At length an 88th man came up to the carriage in which I was seated.
‘What’s become of everybody?’ I exclaimed.
‘Well, sorr, they’re all gone; a sudden order came, and they’re gone, except just a few to give over the barracks.’
‘Gone—where to?’ I asked.
After a time he replied, ‘They’re gone, sorr, to some island; but I disremember the name.’
With this very unsatisfactory information, I told cabby to drive me to the ‘Fountain Hotel,’ where I was told that the regiment had left for the Isle of Wight.
Parkhurst Barracks was occupied by only one battalion, the 88th, and the four company dépôt of the Cameronians. What delightful quarters the Isle of Wight was in these days! There was no railway then in the island; a four-horse coach plied between Newport and Hyde, and the drive was most enjoyable. The pretty little villages have now become staring towns. It is difficult to find a retired nook in the noisy country now all built over.
The officers of the 88th received the greatest hospitality from everyone in the Isle of Wight. The numbers were not overwhelming, there being few red-coats at the barracks. The private soldiers also were most kindly treated by the inhabitants of this charming island. It is a strange fact that at home in Britain, because a man wears a red coat and is liable to a greater punishment for drunkenness than a civilian, kind-hearted men consider themselves bound to offer him a dram, and even press him to take it, while to another class of men they would only wish ‘God speed.’ When my regiment was quartered at Parkhurst Barracks, an election took place, and the usually quiet town of Cowes was very excited. I had been asked to dinner there by a very hospitable host, and a married brother officer offered me a seat in his carriage. The party was a very pleasant one, and the cheers of the successful candidate’s supporters were distinctly heard every now and then.
When we were leaving, my friend saw that his coachman, a private soldier, had been drinking success to the newly-elected member—in other words, was very drunk, so he whispered to me to get inside with his wife, and that he would drive. The lady, however, was not to be deceived by remarks about the pleasures of smoking a cigar and driving home by moonlight. She soon exclaimed,
‘I am sure there is something wrong,’ and at this moment coachee made a tremendous lurch. ‘The servant is drunk. He will knock my husband off the box. Oh! Captain Maxwell, do, do something.’