Part 19 (1/2)
d.i.c.k must himself hear the details of the ”affair”, or the battle, as it might turn out.
It was therefore a glad day for both Adam and the Corporal when they again met;--to both a most pleasant change of thought--a glad remembrance of a grand old time already invested with romance--a meeting of men of character, of truth and honour, who could call each other by the loyal name of Friend.
We must allow the reader to fill up the outline which alone we can give of the meeting--the hearty greetings between the two old companions in arms; the minute questions by the one, the full and candid answers by the other; the smiling Katie ever and anon filling up the vacancies left in the narrative of ecclesiastical trials by the Sergeant, from his modesty or want of memory; the joyous satisfaction of d.i.c.k, as he found his faith in his comrade vindicated, and saw how firm and impregnable he was in his position, without anything to shake any Christian's confidence in his long-tried integrity, courage, and singleness of heart.
The Corporal's only regret was to see his friend wanting in his usual elasticity of spirits. The fire in his eye was gone, and the quiet yet joyous laugh no longer responded to the old jokes,--a smile being all he could muster. But the Corporal was determined to rouse him. ”The wars”
would do it if anything would. And so, when supper came piping hot, with bubbling half-browned toasted cheese, mutton pie, tea and toast, followed by a little whisky punch, and all without gluttony or drunkenness, but with sobriety and thankfulness felt and expressed--then did the reminiscences begin! And it would be difficult to say how often the phrase, ”D'ye mind, Sergeant?” was introduced, as old officers and men, old jokes and old everything--marches, bivouacs, retreats, charges, sieges, battles--were recalled, with their anxieties and hards.h.i.+ps pa.s.sed away, and their glory alone remaining.
”Heigho!” the Corporal would say, as he paused in his excitement, ”it's growing a dream already, Adam! There's no mony I can speak tae aboot these auld times;--no' auld to you and me. Folks' heads are taen up w'
naething but getting money oot o' the peace we helped to get for the kintra: and little thanks for a' we did--little thanks, little thanks, atweel!” the Corporal would e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e in a die-away murmur.
But this was not a time to complain, but to rouse--not to pile arms, but to fire. And so the Corporal said, ”Did I tell ye o' the sang made by Sandie Tamson? Ye'll mind Sandie weel--the schulemaster that listed? A maist clever chiel!”
”I mind him fine,” said the Sergeant. ”Curious eneuch, it was me that listed him! I hae heard a hantle o' his sangs.”
”But no' this ane,” said d.i.c.k, ”for he made it--at least he said sae--for our auld Colonel in Perth. It seems Sandie, puir fallow, took to drink--or rather ne'er gied it ower--and sae he cam' beggin' in a kin' o' private genteel way, ye ken, to the Colonel; and when he got siller he wrote this sang for him. He gied me a copy for half-a-crown.
I'll let ye hear 't--altho' my pipe is no sae guid as yer Sterlin's.”
As the Corporal cleared his voice, the Sergeant lifted the nightcap from his ear, and said, ”Sing awa'.”
Dost thou remember, soldier, old and h.o.a.ry, The days we fought and conquered side by side, On fields of battle famous now in story, Where Britons triumphed, and where Britons died?
Dost thou remember all our old campaigning, O'er many a field in Portugal and Spain?
Of our old comrades few are now remaining-- How many sleep upon the b.l.o.o.d.y plain!
Of our old comrades, &c.
Dost thou remember all those marches weary, From gathering foes, to reach Corunna's sh.o.r.e?
Who can forget that midnight, sad and dreary, When in his grave we laid the n.o.ble Moore!
But ere he died our General heard us cheering, And saw us charge with vict'ry's flag unfurled; And then he slept, without his ever fearing For British soldiers conquering o'er the world.
And then he slept, &c.
Rememb'rest thou the b.l.o.o.d.y Albuera!
The deadly breach in Badajoz's walls!
Vittoria! Salamanca! Talavera!
Till Roncesvalles echoed to our b.a.l.l.s!
Ha! how we drove the Frenchmen all before us, As foam is driven before the stormy breeze!
We fought right on, with conquering banners o'er us, From Torres Vedras to the Pyrenees.
We fought right on, &c.
Dost thou remember to the war returning, --Long will our enemies remember too!-- We fought again, our hearts for glory burning, At Quatre Bras and awful Waterloo!
We thought of home upon that Sabbath morning When Cameron's pibroch roused our Highland corps, Then proudly marched, the mighty Emperor scorning, And vowed to die or conquer as of yore!
Then proudly marched, &c.
Rememb'rest thou the old familiar faces Of warriors nursed in many a stormy fight, Whose lonely graves, which now the stranger traces, Mark every spot they held from morn till night?
In vain did Cuira.s.siers in clouds surround them, With cannon thundering as the tempest raves; They left our squares, oh! just as they had found them, Firm as the rocks amidst the ocean's waves!