CHAPTER I.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 237, 14 January 1888, Page 2

CHAPTER I.

We are two old fogies now, Jack Mason *nd I, and we prefer rather to take our &ase *nd tell of the "deeds of onr youth, and to form ourselves into a mutual admiration society ol two, to taking any further active part in the business of life. Although»nd we wink and chuckle knowingly as wo toll each other so—the time has beon, in the days gone by, that we could have ehown the mashers of the period how a man could take his pleasures gaily, and, avoiding alike the vices of the ruffler and the follies of the dude, drain the goblet of pleasure whilst discarding the lees of remorse at the bottom, etcetera, etcetera. Jack is still emitting the wheezy cough -which doss duty with him for a laugh, after having related for the hundredth timo one of his well-worn stories, when ray little girl, ever mindful of our comfort, brings in a fresh brew of the punch we love so well, and which she alone can brow entirely to our satisfaction. / lam an old bachelor, and Mabel is my adopted daughter, and, although she is not xny child, she loves me, I think, and so, too, does Jack Mason (who, old friend though he is, is not aware of our relationship, or rather, 1.-ehould perhaps say, want of relationship, and imagines Mabel to be my child, and me to be a widower), with a love as pure, as strong, and as unselfish as any father could wish to receive from an only daughter. And Jack, who is utterly alone, a bachelor like myself, says that he envies me the possession of this my only treasure. After Mabel leaves the room we sit in silence and" think, and the fire burns low f£he lamps have not been lit), and in the evening stillness we hear the ripple of tho water on the beach below; and, as the monn rises, a flood of silvery light is shot Acroa* the harbour, cresting the waves with tips of gleaming white, and filling the room with its soft radiance. Then from an inner room, we hear the sweet soprano voice of Mabel, aa, to her own accompaniment, she sings an ancient and plaintive ballad that Jack and I liave heard with rapture, we Are. afraid even to think, how many years ago. punch has already made me sentixaentally 'disposed, the.%stillness and moonlight have, each had their effect, and the perfumed air from the garden, stealing through an open window, brings on its-scent-laden breath tender memories of •e&er days, and now Mabel* song completes the rout of my self-control— j must gush or die. and Jack is my only available victim.' Turning to him I cay, " Come Jack, let us take a turn in the garden, 1 have something to tell you." - ** What," he exclaims, "and leave the fresh punch ?" " Yes, It will not be for even, you know." And I led tho "way to the garden, Jack following with evident reluctance. »* Nothing wrong with Mabel, I hope," says Jack, as we doscend the steps of the terrace. il She's not been looking her best lately." "Certainly nothing wrong with Mabel," i* my reply; "although .what I am about to say concerns, her. But you shall hear. We kaye known each other now for a good xnaay years, and I daresay you have thought it odd that I have aever made any* allusion to my wife" *' Well, yes, I did think yoa were uncommonly reserved on that point," answered Jack. 41 The explanation is very simple.—l have »ever had any wife to speak about." " And Mabel ?' cried Jack, with a sort of horrified stare. ** Mabel is simply my adopted daughter —the child of a comrade who was killed in Action," " Whew !" Jack whistled low and long, And thrust his hands deep into his breeches pockets. " And so you've been a soldier," said he, as he deliberately looked me all over. " Well, you certainly don't look the d>araotef." Now, Lam conscious of a growing tendency to portliness, to putitmildly,and havebeen more than once addressed by small irreverent street boys as '* Bantam," so that I felt the indelicacy of' Jack's action and words rather keenly, „ and consequently Answered, shortly : " Yes-, is that anything extraordinary?" "It's simply astonishing," he said. •*You make me feel quite thirsty. Let's go inside and take a look at the punch. I Anrnow. fairly interested in your story, for I see.shat you've got one; and you can