The Young Dragoon: Every Day Life of a Soldier. Drayson Alfred Wilks
the law hunted him up, and induced him to give up his intention of enlisting, and made all things pleasant with the Queen’s Bays by leaving them a golden medal of their mistress.
It was my turn now. I walked in.
“Well, my hearty,” said one of the soldiers, “come up to the roast,” as he made way for me to be seated near him. The corporal cast his eye from my head to my feet as I neared the light.
“Not big enough, nor never will be,” he said, folding his arms.
The standard of dragoon guards at that period (more than twenty years ago) was not less than six feet for full grown, or five feet ten inches for growing lads whose appearance indicated that they would attain the desired height ere they had left off growing. I was under five feet seven, and was at once pronounced as “never likely to be a six-foot man,” and therefore not eligible for their regiment; however, the corporal said I could sleep in barracks that night, if I thought proper, and he would introduce me to the recruiting sergeant of another regiment – then in the town – on the following day. To this I consented; and the guard orderly escorted me to one of the barrack-rooms, in which there were eight beds ranged side by side.
The bedsteads were of iron, and the beds stuffed with straw. To one of these I was shown as belonging to one of the men on guard and therefore vacant. There was an air of snug comfort in the room that contrasted favourably with the cold blustering wind outside. A good fire was burning in a large grate, the white belts, black sabretaches, and burnished scabbards hung around the room and glittered in the fire light. The carbines were neatly arranged in the “rack” with a bone “snapper” in each hammer – placed there in lieu of the flint – for the new percussion-caps were not in use at that period. The uniforms – scarlet coats with swallow-tails, and brass shoulder-scales – were neatly wrapped up and piled with the kit and spare clothing upon a shelf over each man’s bed. The men were apparently as happy as a family – some were smoking and chatting, one was reading a newspaper, another writing a letter, and one, a “mounted orderly” just come in from a long ride, was busy cooking two herrings for his supper.
“Come to the fire,” said one of the men.
I walked up and took my seat on one of the wood forms near the grate.
“I feel very dry,” said the one who had now commenced to eat the herrings.
“Divil doubt you, an’ so you ought to feel dhry, you murtherin cannibal, for there you sit ating two as fine fellows of your own spacies as ever tuk a bath in the salt say,” said an old looking soldier.
“Jerry,” said the “orderly,” “have you any money?”
“Niver a farden,” said Jerry – the man who had jokingly called him a “cannibal.”
“I’ve got some,” said I, displaying one shilling and fivepence – all I had left.
“Bravo, youngster,” said the orderly, “will you pay for a quart of ale?”
“Yes, for two quarts if you like,” said I.
“Might as well have a gallon while we are about it, that’ll jist be a pint apiece,” said a big lump of a fellow rising from one of the beds, where he had been lying and smoking a dirty short pipe without speaking a word until now.
“Mind your own business, you moon-snuffing omedhaun, and let the lad do as he plases,” said the Irishman.
“I’ve only this one shilling and fivepence in copper, or I would pay for two or three gallons of beer,” said I.
“Do you live in Sheffield?” inquired the orderly.
“I came here from W – , to enlist, but they say I’m not tall enough,” said I.
“And what are you going to do next?”
“’List in another regiment,” said I.
“S’pose you don’t pass the doctor, what shall you do then?”
I had never thought of that, and therefore could only say I didn’t know.
I now began to see the extent of my folly in leaving home in such a pitiable plight, without money or friends. If I did not enlist and pass the doctor, only fivepence would stand between me and absolute starvation. The orderly no doubt perceived my embarrassment.
“I’ll not hev any ale to-night. Hand me that pitcher of water there beside you,” said he.
“Faix an’ you must be a foolish young gossoon to lave home widout money. You’ll be in a purty fix if you don’t pass the doctor widout aither money or frinds, an’ thirty miles from home.”
My spirits were lowering fast. But, after all, I could walk home again; my seventeen pence would be enough to prevent me from starving by the way. Therefore, though I was not a little vexed and humiliated that the soldiers would not accept my treat, I was glad when I considered that the expenditure of my money would have reduced me to beggary, and I soon after retired to my bed of “long feathers” as the Irishman designated it. So long as the soldiers were up and moving about the room I never thought of home, but after the last trumpet had sounded, a little after nine o’clock, and the men were all in their beds, I began to think of my mother, brothers, and sisters, one of the latter being particularly attached to me, and I wished in my heart that I had returned to W – with Harry and Ned. Being very tired, however, I soon fell asleep, and did not awake until the morning.
Chapter Four
“Who’ll serve the King?” said the Sergeant, aloud,
Loud roll’d the drum, and the fife played sweetly.
“Here, Mr Sergeant,” says I from the crowd,
“Is a lad that will serve your turn completely!”
I was aroused by the sound of the réveillé at six o’clock on the following morning. The soldiers all arose, rolled up their beds, or rather straw palliasses, turning up the bedsteads – made with a hinge in the middle – placed the roll of bedding upon it, folded the sheets, blankets, and coverlid neatly one by one, and arranged them on the beds in such a manner that the room presented the appearance of a draper’s shop in less than five minutes. They then went to stables, leaving me in bed. I soon got up and dressed myself, making a sorry attempt to put my bedding in the same state as the rest, and sauntered through the long passage down a flight of stone steps into the barrack-yard, until it was getting daylight. By this time I had made up my mind to return home at all risks, and in pursuance of this resolve, I started for the front gate, but having to pass the guard-room, I again came in contact with the corporal who had so kindly volunteered to find me a night’s lodging. He beckoned me towards him, and said that he had just sent for his friend the recruiting sergeant, of whom he had spoken the previous night, and that he expected him up every minute.
Wishing to avoid him, I said that I would go out and get breakfast, and might come back in the course of an hour. But the corporal probably suspected I might not return, and managed to keep me in conversation until the arrival of his friend the recruiting sergeant of a regiment of hussars.
Sergeant Brailsford, for that was his name, was a man eminently calculated for the duty to which he had been appointed. His splendid uniform, evidently got up for the purpose of dazzling the eyes of the unwary, was decidedly the handsomest suit of clothes I had ever seen.
He asked me to breakfast with him at an adjacent public-house: we had ham, eggs, and coffee, after which he invited me to have a walk with him. I felt quite proud of being seen in his company, as I trudged along the street in my blue smock-frock, round white hat, strong hob-nailed boots, and thought little of how my countrified gait contrasted with his fine soldierly bearing. The sergeant was in the full dress of his regiment, termed “review order” when mounted; but I afterwards found that, for the sake of effect, he wore the uniform of a commissioned officer, with the single exception of the “bars” or stripes on his arm, to indicate his rank. A bell-topped shako, the front of which was emblazoned with gold mountings, surmounted by a huge plume of cocks’ feathers; a dark blue dress jacket literally covered