Draw Swords! Part 1

Draw Swords!

by George Manville Fenn.

CHAPTER ONE.

A FEATHER IN HIS CAP.

"Oh, I say, what a jolly shame!"

"Get out; it's all gammon. Likely."

"I believe it's true. d.i.c.k Darrell's a regular pet of Sir George Hemsworth."

"Yes; the old story--kissing goes by favour."

"I shall cut the service. It's rank favouritism."

"I shall write home and tell my father to get the thing shown up in the House of Commons."

"Why, he's only been out here a year."

Richard Darrell, a well-grown boy of seventeen, pretty well tanned by the sun of India, stood flashed with annoyance, looking sharply from one speaker to another as he stood in the broad veranda of the officers'

quarters in the Roumwallah Cantonments in the northern portion of the Bengal Presidency, the headquarters of the artillery belonging to the Honourable the East India Company, commonly personified as "John Company of Leadenhall Street." It was over sixty years ago, in the days when, after a careful training at the Company's college near Croydon, young men, or, to be more correct, boys who had made their marks, received their commission, and were sent out to join the batteries of artillery, by whose means more than anything else the Company had by slow degrees conquered and held the greater part of the vast country now fully added to the empire and ruled over by the Queen.

It was a common affair then for a lad who had been a schoolboy of sixteen, going on with his studies one day, to find himself the next, as it were, a commissioned officer, ready to start for the East, to take his position in a regiment and lead stalwart men, either in the artillery or one of the native regiments; though, of course, a great deal of the college training had been of a military stamp.

This was Richard Darrell's position one fine autumn morning a year previous to the opening of this narrative. He had bidden farewell to father, mother, and Old England, promised to do his duty like a man, and sailed for Calcutta, joined his battery, served steadily in it for a year, and now stood in his quiet artillery undress uniform in that veranda, looking like a strange dog being bayed at by an angry pack.

The pack consisted of young officers of his own age and under. There was not a bit of whisker to be seen; and as to moustache, not a lad could show half as much as d.i.c.k, while his wouldn't have made a respectable eyebrow for a little girl of four.

d.i.c.k was flushed with pleasurable excitement, doubly flushed with anger; but he kept his temper down, and let his companions bully and hector and fume till they were tired.

Then he gave an important-looking blue letter he held a bit of a wave, and said, "It's no use to be jealous."

"Pooh! Who's jealous--and of you?" said the smallest boy present, one who had very high heels to his boots. "That's too good."

"For, as to being a favourite with the general, he has never taken the slightest notice of me since I joined."

"There, that'll do," said one of the party; "a man can't help feeling disappointment. Every one is sure to feel so except the one who gets the stroke of luck. I say, 'Hurrah for d.i.c.k Darrell!'"

The others joined in congratulations now.

"I say, old chap, though," said one, "what a swell you'll be!"

"Yes; won't he? We shall run against him capering about on his spirited Arab, while we poor fellows are trudging along in the hot sand behind the heavy guns."

"Don't cut us, d.i.c.k, old chap," said another.

"He won't; he's not that sort," cried yet another. "I say, we must give him a good send-off."

"When are you going?"

"The despatch says as soon as possible."

"But what troop are you to join?"

"The Sixth."

"The Sixth! I know; at Vallumbagh. Why, that's the crack battery, where the fellows polish the guns and never go any slower than a racing gallop. I say, you are in luck. Well, I am glad!"

The next minute every one present was ready to declare the same thing, and for the rest of that day the young officer to whom the good stroke of fortune had come hardly knew whether he stood upon his head or heels.

The next morning he was summoned to the general's quarters, the quiet, grave-looking officer telling him that, as an encouragement for his steady application to master his profession, he had been selected to fill a vacancy; that the general hoped his progress in the horse brigade would be as marked as it had been hitherto; and advising him to see at once about his fresh uniform and accoutrements, which could follow him afterwards, for he was to be prepared to accompany the general on his march to Vallumbagh, which would be commenced the very next day.

d.i.c.k was not profuse in thanks or promises, but listened quietly, and, when expected to speak, he merely said that he would do his best.

"That is all that is expected of you, Mr Darrell," said the general, giving him a friendly nod. "Then, as you have many preparations to make, and I have also, I will not detain you."

d.i.c.k saluted, and was leaving, when a sharp "Stop!" arrested him.

