In the van, or, "The builders"

Front matter

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In The Fan

“The wolf’s teeth clutched the young man’s leg

Chapter I

Ye Builders, true on land and lake To name and Nation’s glory,

Though time has left you in its wake,

Your stress must tell its story.

HAROLD MANNING: wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony ? Wilt thou love her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her as long as ye both shall live?” rang out in clear, solemn tones throughout the little chapel of the Abbey on that still Novem¬ ber morning.

“I will,” came the answer. The few who were present heard the words with a thrill. They knew in his case how much they meant.

“Helen Brandon: Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance, in the holy estate of matri¬ mony ? Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will,” was again the response, issuing sweetly but firmly from lips that would not

l tremble, although the tone brought tears to more than one pair of eyes fixed upon her as she spoke.

The ceremony and congratulations were soon over. Then the bride, on the arm of her husband, led the way down the aisle, while the tones of the Wedding March filled Grand Old Westminster to its furthest limits.

November days in London have not chang¬ ed much in a century of years, although perhaps the opacity of the air was more pene¬ trating in 1813 than it is to-day; for when the bridal party passed through the Abbey archway to the street, the mist of the early morning had developed into a dense fog, rapidly closing over the city. Hence, the coachmen had to pilot the way to almost invisible carriages, and then lead their horses in a tramp of several miles over the return journey, through almost deserted streets.

“My darling, mine at last,” whispered the young man as he clasped his bride in his arms under cover of the closed carriage and dense atmosphere.

“Yes, Harold, yours forever,” was the response; and with their first long kiss they sealed their marriage vows.

“Too bad to need such a wedding-day as this!” he exclaimed, looking fondly into her eyes, and then through the carriage window into the opaque street.

“And yet how fortunate that it is so,” she answered with a little ripple of laughter.

“My sweet philosopher! Once in the Ab¬ bey, I never thought of it again.”

“But I did. I looked all round and there was not a single visitor, only our own party, the clergyman, the organist, and the little, old-fashioned clerk.”

“’Pon my word, Helen, I don’t believe I saw anyone but you, from the moment we went in until we came out again.”

“You dear old boy! I suppose it was love that kept my eyes open to other things. Do you know I was actually glad to see the mist to-day, much as I dislike it.”

“Yes, and after all it has been our friend. Everything seems to have favored us. Even the fog helped to keep our secret.”

“Where did you say you had the Banns published, Harold?” she asked, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“At a little village ten miles out of London, a place I never heard of before.”

“All the better for us. But now that we are actually married you won’t need to keep the secret much longer, will you, dearest?” she asked, casting a glance from her big brown eyes up to his face.

“Not a moment longer than I can help, darling. You know Sir George Head is my new commanding officer; and I want him to hear the news first from me.”

“And what will he say?”

“As I told you before, Helen, he won’t like it. There may be no written law, but

**

there’s an unwritten one in the army, that no officer can marry without his superior officer’s consent, particularly if he has been off duty as long as I have. Still, that terrible wound I got at Badajos is in my favor; and he can’t turn me off, whatever else he does.”

“But he might make it very uncomfort¬ able for you, Harold.”

“Yes, and he can refuse to sanction your going with me to Canada.”

“That’s the worst part of it, dearest! How can a wife love, honor and serve her husband, and keep him in sickness and in health, if she can’t live with him?” she exclaimed, while blushes danced playfully over the dark beauty of her face.

“You are the dearest girl that ever lived,” he cried, throwing his arms around her and pressing her again to his heart. I shall do my best with the Colonel; and will see him as soon as I can. Perhaps I should have spoken to him first; but if I had he would have forbidden our wedding, and to have married after that would have been direct insubordination.”

“Won’t he think so as it is?”

“Perhaps. Still I am willing to run the risk; and I wanted to have you as my wife, whether I could take you or not. I’m afraid I’m a selfish fellow, Helen, and not by any means worthy of you.”

“Why, Harold! What a way of speaking —just after our marriage, too!”

“Forgive me, dearest! I didn’t mean any¬ thing, but that I love you so much, that I almost tremble at the responsibility we have undertaken.”

“Is that a brave front for a soldier?” exclaimed Helen, with flashing eye.

“I would dare anything for myself, Helen; but it is of you I was thinking. To leave you behind with no one but your uncle and aunt to care for you when we sail, and per¬ haps not come back for years, seems more than I can bear.”

“If we have to we must, though,” she exclaimed, cuddling closer. “Then I will stay home and wait and watch and pray for the dearest one in all the world to me; and think of Penetang. Isn’t that the name of the place ? and long for the day that I can be with my husband again.”

