THE BELLMAN'S SHAKESPEARE!

Then we engaged a fiddler who went by the name of Billy Frenchman—a well-known character in Haworth at the time. Bill had been in the army for some years. In his old age he had been appointed town's herald or crier of Haworth. It was in this capacity that we engaged him to "cry" our show about Haworth, before we turned out on parade. Billy told us to write down what we wanted him to say, and this was our programme—"This is to give notice to the public of Haworth and the surrounding neighbourhood that a company of dramatic performers will appear tonight at the Fleece Inn Garret. The performance to commence with Shakespeare's comedy, 'Katharine and Petruchio; or, The Taming of the Shrew;' to be followed by 'Ali Pasha; or, The Mussulman's Vengeance,' and tricks by the monkey, and comic sketches." These were the words Billy had written on his paper, but through some misunderstanding these were the words I heard him cry out: he gave them in broad Haworth dialect:—"This is ta gie noatis ta t'publick o' Howarth et ther's bahn ta be sum play-acters at t'Fleece Inn Garritt, and ther bahn ta act 'Catherine fra t'Padding Can, er Who's ta tak t'screws;' ta be follered bi 'Alpaca, er t'smashing up o' t'engines.'" But Billy's blunder was perhaps for the best; for, seeing that this was about the time when hand woolcombing was on the decline, and engines were being brought out, the people had an idea that the announcement had some startling reference to their trade. Myself, I could not help but laugh heartily over this choice specimen of bellman's oratory.



BILL PLAYS THE STREET MONKEY

About 5.30 in the evening Jack put on his clown's costume, and I put on the monkey's garb, and Jack, taking the drum and leading me by a chain, paraded up the main street of Haworth. Opposite the White Lion we "pitched," and the customers soon came out of the public-house, and passers-by stopped to see "whoa we wor." I distinctly heard one of the onlookers say that "if it wor a real un, it wor t'biggest monkey ut he'd ivver seen." Then a few of the folks standing together held a hurried confab., and as a result one of them announced, "I'll tread on his tail, an' if he squeaks it'll be a reight un." Suiting his words to action the joskin advanced and trod on the end of the monkey's tail. Of course the monkey squeaked. Jacko also turned round suddenly, and, with a horrid grin on his features, sprang on the shoulders of his intruder. The poor fellow screamed, and his first words on finding himself out of danger were "Oh! he's a reight monkey." Within the next few minutes another native came up, and inquired of Spencer "Ah say—can thy monkey chew bacca?"—producing a tobacco-box, the size of which was awe-inspiring. "Try it," said Spencer, "Give him the box—he's very careful." So the big-hearted joskin handed his big tobacco-box to the monkey. I was wearing a mask, which allowed for a large mouth, and I popped the box into the "yawning cavity." "By gow," said the at-one-time owner of the box, "What a stummack!—he's swallered t'box an all!" With such an uncomfortable article as a tobacco-box in his mouth, the monkey could not do very much in the way of performing, so the return was made to the Fleece Inn Garret. People—particularly the disappointed owner of the tobacco-box—followed us down, and by opening-time we had



A DENSELY-CROWDED HOUSE

The old fiddler—a host in himself—was the orchestra. He knew about three tunes, and these he played o'er and o'er. I forgot to mention that we had not an appointed door-keeper, or cashier, so I undertook that superior office myself. "My word," said some of the people as they came in, "just lewk at that monkey; it's t'moast remarkable monkey et ivver wor knawn i' Howarth; it's soa mich sense woll it can tak t'brass at t'door." Well, the house became so crowded that there was scarcely any room left for us to perform. The time for commencing arrived, and we appeared before the curtain, though we felt at a great loss to know how we were going to manage to perform in the space there was left; for it must be known that we did actually intend to give a performance. We had gone through a few "feats"—Spencer lifting and performing with 56lb. weights, and I doing a few tricks at tight-rope walking and dancing. Spencer was behind the curtain waiting his "turn," and when I retired he said: "It's no good; we cannot give satisfaction here."



THE VANISHING TRICK

"There isn't room for you to work, never tell of me;" adding, "You had better go and get you right clothes on. Bring the drum and all our belongings you can get hold on, and slip out at the back door the best way that you can." I obeyed. The "orchestra" was discoursing diverting music. I went down to exchange monkey for man, so to speak, and, this done, and having collected our properties, I made my way, happily undetected, out of the house, and cut across the fields. Weighed down as I was with the copper taken at the door, and in my anxiety to look after everything and get away as fast as I could, I let the drum slip from my grasp. It rolled down a steep field, and for a short time I had a fine chase after it. "But where was Jack Spencer?" readers will be wondering. Yes; I had forgot all about Jack for the minute. As he afterwards told me, he got away all right except for a little mishap which befell him just after he had left the place. Opposite the Fleece Inn was a cartwright's shop (I believe the shop is there now), and behind the wall skirting the roadway was placed an old cart. Spencer knew not of either of these things, and when he lightly mounted the wall and leaped—before he had looked—it was to find himself in the cart, or, to be more precise, falling through the bottom of it. He rather lamed his leg, and had to limp up to Merrall's mill, where I was waiting for him. Together, we made for Keighley, and on arriving there we "put up" at the Lord Rodney Inn, in Church Green, which was then kept by Mrs Fox. Safe in the hostelry, we counted up our spoil, and, perhaps, congratulated ourselves that we had got off so easily. Jack told me that before leaving the entertainment he told the fiddler to play up "special," as he was going to do a "fine trick."



THE AUDIENCE DISCOVER THE "SLOPE."

Next day we learned from a young man whom we came across at Wild's theatre how affairs had developed at Haworth the previous night. He said that for half-an-hour the fiddler went on playing his favourite tune, "Rosin the bow." By-and-bye, the audience manifested signs of active curiosity as to the position of affairs, and one man said he would go behind the curtain and see for himself, adding, "There must be something wrong." He went to the front, and pulled the screen on one side to find—nothing! The audience generally bore up with good heart, but one determined-looking individual said, "I've paid my two-pence, an' I'm bahn ta hev a cannel for it, if nowt else." And with that he stalked up to the front, and possessed himself of one of the candles which had been in use as footlights. Others then made a rush for the remaining candles, and in the disorder the poor fiddler fared rather badly, for he got his fiddle broken. But Spencer and I afterwards visited him, and made good the loss he sustained. I must say that we never intended the affair to be a swindle, and, borrowing one of my friend Squire Leach's forcible expressions, I may say we "started with good intentions, whatever came out of 'em." Perhaps I may be excused for introducing the following verses of my own, entitled "Haworth Sharpness," to close this chapter:—

Says a wag to a porter i' Haworth one day, "Yer net ower sharp—ye drones o't' railway; For fra Keighley to Howarth I've been oft enough, But nivver a hawpenny I've paid yer, begoff."

The porter replied, "I varry mich daht it, But I'll gie thee a quart ta tell all abaht it; For it looks plain ta me tha cuddn't pass t'snicket, Without tippin' ta t' porter thi pass or thi ticket"

"Tha'll write up ta Derby, an' then tha'll deceive me." "I willn't, this time," said t'porter, "believe me." "Then aht wi' thi brass, an' let us be knocking. For I've walked it a fooit-back all raand bi t'Bocking."



CHAPTER VII

Perhaps it will not be out of place for me to introduce a few recollections I have of several gentlemen who were about this time of my life prominently before the public.



ABOUT OLD JOE FIRTH

I have heard Oastler speak of the tyranny of factory life in Keighley. I remember hearing him speak at the "Non. Con." Chapel in Sun-street, when Joe Firth, an old Keighleyite, rose from the gallery and began to address the meeting. Mr Oastler invited Firth to the rostrum. He went and delivered a vivid description of factory life. He was an illiterate man, and spoke in his native dialect. His speech was so telling that it was well reported, a column appearing in the Leeds Weekly Times. Firth was fond of speaking of the way his speech was reported and dressed up so that he really could not recognise his own words. Firth was afterwards called to London to give evidence, and he saved enough money out of his allowance to enable him to abandon hand wool-combing, and set up as a hawker of tea and coffee. He never looked behind him after that, and, being a great "spouter," he got onto the Keighley Local Board. He was one of the opponents of the Baths and Washhouses Scheme, and, in fact, he liked opposition in many things. He was a staunch teetotaller. He died leaving some property.



TH' CROOKED LEGGED 'UNS O' KEIGHLEY

It was about this time that the people of Keighley got the by-name of "th' crooked legged 'uns." It was not a mere local name, but became a general stigmatic description of Keighley folks throughout the country. The great agitator, the late Richard Oastler, was agitating for the Ten Hours Bill at this time. Many of the young people of Keighley were then "knock o' kneed" and otherwise deformed. This fact was represented to Mr Oastler by the local poet, Abraham Wildman. The latter was interested in the working folk, and had published some poems reflecting on their hard life. Oastler took up the case of the children, twelve of whom with crooked legs he had exhibited in the House of Commons. Wildman's poem, descriptive of these poor young folk, was submitted to the Duke of Wellington. His grace commended the poet, saying England would be in a deplorable condition if this were to be a fair sample of the soldiers that were to be sent from her factories. The term "crooked legged 'uns" stuck to these specimens through life; and, in fact, some of them still survive.



