Only a Drummer Boy. (A novel.)

Chapter I. His Father's Story

" Daddy ! Daddy ! Dobbins ! Dobbins ! Come and look ! Here are the soldiers ! Look ! look ! Quick ! Oh ! listen to the Band, isn't it splendid ? " As the youthful speaker gives vent to the above excited sentences, the Pioneers and Band of that distinguished corps, the — th, or . . . shire Regiment — otherwise named " The Strappers " — are turning the corner, and marching down the main street of the small west country town of Redburgh, on their way to camp. He, with his sick father who is lying on a sofa propped up with cushions, and their man-servant — himself formerly a soldier — are gazing out of the window beneath which the troops will have to pass. As the regiment reaches a B point about forty paces from them, at a signal from the magnificent drum-major, the Band ceases playing, and the Drums strike up, to Douglas's undisguised delight.

" Look ! look ! " he cries, pointing out the Drum-Major, " look at that man with the big stick! what is he twirling it round for? Oh! and Daddy, look at all the drummer boys ! I'm sure you can't see them there. There's one not much bigger than me. Oh ! I do so like him ; this one, I mean." Douglas clapped his hands with delight, and waved vigorously at a diminutive Drummer passing just below them, who seemed conscious of the sensation he was creating, and immediately put on an extra bit of swagger. " Oh ! they're going ! I do wish they wouldn't go. I shall go and be a drummer boy too. Daddy, mayn't I be a drummer boy ? " His father only smiled faintly by way of reply to his son's enthusiasm, while the latter rattled on, — " What a funny man this is on a horse ! Isn't he fat ? I'm sure he couldn't fight.

Who is he, Daddy ? " " That's the colonel," replied his father, feebly, " but I think he's done a good deal of fighting ; look at all his medals." As he spoke, the colonel, whose ears Douglas's unfortunate remark — made at the top of his voice — had reached, looked up anythingi but pleased, and his eyes fell upon the sick man, Major Ray mond, whom he immediately recognized. His face assumed a look of blank astonishment, and he started so violently, that he threw his horse right back on to its haunches, scattering momentary confusion into the ranks behind him. Then, without another look, he passed on. " Good heavens ! — Atcherly ! " exclaimed the invalid ; and with a spasmodic effort he threw himself against the window ledge to look after the colonel's retreating form, but the next mo ment fell back again, completely exhausted, and deeply agitated.

" What's the matter, Daddy ? " said Douglas, turning from the window, " and why did that fat man look up, and then do that with his horse ? It nearly hurt one of the soldiers ; I think he was a silly man." Then going up to his father, he said again, "What's the matter, Daddy? What did that silly man do ? I'm so sorry for you, dear Daddy." "Go on lookin' at the soldiers, Master Douglas," said the man-servant, Dobson — dubbed ' Dobbins ' by Douglas. " You don't B see them every day. I'm lookin' after the major, don't speak to 'im for a bit, there's a good boy." He, too, had recognized Colonel Atcherly, and knew that now — if ever — his master wanted his help and sympathy. As Douglas turned back again to the window and watched the rest of the regiment go by, the faithful fellow bent down and said, "Don't think no more on it, sir. It's all right ; them times is past and done with.

What's the good o' worryin' ? " Major Raymond raised his eyes to him grate fully, then leant back, covering his face with his wasted hands. As Dobson stood behind the sick man's couch, and looked from him to the fair young lad standing in the window, — who was gazing eagerly, with flashing eyes and parted lips, at the regiment now gradually fading from view, and beating time on the window sill to the more and more distant sound of the drum — tears rose unbidden to his eyes, and he was forced to turn away to the other end of the room, to conceal the depth of his emotion. At last the soldiers had all gone, and Douglas, see ing his father lying quite still, left the window quietly, and went up to Dobson, thirsting for information. Putting his hand in his, he began in a low tone, — " Dobbins, why do . . . ?

