Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan

  CHAPTER THREE.

  THE "SAILORS' WELCOME"--MILES HAS A NIGHT OF IT AND ENLISTS--HIS FRIENDARMSTRONG HAS AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE AT THE SOLDIERS' INSTITUTE.

  It was not long before our hero discovered the reason of Jack Molloy'ssolicitude about his appearance. It was that he, Miles, should pass fora sailor, and thus be in a position to claim the hospitality of the_Sailors' Welcome_,--to the inner life of which, civilians were notadmitted, though they were privileged, with the public in general, tothe use of the outer refreshment-room.

  "Come here, Jack Molloy," he said, leading his friend aside, when hemade this discovery. "You pride yourself on being a true-blue Britishtar, don't you?"

  "I does," said Jack, with a profound solemnity of decision thatcomported well with his character and condition.

  "And you would scorn to serve under the French flag, or the Turkishflag, or the Black flag, or any flag but the Union Jack, wouldn't you?"

  "Right you are, mate; them's my sentiments to a tee!"

  "Well, then, you can't expect _me_ to sail under false colours any morethan yourself," continued Miles. "I scorn to sail into this port underyour straw hat, so I'll strike these colours, bid you good-bye, and makesail for another port where a civilian will be welcome."

  Molloy frowned at the floor for some moments in stern perplexity.

  "You've took the wind out o' my sails entirely, you have," he replied atlast; "an' you're right, young man, but I'm troubled about you. If youdon't run into this here port you'll have to beat about in the offingall night, or cast anchor in the streets, for I don't know of anotherlodgin' in Portsm'uth w'ere you could hang out except them disrepitiblegrog-shops. In coorse, there's the big hotels; but I heerd you say toSloper that you was bound to do things cheap, bein' hard up."

  "Never mind, my friend," said Miles quickly. "I will manage somehow; sogood-night, and many thanks to you for the interest you have taken in--"

  "Avast, mate! there's no call to go into action in sitch a hurry. Thishere _Sailors' Welcome_ opens the doors of its bar an' refreshment-room,an' spreads its purvisions before all an' sundry as can afford to payits moderate demands. It's on'y the after-cabin you're not free to. Soyou'll have a bit supper wi' me before you set sail on your nightcruise."

  Being by that time rather hungry as well as fatigued, Miles agreed toremain for supper. While they were engaged with it, he was greatlyimpressed with the number of sailors and marines who passed into thereading-room beyond the bar, or who sat down at the numerous tablesaround to have a hearty supper, which they washed down with tea andcoffee instead of beer or gin--apparently with tremendous appetite andmuch satisfaction.

  "Look ye here," said Jack Molloy, rising when their "feed" was aboutconcluded, "I've no doubt they won't object to your taking a squint atthe readin'-room, though they won't let you use it." Following hiscompanion, Miles passed by a glass double door into an enormouswell-lighted, warm room, seventy feet long, and of proportionate widthand height, in which a goodly number of men of the sea were busy asbees--some of them reading books or turning over illustrated papers andmagazines, others smoking their pipes, and enjoying themselves inrocking-chairs in front of the glowing fire, chatting, laughing, andyarning as free-and-easily as if in their native fo'c's'ls, while a fewwere examining the pictures on the walls, or the large models of shipswhich stood at one side of the room. At the upper end a full-sizedbilliard-table afforded amusement to several players, and profoundinterest to a number of spectators, who passed their comments on theplay with that off-hand freedom which seems to be a product of freshgales and salt-water. A door standing partly open at the upper end ofthis apartment revealed a large hall, from which issued faintly thesound of soft music.

  "Ain't it snug? and there's no gamblin' agoin' on there," remarkedMolloy, as they returned to their table; "that's not allowed--nordrinkin', nor card-playin', but that's all they putt a stop to. She's awise woman is Miss Robinson. She don't hamper us wi' no rules. Why,bless you, Jack ashore would never submit to rules! He gits more thanenough o' them afloat. No; it's liberty hall here. We may come an' goas we like, at all hours o' the day and night, an' do exactly as weplease, so long as we don't smash up the furnitur', or feed withoutpayin', or make ourselves a gineral noosance. They don't even forbidswearin'. They say they leave the matter o' lingo to our own good tasteand good sense. An' d'you know, it's wonderful what an' amount o' bothwe've got w'en we ain't worried about it! You'll scarce hear an oath inthis house from mornin' to evenin', though you'll hear a deal o' snorin'doorin' the night! That's how the place takes so well, d'ee see?"

