The Redcoats

'Mother, grandmother, some soldiers are coming here!'

Teddy tore into the house one morning after school with this announcement, and his face was radiant with delight. His mother was laying the cloth for dinner, and old Mrs. Platt was busy dishing up some potatoes.

'Who told you?' asked the latter.

'I saw one—a real live soldier, a corporal with two gold stripes on his red coat, and such white gloves; and I went up to him and talked to him.'

'Certainly modesty is lacking with you,' observed Mrs. Platt drily.

'Shyness is,' said Mrs. John rather quickly; 'but he doesn't show forwardness as a rule.'

'Sam and Carrots and lots of the boys were with me, mother. He told us that he and one or two more had come on to get billets—that's the word—billets for the regiment that was marching through on their way to Wales; and we shall see them come marching through the village in a few days. He said most of them were going to put up in the town, but twenty were coming to the Hare and Hounds, and they're going to sleep there. He's such a nice man, mother; he's only going to sleep here to-night, and then he's going on to-morrow to get some more billets ready in the next town he comes to. Couldn't he come to tea this afternoon? Do let me ask him, granny!'

Mrs. Platt laughed not ill-humouredly. 'You would have us take in any scoundrel, provided he wore a red coat, wouldn't you?'

'Soldiers are never scoundrels!' asserted Teddy with hot indignation.

'Do you know all the soldiers in the British Army, then?' said his grandmother.

'I daresay he wouldn't care to come to tea with strangers, sonny,' put in
Mrs. John gently.

'I'm sure he would, for he doesn't like the Hare and Hounds. He said he was a teetotaller.'

'Come, that sounds good,' Mrs. Platt remarked. 'Well, you can ask him in for your father's sake.'

Not much dinner could Teddy eat that day, and his lessons at school had never seemed so irksome to him; but they were over at last, and he tore off in search of his new friend, finding him at length sitting under an old yew-tree just outside the churchyard.

'Granny says will you come to tea with us?' he asked breathlessly, as he came up to him.

The corporal looked up. He was a fine-looking young man with a frank, bright face, and he was reading a well-worn Bible, which he put carefully in his pocket before he rose to his feet.

'That's very kind of your granny,' he said; 'and I'll come with pleasure.
I'm out of it at the Hare and Hounds.'

Teddy's quick eyes had spied the Bible.

'Do you like the Bible?' he asked gravely.

'It's my order book,' the corporal said with a smile, 'and my best friend in the world.'

'What's an order book?'

'It gives you your daily commands—just what you are to do and where you're to go. My Captain writes my orders down in His Word for me.'

'He's my Captain too,' said Teddy with glistening eyes. 'You mean Jesus, don't you? I've enlisted in His army, and I'm one of His soldiers.'

'Shake hands, little brother, then; we're comrades after all.'

'Are all soldiers in Jesus Christ's army?' asked Teddy as they walked away together.

The corporal shook his head sadly. 'Hardly any of them in my regiment,' he said. 'We're nearly seven hundred strong, and only six men besides myself, as far as I can tell, belong to the Lord. A year ago I was an awful blackguard myself: I drank dreadfully, and couldn't give the drink up; but that's all a thing of the past. Since I have belonged to the Lord He keeps me from it, and many other bad habits. I'll own I fairly dreaded coming to this bit of duty. The sight and smell of the beer is very strong to a man that has been such a slave to it, and I must be quartered in public-houses the whole way along.'

'You'll have to fight like Mr. Upton told me to, won't you?' said Teddy.
'But if our Captain is with us, Mr. Upton says we shan't be beaten.'

'No,' said the corporal, a light coming into his eyes. 'We shall be more than conquerors.'

Then, after a pause, he said, 'It's very considerate of your granny to ask me to tea; I was just wishing that something could be done in this village for the men coming after me, like we had last year when we marched through the country for the manoeuvres. They gave us a free tea at several of the places we went through, and it kept so many from drinking. There's a man coming along here who I'm terrible anxious about. He's been an awful drunkard, and is quite an old soldier; but last New Year's Day he signed the pledge, and he's kept it ever since: he's just on the point of being converted, I hope. We have yarns by the hour together, but if he's billeted in the Hare and Hounds, or any other public-house, for that matter, I don't know what he'll do. There's nothing for them when they come in tired but to sit in the bar or tap-room and drink. They can't get away from it.' Teddy's brow was knitted with deep thought.

