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The Queen's Scarlet, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 16. "You Meant It, Then?" |
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_ CHAPTER SIXTEEN. "YOU MEANT IT, THEN?" For one moment Richard flinched, and thought of making a run for it; the next he was following the man. "Why not?" he muttered. "I may as well, if they want me to. Why not play for my living now?" The next minute, with the feeling of shrinking gone, he was standing in the mess-room, in one corner of which, partially hidden by a screen and some palms, was the band, while close to him, leaning back in his chair, was a fine, florid-looking, grey officer, evidently the colonel or major of the regiment, while the rest of the officers had resumed their places, and the dinner was going on. "Well, sir," said the elderly, florid officer, with assumed sternness, as he fixed the lad with his keen grey eyes, "what have you to say for yourself? How are you come here and interrupt the most brilliant player in my band?" There was a roar of laughter from all present, and Richard was conscious of a sharp face belonging to a bandsman peering between the palm-leaves. "I beg your pardon, sir," said the lad, frankly, "but I stopped to hear the music; the air was very familiar, and I had my instrument in my pocket, and--well, sir, that's all." "Oh!" said the old officer, scanning him sharply; "then you are not a street musician?" "I, sir? Oh, no," cried Richard--"that is, I don't know; I suppose I shall be." "Humph! Well, you played that piece from the _Trovatore_ capitally. The gentlemen here would like to hear something else--er--I should, too. Know any other airs?" "A few, sir." "Mind playing?" "Not to so appreciative an audience," came to the lad's lips; but he only said, "Oh, no, sir." "Go on, then. Here, Johnson, give the musician a glass of wine. By the way, Lacey, you were going to tell us a story about something." The big, good-looking officer smiled, shook his head, and wrinkled up his forehead in a perplexed way as he looked up at the ceiling. "The flute-player blew it all out of his head, sir," said a rather fierce-looking man who took the foot of the table, and there was another laugh. At that moment the band at the end of the great mess-room recommenced playing, but there were cries of "No! no!" headed by the officer at the head. But the band heard nothing but their own instruments, and Richard stood looking on, feeling faint and more weary than ever, and paying no heed to the glass of champagne the servant had placed upon a side-table near him, for he had been busy fitting together his flute. "Go and tell them to leave off," said the old officer, and one of the servants hurried to the corner and checked the players, who could now be seen whispering together. "Now, Mr Wandering Minstrel," said the officer at the foot, "we are all attention." Dick's brow knit a little. "Mr Wandering Minstrel," in such a tone, jarred upon him, and a peculiar trembling came over him as he felt that he had forgotten everything. The table, with its plate and glass, looked misty, too, and there was a singing in his ears as his fingers played nervously with the keys of the instrument. "Now, sir, if you please," said the old officer, and Richard gave a start, raised the flute to his lips, and blew a few feeble notes as he vainly tried to collect himself--conscious, too, now that the bandsmen were craning forward to listen. Then he dimly saw that bent heads were being turned at the table, and that he was being eyed curiously, till, in a fit of desperation, he pressed the flute to his lips and blew again, if anything, more feebly; but the sound of the notes seemed to send a thrill through his nerves, and the next came deep, rich-toned, and pure, as he ran through a prelude, from which he imperceptibly glided into a sweet old Irish melody. He played it with such earnestness and feeling that his hearers were electrified, and the applause came again loudly, amidst which he dashed off into a series of variations, bright, sad, martial, and wailing, till, as he played, the room swam round him, the terrible scene in the river rose, followed by that with his cousin, and then he seemed to be hearing the thundering of the water once more in his ears-- He was on the floor, gazing up in the face of a stranger, who was upon his knee, while other faces kept on appearing, as it were, out of a mist. "Faintness, I should say," said the officer who knelt by him. "Give me that glass of wine. Here, my lad, try and drink some of this." As if in a dream, the lad involuntarily swallowed the wine, and then, in a sharp, snatchy way, cried-- "What is it? What is the matter? What are you doing?" "Have you been ill?" said the gentleman by him. "Ill? No!" said Richard, huskily. "I don't understand." "What have you eaten to-day?" "Nothing--yes: a bit of bread." "And yesterday?" Richard was silent for a few moments, trying to collect himself. Then he recalled the past. "I don't know," he said. "Well, Doctor?" "Faint from excitement and want of food, sir," said the doctor. "Shall I prescribe here?" "Do I ever fight against your wishes?" said the old officer. "Then come and sit down over here, my lad," said the doctor, quietly; and he helped his wondering patient to a table close to where the bandsmen were seated. "Here, one of you," he said, sharply, "fetch a plate of that soup, and some bread;" and, as the dinner went on, the doctor stayed and saw that the patient took the medicine, which he followed with half a glass more wine. "You will not feel it now," he said, kindly. "Here, Wilkins, keep an eye upon him, will you, while I go back to the table? He is not to leave until I have seen him again." "Very good, sir," said a pale little man in spectacles, who was evidently the leader of the band; and when the doctor went to his place, leaving his patient seated at the side-table, feeling as if he were in a dream, Wilkins carried out his orders with military precision; for, every time a piece was played, he conducted in regular musical fashion, flourishing a little ebony baton, and turning over the leaves of the book before him on the stand, but never once glancing at the notes, his eyes, glimmering through his glasses, being fixed upon the lad, to whom the scene appeared more dreamlike than ever, and his head grew confused, with familiar airs buzzing in one ear and the loud conversation in the other. And this