"WHITE SLAVERY"

Asked as to his recollections of early factory life, Bill said he believed that parents took the children to work in the mills from the very early morning till late at night; and in some cases they even allowed them to work on Sunday. One manufacturer allowed the children to work all night, but one father, who was accustomed to travelling away from home, returned to Addingham, and found three of his children undergoing this horrible white slavery. He went to the factory, demanded his children, and assaulted the caretaker. The matter was brought to a trial at Bingley, Oastler backing the father. The poor man was fined for assault, but Captain Ferrand, who had been disgusted with factory oppression, assisted in taking the case further. The upshot was that the manufacturer was fined. Captain Ferrand's interest in the relief of the poor was deep and abiding, and he did a great and mighty work in connection with the factory laws. It was said at the time by the Radicals that his work was dictated by political expediency rather than by pure humane feelings. However, Bill is of opinion that the Radicals were mistaken. The Captain was a stern disciplinarian, but, under a rough exterior, Bill was sure there beat a warm heart for the weal of the poor, and especially of pity for those confined so long in factories.



OASTLER ON FACTORY LIFE

In volume II of Cobbett's Magazine, there is an article on "Doctrinaire Government and the factory system," and a quotation is made from a speech by Oastler, asserting that "the factory system has caused a great deal of the distress and immorality of the time, and a great deal of the weakness of men's constitutions." Oastler said he would not present fiction to them, but tell them what he himself had seen. "Take," he said, "a little child. She shall rise from her bed at four in the morning of a cold winter's day—before that time she awakes perhaps half-a-dozen times, and says, 'Father, is it time—father, is it time?' When she gets up she feels about her for her little bits of rags, her clothes, and puts them on her weary limbs and trudges on to the mill, through rain or snow, one or two miles, and there she works from thirteen to eighteen hours, with only thirty minutes' interval. Homewards again at night she would go when she was able, but many a time she hid herself in the wool in the mill, not being able to reach home; at last she sunk under these cruelties into the grave." Mr Oastler said he could bring hundreds of instances of this kind, with this difference, that they worked 15 instead of 18 hours.

This was delivered a few years before Bill was born, but it held good in some cases, he was sure, in his early boyhood. There were then some cotton mills in Keighley district, and the young were allowed to submit to toil which was far too exhausting to allow of nature battling for the support of the human frame. Hence, Bill's own description of the poor little factory girl is an apt corroboration:—

They are up in the morning reight early, They are sometimes afore leet; Ah hear ther clogs they are clamping, As t'little things go dahn the street.

They are off in the morning reight early, With ther basket o' jock on ther arm; The bell is ting-tonging, ting-tonging, As they enter the mill in a swarm.

They are skapering backward and forward, Ther ends to keep up if they can; They are doing ther utmost endeavours, For fear o' the frown o' man.

. . . . .

And naw from her ten hours' labour, Back to her cottage she shogs: Ah hear by the tramping and singing, 'Tis the factory girl in her clogs.

An' at night, when she's folded i' slumber, She's dreaming o' noises an' drawls;— Of all human toil under-rated, 'Tis our poor little factory girl.



THE LATE REV. W. BUSFIELD

I may add that the late Rev W. Busfield, rector of Keighley, was a staunch supporter of the Ten Hours Bill, when it had not many friends among the political Liberals, and when Cobden and Bright opposed it stoutly on Political Economy pleas. The rector supported Lord Ashley, Mr Ferrand, and Mr Oastler, and he lived to see the result of the advocacy of his friends.



RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LATE MR BUSFEILD FERRAND

The late Mr Busfeild Ferrand was a typical English squire. In life he was the owner of the St. Ives' estate at Bingley. He sprang from an aristocratic family, who had ever been loyal to monarchy and country. Trained as a lawyer, he, however, like many other English gentlemen, did not follow his profession for gain or popularity. This training served him well in public life, and augmented the many sterling qualities of his character and his utility in the unpaid public service. He was a soldier, a civil administrator, an ardent and exceedingly able politician—Tory, of course, to the back-bone. He was a leading advocate for the "Ten Hours Bill." The champions of that great movement were Fielding, Ferrand, and Oastler. Mr Ferrand was instrumental in passing the Truck Act, which did so much service to working men, in removing the deceptions and impositions of indirect payment of wages. He was a great advocate of allotments for working men, and set the first example to the wealthy and willing to provide the people with ground for healthy open-air recreation. As an agriculturist he was an enthusiast, and all who had tenancy of land under him found all well so long as they observed strictly the conditions of their tenancy, but woe to them and to all concerned if they infringed in the slightest degree the iron rule of discipline set down by Mr Ferrand. In every capacity of life, he was a disciplinarian who could not brook any breach of rule. Poaching, and every offence that interfered with the rights of the preserves on his estate, called forth prosecution for the offence. My first recollection of Mr Ferrand dates from the general election when this part of the country was contested by Messrs Morpeth and Milton. I was about eight years old at the time. The two politicians visited every part of the district, and on one occasion the Tory party came through Hoylus End. I, and my "mates" were wearing party favours; but they were all "yellow," while I was "blue." Mr Ferrand was with the electioneers, and he must have noticed that I was the most conspicuous Tory youngster; for he drew from his pocket a big handful of coppers and threw them down to me. From that day, I can say, I have been a Tory. During the campaign the local rhymesters and writers were very busy concocting electioneering "squibs;" and, young as I was, I tried my 'prentice hand along with the rest. It was with astonishment and amazement that my parents and my companions received the following doggerel:—

Morpeth and Milton went a baking pies, Milton gave to Morpeth two black eyes.



THE KEIGHLEY RIOT

About the year 1852—at the time of the Keighley Fair—there was some poaching in Bingley Wood. A gamekeeper had come across the poachers, who seized and tied him to a tree; suspicion fell upon some factory workers, and they were taken before the court at Keighley. Mr Ferrand was in the court, but took no part in the judicial consideration of the case, which lasted nearly the whole of the afternoon. A barrister, who resided at Settle, was for the defence. It proved a case of wrong identity, and the prosecution was dismissed. The real poachers had escaped, some from the country. A rowdy element excited the people against Mr Ferrand, and they even went so far as to create a riot, aiming their missiles in the street at Mr Ferrand. It was a case of one brave man and a mob. At last, after pursuing his way fearlessly of their missiles, he was blocked, and had to read the Riot Act at premises now used by Messrs Laycock & Sons, curriers. The police-constables were of no avail against the mob, and soldiers were procured from Bradford. The roughs found the soldiers unwelcome visitors on the scene, and the streets were soon cleared. No prisoners were made. Capt. Ferrand took part in leading the soldiers, and those who were so valiant before were now no longer to be seen defiant; they had fled. Mr John Garnett, school-master, wrote some lines on the affair, called "The Baron's Revenge."



A CHANGE OF LIFE

Begging pardon for this digression, and returning to recollections of my own life, I may say that a longing had now come over me for a quiet term of life, and I accordingly settled down at home. Work was once more found for me at Messrs Lund's mill; indeed, I have often since thought that the late Mr William Lund must have stipulated in his will that work was at all times to be found for me. Off and on, I must have worked at North Beck Mills some score times, and each time there was a sort of welcome reception for me. Perhaps my father's life-long connection with the firm had something to do with it. Be that as it may, I settled down, determined to make an entire alteration in my course of life. A visit paid to William Sugden, and I was possessed, I thought, of one of the grandest suits of clothes there ever was.



JOINING THE SUNDAY SCHOOL

Then my parents had a talk with me as to joining the Sunday school, and, after some hesitation, I connected myself with the Wesleyan Sunday school at Exley Head. Mr Edward Pickles, manufacturer, Holme Mill (now living, I believe, at Bradford), was the superintendent of the school, and other of the officers were Mr John Dinsdale, who had the distinction of being a local preacher, and the late Mr Thomas Bottomley, of Braithwaite. For some six months I attended the school with the regularity of the Prince Smith Clock, and was not absent a single Sunday. Fellow scholars of mine were, William Scott, Hannah Holmes (afterwards married to a missionary, named Kaberry, with whom she went to Africa), Midgley Hardacre, Thomas Binns, John Pearson, and James Smith, locally known as "Jim o' Aaron's," who met his death by falling down a lime kiln. Sunday school work interested me greatly, and it was with much "happiness at heart" that I looked forward to Sunday. I was not long a scholar ere I was made a teacher. Possessed as I was of what I may call a "theatrical" voice, acquired during my career on the stage, the people liked to hear me read, and I was kept fully occupied in reading chapters from the Bible. Yes; the time I spent at the Sunday school was a very happy one.