" but, as his sharp eyes discovered Dobbins' condition, he inter rupted himself, and ejaculated, — " Why, Dobbins, you're crying ! You told me the other day that soldiers never cried, and you used to be a soldier. What are you crying for ? Did you hurt yourself ? Oh ! Dobbins, I'm so sorry if you did." Then, after a moment's consideration, he added, stoutly, " I don't cry when I hurt myself, except sometimes when I climb a tree and tumble down, but I shouldn't never cry at all if / was a soldier. But I say, Dobbins, shall I see any more soldiers, do you think, and any more drummer boys ? I do so want to see some more drummer boys, just like the one I showed you, the one I liked so much ; you know which I mean." Another pause, then very seriously and in a coaxing whisper, " Dobbins, dear Dobbins, may / be a drummer boy?

Will Daddy let me be one ? " Dobbins shook his head, and Douglas continued, " Will you ask him for me ? Oh ! I should like it. Should I have to fight if I was a drummer boy, Dobbins ? " " Perhaps you would if you was with the Regiment, but they mostly leaves the boys at 'ome," was the reply. " But I wouldn't stay at home ; I'd go and fight like you and Daddy, and get wounded, too. I wouldn't run away, and I wouldn't cry," answered the would-be Drummer, looking dis dainfully at Dobbins, who was the devoted slave of this young hero. Hero ? Yes ! so would I have him reckoned. Six years old, a fair height for his age, strong and thick set, with the glow of health upon his open face, he was as good a specimen of an English boy as can well be imagined. His complexion was brown and sunburnt, his cheeks were tinged with red, sometimes brilliant or more faint, according to his mood.

His mouth was a merry one, yet firm and well-formed ; while his head was covered with curly dark-brown hair, scrupulously cropped in military fashion. His hair, indeed, was the particular charge of Dobson, who was a most accomplished haircutter, in which capacity he had always been employed when with his Regiment. Douglas Raymond's chief attraction, however, lay in his deep blue eyes, which were very large and expressive; now sparkling with pleasure and flashing with excitement, or lighting up with intelligence and fun ; now thoughtful and wondering, trustful and fearless. High-spirited, yet sensitive, he had already begun to realize that life is not all a bed of roses, and he felt keenly his father's unfortunate con dition ; while privately he speculated upon what the latter had meant when he had told him recently that he was going to leave him, and that he would shortly never see him again.

Did it mean that his " dear Daddy " was dying ? and if it did, would he be left all alone ? He could not quite grasp the meaning of this. Douglas's father, Major Raymond, had ruined his own life, and with it, as he thought bitterly, lying there hour after hour, on the sofa by the window, that of his little son. Some seven and a half years previous to the date of the commencement of this story, Major Raymond had been a distinguished officer in a well-known Regiment, and at that time was holding an important staff appoint ment at a well-known station in Bengal. He had seen a good deal of service, had been severely wounded in one of the small wars which so frequently arise on the frontiers of the northern provinces of India, (for his services in which he had been mentioned in despatches and given a brevet majority,) and was considered one of the most rising soldiers of the day.

At the same station were Colonel — then Major — Atcherly, and his wife, and as the former was also employed upon the staff, Raymond was thrown much into their society. Mrs. Atcherly, who had only been married two years, was young, pretty, accomplished and fascinating, the idol of the station, but inconceivably miserable. Her husband, a man of means and a clever officer, was a coarse, illmannered, unsympathetic brute, who had merely married her because he thought she would look well at the head of his table, and thereby be of assistance to him in his profession. He persistently neglected her, and as she had brought him no dowry, on occasions of a difference of opinion he would, among other insults, taunt her with this fact, and tell her that she owed everything to him, that if he chose to leave her, beyond supplying her with sufficient for her bare support, he could do so, penniless.

