Chapter IV: Jack Becomes a Lancer

‘And so you’d like to be a soldier, would you?’ said the sergeant jokingly.

‘I think I should,’ replied Jack with a blush; ‘the men did look so grand. I’ve never seen a Lancer regiment before.’

‘It’s not all beer and skittles in the army,’ said the sergeant; ‘but a lad of mettle might do worse. You know what the song says,’ and the sergeant sang in a bass voice:

‘A soldier’s life’s a life of glory,
Told in song and gallant story,

and so on; but you need not believe all that. However, now let us get some breakfast;’ and after a wash, feeling quite himself again save for his sore feet and stiff knee, Jack was soon seated at table with the sergeant and his wife.

The regiment, Jack heard, was going to London to form a guard of honour and escort to the Queen on some state function.

‘And tired enough the chaps’ll be when they get in to-night,’ said the sergeant.

After breakfast he and Jack had a long talk, and it was quite clear that the sergeant was heart and soul in his profession, and thought there was no other to equal it.

Jack had a great dread of being a drag and an expense to his mother. He felt certain that Mr Phogg would give him a reference that would spoil his chance of getting employment--at least anything better than an errand boy’s or a porter’s place. A hundred times rather than that he would be a soldier; that was, at any rate, an honourable profession.

During the day he wandered about the barracks and had a good look at the guard, particularly admiring the trumpeter, a boy of about his own age, who from time to time, arrayed in his gay Lancer uniform, came forth and sounded different calls.

When the regiment returned at night he heard the men laughing and joking and relating much that had passed on the march up to London and during their progress through the crowded Metropolis; of the princes, lords, and other celebrated people they had seen; and, lastly, how well her Majesty and the Prince Consort looked.

As he again turned in on the sergeant’s sofa his mind was made up. He would be a soldier, and his regiment should be the gallant ‘Death or Glory Boys.’

In the morning he announced his intention to the sergeant while he was enjoying his morning smoke.

‘Well, Jack,’ he said, ‘you might do worse. If you’ve quite made up your mind, come with me.’

Together they crossed the barrack square, passing on their way the young trumpeter whom Jack had so much admired.

‘Where’s the major, Will?’ asked Barrymore.

‘In his quarters, I think, sergeant.’

‘Right.’

They went on to a room near the band-quarters, where they found a rather stout, shortish man, busy at a table copying out music.

‘Hallo, Bob, what’s the trouble?’ he asked, looking up.

‘A recruit, Ted.’

‘Ah, that’s good; I want a real smart lad in the trumpets, one who will take an interest in his work and take up second cornet in the band.’

‘I’ve got the very article, Ted; look at him,’ and the sergeant gave Jack a smack on the back.

Jack, thus brought into prominence, coloured up as he stood in the presence of the two non-commissioned officers, for Ted Joyce was the trumpet-major.

Trumpet-major Joyce looked keenly at Jack. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

‘Sixteen and a half, sir.’

‘Sir no one here but the officers,’ said the trumpet-major, who was a pleasant, rather fussy little man. ‘Know anything about music?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir--I mean’---- and Jack paused.

‘Call me major,’ said the trumpet-major.

‘Yes, major; I can play the piano pretty well.’

‘No pianos in the band,’ said the trumpet-major with a smile; ‘but if you can read well that’s something. You can’t beat time or rhythm into some of my trumpeters. Your lips look all right too; if you can use your tongue well I can make a good trumpeter of you.’

Jack had not the faintest notion of what the trumpet-major meant. The latter picked up a trumpet lying on a chair, and handing it to Jack said, ‘Now, put your lips together and try and sound that.’

Jack took the trumpet, drew a long breath, and blew with all his might, making no sound at all.

‘Squeeze your lips and make an action with your tongue as though you were trying to spit a bit of cotton-wool off it into the mouthpiece,’ said the trumpet-major.

Jack, with a smile, did as he was bidden, and at the third or fourth attempt succeeded in making a most unearthly sound.

‘Capital, capital!’ said the trumpet-major, rubbing his hands; ‘in three months we shall have you sounding on the square.’

‘I think he’ll do,’ said Barrymore gleefully.

‘First-class,’ agreed the trumpet-major.--‘What’s your full name?’

‘John Harrington Blair.’

‘Are you perfectly willing to serve the Queen for twelve years?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever been injured in such a way as to unfit you for service?’

‘No.’

‘Of course you’ve never served in the Royal Artillery, Engineers, Cavalry, or Infantry?’

‘No.’

‘And you do not belong to the Militia?’

‘No.’