LED ASTRAY BY POLITICS

But, unfortunately, a few of my companions got me to bother my head with local politics. There was a Local Board election approaching at Keighley, and some new-made acquaintances led me, as it were, to contract the prevailing political fever; and, as events turned, it was not meet that I should do so. My sinning friends were Bill Spink, better known as "Old Bung;" "Porky Bill," Jonas Moore, and others. I struggled hard for the particular party which I favoured, writing "squibs" and all kinds of doggerel, until I became literally saturated with politics. In the meantime I had continued my attendance at the Sunday School, though my duties were entered into with less zest and enjoyment than formerly. I well remember Mr Pickles, the superintendent, saying he had no doubt I should be a great man some time. But the insinuating influences of certain companions acquired during my political career soon told upon me; the old saw says "Show me your comrades and I will tell you who you are." I got associated with people older than myself, many of them wool-combers from Bradford and other places—men who had seen the world in all its dodgy and dark ways, and who knew how to take advantage of people who hadn't. I had plenty of money, and I found plenty of friends to help me to spend it. I began a retrograde movement, finally severing my connection with the Sunday school, a step which gave my parents great uneasiness. I attribute my falling off entirely to the bad companionship into which I was led. They were too "old" for me, and I was rather too "soft" for them. Many were the scrapes into which they brought me, and it was in consequence of one of these that I and a female companion whose acquaintance I had made started one morning on the tramp for Middlesborough.



CHAPTER VIII

A WOOING EXPEDITION AND ITS SEQUEL

In the last chapter I told how I started on "the tramp" with a female companion to Middlesborough. It was early in the morning when we turned our backs upon Keighley for the North. We trudged by road to Otley, Ripley, and Ripon, Thirsk and on to Stockton-on-Tees. Here my petticoat companion was so tired and weary that I left her, having secured her lodgings with an old lady, who agreed to take care of her until my return; my intention being to get work and a home in Middlesborough, and then to fetch my partner thither.



FAMILY TROUBLES AT MIDDLESBOROUGH

I pushed on to Middlesborough, but was "flabbergasted" to find the girl's uncle and several cousins—male, and all upgrown (!)—awaiting my arrival! It turned out that they had been apprised of my probable arrival by a letter from the girl's parents at Keighley. It was "blood and thunder" for a few minutes when they saw me, and the uncle was fairly exasperated to find that his niece was not with me. "What have you done with her?" he asked, excitedly. "Have you drowned her?" I besought him to "be quiet," and then I would tell him all about it. So he was quiet, and I told him where I had left the girl. There were three sons with the uncle, and the four received my story with distrust—they would see their cousin that night they declared. Thus, my position was getting pretty hot, and there was nothing for it but to return to Stockton. This conclusion vexed me sore, for with my tired and weary frame I was well-nigh ready to drop; but I saw there was no other way out of the situation. I had already met three friends I knew in Middlesborough, the three brothers O'Gorman—I had made their acquaintance some time previously at Keighley—and they agreed to walk back with me to Stockton-on-Tees. The girl's uncle and her three cousins made the party into eight—a veritable cavalcade in quest of a poor, defenceless woman. We got to Stockton all right, and the uncle and his sons took the girl in charge, while I was left with my three friends, the O'Gormans, to do as I liked. What was more, I was robbed of all opportunities of communing with the "erstwhile companion of my choice"—

Who afterwards became, I trow, A partner in my weal and woe.

My newly-found friends and I went back to Middlesborough. Going on the quay one morning, I fell in with two men, whom I asked if there was any chance of a job. After scanning me o'er and o'er they asked what I was able to do—what trade I was at last. Out of my thousand and odd "qualifications" I decided that I "had done a bit o' sailoring." "Can you do anything in the dockyard?" asked one of them. "Yes," I thought I could. Then was I engaged.



AS A DOCK-YARD LABOURER

The salary was fixed by my employers at 5 pounds per month, though I was told that I should have to work a month "in hand;" which was rather hard for me, seeing that I was without money. Soon after I again fell in with the O'Gormans, and was introduced to the family. The head of the household was Peter O'Gorman, who had been in America and understood dock-yard business a good bit. Well, I got on fairly well as docker—a free labourer, I think I was,—although the work was not by any means regular, depending as it did on the arrival of timber-laden vessels from Norway and Sweden. Having a good deal of time hanging on my hands I visited various parts of the town, and it was one morning, while on an errand of this sort, that one of the O'Gormans came up to me and showed me an advertisement inviting applications for the execution of certain excavating work in connection with the Middlesborough new cemetery.



ACTING THE NAVVY CONTRACTOR

The advertisement gave great prominence to the instruction, "No Irish need apply." Now, my friend O'Gorman was an Irishman, and he was desirous of applying for the job. So he asked me if I would be good enough to don myself in his labourer's clothes and try to secure the contract. I said I should be glad to do so. After receiving due instruction as to how to proceed in the application, I went and presented myself to the contractor. That individual, I found out, was a Scotchman of the name of Macpherson. He put different questions to me as to whether I was capable of doing the work, &c. One of his inquiries had reference to my abilities for drawing. Could I draw? "Yes," I thought I could, and on a sheet of paper which Mr Macpherson supplied, I tried my hand at drawing. My production was satisfactory. "Can you find men?" he asked. "Yes," said I. "What about the tools?" "Oh!" I had to reply, "I have no tools." This notwithstanding, he said, I might start on the job next morning, and bring all my men. I completed my arrangements with the Messrs O'Gorman, and next morning my (?) workmen were "at it," spades, picks, &c, being provided by Mr Macpherson. What may seem more surprising, I continued at my own work in the dockyard, besides acting (though really but nominally) as sub-contractor in the excavating work at the cemetery. In about a week, however, Mr Macpherson "smelt a rat," and found out that the job was a hoax so far as I was concerned; nevertheless the work went on all right. The land was very soft and easily worked, being mostly formed of sand and pebbles; and the contract was completed within five weeks. The payment ran to 10s per day per man, all of us having agreed to go in share and share alike. So that with this and my work at the dock-yard I did very well, and "got on to my feet" again. Indeed, to make a long story short I had got to be a regular "masher."



FALLING AMONG KEIGHLEY FRIENDS

I made up my mind to come back to Keighley, and let my folks see how I was getting on.

Home of my boyish days, how can I call, Scenes to my memory that did befall? How can my trembling pen find power to tell The grief I experienced in bidding farewell? Can I forget the days joyously spent That flew on so rapidly, sweet with content? Can I then quit thee, whose memory's so dear, Home of my boyish days, without one tear?

Can I look back on days that have gone by, Without one pleasant thought, without one sigh? Oh, no; though never these eyes may dwell On thee, old cottage home I love so well; Home of my childhood, wherever I be, Thou art the nearest and dearest to me.

Accordingly I gave up my situation at the dockyard, and having bid adieu to Middlesborough, I took train for Bradford. In Bradford, I have to say to my sorrow, I fell in with some of my Keighley friends, and within a very short time I had been induced to part with all my money, and, in fact, some of my clothes. When I recovered my senses—for I must have lost them to act as I did—I found myself in a sad and sorry plight.



ENLISTING IN THE ARMY

The time chanced to be about the outbreak of the Crimean War, and they were "drumming up" for the army. There were recruiting sergeants to be met with at every turn. It is said that even a worm will turn when trodden on, and it did not require much of the sergeant's persuasive oratory to induce me to take the Queen's shilling and enlist in the West York Rifles.

I left yon fields so fair to view, I left yon mountain pass and peaks; I left two e'en so bonny blue, A dimpled chin and rosy cheeks. For a helmet gay and suit o' red I did exchange my corduroy; I mind the words the sergeant said When I, in sooth, was but a boy.



CHAPTER IX

MY MILITARY CAREER

Now I commence a brand new era of my life. I am one of the Queen's great body-guard—I am 'listed—sworn, and all. Why this? Was it because I wanted to "follow to the field some warlike lord?" No; it was simply a thirst to see fresh fields and pastures new—fresh places and fresh faces. It was not long before I found that my desire was to be gratified, for I learned that the regiment to which I belonged—or soon was to belong—was already on the road from Aldershot to Edinburgh. I saw that my long-cherished desire to visit the Land o' Cakes and Barley was to be fulfilled. I believe that I shall have to confess that the thought of getting to see bonnie Scotland was the all-powerful reason for my joining the army. When I 'listed I told the sergeant that he had better take me to the headquarters in Bradford at once, as I was so well known in the town, and did not want to figure as a recruit in the "publics," where it was the custom to keep the recruits until a batch had been got together. Still the sergeant kept me there, until I threatened that if he did not send me off at once I would desert and leave the town. I was the only recruit he got in Bradford. He took me to Pontefract, where there were more recruits in waiting.