tell it better inside than out here." "The" night air was chilly, and I saw the common sense of Jack's proposal, and suffered myself to be led by him back to the cosy room once more, where, seated before a cheerful fire, I told Jack Mason, and in nearly the same words, the story which I have since, at the request of Mabel's friends And mine, committed to paper. " It was in the month of December, 1859, that I first made the acquaintance of Bob Gray, Mabel's father; and- ifc was a cold, bleak, wintry night, anla crowd of us, young soldiers and recruits, were gathered round the barrack-room fire listeniug to a story, told by a boy from, Kerry, about a banshee. We had raised a halfpenny subscription in the room and had bought a kish of turf, for, it being Friday night and the weather unusaKy severe, the allowance of coal had run out, and although our pockets were at .this time very empty, we could generally^ manage to raise a copper each for a.purpose, of this kind, and we had piled on the fuel until the fireplace was like the niouth of ah open furnaco, and the ruddy glare of the glowing peat brought out in strong relief the feature? of the boys {most of them were no more) gathered round 1 the storyteller. We were nearly all strangers to - each other, the regiment having, been recently made up to its war strength by volunteers from other, regiments; and, although thero was a little awkwardness felt at first, we did not at aU despair of settling ourselves comfortAbly together *in a few days time. The young fellow had Jusb" arriyed at the most thrilling part of his story, when a big fellow—Qne o.fc the" n,ewly-,arrived -volunteers" —with tlm ribands of- two jnedalsj oiKhis jacket, ancl* three good-conduct stripes on his armpy^de'uf to' the 1 fireplace^ arid rudely seizing a delicate looking boy by( the arra^ said,, uCrinty,' shift, and make rpohffor your .betters.'.. At the;Bame time^wftpi/^Wlal<ftf fee form." * " -f ***Thab wai§ cowardly, to tsay.the least. of ivAsaid^ny^efghbMr 1 ik'WeUqm,* a freah^mpl^xfolied^obd^dbKitt"g%otii:i4 "' If you don't like it clear the tables^* Tepliedfthe old soldier., „_..,, „ % . <st,-,-<7 n,V ** Nothuig.more iTCas needed,;w-e mmflg, to *>ur feet; and'the tables were cleared jn.less. time than it takes to tell it. whilst; the two men, strlppjpdiitbSghdr'flSnnels, stood in the middles 0| room-? atid^lobked'r6una r for 1

Action,"

k> the young fellow, VMiilst the old gotdifr, m default of a volunPHSWj wsrofawroweimtent with the services of the mess orderly for the day ; and the remainder of the fellows sat round the room on their bedcots to save the combatants from any chance of injury by falling against the irons. The two fought, Gray's opponent having somewhat the best of the aflair. Gray had a black eye, and one or two na&ty bruises about his face, whilst the* other man, although free from marks'^ about his fa£e,,was va-bher lgadly bruised abbuii ' tile/ body. No\V Abede , marks' > on' Gray's face, whicli niightj confine »hira to ; barracks for perhaps a month, gave bothhim, and I a good deal of concern, as we had already arranged, notwithstanding- ouV very short acquaintence, for an excursion or two in search of adventure ; and the trouble was not confined Co ourselves alone, but was shared by all in the room, bar one—for Gray, by his merry disposition, good temper and the droll stories that he told of Außtralian life and custpms, had succeeded in establishing himself as primo favourito. The feeling of the room was evidently against the author of the row, and it was plain that very little provocation would be required to cause a fresh appeal to the ordeal of battle. "The next morning, Irvine— Gray's opponent of the night before— evidently aiming at establishing himself as the bully of j the room, again sought a quarrel with j Gray, and with the same result as before, and, as we were moodily disporting after the affair, more than one man seemed disposed to" try conclusions with him at once. " ' You seem as if you wanted to be the bully of the room,' said a silent man, whose presence had been almost unnoticed until this moment. " 'I am an old soldier, and when I am amongst, a lot of joskins^ I'll make them keep their place,' was the reply. " 'Put up your