The Roll of the Drum.

Clutha Leader, Volume XXI, Issue 1041, 6 July 1894, Page 7

The Roll of the Drum.

By Mountkney Jephson.

A STORY OF THE CRIMEA.

Author of " Tom Bulk ley of Lissington," etc.

CHAPTER I. It is many years since Sir George Dare, a peninsular and Waterloo veteran, retired from the service. It nearly broke his heart to sever all ties with the profession which had been his glory from boyhood. There was no actual reason for his retirement which was or. « of the most trying steps in his life. • The old ones should not block up the channels of promotion,' he had said ; ' let us make way for the younger men to come on.' So Sir George Dare, with an aching heart,' sent in his papers,' and though still a soldier in spirit, ceased to be one in the flesh. Making the sacrifice doubly hard to bear, he lost soon after leaving the service the wife who had been his loving, trusted, and trusting companion from early manhood — for Sir George had married young. His only son, a youngster of about twenty, and of course a soldier (the Dares were a race of soldiers), was away in India with his regiment, and the old soldier, lonrly and sick at heart, lived in club chambers in Zjondon. He haH inherited an old baronetcy from his father many years before, and with the title had succeeded to a substantial fortune. | The two advantages of wealth and i position, combined with a simple and i trusting nature, speedily made him a mark for unprincipled speculation. In law there is a maxim that every man is innocent until he is proved guilty. In speculation the converse that every man is dishonest until you have proved the reverse, seems to be the safer if less exalted principle to go upon. This it was not in Sir George's nature to do. He thought every man, until he had found him out to be a rogue, as guileless as himself. The result is easily foreseen. He was duped. He became a director of a bogus company — that is, a company existing on a f:ilsn foundation, and before long Sir George Dare, the very soul of honor, the knight, sans penr el sans reproche, the gallant guileless old soldier, stood in the dock, together with the other directors, on a charge of fraud. He was acquitted of all guilt by the jury, who, not content with their bare verdict, handed into tho court a written paper, signed by all of them, testifying to their sense of Sir G sorgo's untarnished honor, and the presiding judge in passing sentence on the other directors, took the opportunity of rendering, amidst applause which on this occasion was not suppressed, the hightest tribute to Sir George's worth. ' Sir George Dare,'* said his Lordship, in loud and impressive tones, •you leavtT this court without the slightest stain on your character, which whether on the glorious battle-field or in the quieter scenes of peaceful life has ever been a model on which I would to God the characters of all men were moulded. Were all men as you are, Sir George Dare, my occupation, like Othello's would be gono.' The conclusion of this speech was drowned in a roar of applause, which that dingy stifling court had never heard before- The old service-worn warrior caught in the meshes of villany like a lion in the (oils, had enlisted the sympathies of all from the very commencement of the proceedings. Even the old usher, who was the very pink j of propriety, and had hitherto looked upon a cheer in court as an enormity of the deepest dye, now found himself shouting out at the top of his voice, * Hear, hear ! brayvo !' at the same time emphasizing his remarks with a roll of ■ parchment on the bald head of a gentleman who was utterly unconscious of , the breach of etiquette, being too ab- | sorbed at the moment in applauding . ■with the ferrule of his umbrella on the j corns of an adjacent old gentlemen, who of all in that crowded court was , pprhaps the only one who failed to I detect the beauty and force of the i learned judge's remarks. But judge and jury and public ap- j plause could not in Sir George Dare's ! own estimation entirely wipe away the i stain. His reputation he considered ; no longer spotless. It had been j dragged through the mire, and there is ; an old saying as true as it is homely, j that you cannot touch dirt. and not be befiled. The iron entered deep into the soul. As Shakespeare says — " The purest treasure mortal times afford. Is spotles3 reputation ; that away Men are but- gilded loam or paiuted c'av." Sir George felt as if ho had lost this "purest treasure." Many a time in the Peninsula, at Waterloo, and in India, had he bled for his country, but no wound ever smarted like this one. It was * past all surgery," as Cassio, when he lost his reputation, said to that villain lago. Like that same young soldier Cassio, our old soldier cried out in the bitterness of a wounded spirit — 1 Reputation, reputation, reputation. Oh, I have lost my reputation ! I have lost the immortal part of myself.' Sir George Dare, however, was hard upon himself — the only living creature on this earth he could have been bard upon. No one could say a word