EMBARKING FOR SCOTLAND

I stayed in Pontefract a couple of days, and then I was moved with the other recruits to the port of Hull, where we embarked one splendid autumn afternoon in a screw steamer for Leith, in Scotland. I shall never forget the incidents which happened during this short voyage. There were many passengers on board, not the least important being a couple of London sharpers. There was an escort of soldiers who were taking a deserter back to his regiment, and there was a young man-o'-war's man belonging to the good ship "Cornwallis." He was going to Scotland to see his mother in Edinburgh. Then there was an elderly gentleman, who, judging by his bronzed countenance, had been in a foreign clime for a long time. He was returning to his native heath. Another passenger was a dashing young gentleman, whose father, he told us, was an hotel-keeper in Rotherham, near Sheffield. This one had his fingers gaudily ornamented with rings and diamonds. Of course there isn't much to be said of us recruits, except, perhaps, that we were regarded as so many "raw lads." Nevertheless we passed our time during the day very agreeably in various ways—games, &c.—until darkness settled over the ship, and then we retired into the cabin.



THIEVES ON BOARD

At night, I recollect, the wind was very boisterous, and the sea very rough. All we recruits—or the majority of us—were quite ready for Morpheus to take us in his arms when retiring-time came. The men's sleeping apartment was one common room. Stillness and silence—save and except, perhaps, the snoring—reigned with us until about one after midnight, when (I remember I was thinking of "Home, Sweet Home" at the time) I saw two men gliding stealthily about the cabin. One of the men carried a lighted taper, which he shielded with his hand, and his companion, I saw, was in the act of robbing the sleeping passengers; taking anything that came in their way—provided, of course, that it was worth taking. I overheard one of the two say, "Let's get to the other side, them recruits'll have nothing." Then did they steal across to the other side of the cabin. I saw them take money from the old gentleman first. He was hard asleep. Then they took rings from the fingers of the young masher, and next turned their attention to the young sailor lad further on. His money was in a little bag tied round his neck, beneath his shirt breast. The robbers cut the bag away, and took it with them; it contained the savings of the lad and his passport. All this I saw done, and did not dare to move or speak for fear of being "done" by the rascals. Having stripped the cabin of all that appeared to be in their line, they left and went up the stairs onto the deck, feeling, I suppose, cocksure that they had had their rascality to themselves. The morn dawned, and the first to give the alarm that they had been robbed were those two London "prigs," who swore vengeance upon the whole of us. One of them declared that he had been a rogue all his life—a sentiment to which I said "aye," "aye" in my own mind,—but added that if he could find the man who had taken 28s from his pockets he would forgive him. The other thief said he had lost his watch, but he, too, would forgive the man who would acknowledge and return it. Then there was a general hulabaloo among the passengers, and everybody began to be alarmed. Each felt in his pockets and examined his belongings, and with very few exceptions all who had had anything to lose had lost it. The captain came across the bow, and was told that there were thieves on board and he ought to have the passengers searched. The captain said he could hardly do that on the high seas: it was against all sea-faring law; but he suggested when they arrived at the port of Leith the authorities would do their best to find out the guilty ones. He also pointed out that it behoved anyone on board, if he had the slightest suspicion, to give information to him.



HOW THE THIEVES WERE TRAPPED

I knew full well I was the one able to do this, but I did not step forward, being somewhat at a loss which way to go about it. However, as we were coasting Fifeshire, I slipped down into the steward's room, when all the passengers were basking in the sun on the deck, and told the steward all I knew about the affair. I got him to promise to tell the captain in such a way that it should not be known until we had disembarked that I had given the information. He transferred the information to the captain, and presently the steward came and beckoned me to follow him down to his cabin, remarking that nobody would see me. I saw the captain, and told him what I knew of the matter. The robbery continued to be the sole topic of talk the rest of the journey. Clearing the coast of Fife, we soon came in sight of Edinburgh, and, sailing up the Forth, we finally landed at Leith. It was Sunday afternoon, and there were large numbers of people about to watch us land. The majority of the people ran for the first pier, but the captain ordered the vessel to land at the second pier, which disappointed the people. Two Scottish policemen were stationed at the bottom of the gangway. The escort with their prisoner were allowed to pass; also the recruits, with the exception of myself. Next the passengers filed off, and, in turn, came the two cockney "prigs." The captain ordered them to be searched by the policeman; and searched they were, though not without some show of resistance. Everything that was missing was found upon them, with the exception of the young sailor's passport.



THE TRIAL AND IMPRISONMENT

The twain were handcuffed and taken to Carlton Gaol, at the top end of Edinburgh, and the next morning they were tried before the Lord Provost, and each sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment with hard labour. I was called to give evidence in the court, and chagrined the two London sharpers must have felt to find out how they had been caught red-handed. This was my first appearance in a police court.



AT EDINBURGH—BILL TELLS THE COLONEL SOMETHING

On the night of our arrival, the deserter was taken to Edinburgh, and put into the guard-room. The recruits and myself were drawn up in line before the Colonel, and we were asked particularly who we were and whence we came. My turn arrived. "Well, and who are you?" says the Colonel. "You seem to have had a better time than these Sheffielders." I told him that I was from Keighley, in the West Riding of Yorkshire. "Is that somewhere near Bingley?" asked the Colonel. "Yes," replied I, "about four miles away." "Do you know a gentleman in the neighbourhood called William Busfeild Ferrand?" "Yes, sir," replied I. "He lives at St. Ives; I know him very well." "Have you (queried the Colonel with a merry twinkling in his eye) ever had any of his hares and rabbits?" "No," replied I, "I'm not a poacher." "Well," remarked the Colonel, "I think you will do well; perhaps it's the best thing you ever did. But of these Sheffielders I have no high opinion; they're a bad sample of soldiers indeed, and if I had my way I would petition Government to have no Sheffielders at all in the Army." Then we retired from the Colonel's presence, the sergeant in charge being instructed to take us on the following morning before the regimental doctor for examination. Set at liberty for the time being, we recruits made for the canteen. There we found all classes of soldiers—Highlanders, Lancers, Artillerymen—all supping their ale and making merry.



A RED-LETTER DAY IN MY LIFE

Next morning the recruits were brought before the doctor, who duly examined and passed us—all but two men. The next move was to the quarter-master's stores; and now, for the first time in my life, I donned the Queen's uniform. This, I can truly say, was a red-letter day in my career: I felt a proud man for the moment, and I remember the thought suggesting itself, "Now, where will this land you, William Wright?" I had a longing to see the city and its surroundings—Holyrood Palace, Roslin Castle, John Knox's house, &c.; so I asked the quarter-master for the necessary leave. But he said that before I could leave the barracks I must get quit of my civilian's clothing—you see they were frightened I should desert. I was told that there was a Jew in the bottom corridor of the castle who bought second-hand clothing.



"JEWED" BY A JEW

I accordingly paid a visit to my friend Isaac, and asked him, "What will give me for this suit o' clothes? They cost me 3 pounds 10s in Bradford only three weeks ago, and, besides, these boots are nearly new." "Well, my frent," said the old Jew "tem poots vill be sixpence, an' tees cloas vill pe von shillin'; an' (speaking with warmth) I vill not gif you von penny more for tem—not von penny." "I'll be blessed if I'll take that" said I, also speaking with some fervour; "You vile dog of a Jew! No wonder that your race is hated in every clime, for you would rob a saint of his shoe strings!" But the Jew had been tempered to these oft repeated "blessings," as was proved by the coolness with which he said: "Howefer, dat is vhat I vill gif you, an' not anoder farding." Seeing that parleying was useless with this worldly extortionizer, and seeing, also, what a fix I was in, I eventually parted with my clothes and shoes.



BEFORE THE DRILL-SERGEANT

After that I was at liberty to leave the barracks; which I did, and made my way down into the city—into Canongate. On my return to barracks it was time for recruits' drill. The drill-sergeant had a voice like unto a growling buffalo. He said: "Now, then, ye recruits, Ye're not at home now—a lot of sucking pigs with your mothers. Ye've got good pay and rations, and by the bokey ye'll have to drill." This was the order of the day for two months, and at the end of that time I had made pretty fast progress with my drill, and I was shortly placed in the ranks as a full-blown soldier.



A PROMOTION

One morning, soon after this, I was called to the orderly-room. I was told that it had pleased my superiors to promote me to the rank of a lance-corporal. I made some objection to this, saying I did not yet know private's duty, as I had only been a private for two months. But the colonel told me that I could well learn the duties of both private and lance-corporal at the same time. Therefore, I accepted the promotion, though I was quite content to stay as I was, and I got a stripe to put on my tunic and "shell" jacket; also on my great coat. My first duty as a lance "Jack" was as escort of a coal fatigue in the castle. I had under me a squad of old soldiers, whose duty it was to carry boxes of coals from the basement to the upper story in the building. Although I was very forbearing with the men, they were ever and anon grumbling and growling, and in the course of one of their little outpourings I heard a veteran exclaim that he never knew a fool in his life but what was lucky!



