Roger he swore he’d leave his plough,
His team and tillage all, by gum;
Of a country life he’d had enou’; -
He’d leave it all and follow the drum.
He’d leave his threshing in the barn,
To thresh his foes he’d very soon larn;
With sword in hand he would not parley,
But thresh his foes instead of the barley.
The names of my companions were Harry and Ned Glover, two brothers, the sons of the surgeon, or rather village apothecary, aged respectively sixteen and seventeen. Avoiding the main road as much as possible, we trudged on through the wet ground, over hedge and ditch, until we began to feel hungry. It was getting dark, and, on counting our coppers, we made the startling discovery, about which we had never previously thought, that we had but two shillings and eightpence halfpenny in our pockets, all counted. We held a consultation, and decided to sleep in a cow-shed, sitting under a hayrick adjacent to the shed where we intended to pass the night until quite dark. I went over the fields to the nearest point where I perceived a light, and found a provision shop; there I purchased three oaten cakes, at a penny each, and a pound of cheese for eightpence. I also made out that we were sixteen miles from our homes. Unfortunately I lost my way in returning to the place where I had left the two Glovers. After rambling among the fields, shouting and whistling until well-nigh exhausted, I came to a little mud hut inhabited by a besom-maker, and but for the oaten cake and cheese I believe I should have been worried by a large dog that resolutely opposed my approach nearer than about one hundred yards. Throwing down the cakes, however, the dog immediately seized them, and the man, coming out of the hut, warned me, whoever I might be, to “cut off, or he would put a bullet into me.”
Forgetting everything in my fright, I held a parley with him at some distance in the dark. The dog having made short work of the cakes, barked as furiously and appeared as intent upon worrying me as before. I told him all, and finding that I was a mere lad, he consented, for a shilling, to let me come into the hut, where a good fire was burning. I told him that my companions could not be far off, and described the place where I had left them. The good old fellow returned me my shilling, and placed some barley bread before me to eat to my cheese, while, he said, he would soon fetch the other two; but as I did not relish staying in the hut alone, and not feeling comfortable to eat until my companions were found, I decided on accompanying him. The night was pitch dark; but, aided by his dog, the besom-maker was not long in finding the haystack under which I had left them sitting. Tired out with walking, and weary of waiting for me, they were fast asleep on some loose hay pulled out of the rick. We had some difficulty in waking them, after which we all proceeded to the hut, made a hearty supper of barley bread and cheese and spring water. Our host placed a log of wood on the fire, and we slept upon the bed of heather that formed the working material for his brooms until morning, when the kind-hearted old man trudged off to the village, and soon returned with a can of nice new milk and a huge loaf of barley bread, of which we ate our fill; and after promising him to return to our homes, where, he said, “all would blow over in the course of a day or two,” we left him, and made our way on to the high road. We then held a council as to whether we should return home, or continue our course as far as Sheffield, and enlist in a regiment that we knew to be quartered there.
Hal Glover was the first to turn tail, and at once commenced his journey homewards. Ned bid him good-bye and called him “chicken-hearted,” and trudged on with me in a contrary direction. However, he frequently turned round to look at Harry’s fast receding form.
At last we came to a sharp turn in the road. A tear stood in the boy’s eye as he came to a standstill.
“I cannot leave Harry and my mother, Fred.” said he; “I will go back to W—, let the consequences be what they may. Good-bye, Trenchard,” and as he took my hand in his I could see the big tears rolling down his cheeks. He could not speak; but he pulled me towards him, as much as to say, “Come with me,” and if the truth must be told, I would rather have returned with him than have gone on; but I thought of the taunts and jeers that I should be sure to experience from the greater part of the lads in the village. So I wended my way to Sheffield.
I arrived at Sheffield on the same night, and at once inquired my way to the barracks. The Second Dragoon Guards (Queen’s Bays) were lying there at that time. Entering the gates, I was at once interrogated by the sentry as to what I wanted.
“I want to enlist,” said I.