I.
Private William Fox was swaggering down the road to Shorncliffe Camp; that is to say, he was trying to swagger as much as his 5ft. 2in. of stature would allow. For the prettiest girl in Folkestone was holding on affectionately to his left arm, and in his right hand he displayed to full advantage his new silver-topped cane, the result of several weeks' savings.
"Little Willie," as his comrades of the 210th line called him, was the most "special" of "special enlistments." He had enlisted at a time when a war scare was running riot throughout the country, and the inspector-surgeon had passed him, saying that he was sure to grow to standard height as he was only just eighteen, although it was evident to anyone who glanced at the set look of his shoulders that he would never be a hair's-breadth taller than he was. It was certainly rather trying to his three-month-old martial dignity to have the street urchins asking him as he strutted through the town whether "his ma knew he was out"—but that was nothing to the jeers of the men of his company, and Little Willie had not found the life of a soldier of the Queen as alluring as the recruiting sergeant had painted it.
But on this particular summer afternoon he had forgotten all that, for was not Nellie, his own little Nellie, tripping along by his side?—and he never thought of his grievances when she smiled those sunny smiles of hers. He had known her for years; as children they had made mud-pies in the gutter together, and when he was a little older he used to spend the pence he got for holding horses and running errands in sweets for Nellie; and now that they were grown up, and that she was in service and he was wearing a red coat, they "walked out" together, and talked of getting married.
"When I get my stripes, Nell, we'll get spliced, thet's what we'll do."
Nell nodded her assent.
"'Ow long'll thet be, Will?"
"Not so very long, neither," he said, his boyish face lighting up with the ambition of a future field-marshal—"a year or two, maybe, maybe less—they're a-wanting good, steady men loike me."
Here a loud voice behind them put an end to further confidences. "Ullo, little 'un, where are yer a-going, so 'aughty-like? Yer won't as much as look at a pal!"
The two stopped and looked round as Big Bob finished his sentence, Willie with disgust written on every feature, Nellie with unqualified admiration in her brown eyes. Big Bob was accustomed to that sort of thing from the girls he condescended to talk to; he was certainly a very handsome man—fair, curly hair, a fierce moustache, and light-blue eyes that looked down protectingly on womankind in general. So without further ado he ranged up on the other side of Nellie with a "Pleased to meet yer, miss."
For the rest of that walk poor Little Willie was decidedly "out of it." He had to dodge lamp-posts and walk on the curb, so that his six-foot rival should not be forced into the hedge on the other side; however, there was one consolatory thought in his mind, namely, that if Nellie managed to impress Big Bob favourably—as he had little doubt she would—the latter perhaps would give up making Willie's barrack-room life a burden to him.
Nellie did make a good impression on Big Bob; but, alas, for poor little Willie, it was not a one-sided affair. Next time the two lovers went for a stroll, Nell was distinctly patronizing.
"Why don't yer grow, Will? Yer ain't as tall as me by a inch, and yer does look small in a red coat!"
This was an awful blow; up till now, Nellie had been the only one person who told him he looked well in his uniform, and now that she should turn on him like this!
"Garn!" he answered, "where's the use in bein' a lamp-post?"
"But Big Bob—I mean Mr. Jones—'e ain't no lamp-post. 'E's a good sight broader in the shoulders than ever you'll be. Why, 'e'd make two of yer, 'e would!"
"Well, 'e don't draw no double pay, no 'ow, and don't yer forget it, neither!"
After half an hour's walk these amenities produced a decided coolness, and when Big Bob strolled up and offered them the pleasure of his company, it was a great relief to both. But Little Willie felt very miserable indeed when he thought over the day's events, as he lay on his hard barrack bed that night and courted sleep in vain.
"I'll make it up with her on Sunday," he kept on saying to himself by way of consolation. But when Sunday came round again, after a long, weary week of bullying, Nellie was absent from the rendezvous, and he wandered disconsolately all over Folkestone in the hope of meeting her. He did meet her—but hanging proudly on the stalwart arm of Bob Jones! Poor Willie did not even reply to her "Good afternoon," but went straight back to his cheerless barrack-room and spent the remainder of the day in putting a vicious polish on his captain's sword and buttons, by way of relieving his feelings.
Captain Archie Trevor was Little Willie's hero—he worshipped him at a distance, and proved his devotion by the care he took of that officer's effects. Captain Trevor's boots were the admiration of the parade, and even the colonel wondered how they always looked so bright and spotless. Willie was an ideal soldier's servant, and was quite happy if he won an occasional word of approbation from his hero; for Willie had never forgotten how, during his first march-out with the battalion, when he was staggering along under his heavy rifle, with blistered feet and aching legs, wondering how long it would be before his knees gave way altogether, his stalwart captain had come up and cheered him with a few words, and had carried his rifle for him all the rest of the long, weary day. "I'd give a month's pay, thet I would, to shake 'ands with the captain," he had afterwards said to a comrade, in a burst of confidence; and so it came about that there was never such an ideal soldier's servant as Little Willie.
