‘May I ask what regiment yours is?’
The soldier smiled. ‘I thought our uniform and badge were pretty well known,’ he said. ‘My regiment is the 17th Lancers, the “Death or Glory Boys.” But I must be getting on, though I don’t like to leave you here. I’ll see you as far as Hounslow if you like, and I should advise you to put up there for the night and make an early start for London in the morning.’
This seemed to Jack good advice, though he thought with a sinking heart of his small stock of money, which would be thus further reduced. He got on to his feet, and was then astonished to find how weak and giddy he felt.
‘Just what I thought,’ the sergeant said, as he donned his headdress and gauntlets.
He placed his left arm round Jack’s waist, half-supporting him; took the portmanteau in his other hand, and, whistling to his horse, which at once followed him, he led the way out of the pleasant meadow on to the highroad. He then gave Jack a ‘leg up’ into the saddle, and instructed him to hold his slender portmanteau in front of him; then, with his right hand on the horse’s bridle, and carrying his sabre in his left, away they went.
Before they reached the barracks the sergeant dismounted Jack and they both passed in on foot. Jack gave an admiring glance at the smart young soldier, in all his gay trappings, a ten-foot lance surmounted by red and white bannerols in his hand, his spurred heels jingling on the stones as he strode up and down in front of the guard-room, outside which several soldiers, all also in full-dress, were standing or sitting.
Sergeant Barrymore’s quarters were reached. The sergeant’s wife, who was quite a superior woman, was soon in possession of the facts of the case. With a woman’s quick instinct she saw that the youth before her was tired and faint and hungry.
He was at once taken in; water, with soap and towels, placed for him; and then, when a welcome wash had refreshed him, a pot of coffee with some grilled ham-and-eggs and sweet white bread were waiting for him. Jack ate heartily and soon felt much better.
By that time the sergeant had divested himself of his gay trappings, and was in a loose undress jacket, slippers on his feet, and a well-used briar-pipe in his mouth. Jack turned to his host and hostess with the suspicion of a tear in his eye.
‘How can I thank you both for your more than kindness?’ he said. ‘You are indeed good Samaritans, and I can never hope to repay you for what you have done.’