  "Then the _Welcome_ is well patronised, I suppose?"

  "Patronised!" exclaimed the seaman; "that's so, an' no mistake. Why,mate--But what's your name? I've forgot to ax you that all this time!"

  "Call me Miles," said our hero, with some hesitation.

  "_Call_ you Miles! _Ain't_ you Miles?"

  "Well, yes, I am; only there's more of my name than that, but that'senough for your purpose, I daresay."

  "All right. Well, Miles, you was askin' how the house is patronised.I'll tell 'ee. They make up about two hundred an' twenty beds in italtogether, an' these are chock-full a'most every night. One way oranother they had forty-four thousand men, more or less, as slep' underthis roof last year--so I've bin told. That's patronisin', ain't it?To say nothin' o' the fellers as comes for--grub, which, as you'vefound, is good for the money, and the attendants is civil. You see,they're always kind an' attentive here, 'cause they professes to thinkmore of our souls than our bodies--which we've no objection to, d'eesee, for the lookin' arter our souls includes the lookin' arter ourbodies! An' they don't bother us in no way to attend theirBible-readin's an' sitchlike. There they are in separate rooms; if youwant 'em you may go; if you don't, you can let 'em alone. Nocompulsion, which comes quite handy to some on us, for I don't myselfcare much about sitchlike things. So long's my body's all right, Ileaves my soul to look arter itself."

  As the seaman said this with a good-natured smile of indifference, theresprang to the mind of his young companion words that had often beenimpressed on him by his mother: "What shall it profit a man if he shouldgain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" but he made no referenceto this at the time.

  "Hows'ever," continued Molloy, "as they don't worrit us about religion,except to give us a good word an' a blessin' now an' again, and may-hapa little book to read, we all patronises the house; an it's my opinion,if it was twice as big as it is, we'd fill it chock-full. I would boardas well as sleep in it myself--for it's full o' conveniences, sitch aslockers to putt our things in, an' baths, and what not, besides all theother things I've mentioned--but the want o' drink staggers me. I can'tgit along without a drop o' drink."

  Miles thought that his nautical friend appeared to be unable to getalong without a good many drops of drink, but he was too polite to sayso.

  "Man alive!" continued Jack Molloy, striking his huge fist on his thighwith emphasis; "it's a wonderful place is this _Welcome_! An' it's alively place too. Why, a fellow hanged his-self in one o' the bunksoverhead not long ago."

  "You don't mean that?" exclaimed Miles, rather shocked.

  "In course I does. But they heard 'im gaspin', an cut him down in timeto save him. It was drink they say as made him do it, and they got himto sign the pledge arterwards. I believe he's kep' it too. Leastwise Iknow many a hard drinker as have bin indooced to give it up and stuck toit--all through comin' here to have a snooze in a comfortable hunk.They give the bunks names--cubicles they calls 'em in the lump.Separately, there's the `Commodore Goodenough Cot,' an' the `LittleNellie Cot,' an' the `Sunshine Cot'--so called 'cause it hain't got aport-hole to let in the daylight at all; and the `Billy Rough 'un'--"

  "The what?"

  "`The Billy Rough 'un'--arter the ship o' that name, you know--"

  "Oh! you mean the _Bellerophon_."

  "Well, young man, an' didn't I _say_ the `Billy Rough 'un'? Thenthere's the--Bu
t what's your hurry?" said the seaman, as Miles rose.

  "It's getting late now, friend. If I'm to find another lodging I mustbe off. Doubtless, I'll find some respectable house to take me in forthe night." Miles suppressed a yawn as he put on his cap.