“What a noble girl you are!”

“I’m a soldier’s daughter”; and she looked up proudly, although a tear was in her eye.

“Yes, and your brave father was shot in the heart while leading his men to victory.”

“And come what will, his daughter shall never disgrace his name. Victory will yet be ours!” she said courageously.

“God grant it,” was his response.

For some moments both had solemn faces, while with gentle pressure they held each other’s hands.

“I am not without hope,” Harold continued at last. “Sir George may be angry at first, and I can’t blame him for that. He’ll raise a row, of course — perhaps send me to Hades — but he may give in before the ship sails. It will be jolly happy for us if he does.”

While he was speaking a critical look came into Helen’s face.

“Do you know,” she exclaimed with sud¬ den earnestness, “I really believe I can help

“My darling! How in the world can you? You do not even know Sir George or one of the officers.”

“That may be,” she replied, holding his hand in both of hers. “But see, the carriage is stopping. I cannot tell you now. Just leave it to me,” and at once the expression upon her face inspired him with renewed confidence.

Just then they arrived at a little villa on G - e street, and the whole party alighted.

Chapter II

TWO days later, Lieutenant Manning was at the officers’ mess at the quarters of the 100th Regiment. The fact that he had only recently been transferred, and that he was still on the convalescent list, made his temporary absence unnoticed. He ran his eye quickly over the faces of the men who greeted him by nod or word, for he was already a favorite. But he saw nothing unusual. The secret evidently was not out, and of this he was glad; for the Colonel could now receive the news directly from himself and not from officers’ gossip.

They were talking of the prospective trip, and in the absence of Sir George, with more freedom than usual.

“Will you be ready, Manning?” Lieu¬ tenant Smith asked across the table. “The Colonel says we start in twelve days.”

“So soon as that!” the young man ex¬ claimed with a start. A lump had suddenly jumped into his throat. Pulling himself to¬ gether before any one could observe, he went on: “Yes; but I thought we were to sail by the Challenger , which does not leave port until a week later.”

“That was the first order,” said Captain Cummings from the other end of the room;

“but it had to be changed yesterday, for the Challenger on examination was found un¬ seaworthy.”

“And by what ship do we sail now?”

“By the North King , one of the best men-of-war in the navy. It is large, too, and leaves port a week earlier.”

How Lieutenant Manning got through mess and the next two hours’ official duties, before he could see the Colonel, he did not know. Never before did minutes appear so much like hours. Even when he lay in the trenches at Badajos, with a slice out of his leg, and could hear his comrades’ cheers amid the din of cannonading, time seemed to pass more quickly.

At last, Sir George, accompanied by an orderly, crossed the barrack yard, and entered his office. But there were other visitors ahead of Manning, and the day was well advanced before his opportunity came. Fin¬ ally the last one departed, an orderly opened the door and Harold entered.

“Lieutenant Manning, glad to see you,” said Sir George in answer to Harold's salute. “I suppose you are as strong as ever, and ready for another march.”

There was tone of inquiry in his voice; for it was unusual for the younger officers to visit him, except on special business.

“Yes, sir,” replied Harold, coloring. “A soldier should always be ready for orders.”

“There’s not much time to lose,” was the next comment. “Our men of the 100th go aboard the North King not many days hence, and sail from the London docks on the 24th. What’s the matter, lad ? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I came to make a confession, sir,” stam¬ mered the Lieutenant, his face remaining red in spite of himself.

“What, been gambling? You young fel¬ lows are always at it.”

“No, sir! It is not that,” replied the young man indignantly; while, at the same time, the utterance of the calumny seemed to relieve the mental pressure. “The fact is, Colonel, I’ve been getting married.”

“Getting married, you idiot!” and Sir George fairly jumped off his seat in amaze¬ ment. “Are you mad?” and his eyes glared fiercely at Harold. “Do you know what that means? Rank insubordination; com¬ plete separation for years from the silly woman who has taken you for a husband! Zounds, man, I thought you had more sense!”

By this time Harold’s excitement had subsided. He was cool again.

“I am prepared to take the consequences, sir, whatever they may be. I only ask for the liberty of explanation.”

“Explanation indeed! That should have come before, not afterwards,” and with an¬ other angry growl, Sir George settled him¬ self in his chair again.

“My wife,” said Harold — the Colonel winced — “is willing to endure any length of separation that is necessary. But I want to say about her that her father and mother are dead. She is provided for, however, and lives with her uncle and aunt. What’s more, she’s a beautiful woman and is just as brave as she is good.”

“That’s all very well, sir, but why did you bluster along at this infernal speed ?”