'I didn't know soldiers drank too much,' he said. 'I thought they never did anything wrong.'

The corporal smiled. 'It isn't many that is of your opinion,' he said.
'Most folks put us down as a bad lot.'

That evening remained in his memory for long after: the sweet-scented garden, and the long low kitchen, with the happy family party gathered round the table; the clumsy efforts of the reticent farmer to make his guest feel at home; the short, pithy remarks made by Mrs. Platt, and the gentle, soft-voiced young mother, with the golden-haired boy, continually asking quaint questions about a soldier's life—all this came back to him with a keen sense of pleasure in after years. He was only a young fellow after all, and was touched and gratified by the kindness shown to him, for it made him think of his own mother in her village home; and when he took his leave he could hardly express his thanks.

Teddy had been allowed to sit up beyond his usual bedtime, and as he put his little hand into the big brown one of the young soldier he said, 'Do you mind telling me your name, corporal?'

'Walter Saxby,' was the ready response.

'And what's the name of the poor old soldier who signed the pledge on New
Year's Day?'

'Tim Stokes; he's called Bouncer by most of us.'

'I shall remember,' said Teddy; then turning to his mother and grandmother after Corporal Saxby had disappeared, he said solemnly, 'I may bring Bouncer to tea, mayn't I, if I find him? Corporal told me he hadn't properly enlisted as Jesus' soldier, but he wants to. Do you think Mr. Upton could get him to enlist while he's here? Or could you, granny? P'raps he'd do it for you.'

'I don't know what that boy will come to,' said Mrs. Platt later on, when Teddy was safe in bed; 'seems to me he has more the making of a minister in him than a soldier. I don't hold with children being too religious; it's forced and unnatural.'

'He ain't too good to live,' put in Jake slowly; 'no youngster can beat him in play.'

'I often wonder,' Mrs. John said thoughtfully, 'whether he will be a soldier after all; he is almost too sensitive to lead the hard, rough life so many do. I doubt if he could stand it.'

'He's not wanting in pluck and manliness,' Mrs. Platt observed, for she always had a good word to say for her little grandson when he was not present. 'I found him this morning careering round the field on that fresh young foal, without any saddle or bridle! I gave him a sharp scolding, for it was kicking up its hind legs like mad; but he only looked up in my face and laughed. "It's my charger, granny," he says, "and he smells the battle-field; that's why he's so excited!" I'm sorry these soldiers are going to fill the place; he thinks and talks quite enough of them as it is. We shan't have a moment's peace now till they're gone.'

Teddy was up very early the next morning to see his friend go off. He had another long conversation with him before wishing him good-bye; and then, with thoughtful face, he went to school, revolving many plans in his active little brain, and making innumerable mistakes in his lessons in consequence. At twelve o'clock, when free at last, he made his way to the rectory and asked for Mr. Upton, who greeted him very kindly.

'Any more troubles to tell me?'

'No, sir; but I want to tell you about the soldiers who are coming.'

'I have heard about them. It will be a grand time for you, won't it?'

'Please, sir, could you have a tea-party for them?'

Mr. Upton pushed up his glasses and looked very bewildered.

'A tea-party, did you say?'

'Yes; the corporal said a clergyman gave one hundred tea in a schoolroom last year, and spoke to them after. The corporal said it would keep them from drinking in the public-houses. He came to tea with us last night; but granny won't have a lot of them, so I told him I'd tell you about it.'

'It's rather an undertaking,' said Mr. Upton musingly, 'but we might do something for them. When are they to be here?'

'In two or three days, the corporal said.'

'I think I might manage it. I will go and see Colonel Graham, and find out if he will help.'