  "I don't believe you will," returned Molloy, also rising, and givingfull vent to a sympathetic and vociferous yawn. "Hows'ever, w'en ayoung feller insists on havin' his way, it's best to give him plenty ofcable and let him swing. He's sure to find out his mistake byexperience. But look ye here, Miles, I've took a fancy to you, an' I'dbe sorry to think you was in difficulties. If," he continued, thrustinga hand into his breeches-pocket, and bringing up therefrom a mass ofmixed gold, silver, and copper--"if you don't objec' to accep' of a loanof--"

  "Thank you--no, my friend. It is very kind of you," said Miles quickly;"but I have quite enough for present necessities. So good-night."

  "All right," returned the sailor, thrusting the money back into hispocket. "But if you should ever want a jaw with Jack Molloy whileyou're in this here port you've only got to hail him at the _Sailors'Welcome_, an' if he should happen to be out, they always can tell youwhere he's cruisin'. Good-night, an' luck go wi' ye!"

  Another tremendous yawn finished the speech, and next moment Miles foundhimself in the street, oppressed with a strange and miserable sensationwhich he had never before experienced. Indeed, he had to lean againstthe house for a few minutes after coming out into the fresh air, andfelt as if the power of connected thought was leaving him.

  He was aroused from this condition by the flashing of a light in hiseyes. Opening them wide, he beheld a policeman looking at himearnestly.

  "Now, then, young fellow," said the guardian of the night; "d'you thinkyou can take care of yourself?"

  "Oh! yes, quite well. It's only a giddy feeling that came over me. I'mall right," said Miles, rousing himself and passing on.

  He staggered slightly, however, and a short "Humph!" from the policemanshowed that he believed the youth to be something more than giddy.

  Ashamed to be even unjustly supposed to be intoxicated, Miles hurriedaway, wondering very much what could be the matter with him, for he hadnot tasted a drop of strong drink, except the half-glass of beer he hadswallowed before Molloy chanced to knock it out of his hand. Suddenlyhe remembered that the sailor had said the beer was drugged. If hecould have asked the barman who had served him, that worthy could havetold him that this was true; that the whole glassful, if swallowed,would, ere long, have rendered him insensible, and that what he hadalready taken was enough to do him considerable damage.

  As he walked onward, he became rapidly worse; the people and the streetsseemed to swim before him; an intense desire to sleep overpowered everyother feeling, and at last, turning into a dark entry, he lay down andpillowed his head on a door-step. Here he was found by a policeman; astretcher was fetched, and he was conveyed to the station as "drunk andincapable!"

  When brought before the Inspector the following morning, shame andreckless despair were the tenants of his breast. Those tenants were notexpelled, but rather confirmed in possession, when the Inspector--afternumerous questions, to which Miles returned vague unsatisfactoryreplies--adopted the role of the faithful friend, and gave him a greatdeal of paternal advice, especially with reference to the avoidance ofstrong drink and bad companions.

  Miles had the wisdom, however, to conceal his feelings, and to take thereproof and advice in good part. Afterwards, on being set free, he meta recruiting sergeant, who, regarding him as a suitable subject for theservice of her Majesty, immediately laid siege to him. In his thenstate of mind the siege was an easy one. In short, he capitulated atonce and entered the Queen's service, under the name of John Miles.

  We need scarcely say that his heart misgave him, that his consciencecondemned him, and that, do what he would, he could not shut out thefact that his taking so hasty and irrevocable a step was a poor returnfor all the care and anxiety of his parents in years gone by. But, aswe have said, or hinted, Miles was one of those youths who, when theyhave once made up their minds to a certain course of action, fancy thatthey are bound to pursue it to the end. Hence it was that he gave hisname as John Miles instead of Miles Milton, so that he might baffle anyinquiries as to what had become of him.

  Once enlisted, he soon began to realise the fact that he was no longer afree agent--at least not in the sense in which he had been so up to thatperiod of his life. Constant drill was the order of the day for someweeks; for there was a demand for more troops for Egypt at the time, andregiments were being made up to their full strength as fast as possible.

  During this period Miles saw little of his companions in armspersonally, save that group of recruits who were being "licked intoshape" along with him. At first he was disappointed with these, formost of them were shy, unlettered men; some, raw lads from the country;and others, men who seemed to have been loafers before joining, and wereby no means attractive.

