put the pot on,’ said Barrymore to Jack.--‘And, Jimmy, sit down by me and uncork your bottle.’

Soon each man had a steaming pannikin of rum in his hand.

Brandon sipped his, saying:

‘I am no orator, as Brutus is,
But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man;

so in a few words I give you the health of Sergeant Linham who, “For love of friends that distant be,” has heart enough to walk a mile on such a vile night as this to bring his friends a cheering cup.’

‘Frank, why on earth did you enlist?’ asked Pearson. ‘With your education and talents I should have thought you would have found life easier as an actor, for which life you seem entirely fitted, than as a private of Lancers, risking his life every minute of the day in the Crimea for a shilling a day.’

‘A fancy, Pearson--a fancy--the love of glittering mail and martial glory.’

Whenever Brandon was asked a question he did not care about answering he always turned it aside in some jesting manner, or gave the conversation another turn. Looking at the buttons on the sleeve of his tunic, he said, ‘Who on earth gave the regiment this gruesome badge of grinning skull and becrossed shin-bones?’

‘That I can tell you,’ replied Barrymore. ‘The regiment was raised by one John Hale, colonel of the 47th Foot. He was the officer who brought home the news of Wolfe’s victory at Quebec and of his death. To commemorate the latter, the 17th were raised, and in his memory the skull and cross-bones was made the badge of the regiment. It was at first worn on the left breast of the scarlet tunic, and though the uniform has been several times changed the badge has always remained the same.’

Reference to the grim regimental badge seemed to have a depressing effect on Brandon, who lapsed into silence.

Presently Linham went off back to his tent, and one or two of the men round the fire dozed off.

Brandon--who half-sat, half-lay on the ground beside Jack--fell into a fitful slumber, but presently started in his sleep and muttered, ‘Skull and cross-bones--good badge--nothing to live for--I will go’---- He turned uneasily; then added, ‘All skeletons’---- when the voice of Barrymore, bidding the next relief mount, roused him up.

The men departed, and the relieved men came in reporting all quiet. The night passed, the rain leaving off and the moon coming out. Presently the cold, gray dawn broke, and Jack was just off to try and find some more wood for the fire when, looking up, he chanced to glance across to the height on his right, known as Canrobert’s Hill. Instantly he noticed that instead of one there were two flags flying.

‘Hallo, sergeant, I wonder what that means?’ he asked of Barrymore.

‘Danger, Jack; look at the vedettes.’ And Jack, looking, saw that they were ‘circling right and left at a trot,’ thus signalling the advance of both cavalry and infantry, and at a quick pace.

‘Sound the alarm,’ said Barry more to Jack; and the men sprang to their horses.

‘Look over towards the second redoubt!’ cried Pearson; ‘there’s some of the staff, I can see the cocked hats.’

‘If there’s going to be a scrimmage we must be in it,’ said Barry more joyfully; ‘we’ve heard enough about being do-nothings. If we get a chance to-day we’ll show ’em.’

‘I hope to goodness we do!’ cried half-a-dozen grimly eager voices behind him.

Just then the boom of a twelve-pounder gun in the redoubt before them rang out. It was the warning note, announcing, though no one knew it then, that the day of the cavalry had arrived. It was the morn of Balaclava!