A WARNING AND ITS EFFECT

After superintending the coal fatigue, I was put in charge of a dozen privates, young and old, in one of the bottom rooms of the castle. Some of the young bloods were very generous in their fault-finding and acts of disobedience. One of the old fellows actually point-blankly refused to wash and scrub the benches in the room—which I had ordered him to do. By this time their pleading and other things had somewhat "softened my heart towards them," and the thought came into my head, "don't be so hard on the poor old chaps; you're abler to do the work than some of them." Thus my feelings prompted me to take my turn with them, and, divesting myself of my jacket, and rolling up my shirt sleeves, I set myself to scrubbing the benches. But, by Jupiter! no sooner had I commenced my self-imposed task than in popped Captain Clifford Lloyd, who was on his rounds. "What are you doing there, corporal?" he bellowed forth when he saw me. "Oh, I am just scrubbing the forms, sir, for a bit of exercise" said I. "D... you and your exercise," retorted the captain sternly. "Now, don't let me catch you at it again. Here's an old lazy hound behind you who knows very well that it is his duty, and I shall take that stripe off your arm if I catch you at this job again." Of course, as a non-commissioned officer, I took the warning to heart, and kept to my own duties for the future—the warning having taken effect with the old soldiers as well as myself.



HOAXED BY THE SERGEANTS

Of course I came in for hoaxes from the sergeants. I mind one incident which happened one evening. During the day I had been in charge of the cook-house. Sergeant Murphy, an old soldier, came to me and said I was wanted by the sergeant-major immediately. "What's the matter? There is nothing wrong with me, is there?" I asked, noticing that the messenger looked rather concerned. "Don't you know?" I asked again, and then the sergeant said, "If you don't know, you soon will do. The fact is, you have spoiled the coppers in the cook-house, you have burned the bottoms out of them." "They were all right when I left" I retorted, beginning to feel rather "queer." If I had never been one before I felt a coward then; but, come what might, I thought, they can only reduce me in rank. So with "firm step" I marched to the sergeant-major's quarters. To my surprise—and in a manner which at once put me at my ease—the sergeant-major bade me a cheerful "Good evening." He told me that he had a job for me—he wanted me to accompany fifteen recruits to the theatre, and strictly enjoined me to see them back to barracks after the theatre closed. I took the men to the play-house, and brought them all back safe and sound, and the sergeant-major expressed himself very pleased with my abilities as a chaperon.



BANQUET AT EDINBURGH CASTLE

Shortly after there was to be a grand festival in the Castle given by Captain Darnall, who was severing his connection with the Castle. I was relieved of all soldier's duties for nine days, and told off with others to decorate certain rooms on the premises in preparation for the festival. The event came off in due course; it was a grand affair, and was made the most of on all hands. Captain Darnall presented the oldest soldier with a silver cup.



CHANGE OF VENUE

It was not long ere I was made a full Corporal, and commenced to receive double pay. Now I felt a hero, and no mistake. All this time I had been a keen observer of both men and manners, and I had really seen all there was to be seen in Edinburgh and neighbourhood. It was, therefore, with pleasurable feelings that I heard that No. 7 Company, to which I belonged, was to be sent to the military garrison at Greenlaw—a bonny little village some ten miles from Edinburgh. I think the scenery in this district is about the most picturesque and romantic in all Scotland. Roslin Castle is only a short distance away. The neighbourhood is divided into little villages, and to one of these—Milton Bridge—I paid frequent visits during my sojourn at Greenlaw. At Milton Bridge there was a tavern, known by the sign of "The Fishers' Tryst," kept by a cheery old gentleman and his daughter. I got on very friendly terms with the landlord and his lassie, and entrusted to them the secret as to who I really was;—for I had joined the regiment under a nom de plume. In my communications with my friends at Keighley I gave them to understand that I was working as an ordinary individual for my living. I dated all my letters from "The Fishers' Tryst," in the name of "William Ferdinand Wright," and for three years I avoided identification.



CHAPTER X

A CHAT WITH "DUNCAN DHEW"

It was one beautiful summer afternoon, while strolling along the pleasant country lanes, which looked charming with their avenues of stately oak trees, whose branches were tenanted by scores of squirrels, that I came upon an elderly gentleman who was sitting smoking. I bade him "Good-day," and asked him for a match; which he gave me and invited me to sit down beside him and have a smoke and a chat. In the course of our conversation I discovered that my friend was no common man. When, in reply to his enquiry, I told him that the headquarters of my regiment were at Edinburgh, he said, "and what a disgrace some of the men have brought upon your regiment." Every one of the guards at Holyrood Palace had been found 'beastly' drunk, excepting one man, who was keeping sentry at the magazine on the top of Arthur's Seat. The circumstance was especially discreditable as His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales was staying at Holyrood. "I understand (continued the speaker) that they broke into the wine cellar, and stole some fifty bottles of port and champagne. Most of that they drunk, until when found they were 'blind palatic'." "Yes, sir" said I, "I believe it is all true. All the men are put back for court-martial except the man at the magazine, who held his post all night without being relieved." "Serves the rascals right," retorted the old gentleman. "In my time of soldiering every man jack of them would have been shot—the sergeant as well." "Then, sir," said I, "you have been in the Army?" "Yes," he replied, "I have served a little time, and took part in the Peninsular War." But beyond this my unknown friend would tell me nothing about his military career.



A VISIT TO THE "BIG HALL"

We next fell to talking about the big hall which lay in front of us. My friend asked me if I should like to look over it, and on my saying that I should, he directed me on the way to the mansion, telling me to go a little further up the lane, then turn in at the wicket gate and follow the footpath across the lawn. "Then," said he, "you'll come to the kitchen door. Knock, and ask for a horn of beer." "But whose word shall I give?" I asked, "Tell them an old gentleman called Duncan Dhew, in black knee breeches and leggings has sent you, and it will be all right. And then (added he) if you wish it you can go further into the park by crossing another path over the lawn." I thanked the kind old gentleman, and took my departure.



THE SCOTCH LASSIE'S REGRET

It was not long before I was at the old hall. I rapped at the kitchen-door according to orders, and a woman of about forty summers made her appearance. When I mentioned the name given me by the old gentleman she laughed heartily, and said that if I would come in I should have a horn or two of beer—if I liked. She was a pleasant-spoken Scotchwoman, and before I took my leave she said chaffingley that it was a pity she wasn't twenty years younger, for then she might have been "my lassie."



A BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE

Quitting the house I took into the park, and to say that I was delighted with the scene is not in anywise doing justice to the feelings I experienced at the time. I can truly say that I have never seen anything so lovely since—the splendid walks, with their long avenues of wide-spreading and noble-looking trees; the bright gardens and sparkling fountains; the babbling burns, crossed here and there by pontoon bridges; and last, but by no means least, the panoramic bits of the distant landscape visible through the openings in the trees—all these went to make up a veritable Arcadia. Then, as I walked further into the park I saw numbers of wild deer, which looked up at me as I passed by as much as to say, "What business have you to intrude on our sacred rights?" Well, I walked and walked, until I thought I was not coming to the end of the park that day. But soon the path dropped, and disclosed a little valley, in which were located about a half-dozen thatched dwellings. Here, I found, lived the gamekeeper and a few farm labourers. At the house I called at the wee laddies and lassies wondered whatever I was; they had never before seen a "walking target." The gamekeeper told me that if I was stationed at Greenlaw Barracks I had walked in a very curious direction, for I was thirteen miles, by the ordinary road, out of my course. I was exceedingly ill at ease to hear this pronouncement, and told him that it would be "hot" for me if I was not in before the "tattoo," or the "last post." The keeper, I found, was a true Scotchman, and of a very obliging nature. He proffered to take me through the wood to a place called Milton Bridge. We started, and were soon at the village mentioned, where, at the "Fishers' Tryst," we had a "drappie o' whuskey" over the matter. Then we parted, and I got into barracks in time.



BACK TO AULD REEKIE

The very next morning after this interesting day the order came that our company was to return to Edinburgh, and give place for another company. My stay at Greenlaw had extended over six months. Now for "Auld Reekie!" Soon after we arrived there was a great review at the Castle, the Queen and Prince Albert Victor inspecting the troops.



