‘Not a word,’ said the sergeant; ‘it’s every man’s duty to help a comrade in distress.’
‘But I’m not a comrade,’ said Jack with a smile. ‘I’m just a waster, a failure,’ he added with some bitterness.
‘Tut, tut, all men are comrades; but no more talking. A night’s sleep is what you want. Come with me. We can give you a shakedown, nothing more; but I dare say you’ll sleep well enough, and to-morrow you can get on your way again.’
The sergeant got a basin of hot water, in which Jack bathed his poor, galled feet. Some ointment was applied to them, a rag soaked in liniment tied round his injured knee, and Jack was ready for bed. A couple of regimental blankets on the sofa in Sergeant Barrymore’s sitting-room made a comfortable bed, and thus Jack passed his first night with those who, though he did not know it, for years to come, on land and sea, in comfortable home-quarters or on the blood-stained battlefields of the Crimea, were to be his loyal and gallant comrades.
His long and dreamless slumbers were at last broken by a ringing peal of martial music, and he awoke with a start to wonder where he was and what were the sounds he heard. The music, which he knew to be a trumpet-call, ceased; then he heard a variety of sounds, sharp commands given in that tone of voice peculiar to the cavalry service, the trampling of horses’ hoofs on the ground, and the jingling of bits and steel scabbards against stirrups.
Jack jumped up, hurried on his clothes, and went to the window. The sight that met his gaze drew an involuntary exclamation of delight from him. There, on the parade-ground just below him, he saw, drawn up in column of troops, the gallant ‘Death or Glory Boys.’
It was a magnificent morning, the bright sun shining on the burnished sword-scabbards and lance-points, making them flash and glisten like myriads of diamonds, while the light breeze was just enough to flutter the drooping black plumes and the gay red and white lance-pennons. The facings of the dark-blue uniforms looked snowy white, the shape of the men’s legs being shown to perfection by the white-striped overalls. The horses tossed their heads proudly and pawed the ground restively as though impatient to be off outside the gates, where they seemed to know a crowd had gathered to see the gallant regiment march off.
As Jack looked, the trumpeters sounded the ‘General Parade,’ and the officers took up their position with the regiment, the gold lace glittering on their uniforms and horse-furniture, conspicuous on which was the grinning skull and cross-bones, their great plumes of black swans’ feathers rustling in the breeze.
Then a handsome, distinguished-looking man, on whose breast glittered several medals and orders, rode up. A few curt commands followed, the lances came up to the ‘carry,’ and the officers drew their swords.
The band, which had been sitting mounted just on the right of the regiment, struck up a lively march and moved off; the regiment, in sections, followed, and the ‘Death or Glory Boys’ passed in review before Jack.