The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVII, Issue 45, 9 November 1899, Page 23

The Storyteller.

THE TWO OLD SOLDIERS. In one of oar cities there is a certain street which always presents a picture of extraordinary shabbiness. The houses are seen to be in a chronio state of dilapidation. From the time of their erection, walls, windows, and roofs appear to have battled with every description of weather, and never, so to speak, to have had their scars dressed by artisan or builder. There are ample iudioatioas that a distribution of slates, mortar, and whitewash would effect a wonderful improvement : roofs show great gaps ; walls bulge ; plaster remains only in patches, and window frames are broken. The entire place is calculated to create a feeling of intense surprise in the casual spectator, who only wonders whether the inhabitants have any fear of being suddenly buried in falling ruins. There lived in this street a man who Bpoke constantly of armies and war. He was a member of the great legion of pensioners. In early manhood he had enlisted ; his regiment had been sent on foreign service, had taken part in the Crimean War, and had then returned home. In due coarse he received his discharge and a pension which did not permit him to be extravagant. Those who know anything concerning human nature will readily admit that an individual assumption of authority and dignity will frequently create a favourable impression in proportion to the social rank of those with whom such an actor is brought into constant contact. Now, the associates and neighbours of our pensioner had always led a humdrum existence. Their conception of the world beyond their immediate surroundings was vague and inaccurate. It is true they lived in a city, but they saw merely the outward show ; with them education and experience were narrowed, and their minds were in consequence receptive and impressionable in a great degree. By them, then, the actions and words of the old soldier were noted and heard with interest and attention. He had certainly enough dignity for a commanding officer. All his movements were marked with utmost deliberation, which was due to advancing years and to habit. He always dressed with remarkable neatness ; his walk was the remnant of an energetic, BOldier-like quick step, and he spoke in tones which a mere ignorant plebeian might never hope to acquire. Those amongst whom he lived encouraged him to relate the moving scenes amidst whioh the greater portion of his life had been passed. He was never averse to gratify their cariosity. To them the roar of the battle, the clash of steel, the passions of men in deadly combat, the overwhelming desire to kill, the wild sense of triumph in the hoar of victory, the bitter depression in the hour of defeat, were novelties, and when told even graphically were partially incomprehensible. Bat to the old soldier they were very real. He could project himself into the past, and almost realise the hours when he lay in the trenches in the Crimea, drenched with Bleet and snow and numbed with cold ; he could almost hear again the thunder of the cannon, the rattle of the small arms, the attack on the famous Malakoff, and all and every that made the glory and the horror of that war. His utterances were always earnest. At any time he was prepared to answer questions arising out of his stories, but he would not brook contradiction. On such rare occasions a frown was wont to gather on his brow, Mb eyes to flash ominously ; the reproof, too, came swift and sudden. He had a temper. Every man has ; but the temper of an old soldier is, however, something fearful and wonderful. It is principally noticeable for its explosive tendency. The advice is here given : never in any circumstance contradict an old army man who has seen the blaze and turmoil of war. They gave him the title of the ' Captain.' He accepted the grade with becoming humility. To him there could be no keener pleasure than to feel that amongst those whom he lived he was held in high regard and esteem. There were no officers to issue harsh orders. He stood alone : he was commander amongst them. In dress and manner he was at his best every Sunday. For the Day of Best he had a special suit which had evidently been in his possession for years. There were signs that great care alone had tended to its preservation ; he himself, however, was quite satisfied it was above reproach. To the vest he never omitted to attach a number of medals which signified he had rendered certain services and had been in certain battles. Then he went to Mass. In boyhood he had always atended a Dominican church. The Dominican Fathers were then, and had remained through his life, his favourite Order. It would have been more convenient for him to hear Mass at a church whioh was near the street. That he would never do. Whatever the state of the weather, whatever the inconvenience, he would not forsake those who had a near and dear place in his memory. After Mass he always remained to pray for some time. The few stragglers of the congregation were wont to pause and glance at the kneeling figure in the aisle which faced the altar of the Virgin. They noted the neatness of his dress, the medals, the beautifully wrought rosary beads ; they noticed, too, the fervor with whioh he prayed. When his devotions had been completed he would rise from his knees and leave the church with that dignified walk whioh had induced his neighbours to rank him as an officer. He had sometimes the pleasure of seeing one of the Fathers who was kindly in words and manner. This touched the old soldier deeply. They had short conversations which were never repeated to others. They took place, you understand, between friends ; hence they were not for gossips. There came a time when the old warrior had his peaoe of mind disturbed by the arrival of another pensioner. His name was Gregg, and he took a house which was opposite to that of the 1 Captain.' It must not be understood that the advent of the stranger bred a quarrel ; on the contrary, the ' Captain ' took the earliest