INTERVIEW WITH THE EMPRESS EUGENIE

I remember being the sergeant in charge of the guard at Holyrood Palace at the time when the Empress Eugenie was on a visit to Scotland. The French Fleet accompanied her to Scotland, and lay in the Firth of Forth. The crews of the ships comprised some fine sailors, who, I think, were the smartest lot I ever saw. The Empress and her Court stayed a full week in Edinburgh. I remember one eventful day when a party of two ladies and four gentlemen, after inspecting Queen Mary's Room, and the old picture gallery in Holyrood Palace, passed into the guard-room where I was in command. The ladies advanced towards me, bidding me "Good afternoon." The gentlemen remained behind. In the best way I could under the circumstances I asked the two ladies to be good enough to take a seat, apologising for the rude seat which was all I could offer them. They courteously accepted the seat, and, at the older lady's request, I sat down beside them. The talking was confined to one of the ladies, who seemed, I thought at the time, of a very inquisitive nature. In the first place she expressed her wish to know something about the British soldier—how he was fed, whether he was well-clothed, what kind of rations he was provided with, &c. I gave her my opinion on these points as far as I could go. She then asked how long I had been a soldier, and I said only a short time. "Then you cannot tell how you feel when your comrades are being slain on the battle-field?" "No, ma'am, I cannot; but there is a man lying down on the guard-bed who can. He went through the Crimean War." I then advanced to the old soldier's bed, and said, "Francis, there's a lady here wants to know how you feel when you are on the battle-field." "Tell her," said Francis, without looking up, "we see nowt but hell-fire and smoke!" "Well, what does he say?" asked the inquiring lady, who had, fortunately, remained in the background. It would not, of course, have done for me to give the answer as it stood, so I replied, "He says, madam, that he can see nothing but fire and smoke." "Well," said the lady preparing to depart, "you seem to be well clothed and to have plenty to eat." As I was showing her out of the room, she said, "If I were to give you a Scottish pound note, would you share it amongst you and your fellows?" "Yes, ma'am" said I, "when we have dismissed guard." Whereupon she placed the note in my hand, and I thanked her cordially. I had not the slightest idea who the donor of the note was, or who were the people who had been our guard-room guests, until the next day. We were then relieved from guard by the 78th Highlanders, who were only about 300 strong, and had just returned from the Indian Mutiny. It was while upon the esplanade, where there were a thousand of the Waterloo and Peninsular pensioners assembled for drilling, that I noticed my lady guest and a gentleman reviewing the veterans. They were walking up and down the ranks, and every now and again the lady stopped before an old soldier, spoke to him, and, before passing on, put into his hand a Scottish pound note. It was said that during the week she presented no less than a thousand of these notes to the soldiers. One old hero, I saw, got five pound notes. I asked the captain of the guard who the lady was. He seemed much surprised when I assured him that I did not know who she was; but greater was my surprise on being told that the lady was the Empress of the French.



ADIEU! EDINBURGH—A DISAPPOINTMENT

Orders were issued for our regiment to remove to the ancient town of Ayr—news which delighted me greatly. Next day the regiment, numbering about a thousand men, mustered for the last time in Edinburgh. The inhabitants of Auld Reekie turned out in their thousands to see us march to the railway station and to bid us adieu. The regimental band—which, by-the-bye, included many able musicians from the West Riding of Yorkshire; Wilsden, Haworth and Cowling being among the towns furnishing the band men—played lively airs during our march to the station, such as "Good-bye, sweetheart!" and "The girl I left behind me." At the station I met a sore disappointment. Since the issuing of the orders of removal to Ayr, I had been buoyantly thinking of what happy times I should have in Ayr, and my feelings can be imagined when I found I was among the detachment which was to be sent on to the barracks at Hamilton—a small town on the Clyde about ten miles from Glasgow. However, I determined to make the best of the matter, and hope for better times. The two companies forming the detachment, numbering about a couple of hundred men, reached Hamilton all right. Within a short distance of Hamilton, is Bothwell and its famous Castle; and during my stay in the locality I paid frequent visits to Bothwell Castle and Bothwell Bridge, at which latter place Sir William Wallace defeated the English in battle. I also visited the magnificent residence of the Duke of Hamilton.



IN CHARGE OF DEFAULTERS

I remember that on the first evening of our arrival in Hamilton I had under me twenty or thirty soldiers, who were on the defaulters' list in consequence of being absent from barracks the night previous to our leaving Edinburgh. They had to all intents and purposes been out in the city bidding their acquaintances good-bye, and had taken too long a time over it. For this misdemeanour they were confined to barracks at Hamilton. I assembled the men in front of the officer's quarters, and said, "This is our first evening here and a grand evening it is. I should very much like to visit the town, and I have no doubt that you would. Now, I have a proposal to make if you will all stand by me."—"We will," they shouted in one voice. "I propose," I continued, "to see the captain, and if you will promise that during your stay in Hamilton you will not commit yourselves, I will try to get you dismissed from defaulters' drill, so that you can go out and enjoy yourselves." They readily expressed their willingness to carry out the promise. I then made for the officers' room, and was admitted into the captain's presence. "Well, what is your wish this evening?" he inquired. "A great favour, captain," I replied, "not only for myself but for those men outside. There are over a score defaulters, and they wish to speak a word with you." "Where are they?" said the captain. So I brought him outside before the men. He heard their case stated, and then asked, "Do you all promise that if I dismiss you from pack drill you will not misbehave yourselves during your short stay in this town?" Of course the promise was promptly given; but promises, like pie crusts, are easily broken. Well, every one of the defaulters was dismissed, and sent to his own quarters. They then went out of the barracks and had a pleasant look round the town.



A DESPERATE AFFRAY WITH THE POLICE

All went wisely and well for three weeks, at the end of which period there was a desperate affray between the soldiers and the police. It came about in this way. One of the soldiers while strolling on the banks of the Clyde one Saturday night appeared to have insulted a lady. She gave information to the police, who next (Sunday) morning, accompanied by the informant, came in full force to the barracks. We had just fallen in for church parade. The ranks were opened, and the lady passed among us to see if she could identify the guilty man. Eventually, she pitched upon a man whom all of us knew could not have been at the place mentioned at the time given by the lady. However, despite his protestations of innocence, he was handcuffed, and was about to be marched away by a sergeant of the police when one of the prisoner's comrades interfered. He did so to a nicety, for he knocked the policeman down. Then another policeman went to the ground, and another, until the whole parade was one scene of commotion. The police were badly worsted, many of them being more or less seriously injured in the melee. Reinforcements were summoned, and many arrests were made by the representatives of the civil power. The barracks' officers had no control over their men, and two companies of Highlanders were sent for to take the place of our regiment at Hamilton and to escort to Edinburgh Castle those of us who had taken part in disturbance. At the Castle the men were confined to barracks for a fortnight to give the police time to work up their "case" for the court-martial, and in order to see how the wounded policemen, who were being treated in the hospital progressed.



I WAS OUT OF THE FRAY

I happened to be escorting two men from the hospital to the parade when the outbreak occurred. I was conversing with the regimental doctor, and took advantage of that circumstance to get that gentleman to make me a certificate testifying that I was not "in at the death." However, I was sent for examination with the lot, but I passed through the ordeal successfully, the doctor's certificate undoubtedly freeing me. I may here mention that I have not been a believer in physiognomy since then; for if a man had a rough-looking or repulsive countenance he was as surely ordered to "fall out," and many men were so taken prisoners whom I knew were innocent. In all about fifty were placed under arrest, and taken before the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, who sentenced them to gaol for terms varying from one to eighteen months.



CHAPTER XI

IN THE LAND OF BURNS

The incident mentioned in the last chapter ended in all the men who were not committed to prison being released and sent on to head-quarters at Ayr—

Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a toon surpasses, For honest men and bonnie lasses.

I was among the "removals," and high were my spirits at the prospect of a sojourn in the hallowed land of Burns. To use a well-turned phrase, it had been the height of my ambition to reach the birth-place of a genius second to none in his way—Bobby Burns, the patriotic bard and ploughboy. For twelve months I stayed in the quaint old town. Scores of times did I visit the cottage where the world-famous poet was born. It was a lowly thatched clay biggin; with two rooms on one floor, and at this time was being used as a public tavern. The building belonged, I believe, to the Shoemakers' Society of Scotland, and scarcely anything but the native whiskey and bottled beer was dispensed at the house. The first room on entering was utilised for cooking purposes, and contained a big kettle—for boiling water, I was told, (whether in good or bad faith) on occasion of extra demand for "whuskey". The farther room served as the parlour, and contained a large oblong table, seated with cane-bottomed chairs. The mud walls of the room had been boarded over, and the roof under-drawn, so that an air of comfort was imparted. In almost every nook of this room were to be seen the initials and names of visitors cut into the wood, and the places appended to some of the names indicated foreign visitors. The walls were completely filled with these "carvings" and writings. I more than once looked round for a little space to put Bill o' th' Hoylus End's initials, but to no purpose—every available inch was taken up with those of my predecessors. A portrait in oils of Burns, said to have been done by Allan Cunningham, one of the bard's friends, occupied a prominent place in the room. This picture, in keeping with the general appearance of the room, was covered with initials and names. A few minutes' walk from the cottage, and situated on a slight eminence commanding a fine view, stands the Burns' Monument, a beautiful Grecian edifice. In the surrounding grounds—which are handsomely laid out—is a little building which contains Thom's statues of "Tam o' Shanter and Souter Johnny." The Auld Brig o' Doon and Alloway Kirk are not far away. On ascending the steps leading into the churchyard the first grave is that of the poet's father, William Burns. An epitaph in the tombstone, written by Bobby Burns, reads:—

Here lies an honest man at rest, As e'er God with His image blest; The friend of man, the friend of truth, The guide of age, the guide of youth. Few hearts like his in virtue warmed; Few heads with knowledge so informed:— If there be another world, he lives in bliss, If there be none, he made the best of this.