“For two reasons, sir.” Harold had pre¬ pared himself for the fight. “First, because I understood my stay in Canada would be a long one; and second, because you said I might have the command of a fort there, some day.”

“Yet you tell me when too late to stop a silly move that will upset the whole busi¬ ness.

“It would have been too late, sir, if I had spoken. A soldier never disobeys orders.”

“Humph! If I were to report this at head¬ quarters, it would check at once your chances of promotion, and probably your march to Penetang as well.”

“That is the very point, sir, I was going to ask. I wish you would report me, together with the request that my wife be allowed to accompany us to Canada. It need be no expense to the war department, as she is able personally to defray all the cost.”

“This scheme is just as mad a one as getting married. Do you know what you ask, sir? We are going out there in the winter, when the frost is often 25 degrees below zero; and on landing start at once on a tramp of a thousand miles; not over the prairies and along the roads, but through the woods and swamps, and over lakes covered with ice and snow two feet thick or more. Then, on account of the war with the United States, our road will be straight through the northern country, away from all towns and settlements. It will be like a tramp through Siberia in winter. No lady could stand it, sir.”

“She will have to remain at home, then,” returned Harold, dejectedly. “But it will be a severe disappointment to her. She says she can stand anything and will give no trouble if you will permit her to go. She would not be the only woman with us, either. The officers at mess were saying to-day that the wives of Corporals Bond and Jenkins and Private Hardman have all received orders to be ready.”

“That’s true,” replied the Colonel, angrily. “But these women are not ladies; they are used to roughing it, and will do the charing for the men while the fort is being built. They’ve been through camp life in the Euro¬ pean wars for years. There’s no use talking; the thing can’t be tolerated for a moment. You will have to leave your wife behind you. I look upon the whole thing as a breach of discipline. Still as your dead father’s friend, and more for his sake than yours, I shall keep silent upon the subject, so as not to check your promotion. Give this despatch to Captain Payne as you go out. Strict discipline will be required from all now until we sail. So remember, you can only be absent from quarters during authorized hours.”

“Very well, sir.” Lieutenant Manning saluted and withdrew.

The young wife waited the return of her husband that night with much anxiety. She had often heard that Sir George was a stern man, and whether he would condone with a junior officer’s marriage without his knowl¬ edge or consent, was a very doubtful question. As for the journey with the troops to Canada, she was determined to go with them if she could; but to do so the Colonel’s consent must be obtained, and she was prepared to leave no stone unturned in order to accom¬ pany her husband. Harold told her it would would be three years at least before he could return to England; and rather than remain that length of time away from him, she was willing to endure whatever vicissitudes an overland military journey in midwinter might bring. How little she knew what such an undertaking involved !

“What news, Harold?” was her first ques¬ tion, as he stooped to kiss her upon his arrival.

“Several things,” was his reply, as he tried to smile serenely. “First, we sail on the 24th.”

“So soon as that! What else ?”

“Sir George was angry at our marriage without consent.”

“ And he will not let me go ? ”

“ I fear not, dearest.”

“Oh, do not give up hope yet,” was the passionate response, as with pale face and quivering lip she led the way to their own room.

Chapter III

AN evening or two later, a carriage con- /A taining Sir George and Lady Head ^ ^ drew up at a little mansion in the West end, the residence of the retired general, Sir Charles Menzies. The house was not brilliantly illuminated, a subdued light gleam¬ ing only in a few of the windows. Evidently there would not be many guests that night. As they entered, the wide door in the deep archway was thrown open, and they were ushered into the drawing-room, where the General and his wife awaited their arrival.

“ Just ourselves, ’’exclaimed their host gaily; “a lonely old couple who have the selfishness to desire you to dine with them en famille , before they send you to the wars again.”

“It is very kind of you,” was the cordial response. “We are both of us delighted to come. But about the wars, General, I am afraid there are no more wars for me. It is just crossing the ocean to establish a garrison, and I assure you that I wTould rather command a troop and fight the enemy, than perform my allotted task.”

“Still, it is all in your country’s service, Colonel; and it sometimes needs greater courage to build a rampart than to fight a battle.”

“You may well say that, General. Don’t know but what my own case is an instance. It is a cut through the back country with only a couple of companies for a following, as though one were sneaking through the bush to escape the foe. After all, that is what it really is; for we could not in safety carry our garrison stores by the lakes.”

“Yet you may have more than one brush with the enemy before you get there.”

“If we do it will be all the merrier,” re¬ turned Sir George with a laugh. “These Yankees are giving us as much as we can carry just now, and possibly there may be fighting on Georgian Bay before it ends.”