went on till the last piece upon the band programme of the evening had been finished amid thin clouds of smoke. Then the men began to place their instruments in their cases and green baize bags, after the different brass crooks had been drained and blown through, while a boy gathered together the music; and Richard started out of his dream, feeling better, and knowing that he must go. At that moment he became conscious that the bandmaster was standing stiffly close by, still keeping an eye upon him, and removing his military cap, revealing a shiny billiard-ball-like head, which he began to polish softly with a silk handkerchief. Richard, in his nervous state, felt worried and annoyed by this persistent gaze; but he bore it till he could bear it no longer, for the man stared as if he were some street beggar he had to watch for fear of his meddling with the plate. "I beg your pardon--" began the lad; but he was interrupted by steps behind him, and the doctor cried-- "Well, sir--better?" Richard started up and faced round, to find that the keen eyes of the colonel were also fixed upon him, looking as if their owner was waiting to hear what he said. "Yes, sir; I'm better now," said the lad, hurriedly. "I am sorry to have been so much trouble." "Who are you?--what's your name?" said the colonel, sharply. "Smithson--Dick Smithson, sir," said the lad, feeling the blood come hotly into his cheeks as he spoke; and his face grew hotter, for he could see at a glance that he was not believed. "What brought you here?" continued the colonel. "I came to enlist, sir," said Dick, quickly. "And the sergeant would not have you because you were too boyish, eh?" "Yes, sir." "Quite right, too! Where do you come from?" There was no reply, and the colonel frowned. "Where are you going to-night?" Dick shook his head, and the colonel frowned again. "Well, I have no right to inquire, I suppose, but you are not fit to go on tramp again to-night, my lad," continued the colonel, kindly; "and you had better mind where you go to sleep. Those instruments of yours are good, are they not?" "Oh, yes," said Dick, eagerly; "they are both of the best make." "And you have practised a great deal?" "Oh, yes, sir--a great deal." "Doesn't it seem strange to you, then, that a decentish-looking young fellow, who can play well, should be regularly on tramp and coming to enlist?" "Yes, sir, very." "Well, he had better stay here to-night--eh, Doctor?" "Most advisable," said the keen-looking surgeon. "Wilkins, you had better take charge of your fellow-musician," said the colonel. "Yes, sir," came in rather an offended tone, which the colonel noticed. "He had better go with the bandsmen, perhaps; he would be more comfortable.--Look here, sir, I shall make inquiries about you. Come to enlist, eh? Wouldn't care to join our band, I suppose?" "Yes, sir!" cried Dick, eagerly. "Beg pardon, sir, we are quite full," said the bandmaster, importantly. "Of what, Mr Wilkins?" said the colonel, sternly. "Incompetents? I am not much of a judge, sir, but I know enough music to be able to say that ours is one of the worst bands in the army. I shall have inquiries made about this Richard or Dick Smithson, and, if the results are favourable, he had better stay. See that he is looked after for the night!" The colonel sauntered off; followed by the doctor, and Dick stood gazing after him, wondering whether they would find out who he was and whence he came, when the bandmaster said in an ill-used tone of voice-- "Here, you had better come with me!" and he led the way to the portion of the barracks which formed the bandsmen's quarters, where Dick passed the night. "Eh? No! Why, it is! Well, I'm blessed!" The fat sergeant's ejaculations when, one morning, Dick Smithson, the new recruit to the band, hurried up to take his place with the awkward squad and learn a sufficiency of the drill to carry himself correctly and march with the men. "How in the world did you manage it, my lad? Here, I know: you were the chap who played in the mess. Well, how are you? There, fall in!" cried the sergeant, suddenly altering his tone and manner. "We'll have a talk by-and-by." For the next hour or two Dick was going through the customary instruction, and being barked at with the rest, ordered here and there, made to perform the balance-step, and put through his facings generally. The sergeant bullied him in the time-worn style, and stared at him as if he had never seen him before, till the recruits were drawn up in line, hot, weary and worried; for, though the stout sergeant was not very active, he did not spare himself, much less the fresh, raw lads he was drilling into shape. Then, after some exceedingly severe strictures, he turned suddenly to Dick. "Here you, Number Fourteen; you've been through all this?" "Yes, sir." "Hah! Taught by some clumsy worn-out duffer who belonged to the old school! You've a lot to learn, my lad, but you needn't stop with this rough lot; you can drill with one of the regular squads." Some of the men turned to look sourly at the new recruit, and were yelled at by the sergeant. "Eyes front!" he roared. "Keep your heads up there! I'm speaking to Number Four from the left, not to you! Steady there! Right face! Dis--miss!" The rank was broken, and, as the tired squad hurried off to the barrack-room, the sergeant drew his cane from under his arm, and called to Dick, the stern, rigid look giving place to a pleasant, cheery smile as he shook hands. "You meant it, then?" he said. "Yes, I meant it," replied Dick, smiling back. "Well, I'm glad to see you, my lad. Don't you take no notice of what I said before those louts. You're all right; you'll have to go through the course, but I can soon report you as being pretty perfect. You could hold your own now with most of the fellows in the band." "I think I can soon get on," said Dick, who felt glad of a friendly word. "Of course you can. You well-educated chaps know your right leg from your left; lots of these fellows never seem to. You'll be all right there in the band." He nodded and walked away, while Dick was soon after obeying the dinner call, and forcing himself to bear his grievance, as he sat down to partake of the roughly-cooked coarse beef and potatoes which formed the day's rations, and wondered how long it would be before he grew hardened to his new life and able to forget the many little refinements and luxuries to which he had been accustomed. _ |
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