against him. He made the noblest reparation for what on his own part had merely been a too-trusting conn'd ence in his fellow-creatures. He devoted nearly the whole of his fortune to repaying those who had lost money in the miserable swindle to which he \ in his guileless innocence had lent his ' good name. Before he had washed his hands of the pollution, his fortune had dwindled down into dimensions very minute compared with its former bulk. At the vrry first approach of the trouble, Sir George Dare had sent for his son to come to him. ' • My boy, I have robbed you of your inheritance. Your old father stands before you a culprit,' were almost the first words Sir George spoke to his son when they met. Englishmen, even the most closely related to each other, are not much given to embracing, and no better specimen of a young Englishman could He found than young George Dare. Nevertheless he threw his arms round his white-headed care-worn old father's neck, and in a voice choked with emotion, said : — ' Father, dear old father, you have handed down your sword to me, and if I inherit enough of your brave spirit to wield it as gallantly as you have done, that will be enough inheritance for me.' CHAPTER 11. Young Dare soon returned to rejoin his regiment in India, accompanied by J a young bride, and Sir George was left jin solitude. The old soldier leading a i bachelor life in London chambers, felt rather like a fi?h out of water, which, to say the least of it, is a very uupleasant condition of existence. One day, as he was standing in the street, wa'ching with glistening eyes a battalion of the Guards marching past — his heart always yearned to the redcoats — he felt* a hearty slap on the shoulder, a i-oar in his ears, and then a jolly I rubicund old face confronted his astonished one. 1 What, George Dare !' roared the voice. •What, Jack Paynter! old Jack Paynter !' ejaculated Sir George, in delighted tones. The two frim Is had not met for years, and they wrung each other's hands until the passers-by stared. Jack Paynter was a retired post-cap-tain of the Royal Navy, and his intimacy with his militar}' friend had commenced in the. first Burmese war, in which a naval force cooperated with the troops in that deadly and savage campaign. At that time Sir George was a senior captain of one of the regiments constituting the. land force, and Jack Paynter was first lieutenant of a frigate. No two men could have been more unlike than George Dare and Jack Paynter. The one was courtpous and gentle to an extreme ; the other blunt and rough to a fault. George Dare, however soon recognized that under that rough and unpolished exterior were many qualities of sterling gold ; and Jack Paynter had many opportunities of observing that, with all his gentleness and courteous demeanour, George Dare possessed a lion's heart. They look to each other, and their acquaintance ripened into deep friendship. The two were striking illustrations of bow extremes meet. As they now stood face to face on the London pavement, which, by the way, was not exactly Jack Paynter' native heath, the two hearts warmed to each other. 'Come down with me, George, to Devonshire, and share a little crib I j have there, perched upon a hill on the j north-west coast,' said Captain Paynter, after a few notes of each other's doings bad beon rapidly comparpd. • Conip, George, and drive a little of the London fog and villany out of your system J with a few fresh breezes from over the ' sea, the sea, the open sea.' ■ c How long before you return, Jack V j ' Let's see,' said the old sailor, as he , hauled at a cable-like chain until an enormous chronometer burst into sight with quite a pop. ■It would bother \ the London pickpockets to take that [ prize,' he chuckled. ' Now let's see ; i it's just 3 o'clock ; I leave London in jan hour and a half. I only arrived in j the middle of the day, but I couldn't ' sleep a night here. I should be suffocated.' • c An hour and a half, eh V Well, j I'll accompany you, Jack. Come with ; me to ray rooms, and I'll just get a few • traps together, and then I shall be at ; your service. Man wants but little | here below, and light marching order is I my normal condition.' 1 Bravo, George ! Bravo !' roared Jack Paynter, with a hearty bellow, that brought a policeman running round the corner with the idea that some one had been assaulted, and was crying out for assistance. ' Well done ! that's worthy of a sailor. I couldn't have believed that an old button and pipeclay fellow could have slipped his cable and got under way like thai:.* Sir George Dare was as good as his word ! Within "l 2 hours he was under the hospitable roof of Jack Paynter's snug little cottage, and so much did he like the primitive peaceful spot, and the companionship of his old friend, that what was to have been merely a visit ended in a permanent residence. s Peacefully the years sped over the two old veteran heads. The greatest, I and, with one or two exceptions, the

