The Trumpet-Major

‘Well, Cripplestraw, how is it to-day?’ said Festus, with socially-superior heartiness.

‘Middlin’, considering, Maister Derriman. And how’s yerself?’

‘Fairish. Well, now, see and clean these military boots of mine. I’ll cock my foot up on this bench. This pigsty of my uncle’s is not fit for a soldier to come into.’

‘Yes, Maister Derriman, I will. No, ’tis not fit, Maister Derriman.’

‘What stock has uncle lost this year, Cripplestraw?’

‘Well, let’s see, sir. I can call to mind that we’ve lost three chickens, a tom-pigeon, and a weakly sucking-pig, one of a fare of ten. I can’t think of no more, Maister Derriman.’

‘H’m, not a large quantity of cattle. The old rascal!’

‘No, ’tis not a large quantity. Old what did you say, sir?’

‘O nothing. He’s within there.’ Festus flung his forehead in the direction of a right line towards the inner apartment. ‘He’s a regular sniche one.’

‘Hee, hee; fie, fie, Master Derriman!’ said Cripplestraw, shaking his head in delighted censure. ‘Gentlefolks shouldn’t talk so. And an officer, Mr. Derriman! ’Tis the duty of all cavalry gentlemen to bear in mind that their blood is a knowed thing in the country, and not to speak ill o’t.’

‘He’s close-fisted.’

‘Well, maister, he is – I own he is a little. ’Tis the nater of some old venerable gentlemen to be so. We’ll hope he’ll treat ye well in yer fortune, sir.’

‘Hope he will. Do people talk about me here, Cripplestraw?’ asked the yeoman, as the other continued busy with his boots.

‘Well, yes, sir; they do off and on, you know. They says you be as fine a piece of calvery flesh and bones as was ever growed on fallow-ground; in short, all owns that you be a fine fellow, sir. I wish I wasn’t no more afraid of the French than you be; but being in the Locals, Maister Derriman, I assure ye I dream of having to defend my country every night; and I don’t like the dream at all.’

‘You should take it careless, Cripplestraw, as I do; and ’twould soon come natural to you not to mind it at all. Well, a fine fellow is not everything, you know. O no. There’s as good as I in the army, and even better.’

‘And they say that when you fall this summer, you’ll die like a man.’

‘When I fall?’

‘Yes, sure, Maister Derriman. Poor soul o’ thee! I shan’t forget ’ee as you lie mouldering in yer soldier’s grave.’

‘Hey?’ said the warrior uneasily. ‘What makes ’em think I am going to fall?’

‘Well, sir, by all accounts the yeomanry will be put in front.’

‘Front! That’s what my uncle has been saying.’

‘Yes, and by all accounts ’tis true. And naterelly they’ll be mowed down like grass; and you among ’em, poor young galliant officer!’

‘Look here, Cripplestraw. This is a reg’lar foolish report. How can yeomanry be put in front? Nobody’s put in front. We yeomanry have nothing to do with Buonaparte’s landing. We shall be away in a safe place, guarding the possessions and jewels. Now, can you see, Cripplestraw, any way at all that the yeomanry can be put in front? Do you think they really can?’

‘Well, maister, I am afraid I do,’ said the cheering Cripplestraw. ‘And I know a great warrior like you is only too glad o’ the chance. ’Twill be a great thing for ye, death and glory! In short, I hope from my heart you will be, and I say so very often to folk – in fact, I pray at night for’t.’

‘O! cuss you! you needn’t pray about it.’

‘No, Maister Derriman, I won’t.’

‘Of course my sword will do its duty. That’s enough. And now be off with ye.’

Festus gloomily returned to his uncle’s room and found that Anne was just leaving. He was inclined to follow her at once, but as she gave him no opportunity for doing this he went to the window, and remained tapping his fingers against the shutter while she crossed the yard.

‘Well, nephy, you are not gone yet?’ said the farmer, looking dubiously at Festus from under one eyelid. ‘You see how I am. Not by any means better, you see; so I can’t entertain ’ee as well as I would.’

‘You can’t, nunc, you can’t. I don’t think you are worse – if I do, dash my wig. But you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make me welcome when you are better. If you are not so brisk inwardly as you was, why not try change of air? This is a dull, damp hole.’

‘’Tis, Festus; and I am thinking of moving.’

‘Ah, where to?’ said Festus, with surprise and interest.

‘Up into the garret in the north corner. There is no fireplace in the room; but I shan’t want that, poor soul o’ me.’

‘’Tis not moving far.’

‘’Tis not. But I have not a soul belonging to me within ten mile; and you know very well that I couldn’t afford to go to lodgings that I had to pay for.’

‘I know it – I know it, Uncle Benjy! Well, don’t be disturbed. I’ll come and manage for you as soon as ever this Boney alarm is over; but when a man’s country calls he must obey, if he is a man.’

‘A splendid spirit!’ said Uncle Benjy, with much admiration on the surface of his countenance. ‘I never had it. How could it have got into the boy?’

‘From my mother’s side, perhaps.’

‘Perhaps so. Well, take care of yourself, nephy,’ said the farmer, waving his hand impressively. ‘Take care! In these warlike times your spirit may carry ye into the arms of the enemy; and you are the last of the family. You should think of this, and not let your bravery carry ye away.’

‘Don’t be disturbed, uncle; I’ll control myself,’ said Festus, betrayed into self-complacency against his will. ‘At least I’ll do what I can, but nature will out sometimes. Well, I’m off.’ He began humming ‘Brighton Camp,’ and, promising to come again soon, retired with assurance, each yard of his retreat adding private joyousness to his uncle’s form.

When the bulky young man had disappeared through the porter’s lodge, Uncle Benjy showed preternatural activity for one in his invalid state, jumping up quickly without his stick, at the same time opening and shutting his mouth quite silently like a thirsty frog, which was his way of expressing mirth. He ran upstairs as quick as an old squirrel, and went to a dormer window which commanded a view of the grounds beyond the gate, and the footpath that stretched across them to the village.

‘Yes, yes!’ he said in a suppressed scream, dancing up and down, ‘he’s after her: she’ve hit en!’ For there appeared upon the path the figure of Anne Garland, and, hastening on at some little distance behind her, the swaggering shape of Festus. She became conscious of his approach, and moved more quickly. He moved more quickly still, and overtook her. She turned as if in answer to a call from him, and he walked on beside her, till they were out of sight. The old man then played upon an imaginary fiddle for about half a minute; and, suddenly discontinuing these signs of pleasure, went downstairs again.

VII. HOW THEY TALKED IN THE PASTURES

‘You often come this way?’ said Festus to Anne rather before he had overtaken her.

‘I come for the newspaper and other things,’ she said, perplexed by a doubt whether he were there by accident or design.

They moved on in silence, Festus beating the grass with his switch in a masterful way. ‘Did you speak, Mis’ess Anne?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Anne.

‘Ten thousand pardons. I thought you did. Now don’t let me drive you out of the path. I can walk among the high grass and giltycups – they will not yellow my stockings as they will yours. Well, what do you think of a lot of soldiers coming to the neighbourhood in this way?’

‘I think it is very lively, and a great change,’ she said with demure seriousness.

‘Perhaps you don’t like us warriors as a body?’