opportunity of paying a visit to one with whom he could not but have feelings in common. For some time they fraternized in a way that would make the observer think they were blood relations. They exchanged confidences ; upon military affairs they expressed opinions whioh were largely censorious, and whioh would have amazed and astonished the authorities of the War Office. There were scarcely any branoh of the service that was not criticised ; its defects condemned, and its creditable points approved. With regard to the moving scenes in whioh each played a part the * Captain ' could claim by far the greater and most important number. Gregg was younger by many years ; his experience, too, had been acquired in Indian hill wars whioh were contemptible in the eyes of the more seasoned soldier. At length the constant reiteration of things Crimean jarred on the ears of Gregg ; on the other hand, the ' Captain ' showed an inclination to prevent summarily any farther references to Indian hill wan. Of course the fact that Gregg had in India a son in the army was some excuse for the mention of trifling details ; but this excuse, in the opinion of the * Captain,' had been worn threadbare. The thing was no longer to be endured. The snap of the ties of friendship occurred one evening when a group was assembled in the house of a neighbour. The ' Captain ' was the principal figure. His pose was authoritative ; his voioe rang loud and clear. In the midst of an exciting narration Gregg entered the room. He appeared to be in ill humour. The two had not met that day, so they exchanged salutations ; then the ' Captain ' continued. He was describing an attack on the eastern side of the Great Redan of Crimean fame. It made no difference to him that he had already related the incident several times. These things would, for him, have a fascination to the hour of his death. The whole Boene he now gave in detail seemed to be present to his vision. There was the ground which the "storming party had to cover before the Great Redan, which rose into the air, could be reached ; a mere five hundred yards which cost hundreds of human lives. His regiment, the old 34th, was with the main body of the troops. How -they leaped from the trenches when the word was given ! How the regular compact mass rushed onwards till there came a dull roar and a sound like the swirl of rain in a storm. This was caused by the deep-mouthed cannon and the grape-shot whioh lacerated the infantry like so many blunt instruments. It was then that the ground became strewn with gashed and mutilated forms, which the moment before had been perfect men filled with grim determination and with the frenzied light of battle in their eyes. Ah ! it was terrible. When he reached this point he was wont to pause and to introduce the opinion of the English commander. ' That was war, if you like,' he now said ; ' and as I well remember, speaking of the attack ' There was a sniff of contempt from the place in whioh Gregg eat. The ' Captain ' did not heed. « — On the Great Redan Lord Raglan said the grape was enough ' ' Bother Lord Raglan and the Great Redan I* The old soldier did not finish the sentence. The eagerness, too, left the countenances of his auditors and was changed to surprise at such an unexpected interruption It had come from Gregg, who had then left his seat and made towards the door. This he reached at the instant that the amazed and oholerio old warrior bad risen to his feet. The aged frame quivered under the shook he had received ; the aged eyes glinted from under bushy brows. He drew himself erect, and in a deep, impassioned voioe cried after the retreating man : 1 Sir ! This is an insult ! Tou shall answer. Tou shall answer. I say you shall. Ah— h you retreat ! It is the way of cowards. Pah 1' For one second Gregg hesitated, in the next the door was banged ; he was gone. His auditors sympathised with the old fellow. It was, indeed, cowardly ; it was unmanly. They begged of him to resume and to conclude his narrative ; to forget or to ignore the utterance of a narrow and jealous mind. But he was not to be appeased. There was nothing in which he took greater pride than almost everything concerned with the war in the Crimea. It had had its drawbacks ; but, in his opinion, it had also had its glories whioh were not to be treated with a sneer by anyone whomsoever. He had been insulted by a man whose experience was confined to Indian hill wars i The insult was most deliberate. In these oiroumstanoes his normal state of mind could not easily be restored. He glanced from one to the other of his sympathisers. Their looks soothed him in some degree ; their words were gratifying. The pressure whioh was brought to bear that he should again seat himself was not to be repulsed, but for the remainder of the evening he was almost silent, and when the group left for their homes, he returned the parting salutations without any of that pleasantness which was usual with him on such occasions. He was, indeed, noticeably depressed in spirits. The words were in his ears as he went from the room and down the street : ' Bother Lord Raglan and the Great Redan I* It was only when he knelt by his bedside with bis Rosary beads in his hands that they were for the time forgotten. In the passing days he was absent from those innocent gatherings where he was wont to be absolute ruler. They missed him, and he missed them. The insult had rankled in his mind. The faot, too, that Gregg lived opposite to him was a constant source of irritation. There were certain hours of the day when they went for a walk ; by an unlucky coincidence they chose the same time. If he went to his door, there was Gregg to be seen standing at his over the way. It was really annoying. In some respects it was amusing to notice how studiously these two grizzled^bld men avoided each other. By chance they might meet on the footpath when advancing in opposite directions ; then the military attitude was assumed to a ridiculous degree, and two pair of eyes stared steadfastly in a straight line right in front.