pleasantest events in Sir George's life, were the arrivals of the Indian mail. Each one brought a letter from his son in India. One contained the joyful announcement that a little grandson was born to Sir George ; and after a \ few years another letter, couched in i heartrending terms, told him that his son was a widower. The regiment was on the point of proceeding to the Punjaub on active service, and the motherless little boy was sent home to his grandfather. Of course little Charlie (that was the boy's * name) became the old man's .darling, and in Jack Paynter's large heart there also sprang up a deep affection for the child. ' He must be a sailor,' said old Jack Paynter, when Charlie was little, more than a baby. ' He's cut out for it. He's too good for anything else. I already detect many sterling seamanlike qualities in him. He shall be a sailor.' With this object in view the old salt used to spin the child long yarns about the wondeis of the sen. One evening just after the candles had been lit in the snug little apartment the two old men wero sitting close to the fire, with little Charlie, aged six, between thfiin on a small chair which they had made for him with their own hands. ' Well, Charlie, what do you see in thf» fire, my boy 1 ?' asked old Jack Paynter, as he noticed the child's gazo steadily fixed on the glowing coals. •I see little soldiers running about, Uncle Jack,' replipd the child, who had been trught to call his old friend 'Uncle.' 'There, there's a piece of coal just like a soldier.' 'Pooh, not a bit like a soldier,' said old Jack Paynter, while Sir George sat watching the two with a quiet stnile on his face! 'It's exactly like a ship, a ship in full sail.' ♦ No, it's not a bit like a ship,' said the child stoutly. 'It's just like Oh, there, its gone and tumbled in two.' 'Well, and what's it like now, Charlie V 'It's — it's like two soldiers now.' Old Jack Paynter tried another tack. From the mantel-piece he took down a large shell which he pad picked up on the Coromandel coast. c There, Olmrlie, my boy, hold that up to your ear, and you'll hear some pretty music' The child did as he was bid, and there was a dead silence, while the two old men sat intently watching him squatted on his little chair with the shell up to h ; s .par. ' Well, Charlie,' said Jack Paynter, whose impatient nature could brook no further delay, ' don't you hear the sea whispering to you f ' No,' replied the child dreamily, and still holding the shell to his ear. 'Don't you he.ar the. murmur of the sea, my boy V said the old sailor. « No, I don't hear that, Uncle Jack.' ' Well, what do you hear, Charlie 1' asked Sir George, for it was plain the little listener heard something. • I hear, grandfather,' said the child still listening, and with the blood mantling his cheeks as he spoke, • I hear the rolling of drums. Yes, it's so pretty. I hear the roll of the drum. 1 Sir George snatched the child off his little perch and hugged him, while old Jack Paynter seized the poker and made a furious onslaught on the fire, as being the primary cause of the mischief. As years want on the two old men vied with each other in bringing up Charlie in the. way each thought be should go. Sir George Dare's first consideration was, of course, the spiritual welfare of his charge. One example is worth a thousand sermons, it is said, and Sir George Dare's gentle life wa<s an example constantly before the boy. He spared the rod, but he did not spoil the child ; he never raised a hand to Charlie, but kept him with a gentle and loving influence in the right path. Sir George was no gloomy ascetic in religious matters, and while he paid every attention to the after life, he also took especial can to bring the boy up to be an English gentleman. As Charlie Dare grew up, he became a proficient in every manly sport. His grandfather taught him to ride and shoot, while old Jack Paynter was his tutor in swimming and fishing. It would have been a treat to anyone vrith a spark of manliness in him to see the old soldier showing the lad how to take his fences on horseback. • When Charlie was about 14, Sir Jeorge Dare was 65 years of age, but he sat as erect in his saddle as a smart young dragoon fresh from the riding school, and over his fences he looked part and parcel of the horse he bestrode. He had not lost that firm but easy seat which, when he was little more than a mere child, in the Peninsula, had elicited the admiration of the Duke of Wellington, himself a perfect horseman, and so great an advocate for hunting in the British army that during the Peninsular War he kept a pack of foxhounds at his own expense. ' Who's that youngster ?' asked the Iron Duke one day, when out with his own pack, as he pointed to George Dare, mounted on an Andalusian horse, and sailing away over a stiff country in true Leicestershire style. 'Young Dare, of the 95th Rifles, my lord,' 1 Let him be attached to my staff,' was the mandate.