Going further into the old kirkyard, one sees the graves of many of the bard's friends, whom he has immortalised in verse. At the farther end, close to the river Doon, stands the ancient kirk—

Wi' its winnock bunker i' the east, Where sat old Nick i' shape o' beast.

Perhaps this old fane has been made more of in poetry by Burns than anything else. It is inspected by thousands of travellers who visit Ayr.



BURNS' CELEBRATION

While in Ayr, I remember there was a great demonstration to honour the memory of the national poet. The gathering was held at the Corn Exchange, and the large hall was densely packed. Among an influential company was Sir James Fergusson, M.P., late Post-master General. Various patriotic speeches were delivered, and at one stage, I mind, the meeting was put into great good humour by the action of an elderly gentleman on the platform. Stepping to the front he said "I believe I am the only man in Scotland to-day that ever shook hands with Bobby Burns. He was then—over seventy years ago—an excise man at Dumfries, and I acted as his post-boy, taking his letters." These remarks had scarcely been made than several of the people came forward and grasped the old fellow by the hand, and, indeed, some all but hugged him. I was prompted to shake hands with the "living memorial."

And well old Scotland may be proud To hear her Burns proclaimed aloud, For to her sons the world hath bowed, Through Burns's name— All races of the world are proud of Burns's fame.



THE PEOPLE OF AYR

I found to be of a very genial and sociable disposition. Their dialect is exceedingly pleasing—a good deal more so than that of many other parts of Scotland; shires and district vary in dialect quite after the manner of our own localities and counties. I made many friends in Ayr, among them being John McKelvey (who, with his daughter, Tina, kept an old tavern at the end of the quay at Ayr), and Billy Miller (of the "Thistle"), another celebrity in his way. Both these were poets, or, perhaps I should say, rhymesters; and whatever the old wives of the present day may think about the poet, of this I can assure them—that in those days "the lassies loved him weel i' bonnie Scotland." But to get to my military reminiscences.



A FREE FIGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

With the exception of one "hitch"—and perhaps that was enough—I passed my time very pleasantly at Ayr Barracks. The incident came about in this way. I was out in the "toon" with the orderly-room clerk, Sergeant Delaney, the money both of us had in our pockets sufficing to put us into high spirits. In our travels we came across a menagerie of wild beasts—Manders', I think it was—and I was not long in observing that the members of the band which was "going it" in front of the show were all men from the Keighley district. The leader of the band, Dawson Hopkinson, was a Haworth man, and his remains lie in Haworth Churchyard, a bugle being engraved on the stone over the grave. Hopkinson had been the landlord of the Golden Lion Inn, at Keighley, previous to travelling with the menagerie. Other members of the band were Bobby Hartley, of Keighley, and another named Joe Briggs; two from Silsden, and one from Wilsden, all of whom were well known at the time as able musicians. I felt in great glee at meeting with these old friends, and marched boldly on the platform to greet them. The result of my visit was that I invited the whole of the band to come and have a drink at the Grossmarket Hotel down the street. When they had played another tune they "struck" and in a body followed me to the hotel; and over glasses of "guid auld Scotch" we told tales of old Keighley until it really seemed that old times had come again. In chatting over some of the eccentric characters, we had many a laugh about Three Laps and Job Senior. But the time was flitting by fast, and my musical guests, it appeared, had not left word at the menagerie where they were going. Thus there was some justification for the line of action which the lady of the show had adopted in rushing into the room and demanding "why her band had given over playing and left the stage." But the bandsmen had supped, perhaps too freely and too well, and consequently they were not able to give a clear answer to her question. Right into the tavern we could hear the growling of the lions, the howling of the wolves, and the squeaking of the monkeys; and yet, forsooth! the bandsmen could afford to laugh at the noises. Delaney and I, despite that we were all out as far "gone" as the rest, saw there was going to be a storm if we did not bestir ourselves; so we set about coaxing the musicians to return to their legitimate duties. After much ado we induced them to quit the tavern, and Delaney and I followed suit, and started for the barracks. "Just for safety's sake" we went arm in arm, and as we passed down the long main street we sang and carried on like the proverbial jolly tars. Things went moderately well with us until we got to a picture shop. Here was a large painting showing General Garibaldi mounted on a white horse; and no sooner did Delaney catch a glimpse of the picture than he drew his sword and with it smashed the window, his intention being to wreak his vengeance upon the offensive canvas.



IN THE HANDS OF THE POLICE

We were both of us now in a fine mess, and no mistake about it. I stood dumbfounded for about a minute, and before I had time to give my thoughts to deciding what we should do, two big, brawny Scottish policemen had come up from behind and seized Delaney tightly by the arms and deprived him of his sword. They straightway marched their prisoner in the direction of the Town Hall, I following at their heels and expostulating with them, taking up the line of argument that if they only would let John go I would advance the money for the broken window. But the Scottish policemen—like their Keighley comrades, I suppose, would do—held their prisoner firmly, and the only heed they paid to my entreaty was in the shape of a threat—"Gin ye say mich mair ye'll hae ta gang along wi' us." I still continued to beseech the constables to release "poor John," but when near a place known as the Fish Cross one of the twain suddenly gave back and rushed upon me. I drew my sword, and kept him at bay for a few seconds, until a butcher came to his assistance. The butcher stole up behind me and robbed me of my sword. Now I was almost "taken," but no! not just yet. Seeing an opening in the large crowd which had gathered I darted through it and down the street into a yard where I knew there was a blacksmith's shop kept by Louis Gordon. I managed to get into the shop, but my pursuers were almost at my heels. I was overpowered and very soon the "bangles" were on my wrists. I was marched to the Town Hall, followed by a vast and inquiring crowd. One of the milk girls from the barracks wanted to know whatever I had been doing, and I told her that I had been making love too freely with John Barleycorn. Arrived at the Town Hall, I saw Delaney. We were both locked up for the night, and next morning were brought



BEFORE THE LORD PROVOST

The captain of the regiment in full-dress uniform was present in court, occupying a seat beside the magistrate. My case was called on first. After the two policemen and certain civilians had had their say, a doctor, whose name, I think, was Montgomery, stepped into the witness-box and spoke in my favour. The captain also gave me a good character; he said this was my first offence, and Delaney was the cause of it. In pronouncing judgement the Lord Provost said that as my captain had spoken so well of me he would "give me the benefit of the doubt," although an offence of attempting to rescue a prisoner from the hands of the police was a very serious one indeed. Under the circumstances, he would fine me 40s and costs, or "saxty days to the talbooth." The charges against poor Delaney were those of doing wilful damage to property, being drunk and disorderly, and, to some extent, causing a riot. John had no defence, and no one to speak a good word for him; indeed, his captain—who was a fellow-countryman, an Irishman—gave him a bad name. The upshot was that Delaney was ordered to pay 40s and costs and to make good the damage to the window, or to go to the talbooth for six months. My fine was paid by subscription among the No. 7 Company, to which I belonged, and I obtained my almost immediate release. The amount in Delaney's case was much larger than mine, and it was not until John had suffered a fortnight's incarceration that his Company (No. 4) succeeded in getting him released. I myself took the ransom to Governor McPherson, who returned me 16s out of a 5 pounds note. Poor John looked well-nigh dead after his sojourn in the police cell, and as soon as we got out of the gaol we made for an eating-house, where I let him have a good meal. We then went back to barracks.