What could be the result of such a union ? That she tried to do her duty to him as his wife is certain ; but at length, goaded to desperation by her husband's conduct, she sought sympathy and protection elsewhere ; and Raymond gave it to her. He loved her, — worshipped her, and though hitherto no complaint had ever passed her lips ; though he had struggled manfully, had crushed down the stormy beatings of his heart, had be trayed himself by neither word nor look, — at last he asked her of her sorrow, and in a passion of tumultuous weeping she poured out all her grief upon his breast. He, overwhelmed by the intensity of her supreme misery, forgot all, flung to the winds all — resolutions, fortune, prospects, honour, and declared his love. All India rang with the subsequent scandal. Possibly some of those whose eyes may skim these lines may recall the whole story, which, however, it is not my purpose to relate ; nor shall I attempt to excuse the conduct of the chief actors in the drama.

Yet I ask for pity on them, since their love, nurtured in shame and reckless of consequences, at any rate was true, and grew into a very child of sorrow. Raymond was obliged to retire from the service. He returned to England, practically ruined. The greater part of the gratuity that he received from Government on leaving the army was swallowed up in the costly legal proceedings instituted by Colonel Atcherly ; but he and Eveline, whom he married as soon as possible, managed to struggle along for the next year or so on the balance. All other sources of supply were stopped. His father, who had died young, and who had also been in the army, where he had squandered all his fortune, had left him without a penny, and his uncle. Sir Thomas Raymond, who lived at the old family seat in Hertfordshire, and who had hitherto provided him with a fairly handsome allowance, immediately gave him notice that he could continue it no longer.

Major Ray mond had formerly been a great favourite with the Baronet, who had educated him as well as his younger brother James ; but the scandal was a blow to the family pride which his uncle, who determined never to see his nephew again, could not forgive, while he impressed upon his sixteen-year-old son that in suture all inter course between the families must cease. His brother James, too, already a well-known barrister, held up his fat hands in holy horror at the affair, and gave Major Raymond to understand that nothing was to be expected from him. Thus Raymond was left without friends, and thrown entirely upon his own re sources ; but being a man of determination he did not despair. One friend and comforter, however, he had in addition to his wife, whose tender love for him increased daily ; and that was his servant, Dobson, who has already come before our notice.

This man's life Raymond had, at the immi nent risk of his own, saved during a severe skirmish with the enemy. In the performance of this act of heroism he had received his dangerous wound, and thus, naturally, the two became bound to one another by a somewhat strong tie. Previous, however, to this occurrence, Dobson had already been Raymond's servant in the Regiment for some years. Con sequently, when the latter received his staff appointment, knowing the soldier's worth, he had bought him out of the Army in order to retain his services. When Major Raymond's troubles began, Dobson remained faithful to him, came home with him, and absolutely refused to leave him. " I don't care whether you pays me or not, sir," he said, " I shan't never leave you, unless you sends me away for misbehaviour, which ain't so likely."

And so he stayed, true friend that he was, and many an extra expense did he save the Raymonds during their married life. He could turn his hand to most things ; and in later years, still standing by his master in all his troubles, by his careful nursing and devotion he undoubtedly prolonged his life. About a year after they had been married Douglas was born, and then came Major Raymond's most terrible grief, from which he never recovered, and the blow of which shattered his future health. In spite of every care and advice, he lost the wife for whom he hnd sacrificed every thing, and whose love, comfort, and companion ship alone had enabled him to bear the consequences of such sacrifice. She died, the boy lived, but the shock crushed Raymond beneath it, the old wound broke out afresh under the strain of his sorrow, and he himself all but succumbed in consequence.

His splendid constitution, however, aided by Dobson's care, pulled him through for a time, and to a certain extent he regained his strength, but only sufficiently to enable him to exist as an invalid. His medical advisers, however, warned him, and he soon realized the fact, that at most he could hope to live a few years, by dint of the greatest care and avoidance of all fatigue and exertion ; and at the time this story opens his end was rapidly approaching. He had, indeed, lived longer than could have been expected. He had clung to life for the sake of his boy ; but for the last year his strength had been gradually failing, and this beautiful May afternoon he lay at the win dow of his humble lodgings, where he loved to watch the fitful changes of sunlight and shadow upon the woods and hills, — helpless, dying.

