I looked forward to Howard’s visit to the Heronry, for I hoped then to see more of him and to get more at his mind than I had been able to do in the bustle and gaiety of London. I also wanted to compare his knowledge of mathematics, etc, with mine, in order to see whether the course at the Academy that I had gone through was as sound as it used to be a few years previously.
It wanted only five days to the date at which I had to leave for Woolwich, when Howard came down to the Heronry, and I was asked over to dine and stop the next day. Before I had been half an hour in the house I discovered that Howard and Helen Stanley seemed to be equally pleased with each other, and I felt that my presence was not always looked upon as agreeable. I was not, therefore, surprised when on the next day Howard told me in the strictest confidence that he and Miss Stanley were engaged, and that they were going to be married when he was a captain, which he hoped to be in about a year.
It being the object of this tale to describe the life of a Woolwich cadet thirty years ago, we must leave our friend Howard and the charming Helen at the Heronry, and return once more to the busy scene of my early labours and competition at Woolwich.
On returning to the Academy for my fifth half-year I found I was promoted to corporal, and was third senior. This promotion gave me a pair of epaulettes, which I put on, and wore with great pride. It was the first promotion I had received, and I can fairly say that no step in rank or position that fortune has since favoured me with ever produced one-tenth of the pleasure that I experienced at eighteen years of age in being made a corporal.
My life at Woolwich was now very agreeable. I had made the acquaintance of friends in the neighbourhood, and also in London. I usually went on leave from Saturday afternoon to Sunday evening, staying during the time with friends. At the Academy, being a corporal gave me certain privileges and authority, whilst every neux was to all intents and purposes my slave. I had every prospect of taking a high position in my batch, and after four months at the Arsenal, in the practical class, I should obtain my commission, and start as an officer in either the Artillery or Engineers.
The friends at whose houses I visited congratulated me on my excellent prospects, and seemed to think I was excessively lucky in having such a chance before me.
One of my friends was a retired colonel, who had been through the whole of the Peninsular war, was at Waterloo, and had left the service many years. He was a soldier of the old school, considered the service everything, and that there was only one profession for a gentleman, viz, the army.
After dinner, and when he and I were tête-à-tête, he used to indulge in various hints and opinions as regards the conduct and character of an officer and a gentleman.
“An officer,” he used to say, “must be the most honourable and gentlemanly of men. He must resent instantly the slightest insult. If a man even looks insultingly at you, have him out at once. If the day ever does come (as I fear the radical tendency of the age seems to indicate) that duelling is done away with, a snob and a bully will be able to ride roughshod over a gentleman, and there will be no redress. An officer, too, must learn his profession. It is a mistake to think that an officer should be above his work. He ought to know everything and do everything better than his men. More than once in my service, when I commanded a troop of Dragoons, I have taken off my coat and shown a private how to clean a horse.
“An officer, too, ought to be able to take his wine, and yet show no signs of it. I can’t recommend you any royal road to this,” said the colonel, “except practice. I should like to tell you, also,” he continued, “that many young officers make or mar their reputation daring their first night at mess. I remember once in my old regiment there was a young cornet joined us, who looked all right, and talked all right, but at mess he had to carve some beef for the colonel. He helped the colonel, and sent him a plate laden with two thick slices of beef, and a lump of fat big enough to choke a dog. ‘Good heavens!’ said the colonel, ‘what does that young fellow mean by sending me this mass of food? Does he not know I can come again if I want more? Take my plate away; the fellow has spoiled my dinner!’