REDUCED TO THE RANKS
In the meantime I had been tried by Court-martial, and reduced to the ranks. Sergeant Delaney, on entering the barracks, was put under arrest. He, too, had to undergo a second trial, and he, like myself, was relieved of his sergeantcy and put back to a private’s position. To me, however, this was no very great trouble, though to a certain extent it was a mark of disgrace. Dame Fortune soon began to smile upon me. I found a good friend in Captain Clifford Lloyd, the musketry instructor to the regiment. One fine morning, shortly after I was reduced to the ranks, and while I was engaged in preparing myself to mount guard, the Captain passed my room. “Ah!” says he, “you’re brushing up, I see.” “Yes, sir,” I answered; “I’m going to mount guard. This is the first time I have mounted guard since I was reduced to a private.” “Ah! well,” said Captain Clifford Lloyd, “you see what a fool you have been to get intoxicated. But I always said that any man can have a breakdown in his lifetime; and if ever you have another chance you will mind it?” “Yes, sir; I think I shall,” replied I. The Captain then walked away, but he had not gone many paces when he returned and said to me, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. One of my attendants, Johnson, wants a six weeks’ furlough to see his parents in Nottingham. I will let you have his place during his absence if you will take it. You will not have to wait at the mess, but to accompany me at the targets—fit up the targets, paint them, signal, and see that all is right for shooting.” “Thank you, sir,” said I, from a heart full of thanks; “I shall be ready when called upon, sir.” The Captain then went away, and I proceeded to complete my equipment for going on guard. I was on the first post of the barrack guard. I had not been walking sentry “go” for many minutes ere a relief man came to take my place, telling me that I was wanted by Captain Lloyd. I promptly repaired to the Captain’s quarters, and Captain Lloyd told me that he had given Johnson permission to take his leave on the next day. “Go,” said he to me, “and tell the sergeant to strike you off the mess, as you are now my fatigue man for two months at least.” I followed out the instructions. My new duties were very agreeable in one sense, for while being engaged only three days per week (that being as much as the regiment could put in at ball-firing practice) I had full pay. The next morning we went to business. I hoisted the danger flags to keep trespassers away from the range, and, with help from another man, I got the targets in working order. The range was on the seaward side of Ayr, and the targets had always to be removed before the tide came in. I used to take my paint cans (the paint was used to “face” the targets), danger flags, &c., at night to a fisherman’s hut at the mouth of the river Doon. The fisherman and his “guid leddy” were a very hospitable couple, and before I completed my visits to their dwelling, I got on very friendly terms with the family. To please the children I gave them coppers occasionally; of a penny the children thought about as much as a child in Keighley thinks of a shilling. Then I made “bargains” with the wife, exchanging money for “pulls” of brandy and “plugs” of tobacco. Her husband, it would seem, when he met with foreign vessels out at sea, would exchange with them fresh-water fish for brandy, tobacco, &c., so that the family had generally a good stock of these commodities on hand. In my new sphere of duty I had plenty of time hanging on my hands, quite ample to enable me to cultivate my muse. One of the pieces which I wrote was my verses commencing:—
In a pleasant little valley,
Near the ancient town of Ayr,
Where the laddies they are honest,
And the lassies they are fair;
Where the Doon in all her splendour
Ripples sweetly thro’ the wood,
And on her banks not long ago
A little cottage stood.
’Twas there in all her splendour,
On a January morn,
Appeared old Colia’s genius,—
When Robert Burns was born.
BREAKING A FIERY HORSE
With the exception of one rather vivid experience, my career as attendant at the targets was devoid of any particular incident. One afternoon, when I had just finished my preparations for the shooting, Captain Clifford Lloyd came up to me leading an iron-grey horse. “Come here,” says he, “and mount this steed; and take her a mile or two down the beach.” The horse, it appeared, had just come to hand from Bohemia, and was of a very fiery disposition. The captain said she had not received her baptism of fire. I did according to orders, and took the fiery steed along the coast. She proved a very “wicked” animal, and a few yards prancing and capering made me heartily wish that I was safely on terra firma. Suddenly a volley was fired, and as suddenly the horse gave such a lurch that I was within an ace of being pitched where I wanted to get—though not quite so precipitately. Volley after volley was fired, and I lost all command over the snorting steed, which was flitting along at the rate of so many miles an hour. Had it not been for a heavy guard-cloak which I was wearing, and which by wrapping itself about the horse’s body assisted me to keep my seat, I should most certainly have been pitched to the ground. In my anxious moments I seriously thought of John Gilpin, and compared his famous ride to my own:—
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
Away went hat and wig;
He little thought when he set out
Of running such a rig.
“Circumstances alter cases” we are told, and I compared my experience to that of John Gilpin in the following lines:—
Away went Hoylus, neck or nought,
In spite of wind or tide;
He little thought, when he set out,
Of having such a ride.
He held the reigns so tight and fast
As ne’er were held before;
He took an oath—if he got down
He’d never mount once more.
His cloak was like a parachute;
It kept him on his steed.
For ne’er a horse from here to Hull
Ere ran with such a speed.
He cursed aloud the unlucky star
That tempted him to roam;
And wished the de’il had got his horse,
And he were safe at home.
The horse wheeled, and gradually made towards the starting-point. As I drew within sight of the captain, he evidently comprehended my dangerous position, and came to my aid, shouting as he ran along, “Hold on; halt, if you can.” But I could not halt, and it took me all my time to hold on. The animal was about at the fag end, and allowed the captain to take the bridle. When Captain Lloyd told me to dismount, I can truly say that I obeyed his injunction more readily than I did the one to mount. I thanked my stars that I had come off as fortunately as I did. The captain took my place in the saddle. He had had a good deal of experience in horse-riding. Setting his spurs into the animal’s sides, he was instantly off like the wind. He went miles on the beach, and when he returned the horse was foaming at the mouth and trembling like an aspen leaf. To be sure, the “wicked” steed had had a successful breaking in if she had never had one before, and, when I ventured to hold the bridle, was as quiet as a lamb.