  The drill-sergeant, however, was a good, though stern man, and soonrecognised the differences in character, aptitude, and willingness amonghis raw recruits. This man, whose name was Hardy, made a powerfulimpression on our hero from the first; there was something so quiet andeven gentle about him, in spite of his firm and inflexible demands inregard to the matters of drill and duty. To please this man, Miles gavehimself heart and soul to his work, and was soon so efficient as to beallowed to join the regiment.

  And here he found, to his surprise and satisfaction, that the sergeantand young soldier with whom he had travelled to Portsmouth, were membersof the company to which he was attached. As we have said, Miles hadtaken a great fancy at first sight to the young private, whose name wasWilliam Armstrong. Our hero was of an affectionate disposition, andwould have allowed his warm feelings to expend themselves on a dograther than have denied them free play. No wonder, then, that he wasattracted by the handsome manly countenance and deferential manner ofArmstrong, who, although an uneducated youth, and reared in the lowerranks of life, was gifted with those qualities of the true gentlemanwhich mere social position can neither bestow nor take away. Hisintellect also was of that active and vigorous fibre which cannot beentirely repressed by the want of scholastic training.

  The affection was mutual, for the contrasts and similarities of the twomen were alike calculated to draw them together. Both were tall, broad,square-shouldered, erect, and soldierly, yet, withal, modest as well indemeanour as in feeling, and so exactly like to each other in size andfigure, and in the quiet gravity of their expressions, that they mightwell have been taken for twin brothers. When, in uniform, the twostrode along the streets of Portsmouth, people were apt to turn and lookat them, and think, no doubt, that with many such men in the Britisharmy it would go hard with the foes of Old England!

  The bond of union was still further strengthened by the fact that, whilethe comparatively learned Miles was enthusiastic and communicative, theunlettered Armstrong was inquisitive and receptive, fond of prying intothe nature of things, and always ready as well as competent to discuss--not merely to _argue_. Observe the distinction, good reader.Discussion means the shaking of any subject into its component partswith a desire to understand it. Argument has come very much to signifythe enravelment of any subject with a view to the confusion and conquestof an opponent. Both young men abhorred the latter and liked theformer. Hence much of their harmony and friendship.

  "Will you come with me up town?" said Armstrong to Miles one day, as hewas about to quit the barrack-room. "I'm going to see if there's anynews of my Emmy."

  "I did not know you expected her," said Miles. "Come along, I'm ready."

  "I don't expect her yet," returned Armstrong, as they left the barracks;"I only look for a letter, because it was on Wednesday that I wrotetelling her of my going to Egypt, and she can scarce have had time toget ready to come down, poor girl! In fact I am going to engage a roomfor her. By the way, I heard this morning that there's to be anotherdraft for Egypt, so y
ou'll have a chance to go."

  "I'm rejoiced to hear it," returned Miles; "for, to say the truth, I hadbeen growing envious of your good fortune in being ordered on activeservice."

  "Hooroo, Armstrong, where away now?" cried an unmistakably Irish voice,as a smart little soldier crossed the street to them, and was introducedto Miles as Corporal Flynn, belonging to another company in his ownregiment.

  "My blissin' on ye, Miles. John, is it?"

  "Yes, John," replied our hero, much amused at the free-and-easy addressof the little corporal.

  "Well, John Miles," he said, "I don't know whether ye'll laugh or crywhin I tell ye that you'll likely be warned this evenin' for the draftthat's goin' to Aigypt."

  "I certainly won't cry," returned Miles, with a laugh. Yet the newsbrought a sudden feeling into his breast which was strongly allied tothe opposite of laughter, for the thought of parting from father andmother without bidding them farewell fell upon his spirit with crushingweight; but, like too many men who know they are about to do wrong,Miles hardened his heart with the delusive argument that, having fairlytaken the step, it was impossible for him now to retrace it. He knew--at least he thought--that there was still the possibility of beingbought off, and that his stern father would only be too glad to helphim. He also knew that at least he had time to write and let them knowhis circumstances, so that they might run down to Portsmouth and bid himgood-bye; but he had taken the bit in his teeth, and now he resolved toabide the consequences.