"You will want a horse. I have been thinking about it, and you had better wait till you get to Vallumbagh, where, no doubt, the officers of the troop will help you to make a choice. They will do this, for they have had plenty of experience, and are careful to keep up the prestige of the troop for perfection of drill and speed."

"No one would think he had been an old school-fellow of my father," said d.i.c.k to himself as he went out; "he takes no more notice of me than of any other fellow."

But the general was not a demonstrative man.

The preparations were soon made, the most important to Richard Darrell being his visit to the tailor who supplied most of the officers with their uniforms. The little amount of packing was soon done, and, after the farewell dinner had been given to those leaving the town, the time came when the young subaltern took his place in the general's train, to follow the detachment of foot artillery which had marched with their guns and baggage-train for Vallumbagh, where the general was taking charge, and preparations in the way of collecting troops were supposed to be going on.

Travelling was slow and deliberate in those days before railways, and the conveniences and comforts, such as they were, had to be carried by the travellers themselves; but in this case the young officer found his journey novel and pleasant. For it was the cool season; the dust was not quite so horrible as it might have been, and the tent arrangements were carried out so that a little camp was formed every evening; and this was made the more pleasant for the general's staff by the fact that there were plenty of native servants, and one of the most important of these was the general's cook.

But still the journey grew monotonous, over far-stretching plains, across sluggish rivers; and it was with a feeling of thankfulness, after many days' journey, always north and west, that Richard Darrell learned that they would reach their destination the next morning before the heat of the day set in.

That morning about ten o'clock they were met a few miles short of the town, which they could see through a haze of dust, with its temples and minarets, by a party of officers who had ridden out to welcome the general, and who announced that the detachment of artillery had marched in during the night with the heavy guns, elephants, and bullock-wagons.

In the evening, after meeting the officers of his troop at the mess-table and not being very favourably impressed, Richard Darrell took possession of his quarters in the barracks overlooking the broad parade-ground, and, utterly tired out, lay down to sleep once more under a roof, feeling dreary, despondent, and utterly miserable.

"India's a wretched, desolate place," he thought as he lay listening to the hum of insects, and the night felt breathless and hot. He wished himself back among his old companions at Roumwallah, for everything now was depressing and strange.

A couple of hours later he was wis.h.i.+ng himself back at the old military college in England, and when midnight arrived without a wink of sleep he began to think of his old country home, and how different a soldier's life was, with its dreary routine, to the brilliant pictures he had conjured up as a boy; for everything so far in his twelvemonth's career had been horribly uneventful and tame.

At last, when he had arrived at the most despondent state possible to a lad of his years--when his skin felt hot and feverish, and his pillow and the one sheet which covered him seemed to be composed of some irritating material which grew hotter and hotter--a pleasant moisture broke out all over him, bringing with it a sudden sense of confusion from which he slipped into nothingness and slept restfully till the morning bugle rang out, when he started from his bed wondering where he was.

Then it all came back, and he was bathing and dressing long before he needed to leave his couch, but the desire for sleep was gone. He had to nerve himself to master as manfully as he could the horribly depressing feeling of strangeness; for the officers he had for companions in the journey were with their own company, quite away from his quarters, and his new companions were men who would look down upon him for being such a boy; and at last he found himself wis.h.i.+ng that he had been able to keep as he was, for the honour and glory of belonging to the das.h.i.+ng troop of horse artillery seemed to be nothing better than an empty dream.

The next three days were days of desolation to the lad, for he was left, as he expressed it, horribly alone. There was a good deal of business going on in the settling of the new-comers in the barracks, and his new brother-officers were away with the troop. He knew n.o.body; n.o.body seemed to know him, or to want to know him. There was the native town to see, but it did not attract him; and there were moments when he longed to go to the general, his father's friend, and beg that he might be sent back to his old company. But then there were moments when he came to his senses again and felt that this was folly; but he could not get rid of a strange longing to be back home once more.

Then he grew better all at once; the troop of horse artillery filed into the barrack-yard, and he hurried out to look at the men, horses, and guns, whose aspect chilled him, for they were in undress and covered with perspiration and dust. There was nothing attractive or glorious about them, and he went back to his quarters with his heart sinking once more.