Chapter XLI: Horse and Foot

The dullest pages in history are those which record the long, slow years of peace and progress, when everything goes well and nothing lively happens.

Jack's term of service at Chatham had been such. His record was one of simple hard work, considerable acquirement, and a methodic, level life.

His work appealed to him, and he gave himself up heart and soul, and might have given his health as well if the authorities had not seen to it. Brains in an officer were very acceptable, and the concentrated application of them still more so--to say nothing of the comparative rarity of the combination. But brains without body would obviously be of small service to the country, and so Jack was kept fairly fit in spite of himself. He won the golden opinions of his instructors and examiners, and was looked upon as a reliable officer and a coming man.

"Give us a good tough bit of siege work," he had said, with hot enthusiasm, as they tramped the frozen sands at Carne that last time, "and we'll show them what we are made of."

"A good open country and plenty of room for cavalry to man[oe]uvre, that's what _we_ want," said Jim, with relish, "and we'll show the world what British squadrons can do."

"Tough sieges somehow seem a bit out of date," said Mr. Eager. "I should say Jim's horses are more likely to be in it."

"I'd sooner have the siege," said Gracie; and they all clamoured to know why, and Jim felt humpy.

"Oh, just because you're all farther away from one another and not so likely to get hurt," said she. "When you fight on horses you're bound to get close to one another."

"That's what we want," growled Jim. "The closer the better."

"And then the poor horses!" said. Gracie, with a shiver. "To say nothing of the poor men!" growled Jim once more.

"It's all horrid and hateful and wicked. I don't mean you two," she added hastily, "but the people who bring it about. If they all had to fight themselves, instead of sending other people to do it for them, they wouldn't be so ready to begin."

"They'd make a pretty poor show, some of them," laughed Jack. "Think of little Johnny Russell facing up to the Tsar."

"David and Goliath," suggested the Rev. Charles.

"Goliath got the stone in his eye--well, in his head, it's all the same--and so he will this time," said Jim.

"Artillery!" said Jack triumphantly.

"David cut off his head," said Gracie.

"Infantry assault after we--I mean the artillery--had made the breach."

Involved military operations, and especially the complicated strategy of the siege, had fascinated Jack from the time he could read. He absorbed the elements of his profession with keenest delight; and driest details, which to some of his fellows were but dull drudgery, were to him like the necessary part of a puzzle of which he held the clue, and their essentiality was clear to him.

What would be the course of the coming war none could tell, for the simple reason that no one seemed to know exactly where they were going or what they were going to do. All arms were to be represented, however, and each separate branch hoped ardently that the tide would run its way.

Jack and Jim, at parting, had undertaken to correspond regularly. They had also mutually pledged themselves to write not more than one letter a week to Gracie.

If Jim's scrawl had hitherto been the more interesting to their recipients, it was certainly not by reason of their penmanship, or their spelling, or their literary qualities, but simply that, living in London and somewhat in the whirl of things, and with more time and mind for outside matters than Jack had, he had always something to tell about, and that, after all, is what people want.

Very sympathetic--and certainly very charming--little smiles used to lurk in the corners of Gracie's flexible little mouth as she read Jim's epistles. And she would murmur, "The dear boy!" as she thought of the time and labour he had given to their production. For to Jim the sword was very much mightier than the pen and infinitely more to his liking.

He told Gracie, in his letters, most of what befell him in London, much about Lord Deseret, and much about Mme Beteta, but concerning Kattie and old Seth Rimmer, after much ponderous consideration, he had thought it best to keep silence.

Jack had waxed mightily indignant over old Seth's half-blown suspicions, and on the whole it was perhaps just as well that the old man fell into Jim's hands.

Of the final episode Jim told none of them. In the first place, he felt bound to keep Kattie's secret. In the second, he went straight home to his bed that night as tired as a dog, and was _en route_ for the East soon after six o'clock next morning. And in the third place, as to telling Jack, Jack was on the high seas nearing Gallipoli, and they did not see one another again for months to come.