Part 16 (1/2)

”That's just what he is, sir.”

”But you speak in a way that sounds as if you meant he was the worst.”

”And that's just what he is, too, sir,” said the sergeant, with a chuckle.

”Best and worst! Then I suppose one must strike the happy medium, and go half-way.”

”Well, you see, Mr Darrell, it's like this: as far as smartness and cleverness, and being well up in his drill, and a thorough good soldier, goes, Bob Hanson would, if marks were given, take the prize. But if the prize was given for a man being the most out-and-out scamp--as big a blackguard as ever stepped--there isn't a man in the whole brigade, as far as I know, as could hold a candle to him. There isn't a man in the troop as has such a bad report against him. He's had twice as much punishment to get through as half-a-dozen of the other rough ones; and it's got so bad that if he don't look out he'll find himself tied up to the triangles some fine morning, stripped to the overalls, and a chap standing by him with the cat.”

”Ugh!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed d.i.c.k. ”Horrible!”

”That's right, sir; it is horrible. I don't like it, and the officers hate it; but, as I said before, what are you to do with a man as will ask for it? We must have discipline.”

”Oh, but imprisonment, or bread and water.”

”What does he care for imprisonment, sir? He just lays himself out for a long snooze; and as for bread and water, he told his comrades that it did a man good, and he was better than ever when he came out of the cells the other day. Oh, the officers have tried everything with him, because he really does behave well in action. One feels as if one would like the whole battery to be made up of Black Bobs; but as soon as the fighting's over, back he goes to his old ways.”

”But he looks so well.”

”There isn't a better set-up man in the army, sir, and that's why the officers have let him off scores of times when other lads would have been punished.”

”What a pity!”

”Pity, sir? It makes me wild with the fellow. I've done everything a non-com could to one of his men. I've spoke kindly and praised him, and held him up often as a sample of what a soldier should be to the other men; but you don't catch me doing it again.”

”Why not?” said d.i.c.k. ”I'm sure kindness is sometimes better than severity.”

”Sometimes, sir; but it isn't in this case, and I found I'd made a regular fool of myself.”

”What! by trying kindness with the man?”

”No, sir; but by speaking like that 'fore the others. The lads were all drawn up in line, and as soon as I had held Black Bob up as a sample, a big grin began at one end of the line and ran along it to the other.

But there--I've done with him now. I began being kind to him because I thought he meant to make himself a good soldier, but it was of no use.

So I tried bullying; but you might as well bully a stone image in one of the Hindu temples. You'd do just as much good. I will say this, though: if I was in a tight corner with a lot of the enemy about me, I wouldn't wish for a better comrade to back me up. Fight? Yes, he just can!”

”It is a pity, for he doesn't seem to be a common man.”

”Not he, sir. He's been a gentleman, that's what he has been. Lets out Latin and Greek and furren languages. Knows more Hindustani than any man in the troop; and writes such a hand that they wanted him to be under the adjutant--but they were sick of him in two days. He's one of those fellows as have kicked over the traces at home, just when the team was at full gallop, tangled his legs, and come down quelch! And him being a leading horse, he brings the whole team down atop of him, and upsets the gun and the limber, and then there's a row. His commanding officer comes down upon him savage for not minding how he rode; and when his officer has done, every one who has been hurt begins, and the next thing he hears is that he's to be tried by court-martial--sociable court-martial, you know, sir, as he wasn't in the army then. No, that's wrong; not sociable--social. That's it. Then there's all the evidence gone through, and every one comes to the same way of thinking--that he isn't a fit man to ride in the team again--and they drive him out.

They've done with him; and after they've cut off his b.u.t.tons and facings, they send him about his business.”

”Yes, I understand,” said d.i.c.k; ”he lost caste with his friends.”

”That's it, sir; just as a n.i.g.g.e.r does out here. Then, you see, sir, as there's nothing else for him to do, he does a wise thing--he goes to Charing Cross or King Street, enlists in the Honourable the East Indy Company's service, goes through his facings at Warley, and then comes out here to be picked out for this troop; and it always seemed to me that it was the wisest thing a young man could do when he'd gone wrong through being high-spirited and not able to hold himself in. He can't manage himself, so he comes into a service where he's managed and taught how to behave himself, and has the chance to rise to an officer and a gentleman again.”

”Could one of the privates rise to a commissioned officer, Sergeant?”

”Of course, sir, if he has it in him. Look at me. I've rose to sergeant-major, and I'm not a fool. I know I shall get no farther, because I'm only a common man who never had much schooling. But here's Black Bob, born a gentleman; he's got breed and learning, and the look of an officer. He has the ways, too, of a man meant by nature to order and lead other men. If he'd set to, there was nothing to prevent him rising to be a general. But, instead of trying to make up for the past, he settles down to being a blackguard; and when a gentleman has made up his mind to that, he makes the blackest sheep you can breed. He's so clever, and knows so much, that your everyday Tom or Jack's nothing to him. Doesn't matter what sort of scamps they are, they are reg'lar lilies to your gentleman. No, sir; I've done with Black Bob. He's past cure; but he's a good soldier when it comes to a fight, and that's all I can say for him.”

”It sounds very, very bad, Stubbs.”