Young Dare was . not the first instance of an officer getting on the Duke's staff by sheer hard riding. Jack Paynter rather looked down upon the art cf ridnig as being an accomplishment peculiarly within tinprovince of land-lubbers : but to admit, for one moment, that any one of this large and degraded class of beings could do what he could not was not to be thought of. 'Now, Charlie, my boy, I'll show you,' said Jack Paynter one day, as his old friend took his horse over a flight of hurdles for his pupil's especial behoof. ' Come down George, and lot me go aloft.' 1 No, no, Jack,' said Sir George, with a quiet smile j ' you had better not.' ' Better not ! what do you mean V said Jack Paynter, warmly. 'Do you think, George, that I can't do what nearly every English gentleman who stays at home at easo can do 1 By the living jingo, I thought you knew Jack Paynter better than that.' George Dare knew enough of his old friend to know that the best way of convincing him was to let him run his own course and convince himself. In a few moments the wilful old sailor had clambered into the saddle and seized the reins as if they had been tiller ropes, while Charlie Dare stood by with a merry smile. ' What fun !' said Charlie, gleefully rubbing bis hands. ' Steady, Jack, steady ! Woa, mare, woa !' said Sir George, as a difference of opinion between horse and rider threatened dissolution of partnership at every moment. The more Captain Paynter hauled at the mare's mouth and rolled about in the saddle, the more she testified her disapproval by twisting and jumping about. At last, as if remarking to herself, ' Oh, you know, horseflesh and blood can stand this no longer,' she gave a buck which transferred . Captain Paynter's plump body from her back to her head. ' Steady, Jack, don't tumble overboard,' said Sir George, rushing to the assistance of his friend in difficulties. , ' Sheer off, George,' gasped out Capj tain Jack Paynter, purple in the face with the exertion oc hanging on. ' How do you know I'm not doing this' on purpose V Now sitting on a horse's head is a capital tiling when he is down, and struggling to free himself from a weight of harness, but to do so when he is on his logs is, to say the least of it, premature. The mare herself evidently thought that the improper proceeding had. better be nipped in the bud at oncp. Eighteen stone on her back was bad enough, but 18 stonp on her head was simply unbearable, and so, quietly dropping her neck, she deposited Captain Paynter on Mother Earth. He was not in the least hurt, and Sir George and Charlie, feeble with suppressed laughter, assisted the fallen hero to rise. 'Pshaw !' spluttered Captain Jack Paynter, 'I never did think much of riding. It's only fit for a land-lubber, after all.' I All Captain Paynter's efforts at improving Charlie were not such failures as this had been. Besides swimming and fishing, as already mentioned, he taught the boy to box the compass, to * shoot the sun,' that is to take an observation correctly, how to splice and tie knots of every description, how to row, and how to handle a sailingboat, and when Charlie showed what an apt scholar he was in all these matters, the old sailor would remark with a groan to his friend, ' You surely don't mean to say, George, that you're going to make a soldier of that boy V ' Yes, I am, Jack ; or rather his father is. It's his wish. The Dar«s have all been soldiers from father to son.' 'Pshaw ! you're throwing him away — throwing him away, I tell you,' Captain Paynter would roar out in high dudgeon. As his admiration of Charlie's nautical talents increased, the efforts of the old sailor to turn the professional line of the Dares from a military into a naval direction were often repeated ; but when Charlie became too old for a naval cadetship, and the golden opportunity was gone for ever, he grew more resigned, though he would often sigh over the loss of a second Nelson which the country had sustained.

(To be Continued.)