“How soon do you sail, Sir George?” Lady Menzies asked.

“In eight days. Fortunately my wife is more contented over it than ever she was when I went to fight the armies of the Little Corporal. She always used to vow that I would never come back. Now she believes that I will.”

“I think he has done fighting enough,” was that lady’s quick response. “To march a few hundred miles through the woods to build a garrison, and then to return home, is all they ask of him; a much better prospect — to his wife at least — than to have another fight with the French.”

Dinner was announced, and the host led the way with the Colonel’s wife upon his arm.

“That husband of yours is a brave fellow,”

was his comment; “and my lady, you need not be nervous about him. He’s as true as steel, a good disciplinarian, yet one of the kindest men who ever lived.”

“Perhaps you are thinking of Talavera,” she answered, her face flushing with pleasure. “You know he helped some of the wounded French out of the ditch after the battle was over.”

“Yes, but he made two of his own men stand in the stocks all night for letting another Frenchman run away,” was his laughing answer.

When seated at the table the conversation became general, but soon drifted back to Sir George Head’s prospective trip.

“It will be a new experience,” exclaimed Sir Charles; “snowshoeing through Canada in January instead of marching through Spain in July.”

“I have ordered my men a double supply of under garments as a safeguard,” said the Colonel.

“What about night quarters on the road?” queried the hostess.

“That is where the rub will come,” was his answer. “I believe there are no stopping places after leaving’ Montreal. But habitants and half-breeds are numerous. They are accustomed to the woods, and I intend to take a picked gang to help the men put up tem¬ porary shanties each night on the road. What is more, abundance of dead timber can be had for the cutting; and with good fires I have no doubt that we can stand the journey.”

The ladies were rising from the table when a rap on the knocker announced the arrival of other guests.

“Oh, my dear!” exclaimed Lady Menzies to the Colonel’s wife. “I want to introduce my sweet grand-niece to you. She has only just become a bride, and promised to come in with her husband for an hour this even¬ ing-"

“We shall be delighted,” was the reply. “You know Sir George still becomes en¬ raptured over a pretty face. He always did.”

The Colonel placed his hand over his heart and bowed.

“If the eyes have soul and the mouth character,” he exclaimed gallantly, “I hope I’m not too old a dog, even yet, to lose my heart ”

“Bravo!” cried Sir Charles. “Our little girl has both, but I am sorry to say we have seen too little of her of late.”

The two ladies left the room, while the gentlemen over another glass of wine continued to talk over the wars, and the apparently dim prospect of peace.

When they entered the drawing-room a quarter of an hour later, Lieutenant Manning and his bride were there. A flash of aston¬ ishment swept over Sir George’s face as he took in the situation. But it was only for a moment. Gravely, but not unkindly, he offered his greetings as Lady Menzies in¬ troduced Helen to him.

Her appearance was striking. With broad forehead, dark hair and lustrous eyes, she carried her two and twenty years very grace¬ fully. She was not a bashful girl, just out of her teens, but a large-souled woman, who knew much of the experiences of life, and had made her choice, determined, by all that was holy, to be a help-meet for the man she had married. Though scarcely at ease, she looked up into Sir George’s face with a frank smile as she received his greeting.

“I am glad to have the opportunity of meeting you,” he said, looking steadily into her eyes. “Lieutenant Manning informed me that he was married; though I assure you it is a surprise to find that his wife is a rela¬ tive of my old friend, the General.”

“Harold did not tell you, then,” she re¬ turned, with a gesture toward her husband.

“Unfortunately he did not; but perhaps it was my fault. I was so astonished that I fear I did not ask him. And how are you, Mr. Manning P I think you have been steal¬ ing a march on me.”

“Is not marching a soldier’s duty?” re¬ turned Harold, with a merry glance at his wife.

“Yes, but countermarching is a different thing.” There was a twinkle in the gallant Colonel’s eye, as he gravely shook his head, that was not discouraging.

In a veiled way, Sir George watched every movement that Helen made. Her self-control surprised him, knowing as she must that her own future as well as that of her husband were in his hands. Soon an opportunity for a personal talk presented itself.

Sir Charles had been adding to his collec¬ tion of paintings, and was particularly proud of a Reynold’s beauty that he had recently purchased, as well as a French landscape by Turner, who at that time was winning fame as an artist. While the others were looking intently at the delicate coloring and divine symmetry exhibited in the portrait by the Master, Helen had lingered by Turner’s picture. It was one of his “ Rivers of France,” an illustration of the parting of lovers beneath stately trees on the banks of the Seine.