‘Come along over to the Orderly Room,’ said the trumpet-major; ‘we shall find the regimental there.’

The three departed, and in the Orderly Room, beside the clerks, Jack saw the regimental sergeant-major, the man who, though not a commissioned officer, after the colonel and adjutant is the most important personage in a cavalry regiment. The regimental was one of the few men in the regiment who wore a decoration, besides which he was a fine, soldierly-looking fellow, with a pair of whiskers that were the envy of all the subalterns in the corps.

The trumpet-major promptly stated his business, and the regimental produced an attestation paper which one of the clerks filled up as Jack answered the questions. Then he was put under the standard.

‘Five feet six full; put him down five six and a quarter,’ called out the regimental, as he adjusted the standard above Jack’s head; ‘chest thirty-five,’ he went on, ‘complexion fair, hair brown, eyes hazel.’ Then to Jack, ‘Open your mouth,’ and concluded, ‘Teeth sound.’

‘You can get him before the doctor this morning, Joyce,’ said the regimental, ‘and then we’ll swear him in. You’ve got a fine lad there.’

‘Now, Jack,’ said Barrymore as they crossed the square, ‘you’ll soon be as much a soldier as I am. The trumpet-major will take charge of you for the present, and when you’ve been before the doctor come over to my quarters.’

Jack accompanied the trumpet-major to his room, and later on was taken before the doctor, where he was thoroughly examined and pronounced fit to serve her Majesty.

‘You’re now due to a day’s pay,’ said the trumpet-major. ‘By the way, how are you off for money--do you want any?’

‘No, I’ve got several shillings, thanks.’

‘Then stick to them. And just take a word of advice on the first day of your service. Be smart, scrupulously clean, and remember ours is a handsome uniform and wants keeping clean; be obedient--obedience is the first duty of a soldier; and don’t try and ape the manners of the men. Don’t forget you are still a boy; keep away from smoking; above all, keep away from drink, and don’t let the example of any of your comrades, especially of those who ought to know better, lead you into ways that are bound, sooner or later, to end badly for you.’

These words of the trumpet-major occurred to Jack’s mind on many a future day, and it was by acting up to them to the best of his ability that he owed much of his later success. He passed another night on the kindly sergeant’s sofa, then next morning was taken before the local magistrate to be sworn in. On his return to barracks Jack was handed over to the trumpet-major, who was just returning from practice.

‘Now, Blair,’ he said, ‘you’re a soldier. From this very minute your training begins. We’ll go over to the Orderly Room, see the regimental, and then you’d better make the acquaintance of your future comrades.’

In the Orderly Room a regimental number was given Jack, details of his pay, &c., explained, and then he was marched over to the regimental tailor’s, where he was measured for his uniform. These items being settled, he returned to the trumpet-major’s quarters, where he found the youth whom Sergeant Barrymore had called Will, now clad in the neat blue and white undress of the regiment, talking to the trumpet-major.

‘Ha, here you are,’ said Joyce. ‘Good.--Now, Hodson, I shall give him into your charge. There’s a spare bed in your room, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, major.’

‘Right; then Blair can have it. I’ll see Sergeant Linham later and get him entered in mess. Now take him over and make him known to the boys.’

Trumpeter Hodson, who had a merry, mischievous eye, looked at Jack as they went off; then said abruptly, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Blair.’

‘Dick?’

‘No, Jack.’

‘What made you join?’

Jack looked at his companion and laughed. ‘I might as well ask you that, might I not?’ he said.

‘You may, and the answer’s simple. My dad shoved me in. I had nothing to say in the matter.’

‘Do you like being a trumpeter?’

Will Hodson shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’d rather be a swell on five thousand pounds a year,’ he said; ‘but every one must do something. We’re soldiers. The governor put in twenty-five years, grandfather was killed at Waterloo, and I dare say some of my forebears were banging a drum or handling a pike at’---- and he paused for a word.

‘Blenheim or Ramillies?’ suggested Jack.

‘Ah, that’s it,’ said Will Hodson quite calmly; ‘the name slipped my memory for a moment. But, I say, you’re a cut above the usual ruck, you know; you won’t find it all honey here, I can tell you.’

‘Oh, I can rough it well enough,’ said Jack stoutly.

‘I hope you can. Well, here we are,’ and Hodson opened a door which stood at the head of a flight of stone steps they had just ascended.

‘Chums,’ he cried, ‘an illustrious arrival has come amongst us. Allow me to introduce to you John Blair, askewer, taterpeeler to his Highness the King of the Cannibal Islands.’

Jack paused on the threshold of the door and gazed with interest for the first time at a barrack-room.