STORY ONE, CHAPTER ONE.
BEGUMBAGH, A TALE OF THE INDIAN MUTINY.
Dun-dub-dub-dub-dub-dub. Just one light beat given by the boys infront--the light sharp tap upon their drums, to give the time for themarch; and in heavy order there we were, her Majesty's 156th Regiment ofLight Infantry, making our way over the dusty roads with the hot morningsun beating down upon our heads. We were marching very loosely, though,for the men were tired, and we were longing for the halt to be called,so that we might rest during the heat of the day, and then go on again.Tents, baggage-wagons, women, children, elephants, all were there; andwe were getting over the ground at the rate of about fifteen miles aday, on our way up to the station, where we were to relieve a regimentgoing home.
I don't know what we should have done if it hadn't been for Harry Lant,the weather being very trying, almost as trying as our hot red coats andheavy knapsacks, and flower-pot busbies, with a round white ball like achild's plaything on the top; but no matter how tired he was, Harry Lanthad always something to say or do, and even if the colonel was close by,he'd say or do it. Now, there happened to be an elephant walking alongby our side, with the captain of our company, one of the lieutenants,and a couple of women in the howdah; while a black nigger fellow, inclean white calico clothes, and not much of 'em, and a muslin turban,and a good deal of it, was striddling on the creature's neck, rollinghis eyes about, and flourishing an iron toasting-fork sort of thing,with which he drove the great flap-eared patient beast. The men werebeginning to grumble gently, and shifting their guns from side to side,and sneezing, and coughing, and choking in the kicked-up dust, like aflock of sheep, when Captain Dyer scrambles down off the elephant, andtakes his place alongside us, crying out cheerily: "Only another mile,my lads, and then breakfast."
We gave him a cheer, and another half-mile was got over, when once morethe boys began to flag terribly, and even Harry Lant was silent, which,seeing what Harry Lant was, means a wonderful deal more respecting theweather than any number of degrees on a thermometer, I can tell you; butI looked round at him, and he knew what it meant, and, slipping out, hegoes up to the elephant. "Carry your trunk, sir," he says; and takinggently hold of the great beast's soft nose, he laid it upon hisshoulder, and marched on like that, with the men roaring with laughter.
"Pulla-wulla. Ma-pa-na," shouted the nigger who was driving, orsomething that sounded like it, for of all the rum lingoes ever spoke,theirs is about the rummest, and always put me in mind of the fal-lal-laor tol-de-rol chorus of a song.
"All right. I'll take care!" sings out Harry; and on he marched, withthe great soft-footed beast lifting its round pads and putting them downgently so as not to hurt Harry; and, trifling as that act was, it meanta great deal, as you'll see if you read on, while just then it got ourpoor fellows over the last half-mile without one falling out; and thenthe halt was called; men wheeled into line; we were dismissed; and soonafter we were lounging about, under such shade as we could manage to getin the thin tope of trees.