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.

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 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.