It happened one day that the • Captain ' met the good Dominican with whom, as already stated, he used to have occasional conversations. To describe how the veteran unburthened himself of the insult that was preying so much on his mind is unnecessary. He did so eventually. His usual composure was lacking. He stammered. There was a pained expression in his eyes when he had concluded In the circumstances there appeared to be a real grievance ; withal the good Father could scarcely refrain from smiling. To have done so would, however, have inflicted the worst stab the old fellow could have received. The best course was to take the matter with some degree of seriousness. He pointed out, then, that the expression had been a moment of irritation. The offender ought to ask forgiveness ; in any event, why should the « Captain ' allow his peace to be disturbed by it ? It conveyed no particular meaning, and could do no one any harm. And then, The • Captain ' shook his head ; at the same time the end of his stiok hit the pavement with an emphatic thud. 1 Father, lam an old soldier, and Lord Raglan the greatest ' ' I understand,' said the Dominican, « but as a friend I would ask you to overlook it and try and forgive him. You will find this the best way to make him feel sorry for what he Baid.' The old fellow drew himself up to his full height. They were, of course, friends, and a man ought to do a great deal for a friend. It was very unfortunate, perhaps, that during the week that followed the meeting with the Dominican Father the old soldier should have become ill. After eight days he had so far recovered that he could leave his bed. He used to seat himself near a window which commanded a view of the street ; from this he would gaze at the house of his neighbour. The first time he now saw Gregg come forth he was not alone. By his side there walked a young man who seemed to be in an advanced state of decline. Who could he be ? The veteran surmised correctly that this was the son of whom Gregg had been wont to speak to him. He had come home to die. With eager eyes the ' Captain ' watched the two till they had passed from sight ; then he leaned back, and many thoughts flashed confusedly through his mind. They do not concern this story. At length theie came a day when he cbuld safely go without doors He made 'his way slowly along the footpath when the morniDg had long risen. The first person he saw was the son of the man who had insulted him. What a wretshed-looking being he was ? How weak and' decrepit ? When he had gone by, the old soldier made a military half -turn and surveyed the frail, retreating figure.- The picture of a regiment of strong men presented itself to his mind. And this : • A soldier ! ' he muttered ; ' that thing a soldier ! Pah ! The words had no sooner been uttered than he regretted them. He had accused Gregg of cowardice ; by what name would people have described himself if they could have overheard his remark? Was he not a coward ? The man for whom they were intended could not have resented them ; he, alas ! walked well within the shadow of death. On the kerbstone he paused irresolute, and a great flush of shame mantled his brow. It was a good sign How to make amends ? Should he accost the sickly man and make f riendb ? No ; there was the father. He must first effect a reconciliation with him. The remainder of his walk gave him no pleasure. That evening he had a recurrence of his illness, wnicn The day on which, for the second time, he resumed a watchful attitude from the room in which we have already seen him, showed him that something had happened in the house of his neighbour, Every window had its blinds drawn. A chill, like the stroke of an icy breath, caused him to shiver. He had no doubt that the grim nresence of death was there. It was no, indeed. The son with the weak steps and the hectic countenance : ' that thing ' was dead. A great revulsion of feeling had been gradually taking place in the old soldier; this sad event wionght its completion. He had intended to nurse himself into perfect health, but he would attend the funeral whatever might be the risk of a dangerous illness. And When that Bad procession made its way along the shabby street, with the shabby houses looking all gloom in the light of a sunless day the 'Captain' was close to the coffin and to the only mourner, the grief- stricken father ; when the graveyard was reached he stood near while the remains were being lowered to their last earthly resting-place ; when the task was finished and the crowd had dispersed, he did not depart. He was still there. In any way he did not disturb the bereaved father who knelt on the rank, green grass ; but his ears caught the sobs than which, from the aged, there oannot be witnessed anything more calculated to excite pity. The clouds that had been gathering in the sky from the dawn were beginning to Bend large rain-drops, when the father rose to his feet fixed a long, lingering look on the mound which contained one so dear to him, and then began to turn away with faltering steps. A few of those only had been taken when he stood face to face with the man whom he had offended. Which of them was the real mourner ? To a stranger it were hard to tell. In the eyes of each there were tears Both hands of the ' Captain rested on his stick ; he was trembling with emotion. The other seemed to understand, and came forward. The right hand of the ' Captain ' was f altenngly raised : it was grasped and pressed. forgive me,' he stammered ; ' I'm— l'm such a coward. YOU ' l No! i no! Wy itfs e rm^h7 coward, 1 said Gregg, 'I was wrong, I kD ° TtoJS&iP shook his head. How could he tell him in that Pl^SudonotkToTh c ? replied,.butl'm,rmthe cowarl. The 1)07 say no more. Let— let us say no more. We're friends again.' He looked at the grave,

IMy pool boy, my poor boy ! ' he cried with a choking sob. Then side by side they went into the highway ; side by side they went from street to street till they reached the Dominican Church. At that instant the good Father with whom the ' Captain was on friendly terms was descendng the steps. The two men attracted his attention. There was only the semblance of dignity in the walk of either of them. He noticed the great tears which were rolling down the cheeks of the man who was to him a stranger, and the effort which the ' Captain ' was making to refrain from Bobbing aloud. They had almost passed before they perceived him. The ' Captain ' at once assumed, but indifferently ill, his best military attitude ; so, too, did the other ; then the right hand of each was raised and a salute given with fair precision. And in due course the good Dominican heard what has last been told, and was gladdened that the friendbhip between these two had been resumed.— R. J. Brophy in Irish Rosary.