“That is a remarkable picture,” said Sir George over her shoulder. “It is said to be an incident in the artist’s own life. I did not know that Menzies had it, though I have seen it more than once in Turner’s studio.”

“I have heard of it,” returned Helen, gravely. “He was, as he seems, passionately in love; pity it came to such a sad ending.”

“It was her villainous stepmother’s fault,” said the Colonel. “She intercepted all his letters, and when the maiden believed her¬ self forsaken, she took a woman’s revenge, and made herself miserable by marrying another man.”

“A miserable revenge it was,” returned

Helen warmly, “and one that few women would take advantage of.”

“I am not so sure about that,” was Sir George’s grave response. “I am sorry to say I have known women do that very thing, though I acknowledge they must have been vastly foolish.”

“If they had married before that long tour of his,” said Helen, earnestly, “when they were both in love, the letters would not have been intercepted ; and of course they would have been happy ever afterwards.”

“Marriage is always a serious business,” said Sir George, looking gravely into her eyes.

“Yes, I know it is.” There was a little tremor in her voice this time. “But when one does it bravely and with eyes open, it is not too serious to be borne.”

“And are you sure you can bear it, Mrs. Manning, whatever comes?” he asked with almost a touch of sternness in his voice.

“Yes — I believe I can.”

“I too believe it since I have seen you. Still for your sake I am sorry it has happened. It would have been much better to have waited.”

“For myself I believe I shall never regret it,” said Helen, “whatever happens. It is only the future of my husband that I feel concerned about.”

“I am glad to be able to relieve your mind on that score” — but there was sternness still in his voice. “ Lieutenant Manning has always been a brave officer, and his future is certain.”

“Thank you, Colonel, for the word. I know his record ; and I assure you as a soldier’s daughter, as well as a soldier’s wife, I shall never stand in his way.”

She stood very erect, but she dashed a tear away as the words flashed from her lips.

“Nobly said,” was Sir George’s comment as the General and the other ladies joined them. Harold had purposely wandered off to the far end of the room to inspect some ancient weapons, of which Sir Charles had a valuable collection. But he returned in time to hear their hostess ask her niece to sing.

“I cannot sing to-night as the linnets sing,” she replied with a half sad, half mischievous ance at Harold, “but as my heart tells

“That is what we want, dearest,” he whis¬ pered.

Seating herself at the piano, her fingers ran lightly over the keys. Then, in a rich contralto voice, she poured out Goethe’s favorite, “To the Chosen One.” There was the beauty of passion in every line of the first verse :

“ Hand in hand! and lip to lip!

Oh, be faithful, maiden dear! Fare-thee-well ! thy lover’s ship Past full many a rock must steer;

But should he the haven see

When the storm has ceased to break. And be happy, reft of thee —

May the gods fierce vengeance take!”

There was exultation as she sang the second stanza:

“ Boldly dared, is well-nigh won,

Half my task is solved aright,

Every star’s to me a sun,

Only cowards deem it night.

Strode I idly by thy side

Sorrow still would sadden me,

But when seas our paths divide,

Gladly toil I — toil for thee.”

Then with all the tenderness of her impas¬ sioned soul she breathed out the last lines:

“ Now the valley I perceive Where together we will go,

And the streamlet watch each eve Gliding peacefully below.

Oh, the poplars on yon spot!

Oh, the beech trees in yon grove!

And behind we’ll build a cot

Where to taste the joys of love.”

“You are a brave girl,” cried the Colonel as she finished the song, “and you well merit everything that the gods can give you. Lieu¬ tenant Manning should be proud to have you for his wife — whatever happens.”

Saying which he turned and asked Lady Menzies to be his partner at a rubber of whist, for which Sir Charles and Lady Head were waiting. Hence, the four elderly people were soon interested in the game; while the bride and groom, ostensibly examining curios, were taxing their souls with a thousand ques¬ tions relative to the future.

Chapter IV

THE European war was drawing to a close, or rather to an intense lull before the final conflict. Napoleon’s arrogance in declining to yield a jot of Ger¬ man territory to Austria’s demand, culmin¬ ated eventually in his crushing defeat at Leipzic in the ‘‘Battle of the Nations.” The British forces, too, were successful wherever they turned their arms, and at Vittoria, Wel¬ lington routed the legions of Joseph Bona¬ parte. Before the close of the year disasters were even more complete, and the remains of Napoleon’s armies were driven out of Ger¬ many as well as Spain.

British veterans, inured to the discipline and fatigues of campaign life, were fast returning to their own shores; and it was from these that Sir George Head’s companies were chosen. Already they had spent months in the rest of barrack life, and tired of in¬ activity, they welcomed the call to duty again.