hands,' said the silent man, at the same moment hitting out straight from the shoulder. Before the three rounds were quite ended, the dressing bugle sounded for morning parade, and there was a good deal of scrambling to recover lost time. 14 Irvine, although he had been victor in each of his three encounters, had received a good deal of punishment, and we hoped that he had been brought to his bearings, and that the peaco of the room would be disturbed no more ; but in this we were doomed to disappointment, for as coon as we returned to the barrack room after j parade Irvine at oncb attacked me, saying : 1 You made • yourself very busy picking up j Bob Gray; perhaps you'd .like to take his J part ?' " * Nothing better,' I answered. ' But if you want. to fight with me you'll have to come down to the ball-alley, and we'll fight it out. 1 This was a bit dt 'bounce upon my part, for I thought that the old soldier would not care about seeing out a mill to the bitter end, and that bis .refusal would j serve the same purpose as 4iis defeat. As I supposed he would, he declined the invitation to the ball-alley, and then for a moment I lost temper and used strong language. The boys meanwhile cleared the j tables, and one of them, ooming towards me, said : ' Stop preaching., old chap, and ; get to work ; your man's waiting.' j " And true enough, Irvine was standing | there waiting forme. Bob <3ray stepped up to second me, and I ffioed the man who had made himself the common enemy. Sparring very cautiously, I* watched my chance, and at length succeeded in landing one on his right eye, and quickly following it up with one, . two,— in the eaaae spot, caußed Irvine to stagger as if drunk, and as he lurched heavily over, «dbh a short j half-arm hit with my fight I sent him to ihe floor, where he lay for a moment stunned. Time was called, and he again stood before me, but looking, and certainly feeling., very battered- Again he was ! knocked down, and he did not care to face i a third round. And peace reigned in that room ever after. "From this time forward Bob Gray and I became faat comrades ; each lightened where it was possible the burthen pf the other's duties, and eacli shared most of the other's pleasures. And we each, according to ancient customs with Tommy Atkins all the world over, urged the tightly- won suit of the soldior and made the most of the chances to which youth, idleness, and a red coat assisted us, with more or less success—the more mostly falling to Bob's lot, and the less to mine. " And when we mounted guard together, Bob never tired of telling of his- far-off home j in the Australian bush— of the- kangaroos and the emus, the snakes and the alligators, of the laughing jackass and the native companion, of the bunyip, and all the strange, weird monstrosities thatseemed to the yokels fresh from the plough's tail, who listened open-mouthed to the wondrous narration I like the uncanny denizens of some grotesque ' gnomeland let loose in the light of day to affright and plague the people? of the earth, j and ifi a measure they half thought that i Bob himself was a bit of a. fairy, and that! ,his fieetness, quickness of ,eye, and general smartness in, all .athletics had something of the supernatural about it. And when he raved of running brumbies and cutting our scrubbors and talked of a bucking horse ' and a lucky digger, of a.whaler and a stonebroker, of dingos and 'duffing and cleanskins, the bewildered boys would sadly withdraw to the adjacent canteen and seek j to recover their mental balance by drinking huge draughts of porter, whilst they solemnly^ e^pyessed their con/ictions that that young cdve from Botany Bay was sum'at queer. And'then their owlish young heads would be severely shaken, and more j beer would" be drunk. Bob, pet though he j was, was a mysjbery and 4 wqnder to them ;. his ways were not their ways, nor were i their thoughts his thoughts.. .He won prizes at garrison sports, and, stood, trejatf out of the proceeds—shouted he called i 6, in his queer Australian -way.