That evening A Company had a "smoker" in one of the disused huts of Shorncliffe Camp. The hut was packed with unbelted warriors, who joined noisily in the choruses of the popular songs, and passed round buckets of beer to wet their throats between whiles. Little groups of men were sitting smoking all over the room, some on biscuit-tins, some on benches and tables, all chatting and laughing amongst themselves, and occasionally shouting spicy and personal remarks to the performers, who used a table as a stage, and were not loth to pause in the middle of a song and accept a drink from a proffered mug or pail.
One occupant of the room, however, took little interest in the proceedings. Willie had perched himself in a corner, where he sat unnoticed; why he had come at all he did not know. Perhaps it was that anything was preferable to the deserted barrack-room in his present state of mind. There he sat on an upturned pail, with an untouched mug of beer beside him, giving no heed to what went on around, dismally busy with his own thoughts.
"What-ho, Willie," cried Big Bob, as he espied him for the first time. "What yer so quiet about?"
Willie gave an imperceptible shudder as the bully shouldered his way through the intervening groups. "'Ere, boys, Little Willie's goin' to give us a cormic song!"
A roar of applause greeted this announcement, and several of Willie's particular tormentors closed up around him.
"I carn't sing to-night," protested the victim, feebly.
"More yer can any other time!"
Another round of applause followed this sally.
"Ain't yer going to offer us a tip at yer mug?" Big Bob said, as he caught up the tankard from the floor.
"In course, if yer ain't wet enough already," answered Willie.
"Mates," said the offended one, pointing dramatically at the youth on the bucket—"Mates, the nipper's 'inted as 'ow I'm squiffy! Then take yer bloomin' tipple; Oi'll 'ave none of it!" and he poured the whole contents of the pot over the luckless young soldier.
Willie rose with an angry flush, but someone from behind caught him by the ankle and sent him rolling to the floor.
"WEEPIN' WILLIE, TAKE THET."
"So-o-o, yer wants to fight, does yer?" cried Big Bob, as he jerked the lad to his feet again. "What proice thet, Sandow!" and he administered a terrific box on the ear to the half-dazed Willie. It was by no means the first time that Willie had "gone through the mill," but he was getting rather sick of the process, and resolved to show fight.
"Yer bloomin' set of bullies!" he blurted out. But just then a leg from the encircling crowd neatly tripped up our young gallant and deposited him on the floor again. Once more he struggled to his feet, but as he looked round the circle of grinning faces, all many inches above him, and as he thought of his own dear little Nellie "walking out" with the fellow who was making his life unbearable, he felt a lump rise in his throat; his fists unclenched, and in another second he had sunk down on the upturned bucket, sobbing as if his heart would break, and his hot tears mingled with the beer that was trickling from his hair.
"Law lumme, he's acshally weepin'!"
A roar of derision and disgust rose from the astonished soldiers. Then every man solemnly fetched his drink, and poured it over the prostrate lad. "'Weepin' Willie,' take thet," was the formula, as each man upset the contents of his can.
At that moment the door opened, and those who stood nearest it drew themselves up to "attention" as Captain Trevor, who had heard the noise as he was passing by, strode into the room.
"What's this?" he said, addressing the crestfallen gang of tormentors. "Off you all go to your barrack-rooms at once, and don't let this ever happen again in A Company."
They were only too glad to get off so easily, and in less than a minute Captain Trevor and Private Fox were alone.
"What does this mean, Fox? Why, surely, man, you've not been crying!"
"Please, sir, I couldn't 'elp it, I did feel so wretched like."
"You've left school now, remember that—we don't have men who cry in the army. Get back to your room at once, and don't let me ever see you in this state again. I am disappointed in you, Fox."
Poor Willie, sick at heart and sore in limb, crept back to his barrack-room, where he was greeted with jeers and hoots, but, mindful of Captain Trevor's warning, his comrades abstained from stronger measures that night.
The months that followed made his life a perfect pandemonium. All his room-mates taxed their ingenuity to the utmost in order to devise new tortures and humiliations for "Weepin' Willie."
His bed was always soaking wet, his kit and accoutrements hidden away. They painted his buttons, they whitewashed his boots, they borrowed his blankets. When a man could not sleep, he whiled away the hours of the night by throwing the heaviest missiles he could lay his hands on at the luckless youth. On wet afternoons Willie was "crucified" for the public amusement, a process which consisted in tying up the patient's wrists just above the door, so that whenever it was opened he got a severe jerking. And yet through it all he never showed fight and never complained, but bore blows and jibes alike with stolid indifference. Although Captain Trevor never alluded to that awful night, Willie instinctively felt that his hero despised him, and that hurt him more than all the ill-usage of his room-mates. Nellie he had not seen since, but she had scribbled him a line in pencil.
"Mr. 'Weepin' Willie,'—You're a disgrace to the army. I hope never to see you again till you've got given up crying.—Nellie Lindon."
"SHE APPLIED A CORNER TO HER EYES."
This masterpiece of sarcasm Willie kept in the lining of his tunic, and it made him mad every time he thought of it. And so the weary weeks passed by until the trooping season came, and then, much to the delight of all the men, A Company was ordered out to the North-West frontier to join the first battalion as a draft to make good the ravages caused by sickness and the enemy. As the train steamed out of the station, Willie saw Nelly Lindon waving her handkerchief to Big Bob, and as his carriage moved slowly past, she applied a corner to her eyes as if wiping away an imaginary tear, but there was a mischievous smile on her lips.