Since his poor young wife's loss, absolute need of the necessaries of life had forced Ray mond to apply to his brother for pecuniary assistance, in spite of the latter's previous intimation that nothing was to be expected from him. It was a bitter pill to have to swallow, but obliged as he was, in consequence of his state of health, to refuse an appointment that had been offered to him, and with no prospect of regaining sufficient strength to enable him to suggest himself as a candidate for anything else, there was no other means but seeking his brother's charity to save him and his boy from starvation. James Raymond at length softened his heart sufficiently in response to allow his unfortunate brother a very small allowance, although he would not consent to come and see him or to recognize Douglas as his nephew.

By means of this allowance, however, and the proceeds of his pen, which he employed in very ably de scribing — among other things — his military re miniscences, Major Raymond had managed for the past six years to eke out a precarious exis tence. This period he had spent in wandering from place to place in search of economy and a climate suitable to his health. Finally he had for the last few months taken up his abode in some very cheap lodgings at Redburgh, from which place it soon became evident he would never move. He was, indeed, now absolutely at the end of his tether, both bodily and pecuniarily, and as he looked into the future he could not imagine what would happen to his young son. He had only a few pounds left, which he reckoned would about pay his lodging and funeral expenses, but beyond that he had nothing, since of late he had been far too weak to put pen to paper, and all his allowance was spent.

He therefore decided to once more make an appeal to his brother on behalf of Douglas ; though, as the former had refused to recognize his boy, he dared not count on success. He remembered also, as he lay there in his sick room, that should anything happen to his cousin, Sir Thomas Raymond's son (though such a contingency was most unlikely as that young fellow was very strong and healthy) Douglas would be the direct heir to the Baronetcy; and, as such, might be an object of dislike and jealousy to his brother, who, might perhaps try to disprove his title in favour of himself. Such an eventuality as this latter he determined to guard against effectually. Accord ingly, making a last bid for his son's welfare, he had written a letter to be sent after his death, throwing Douglas upon his brother's protection, but also enclosing duplicate copies — witnessed by Dobson — which he had made of the certificates of his marriage and of Douglas's birth.

The other copies he decided to give to Dobson, who he knew would always watch Douglas's interests, and make use of them if required. These were the best precautions he had been able to take, and in his letter he told his brother that he was convinced from the boy's nature, that if he treated him with affection and kindness and gave him a fair education, he would turn out no disgrace to him or the family. Should James Raymond refuse to have any thing to do with Douglas, there was only Dobson to fall back upon — Dobson who would himself have to obtain work and employment. It would be hard, indeed, to saddle him with such a trust, though Major Raymond did not doubt but that his servant's devotion would enable him to carry it through by some means or another, and that he would keep the boy from starving.

But what would become of his education, what of his training as a gentle man ? Such thoughts as these were dread ful to contemplate, and many a time as he lay there by the window and trembled for Douglas's future, did he groan inwardly at his miserable fortunes, and curse the folly of former years. And yet — when he drew aside the veil of memory, when once more he saw that sweet and tearful face, once more heard that broken voice pouring out its woe upon his breast, once more was fanned with the breath of his own overwhelming love, did he regret, repent ? What else could he have done ? What else ?