— and he never got drunk. It was astonishing, it was incomprehensible, and in any other, man it would have been looked upon as insulting. In Bob, however, it was freely forgiven, and everyone gloried in his success and good luck, and when, after a while, it was Found out ''that hS'had been offered and had refused to 'accept promotion ','ho was fairly idolised. , . t • I ** '' Bob's account of himself, when, reduced j to plain, fact, had nothing uncommon about it, It ' was "simply fhe, usual record; of' youthful folly.V His father, born in Sydney, and theson of a sergeaYjt'in the'.New.^outh. Wales Corbfe, had, ift liis early youth, gone,' outtyith' one of fch'e; fijVt pioneers, and on the country which -His "employer l had taken up 1)0 had lived} %V& * ittaf He 4, - p-nd reared i 'childtenj "and therV he .}n all ,proi'bab'ilitv/die. «Bobj hij» J ;dnly born 'finite, sindHadr iftVdue course, been senfc to' Sydney* tS l complete ;his education. i 'Ahdit tt^;«tes Wfcg^tf $c j&i%&t Ihe acquif eft that lpVe w fBrihejslSa ; whtch^'had undiiced^hfmyto at* firs Wance^on poUtd one $ the/coas^g . 'slMmers, Md i %i te'rwanlOm .an^pqean r , Iffikg Wptfi&hbWAvifbW fe?*docupa-* fjjloj: to ae^uirVbHe ißa!ilor'si Ba ! ilor's reckless thoughtjesske^l W'Mtae^jSnatfteri, dfIwhibKjkad feeeffithatr^e winfcryArßihgfih 1 had**f6una«'liimS6lfi^§n!iiWBS,: *an 4 & tefic4it^^BQ^eint ; >B6l%mli^d, ■ -be- 1 ad 4ss#d *wMsw|-<Sai?SteB^ Jtiis ii^r^Jhj^w^.majtWg iify'ttciffltimbV : "\Vasi tMVhitiVp t naV:n#fcuit|j&ajagoo#& tifteToifs mil dw> /■or*! I'l^fwhtti&Giu&ihm 1 ,? ttfeJ MilmSUm

'"m^'OT^ai^m^OTra^^ ancHiKe petoilhe girls out of it, the lines were certainly cast For him in pleasant places, and there was only one little cloud on the sunshine of his life, and that waiihe great distance he was from his home and the consequent delay in hearing from his parents, now well stricken in years. But this trouble was to a great , extend remove&when the order wa| received %t headbuarteffllSps immediate efijcoarkation foi-New ZealaW 'fpy ffllajMe hssmpL those who longed* f<fts change* or;;ho jbdgor adventure^' whils,t tliose who'had v dear ones .tolleave— wives,^ Bwee^theartsV asd sisters, whom* they might never, as they^ thought, | hope to see again— were crushed with grief. | "We marched to the port of embarkation with the usual amount of display and pomp, and about the usual amount of excitement—not so much," you know, Jack, as there was about' the' Soudan Contingent ; but still with a good deal of bunkum and artificial emotion. There were banners waving and bands playing, and there were numbers of old men and women— simple peasants — who came to bid their sons, a last farewell. We were only going; to. a prosperous young British colony, but these old people thought that their boys were going to a land bristling with savage horrors— were going to face the unknown and the dreadful— were going to a land where the naked and painted savage forever danced a demoniac war-dance, and everlastingly flung a perpetual spear* into the heart of the fainting white man, who was always there to receive it. "The old pecfple shuddered and wept; the young girls cliing, sobbing, upon the soldiers' necks, sergeants Galled their rolls in short and .jerky tones, fatigue parties tumbled boxes, bags, and cases aboard, whilst "ship officeVs f shouted hoarsely unintelligible words of command. Bunting waved in the streets, handkerchiefs fluttered from open windows, _tho military- bands of military neighbours played " The Girl I left behind me," &c, and the, general crowd cheered wildly as at length we cast off from the wharf, and left the weeping women and the .distressed old people to poverty, to despair, and to the next party of new lovers who would march in 'with the coming regiment. Bob Gray was in great glee at the thought that he • would be in a few weeks' time- within a comparatively short distance of his native place ; and, being a sailor, proved himself at sea, as he bad proved himself on shore, the life t of his company 1 , and when we- landetT at Auckland three < months after he had not* only maintained hia position in his com1 pany, but had won the goodwill of the, ship's officers and crew, who were as sorry to part with him as if he had been a brother to each and every one of them, instead of being, what 'is to the nautical mind the personification of helpless feebleness! a lobster, that being the sailor's way of describing a soldier.