  Turning from his companions while they conversed, he looked into ashop-window.

  "Your chum's in the blues," said the lively corporal, in a lower voice.

  "Young fellows are often in that state after joining, ain't they?"returned Armstrong.

  "True for ye--an' more shame to them, whin they ought to be as proud aspaycocks at wearin' her gracious Majesty's uniform. But good luck to'ee! I must be off, for I'm bound for Aigypt mesilf."

  "I am glad that I shall have the chance of seeing your wife, for I'vebeen much interested in her since your friend Sergeant Gilroy told meabout her," said Miles, as they resumed their walk. "Surely it is hardof them to refuse to let her go with the regiment."

  "Well, it _is_ hard," returned the young soldier; "but after all Icannot find fault with the powers that be, for I married with my eyesopen. I knew the rule that those who marry without leave must leavetheir wives at home, for only a certain number of families can go abroadwith a regiment--and that only in peace-time."

  "It might have been well," continued Armstrong, slowly, while a sadexpression clouded his face for a few moments, "if I had waited, andmany a time has my conscience smitten me for my haste. But what could Ido? Emmy most unaccountably fell in love wi' me--_thank God_! for I dothink that the greatest earthly blessing that can be given to mortal manis the love of a gentle, true-hearted girl. The wealth of the Indiescannot purchase that, and nothing else in life can supply the want ofit. Can you wonder that I grasped the treasure when within my reach?"

  "I certainly cannot; and as certainly I do not blame you," returned thesympathetic Miles.

  "Of course I fell in love with Emmy," continued the soldier, with aslightly confused look. "I could no more help that than I could helpgrowing up. Could I?"

  "Certainly not," said Miles.

  "Well, you see," continued his friend, "as the affair was arranged inheaven, according to general belief, what was I that I should resist?You see, Emmy's father, who's a well-to-do farmer, was willing, and wenever gave a thought to Egypt or the war at the time. She will be welllooked after while I'm away, and I'll send her every penny of my paythat I can spare, but--"

  He stopped abruptly, and Miles, respecting his feelings, remarked, byway of changing the subject, that, the pay of a private soldier being sosmall, very little could be saved out of that.

  "Not much," assented his comrade; "but, little as it is, we can increaseit in various ways. For one thing, I have given up smoking. That willsave a little; though, to say truth, I have never expended much onbaccy. Then I have joined Miss Robinson's Temperance Band--"

  "Strange how often that lady's name has been in my ears since I came toPortsmouth!" said Miles.

  "Not so strange after all," returned Armstrong, "when one reflects thatshe has been the means of almost changing the character of the townwithin the last few years--as far at least as concerns the condition ofsoldiers, as well as many of the poorer classes among its inhabitants--so Sergeant Gilroy tells me."

  As some of the information given by Sergeant Gilroy to the young soldiermay be interesting to many readers, we quote a few of his own words.

  "Why, some years ago," he said, "the soldiers' wives, mothers, andsisters who came down here to see the poor fellows set sail for foreignparts, found it almost impossible to obtain lodgings, except indrinking-houses which no respectable woman could enter. Some poor womeneven preferred to spend a winter night under railway arches, or somesuch shelter, rather than enter these places. And soldiers out ofbarracks had nowhere else to go to for amusement, while sailors on leavehad to spend their nights in them or walk the streets. Now all that ischanged. The Soldiers' Institute supplies 140 beds, and furnishes boardand lodging to our sisters and wives at the lowest possible rates,besides reception-rooms where we can meet our friends; a splendidreading-room, where we find newspapers and magazines, and can write ourletters, if we like, in peace and quiet; a bar where tea and coffee,bread and butter, buns, etcetera, can be had at all reasonable hours fora mere trifle; a coffee and smoking room, opening out of which are twobilliard-rooms, and beyond these a garden, where we can get on the flatroof of a house and watch the arrival and departure of shipping. Thereis a small charge to billiard-players, which pays all expenses of thetables, so that not a penny of the Institute funds is spent on thegames. Of course no gambling is allowed in any of Miss Robinson'sInstitutes. Then there are Bible-class rooms, and women's work-rooms,and a lending library, and bathrooms, and a great hall, big enough tohold a thousand people, where there are held temperance meetings,lectures with dissolving views, entertainments, and `tea-fights,' andSunday services. No wonder that, with such an agency at work for theglory of God and the good of men, Portsmouth is almost a new place.Indeed, although Miss Robinson met with powerful opposition at firstfrom the powers that be, her Institute is now heartily recognised andencouraged in every way at the Horse Guards. Indeed, it has recentlybeen visited by the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge, andhighly approved of by these and other grandees."