Chapter II. At

"RETREAT." On the day of the arrival of Colonel Atcherly's regiment at Redburgh, the sick man was weaker than he had ever been before, and the sudden re cognition of one whose acquaintanceship had had such a fateful influence upon his life had upset him. It seemed as if Atcherly had arrived at the last moment of existence to point the finger of scorn and as a terrible rebuke ; but the old contempt for that individual was still strong within Major Raymond, and he could not bring himself to seek even a death-bed reconciliation. As may be supposed, however, the excitement caused by the incident had the worst possible effect, and the faithful Dobson soon realized that his master's condition was becoming critical in the extreme. As it did not improve, early in the afternoon he sent for the doctor, and, realizing the necessity of absolute quiet and rest, sugc gested to Douglas that he should seek the com panionship of Tom — their landlady's son — and go with him to see the large military camp which was being formed within a mile of Redburgh.

This proposal was very tempting to Douglas, but the boy adored his sick father, and his sharp eyes having already discovered the change in the latter's condition, he was reluctant to leave him, although he was simply bursting with eagerness to see more of the soldiers ; moreover, he had a strong suspicion that Dobson only wanted to get him out of the way, at which his youthful feelings were hurt. " Why do you want me to leave my Daddy ? " he said. " I want to stay with him and nurse him, and I'll be such a quiet boy. Why do you want me to go, Dobbins ?" " Because you'd like to go an' see a bit more o' the soldiers." " I like the soldiers very much, but I don't want to go and see them if my Daddy's ill. You don't want me to go, dear Daddy, do you ? " and he bent over and kissed his father. The latter opened his eyes wearily and smiled.

"I think you'd better go," he said, almost in a whisper. But Douglas still hesitated. "You'd see a wonderful lot o' interestin' AT " RETREAT." 19 things up in the camp, Master Douglas, pitchin' tents, an' 'orses an' guns, an' all sorts o' things ; " and then a happy thought struck Dobson, " an' p'rhaps that there Band, an' them Drums as you was so a-lookin' after." This was an overpowering inducement. "Oh! Dobbins," cried Douglas, "do you really think I should see the drummer-boys ? P'raps I'd see that nice one — you know — that small one, that I liked so. D'you think I would, Dobbins ? " " It's as likely as not," replied Dobbins. His blue eyes filled with eager expectancy, and he put yet another question in a thrilling whisper. " Do you think he'd let me beat his drum, Dobbins ? " he asked.

" Why, yes ! in coorse," promptly replied Dobson, with tact, though from his experience he thought there was but little chance of Douglas's desire being granted. " Then I'll go," replied the boy, with an air of decision. Then he went up to his father. " Daddy, Daddy dear," he said, " I'm going with Tom to see the soldiers, and p'raps I'll beat a drum. You'll try and be better before I come back, won't you, Daddy ? " He kissed him affectionately and went half across the room, C then he turned back impulsively and knelt by his father's side, and took his thin hand within his own. " Oh ! Daddy," he said. " I do wish you wasn't ill, and could come with me to see the soldiers. Why are you so ill, Daddy ? But do you know — I forgot to tell you before — I dreamt last night you was better — oh, so much better — quite — quite well again ?

But you was a long way away somewhere, and I was all by myself — and I wasn't happy, and I was crying, Daddy. And then I looked up and saw you, and you said, 'Don't cry any more, Douglas, and that I should be happy some day — like you was — and then — I woke up. And oh ! Daddy, you was so beautiful ; but you was a very, very long way off, and it all seemed lovely ; I don't know where you was, Dads, but I think you was in heaven. I'm so glad I remembered to tell you all about it, 'cause p'raps now you will be well again, and happy, some day, and me too. Now I must go and see the soldiers. Good-bye, dear Daddy, good-bye ! " As he left the room the sick man gave a sob, and tears, bitter, scalding tears, coursed rapidly down his sunken cheeks. A few minutes afterwards, Douglas, boy that he was, had forgotten all about his father's illness ; and was on his way to the camp, accompanied by Tom, aged fifteen, a heavy youth, but almost as delighted as Douglas at the arrival of the soldiers.

