“Don’t say so, Tom; don’t say so!”
“O Jacob! beg pardon if I’m too free now; but can’t you help us?”
“I will if I can, depend upon it; but tell me how this happened.”
“Why, the long and the short of it is this: that girl, Mary Stapleton, has been his ruin. When he first came home he was well received, and looked forward to being spliced and living with us; but it didn’t last long. She couldn’t leave off her old tricks; and so, that Tom might not get the upper hand, she plays him off with the sergeant of a recruiting party, and flies off from one to the other, just like the ticker of the old clock there does from one side to the other. One day the sergeant was the fancy man, and the next day it was Tom. At last Tom gets out of patience, and wishes to come to a fair understanding. So he axes her whether she chooses to have the sergeant or to have him; she might take her choice, but he had no notion of being played with in that way, after all her letters and all her promises. Upon this she huffs outright, and tells Tom he may go about his business, for she didn’t care if she never sees him no more. So Tom’s blood was up, and he called her a damned jilt, and, in my opinion, he was near to the truth; so then they had a regular breeze, and part company. Well, this made Tom very miserable, and the next day he would have begged her pardon, and come to her terms, for, you see, Jacob, a man in love has no discretion; but she being still angry, tells him to go about his business, as she means to marry the sergeant in a week. Tom turns away again quite mad; and it so happens that he goes into the public-house where the sergeant hangs out, hoping to be revenged on him, and meaning to have a regular set-to, and see who is the best man; but the sergeant wasn’t there, and Tom takes pot after pot to drive away care; and when the sergeant returned, Tom was not a little in liquor. Now, the sergeant was a knowing chap, and when he comes in, and perceives Tom with his face flushed, he guesses what was to come, so, instead of saying a word, he goes to another table, and dashes his fist upon it, as if in a passion. Tom goes up to him, and says, ‘Sergeant, I’ve known that girl long before you, and if you are a man, you’ll stand up for her.’ ‘Stand up for her; yes,’ replied the sergeant, ‘and so I would have done yesterday, but the blasted jilt has turned me to the right about and sent me away. I won’t fight now, for she won’t have me—any more than she will you.’ Now when Tom hears this, he becomes more pacified with the sergeant, and they set down like two people under the same misfortune, and take a pot together, instead of fighting; and then, you see, the sergeant plies Tom with liquor, swearing that he will go back to the regiment, and leave Mary altogether, and advises Tom to do the same. At last, what with the sergeant’s persuasions, and Tom’s desire to vex Mary, he succeeds in ’listing him, and giving him the shilling before witnesses; that was all the rascal wanted. The next day Tom was sent down to the depôt, as they call it, under a guard; and the sergeant remains here to follow up Mary without interruption. This only happened three days ago, and we only were told of it yesterday by old Stapleton, who threatens to turn his daughter out of doors.”
“Can’t you help us, Jacob?” said the old woman, crying.
“I hope I can; and if money can procure his discharge it shall be obtained. But did you not say that he was ordered to the West Indies?”
“The regiment is in the Indies, but they are recruiting for it, so many have been carried off by the yellow fever last sickly season. A transport, they say, will sail next week, and the recruits are to march for embarkation in three or four days.”
“And what is the regiment, and where is the depôt?”
“It is the 47th Fusiliers, and the depôt is at Maidstone.”
“I will lose no time, my good friends,” replied I; “to-morrow I will go to Mr Drummond, and consult with him.” I returned the grateful squeeze of old Tom’s hand, and, followed by the blessings of the old woman, I hastened away.