CHAPTER XII

REDUCED TO THE RANKS

In the meantime I had been tried by Court-martial, and reduced to the ranks. Sergeant Delaney, on entering the barracks, was put under arrest. He, too, had to undergo a second trial, and he, like myself, was relieved of his sergeantcy and put back to a private's position. To me, however, this was no very great trouble, though to a certain extent it was a mark of disgrace. Dame Fortune soon began to smile upon me. I found a good friend in Captain Clifford Lloyd, the musketry instructor to the regiment. One fine morning, shortly after I was reduced to the ranks, and while I was engaged in preparing myself to mount guard, the Captain passed my room. "Ah!" says he, "you're brushing up, I see." "Yes, sir," I answered; "I'm going to mount guard. This is the first time I have mounted guard since I was reduced to a private." "Ah! well," said Captain Clifford Lloyd, "you see what a fool you have been to get intoxicated. But I always said that any man can have a breakdown in his lifetime; and if ever you have another chance you will mind it?" "Yes, sir; I think I shall," replied I. The Captain then walked away, but he had not gone many paces when he returned and said to me, "I'll tell you what I'll do. One of my attendants, Johnson, wants a six weeks' furlough to see his parents in Nottingham. I will let you have his place during his absence if you will take it. You will not have to wait at the mess, but to accompany me at the targets—fit up the targets, paint them, signal, and see that all is right for shooting." "Thank you, sir," said I, from a heart full of thanks; "I shall be ready when called upon, sir." The Captain then went away, and I proceeded to complete my equipment for going on guard. I was on the first post of the barrack guard. I had not been walking sentry "go" for many minutes ere a relief man came to take my place, telling me that I was wanted by Captain Lloyd. I promptly repaired to the Captain's quarters, and Captain Lloyd told me that he had given Johnson permission to take his leave on the next day. "Go," said he to me, "and tell the sergeant to strike you off the mess, as you are now my fatigue man for two months at least." I followed out the instructions. My new duties were very agreeable in one sense, for while being engaged only three days per week (that being as much as the regiment could put in at ball-firing practice) I had full pay. The next morning we went to business. I hoisted the danger flags to keep trespassers away from the range, and, with help from another man, I got the targets in working order. The range was on the seaward side of Ayr, and the targets had always to be removed before the tide came in. I used to take my paint cans (the paint was used to "face" the targets), danger flags, &c., at night to a fisherman's hut at the mouth of the river Doon. The fisherman and his "guid leddy" were a very hospitable couple, and before I completed my visits to their dwelling, I got on very friendly terms with the family. To please the children I gave them coppers occasionally; of a penny the children thought about as much as a child in Keighley thinks of a shilling. Then I made "bargains" with the wife, exchanging money for "pulls" of brandy and "plugs" of tobacco. Her husband, it would seem, when he met with foreign vessels out at sea, would exchange with them fresh-water fish for brandy, tobacco, &c., so that the family had generally a good stock of these commodities on hand. In my new sphere of duty I had plenty of time hanging on my hands, quite ample to enable me to cultivate my muse. One of the pieces which I wrote was my verses commencing:—

In a pleasant little valley, Near the ancient town of Ayr, Where the laddies they are honest, And the lassies they are fair; Where the Doon in all her splendour Ripples sweetly thro' the wood, And on her banks not long ago A little cottage stood. 'Twas there in all her splendour, On a January morn, Appeared old Colia's genius,— When Robert Burns was born.



BREAKING A FIERY HORSE

With the exception of one rather vivid experience, my career as attendant at the targets was devoid of any particular incident. One afternoon, when I had just finished my preparations for the shooting, Captain Clifford Lloyd came up to me leading an iron-grey horse. "Come here," says he, "and mount this steed; and take her a mile or two down the beach." The horse, it appeared, had just come to hand from Bohemia, and was of a very fiery disposition. The captain said she had not received her baptism of fire. I did according to orders, and took the fiery steed along the coast. She proved a very "wicked" animal, and a few yards prancing and capering made me heartily wish that I was safely on terra firma. Suddenly a volley was fired, and as suddenly the horse gave such a lurch that I was within an ace of being pitched where I wanted to get—though not quite so precipitately. Volley after volley was fired, and I lost all command over the snorting steed, which was flitting along at the rate of so many miles an hour. Had it not been for a heavy guard-cloak which I was wearing, and which by wrapping itself about the horse's body assisted me to keep my seat, I should most certainly have been pitched to the ground. In my anxious moments I seriously thought of John Gilpin, and compared his famous ride to my own:—

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; Away went hat and wig; He little thought when he set out Of running such a rig.

"Circumstances alter cases" we are told, and I compared my experience to that of John Gilpin in the following lines:—

Away went Hoylus, neck or nought, In spite of wind or tide; He little thought, when he set out, Of having such a ride. He held the reigns so tight and fast As ne'er were held before; He took an oath—if he got down He'd never mount once more. His cloak was like a parachute; It kept him on his steed. For ne'er a horse from here to Hull Ere ran with such a speed. He cursed aloud the unlucky star That tempted him to roam; And wished the de'il had got his horse, And he were safe at home.

The horse wheeled, and gradually made towards the starting-point. As I drew within sight of the captain, he evidently comprehended my dangerous position, and came to my aid, shouting as he ran along, "Hold on; halt, if you can." But I could not halt, and it took me all my time to hold on. The animal was about at the fag end, and allowed the captain to take the bridle. When Captain Lloyd told me to dismount, I can truly say that I obeyed his injunction more readily than I did the one to mount. I thanked my stars that I had come off as fortunately as I did. The captain took my place in the saddle. He had had a good deal of experience in horse-riding. Setting his spurs into the animal's sides, he was instantly off like the wind. He went miles on the beach, and when he returned the horse was foaming at the mouth and trembling like an aspen leaf. To be sure, the "wicked" steed had had a successful breaking in if she had never had one before, and, when I ventured to hold the bridle, was as quiet as a lamb.



BACK TO ENGLAND

I acted as attendant at the targets about six months, and at the end of that time the regiment received orders to leave Ayr, and proceed to England. The day came for our departure, and there were the usual handshakings and embraces at the parting places. Our destination was Pontefract. Half of the number of the regiment accomplished the journey by boat, while the other half—among which was your humble servant—went by rail. As is usual in the circumstances, some of the men had taken unto themselves wives during their residence in Scotland. This they had done in an illegitimate or unsanctioned way, not having sought the sanction of the Colonel of the regiment; so that there was some difficulty in smuggling the Scotch lasses with the regiment. As we were leaving Ayr there was, I remember, a young fellow—a wild, uncouth youth who came to me and begged me to get him over to England with the regiment. I told him that if he would get his hair cut and tidy himself I would provide him with a soldier's uniform; if he donned himself in that there would be a possibility of getting him over. He accordingly got his hair cut, and when he had put himself into a spare uniform which I had got out, he looked quite a different individual. We all went to the station, and the train started. At Carlisle we were allowed a "hot dinner;" this is usually provided for soldiers when travelling at the end of every hundred miles. But instead of a hot dinner, it turned out this time to be a cold one—sandwiches, &c. In the compartment in which I was riding there were several petticoat followers, and, of course, the commissariat did not provide for their wants. Therefore we set ourselves planning and scheming in order to obtain some dinner for them. When we got to the refreshment room, a few of us went in at the usual entrance, obtained our regular allowance, and retired through the back door. We then went round to the front again, and succeeded in getting a second allowance, thus providing for the wives of the soldiers. One of the women was the Scotch lassie I mentioned previously, and who inquired so anxiously about me as I was showing a policeman the way to the Ayr Town Hall one evening. The journey was resumed, and Pontefract safely reached early next morning. After a few days waiting the remainder of the regiment, who had come over by boat, arrived. They had had a very rough time of it on the sea, and several of them told me they never expected to reach England. The sea was very rough, and during one part of the passage Captain Selborne (of No. 7 Company) was heard shouting to the soldiers to kneel down and pray as the vessel was going to be wrecked. The regiment spent a few days in Pontefract and was then disbanded. I had begun to be rather homesick, and as a favour Captain Clifford Lloyd allowed me to have my pay (which amounted to a nice sum, as, having lived with Captain Lloyd, I had been able to save practically the whole of my allowance) early, and I started for home a day or two in advance of the rest. Wearing my uniform I walked on to Featherstone, where I got into a train, as I thought, bound for Keighley. I happened to get into the compartment where Mr Ripley, of Ripley's dyeworks, Bradford, was riding. We entered into conversation, and when I told him that I belonged to Keighley, he surprised me by saying I had got into the wrong train. The train, as I found, went no further than Bradford, and there was not one forward to Keighley at that late hour. Mr Ripley, however, took me to the Great Northern Hotel, and introduced me to the landlady, telling her that I was a young soldier, and ordering her to provide a bed for me for the night, and to let me have anything I might ask for in the way of food. Next morning I buckled myself up for going forward to Keighley. But, thought I, I must not go home in my regimentals. So I went to a clothier's shop, and exchanged my uniform for a fashionable suit of brown, and then I looked like a thorough foreigner. I have hitherto forgot to mention a Scotch cap which I bought in Edinburgh to serve as a memento of my visit to "Auld Reekie." Up to now I had not worn the cap, but I now put it on, and continued to wear it for a long while. "My old Scotch cap" led me to pen the following verses:—