The small country town of Redburgh was in a condition of indescribable excitement. This was the first occasion of a military visit to that part of the world, and the majority ofthe inhabitants had scarcely seen any soldiers before. The main street was thronged with civilians, all more or less in a state of enthusiasm ; while Orderlies, mounted and dismounted, Artillery, Army Ser vice Corps waggons, to say nothing of whole Regiments, had suddenly stirred the sleepy old place into life, the brightness and variety of the uniforms lighting up and harmonizing wonder fully with the quaint old buildings for which the place was justly famous. Naturally, numbers of the country folks had been attracted from the surrounding villages, and it was amusing to see some hulking West-countryman staring with open-mouthed wonder and admiration at, per haps, an equally tall and broad-shouldered soldier, as he swaggered down the street, resplendent in uniform and clanking his spurs, pleased with himself and with the admiration of his beholders, exhibiting in every movement, and in the expression of his handsome face, that consciousness of readiness, command, and power> which so particularly distinguishes the smart British cavalry soldier.

It would not, probably enter into the thoughts of the yokel, that possibly but two or three years before, that very military Apollo — at whom he is now gazing with undisguised wonder, almost awe — was, like himself, all arms and legs, ignorant of his bodily strength and beauty, as loutish, as awkward, and — as unintelligent. . But such might well be the case, for, given good material, a few months' drill and instruction and wholesome military discipline will work wonders. The object of this large influx of the military element into the town of Redburgh was some proposed extensive manœuvres in the neighbourhood, for which the surrounding open country was well adapted. Douglas — a soldier's son, brought up under the tuition of a soldier servant, considered himself quite an authority on military matters, though he had actually seen but few soldiers before in the course of his young life.

He and Tom had now the pleasure of " inspecting " the gallant 27th Regiment — the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers — which, quickly followed by a battalion of one of the Rifle Regi ments, passed them on their way to camp. The Inniskillings, as is usual with this distinguished corps, consisted of a particularly fine body of men, chiefly from the North of Ireland, and Douglas was especially delighted with their busbies. The Rifles, who were a much smaller, though active, workmanlike lot, did not please him at all, because of their dark uniforms, which naturally had got all dusty on the march. "They do look ugly," he said to Tom. " They're just like black flies. I like a red-coat — I'm going to wear a red-coat. On arrival at the camping-ground he and Tom spent a long time wandering from one regimental camp to another, approaching as near to the lines as they dared, and evincing the liveliest interest in everything, the guns, the cavalry picket lines, the pitching of the tents, and occasionally addressing a question or two to some of the soldiers as they passed by.

Douglas, however, became distressed in mind because he could nowhere see a drummer boy — an article of all others that he was most anxious to discover ; but at last, — after having mystified and amused several men of different Regiments by asking, " Where he could find a drummer boy — a drummer boy with a red coat?" — a question they were unable to answer without knowledge of the youth's name and regiment — he arrived at a camp which they had not as yet honoured with a visit. Here he suddenly noticed a small boy come out beyond the line of tents, and begin to walk up and down with an exaggerated swagger, very funny for an uninitiated observer to see. The boy was carrying a bugle in his hand, and Douglas immediately recognized him as the drummer who had excited his particular admira tion when marching in with Colonel Atcherly's Regiment — " The Strappers."

In a minute or two the boy sounded a call, and was just retiring again within the tents, when Douglas, regardless of the warnings of his companion, who — un acquainted with the mildness of the ordinary British soldier — was not at all sure that he would not there and then be stuck with a bayonet or something equally horrible, rushed straight into the lines after him, and said, " Please, sir, aren't you a drummer boy ?" " What's that to you ? " was the youthful warrior's civil reply. Douglas, unaccustomed to such rough answers, looked up in surprise ; then returned somewhat nervously to the charge. " I'm very sorry, and didn't know you'd mind. I thought you was a drummer boy because I saw you marching in to-day, and you — oh ! you did look so splendid." This remark gratified the soldier youngster's vanity, and accordingly softened his heart ; for, in spite of his manner, he was a jolly, open faced, kindly lad.