The Drummer's Coat

by Sir J. W. Fortescue

So one day early in September Lady Eleanor promised the children that for an unusual treat they should have a ride with the Corporal rather further than usual on to the moor. She would not ride herself, for her favourite horse was lame, but settled that she would drive them some way up the valley in the afternoon, and there meet the Corporal, who would go on before them leading the ponies, and ride with them on to the moor. Accordingly on the appointed day the Corporal rode through the village on old Billy, leading a pony on each side. Not a soul wished him good-day, and the Corporal felt that all were making unpleasant remarks—indeed he caught the words, "Dear! to think that they sweet children should be trusted to such as he."

But he trotted on without taking any notice, up the valley to the appointed meeting-place.

Lady Eleanor drove up rather late, for the horse-flies had been very troublesome; and the children seeing the grey pony which drew them covered all over with little flecks of blood, had constantly entreated her to stop while they jumped down and knocked the flies off him. At last, however, she came. The children mounted their ponies, Dick very proud of a new saddle and stirrups to which he had been promoted after leaping the bar bare-backed, and they rode away up a grass path to the covert, kissing their hands as they went.

And then Lady Eleanor turned round and drove down the valley, feeling very lonely and unhappy over the prospect of losing Dick. Her thoughts wandered back to her first meeting with Richard Bracefort, the handsome captain of Light Dragoons, her engagement, her wedding in a London drawing-room, and her first visit to Bracefort Hall. Then had come some two years of happy life in country-quarters. Those were pleasant days to look back on, when her husband would come in from parade and say that he believed he had in his troop as good officers and men as were to be found in the service; while George Fitzdenys, the lieutenant, would tell her that there were few such officers as her husband to be found in the Army, and the little cornet, who was little more than a boy, would be lavish in praise of both. Her maid again was always repeating to her what Brimacott, then her husband's soldier-servant, said of the devotion of the men to the captain. Finally there came the crowning happiness of the birth of the children; and she still remembered seeing a little knot of troopers gathered round the diminutive creatures called Dick and Elsie.

But, very soon after, came the miserable day when the regiment was ordered on active service, and she rode with her husband at the head of his troop to the rendezvous. She could see him still as he appeared mounted on Billy Pitt that day. Then followed the embarkation of men and horses, and a desperate struggle with Billy, who objected to be slung on board; and finally the last glimpse of sails disappearing over the horizon and the long drive westward to Bracefort Hall. There old Mr. Bracefort's delight over her arrival and over the children had almost brought happiness back to her again; and cheerful letters from Spain kept hope alive. But when the regiment reached the front, the tragedy of war soon made itself felt. George Fitzdenys was badly wounded in the first skirmish, two of the best troopers were killed and others wounded; and, after that, twelve months of service seemed to cut off member after member of what Fitzdenys had called the happiest troop in the Army. The little cornet was shot dead, the troop-sergeant-major drowned while crossing a treacherous ford, this trooper maimed for life, that trooper—but she could not bear to think of it. And then came the morning in August when old Mr. Bracefort had come in white and trembling to break to her the news of Salamanca. It was well that in those dreary days she had been obliged to look after him and give him the comfort which he tried, but in vain, to give to her. She remembered how, for all his courage, the old gentleman had drooped and died after the death of his son, and how all ties with the old life seemed to be severed, but for George Fitzdenys' letters of sympathy. Then she recalled the arrival of Brimacott and Billy Pitt, which seemed to mark the end of one stage of her life and the beginning of a new, and yet to carry the last relics of the past continuously into the present. All had been peaceful since then; the war had done its worst for her, and her only link with Spain now lay in the messages, always punctually delivered by old Lord Fitzdenys in person, that Captain Fitzdenys sent his respectful service to her and hoped that she and the children were well. She remembered how she had dreaded her first meeting with Captain Fitzdenys after the peace, and how he seemed to have realised that her whole life now lay in the children, and had made friends with them at once. He had helped her through some difficulties of business and had then rushed off to the campaign of Waterloo; and he had come back safe and sound only to run away again after a few months to India. And now he was back once more, in time to be of help to her; but Dick must go to school and the happy home must be broken up again. She sighed sadly, wondering where it all would end.

In this frame of mind she returned and sat in the hall waiting for the children to come back. Six o'clock came, and there was no sign of them. The long twilight faded slowly without a sound of hoofs on the drive; seven o'clock struck; and she rang the bell and asked if nothing had been seen of the Corporal and the children. The answer was "Nothing;" and she waited in growing anxiety, listening for the trample of the ponies or the sound of the children's voices, but hearing only the ticking of the clock; until unable to endure the suspense, she went out and walked first into the yard and then into the road by which they should come. The night was fine, but overcast by light clouds of grey mist, through which the moon pierced but very faintly. More than once her hopes were raised by the sound of hoofs, and dashed to the ground by the drone of wheels or by the appearance of a fat farmer jogging home. She asked more than one if they had seen a man on a brown horse and two children on ponies, but they only answered "no," and wished her civilly good night. In this way the rumour passed through the village that the Corporal and the children were missing; and many wondered, but made no doubt that they would be back presently. As Lady Eleanor came back to the house, the clock struck eight, and she returned to the Hall with a deadly sinking at her heart. A quarter of an hour later, she heard the Corporal's step, limping heavier than usual, and jumped to her feet; and the Corporal came in, looking white and haggard and weary, but braced himself to his usual erect attitude when he saw her, and stood at attention.

Then he told his story quietly and clearly. They had ridden right up to the highest point of a ridge, as they had designed, to look over the moor to the coast of Wales; and while they were standing there a deer had come by, and they had ridden down a little further to see what should come next. And then the hounds had come up in full cry and only half-a-dozen horsemen, among whom was Colonel Fitzdenys, anywhere near them. Old Billy was so much excited that the Corporal could hardly hold him, and at last the old horse fairly bolted away with him and the two ponies after him. The Corporal had managed to pull up Billy, but the two ponies had shot past him, both the children crying out with delight, and while galloping on to catch them Billy had come down in a boggy place, and the corporal supposed that he himself must have been a bit stunned, for when he got up he found that he had let go of his rein and that Billy and everybody else had disappeared. He had followed the tracks of the horse as well as he could and had found him in the next combe by the water, but had had a deal of trouble to catch him; and though he had shouted and holloaed for the children he had neither seen nor heard anything of them. Then as soon as he had ridden to the top of the hill again, the mist came down thick and heavy, and there was no seeing anything. So with some trouble he found his way back to the road, being obliged to travel slowly, as the old horse had lamed himself. He had left word at every house that he passed, and parties had gone up the road in the valley with lanterns. "I hope and trust, my Lady," said the Corporal in conclusion, "that Master Dick and Miss Elsie have followed the hunt to the end, for his honour the colonel will see to them. A man that I met on the road promised to carry a message to Fitzdenys Court, but the deer was travelling fast, so I doubt if the colonel will come home to-night unless so be as he must. But, if you please, my Lady, I'll just take another horse and ride over to the Court myself."

"Can nothing more be done?" said Lady Eleanor, calmed in spite of herself by the Corporal's calmness and forethought.

"Nothing, I fear, my Lady," he answered sadly; "it's terrible thick out over."

"But you are hurt," said Lady Eleanor, noticing the paleness of his face, and the effort which it cost him to walk.