  While the two soldiers were chatting about the past and present of theInstitute they arrived at its door.

  "Here we are. Come into the reception-room, Miles, while I make inquiryabout my letters."

  They entered the house as he spoke. The reception-room is on the rightof the passage. Armstrong opened the door and looked in, but, insteadof advancing, he stood transfixed, gazing before him open-mouthed asthough he had seen a spectre, for there, in front of the fire, sat abeautiful, refined-looking girl, with golden hair and blue eyes, gazingpensively at the flickering flames.

  Miles was not kept long in suspense as to who she was.

  "Emmy!"

  "Oh, Willie!"

  These were exclamations which would have revealed all in a moment, eventhough Emmy had not sprung up and rushed into Willie's open arms. Howshe ever emerged from the embrace of those arms with unbroken bones is amystery which cannot be solved, but she did emerge in safety, and withsome confusion on observing that Miles had witnessed the incident withadmiring gaze!

  "Never mind him, Emmy," said the young soldier, laughing; "he's a goodfriend, a comrade. Shake hands with him."

  The action, and the ease of manner with which Emmy obeyed, proved thatgrace and small hands are not altogether dependent on rank or station.

  "Excuse me," said Miles, after a few words of salutation; "I'll go andhave a look at the library."

  So saying he quitted the room, leaving the young couple alone; for therechanced to
be no other visitors to the reception-room at the time. Inthe lobby he found several soldiers and a couple of sailors enjoyingcoffee at the bar, and was about to join them when a man came forwardwhose dress was that of a civilian, though his bearing proclaimed him asoldier.

  "Hallo, Brown," exclaimed one of the soldiers, "d'ye know that atroop-ship has just come in!"

  "Know it? of course I do; you may trust the people of this house to befirst in hearing such news."

  "Mr Tufnell told me of it. I'm just going down to the jetty to boilthe kettle for them."

  As he spoke, two ladies of the Institute descended the broad staircase,each with a basket on her arm.

  They entered into conversation for a few minutes with the soldiers atthe bar, and it was abundantly evident to Miles, from the kindly tone ofthe former and the respectful air of the latter, that they were familiaracquaintances, and on the best of terms.

  "Are you all ready, Brown?" asked one of the ladies of the soldier-likecivilian, whom we have already mentioned.

  "All ready, Miss; a man has already gone to order the bread and butterand light the fire. I hear the vessel is crowded, so we may expect afull house to-night."

  Miles pricked up his ears on hearing this, and when Brown went out,leaving the two ladies to finish their conversation with the soldiers,he followed him.

  "Pardon me," he said, on overtaking the man. "Did I understandcorrectly that a troop-ship has just arrived?"

  "Right," said Brown. "I am just going down to the embarkation jetty toget coffee ready for the men. You seem to have joined but a short time,apparently, for though I am familiar with your uniform I have not seenyourself before."

  "True, it is not long since I joined, and this is my first visit to theInstitute."

  "I hope it won't be the last, friend," returned Brown heartily. "Everysoldier is welcome there, and, for the matter of that, so is everysailor and marine."

  "I have heard as much. May I accompany you to this jetty to see thetroops arrive, and this coffee business that you speak of?"

  "You may, and welcome," said Brown, leading his companion through thetown in the direction of the docks, and chatting, as they walked along,about the army and navy; about his own experiences in the former; andabout the condition of soldiers at the present time as contrasted withthat of the days gone by.