“I will not keep you long,” I said, and stated my business.
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he said. “I thought you came to preach at me, and tell me what a wicked old man I am. There, bless your heart, I knowed it well enough, none better. John Morris, eh?”
“Yes, and his wife, do you know where they are?”
“Dead, ma’am, dead, both of them: gone to where there’s rest and peace, and no more sorrow; ‘where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary—’ You know the rest. Know them! Of course. John Morris was in my troop—B troop, 20th Dragoon Guards; smart, fresh-coloured, honest Lincolnshire lad—a good lad; without any of the general rough ways of a soldier: for there’s good sort of fellows among us, as well as the sweepings of towns and villages; and I loved that lad as if he’d been my own son. Why? Because he was a thorough soldier, every inch of him. He came to me to ’list—I was recruiting sergeant then. ‘Think twice of it, my lad,’ I says; ‘ours is a rough life;’ for from his talk I found he’d been having some tiff at home; so ‘think twice of it, my lad,’ I says: for I did not want to see a fine young fellow throw himself away. And it is that, you know, though it don’t sound loyal of me, as an old troop-sergeant-major, to say so; and feeling this—though I knew I should make a profit of the young fellow—I did not like to see him ’list, when a ‘rough’ would have done just as well. But he would do it; he was set upon it; and told me that if I didn’t take him, he would join the foot-regiment quartered in the town. So seeing how things stood, and sooner than he should do that, I gave him the shilling, and he entered one of the smartest heavy cavalry regiments in the service.
“I always liked him for his frank, honest, open manner, and the way he set to work to learn his duties—riding-school, foot-drill, sword-exercise,—no matter what it was, he worked at it; learned quietly and cheerfully; and in a wonderfully short time made himself a smart soldier. You never heard him snubbed for dirty belts or rusty accoutrements; everything belonging to him shone like silver or gold; while his horse was groomed till its skin was like satin. The men called him ‘Model Jack;’ for whenever some one on parade was having it for want of smartness, without pausing for a moment, the captain, or major, would shout, ‘Rein back, John Morris,’ tell the one in trouble to look at him and his traps, and then order so much punishment-drill.
“But we all liked John Morris; and there was not a man in the troop would have said a word against him, or done him an ill turn; for wasn’t he always ready to help a mate who was sick, or do a turn for a young beginner? But he was only a weak man, and he must do what no soldier who has any respect for a woman should do—he must get in love with a nice pretty little body, who was foolish enough to take a fancy to the fine smart young fellow. Seeing what a superior sort of lass she was, if it had been any other man in the troop, I’d have done what I could to stop it; but knowing the lad’s character—no smoker, no drinker; but one who spent all his spare time in the barrack reading-room—I couldn’t say a word; and so matters went on till we got the route, and were to be shifted from Edinburgh to Hounslow.
“Next time I saw John Morris, I knew there was something the matter; and after stable he comes to me, and in a blunt, straightforward way, he says—
“‘Sergeant, I want to be married. Will you speak to the officers for me?’
“‘No, my lad,’ I says, ‘I won’t.’
“He started, and looked surprised; for I was gruff; while as a rule I was always as friendly to him as I could be to a private—though there wasn’t a man in the troop who speaking honestly would tell you I was ever a bully.