'I knew you would be able to do it,' said Teddy, beaming all over; 'and p'raps, sir, you could tell some of them how to enlist, like you did me. The corporal said I ought to try to be a recruiting sergeant for my Captain, but they wouldn't listen to me, I am sure. I'm going to try to enlist Nancy. I haven't tried half hard enough. But she says she'll only be a sailor for Jesus, not a soldier. Can she be that, sir?'

Mr. Upton smiled. 'Yes, I think she can. Sailors have to keep watch, and learn their drill, and take orders, and fight under their captain, just like soldiers.'

And then Teddy went home and electrified his mother by telling her, with an air of great importance, 'Mr. Upton and I are going to give the soldiers a tea-party when they come.'

The days passed; Mr. Upton was as good as his word. A large tea was provided in the village schoolroom, Colonel and Mrs. Graham taking a hearty interest in it; and when the soldiers came in one hot, dusty afternoon, everything was ready for them.

Teddy and others of the village children crowded round the Hare and
Hounds when they arrived, and Nancy was foremost of the crowd.

'I don't think much of soldiers,' she said, her nose tilted up in disdain. 'They're very dirty men, and covered with dust, and they've no band, nor flags flying, nor nothing.'

If Teddy was disappointed in the look of his heroes, he did not say so; but Sam remarked, 'I expect they've left the band and the flags in the town; these are only the lot that they can't put up there.'

Later in the afternoon Teddy made his way to the old elm outside the Hare and Hounds, where several of the men were resting on the wooden benches, some with pots of beer, and round whom some of the admiring villagers had made a little circle.

He pushed his way in with his accustomed fearlessness.

'Please, is Mr. Tim Stokes here?'

The soldiers laughed, and bandied a few jokes on the comrade alluded to.

'What do you want with him, youngster?'

'I want to speak to him.'

'I guess you'll find him under one of the tables in the tap-room; old
Bouncer is pretty dry after a march like we've had to-day.'

There was a roar of laughter at this, but Teddy did not understand the joke.

'I mustn't go inside the Hare and Hounds,' he said; 'I promised mother I never would. Will you fetch him out for me?'

And turning to a good-natured-looking young fellow, Teddy put his hand coaxingly on his arm. The soldier looked into the boy's fair face with a laugh and then a sigh, and rising to his feet said, 'All right, little chap, I'll fetch him out to you.'

He was gone some time, and Teddy improved his opportunity by making friends with those around him; it was not long before he had acquainted them with the fact of his being a soldier's son, and from that he drifted into telling the story of 'Father's button!' There was vociferous applause when he had finished.

'Here, youngster,' said one of the older men, holding out his pewter pot to him, 'take a drink like a man; you deserve it!'

'No, thank you,' the boy said; 'I never drink beer.'

Then, as an oldish-looking soldier, with a heavy moustache already tinged with grey, came up to him, Teddy turned to him in delight.

[Illustration: 'ARE YOU BOUNCER?']

'Are you Bouncer?'

'That's what I'm called.' The man's face was an unhappy one, and he seemed to be the butt of his comrades, for they poured forth such a volley of good-natured ridicule on his appearance that Teddy looked from one to the other in complete mystification.

'Will you come and see my home?' the child asked softly. 'Corporal Saxby told me he thought you would like to come.'

The man's face lightened. 'Ay, that I will, if it ain't fur off; my legs are that stiff and sore. I don't want much walking.'

'It isn't very far.' Then, as they moved off together, Teddy slipped his little hand confidingly into the big one near him, and continued, 'Do you know there's going to be a splendid tea for you all in our schoolroom to-night—have you heard?'

'Ay; the parson was round an hour ago giving out tickets. There's little to be done in a place like this, and we're too tired to tramp into the town; so I expect there'll be a tidy few.'

'The corporal came to tea at our house the other night. He's a friend of yours, isn't he?'

'The best friend I've got,' was the hearty answer. 'Ay, lad, there's few of his sort in the Army; for one that tries to help us on a bit there's ten that tries to drag us down!'

'I suppose,' said Teddy dreamily, 'that, after all, the Queen's army isn't so nice to be in as the army I belong to? Does your captain help you when you're in trouble?'

'He helps us to pack-drill, or C. B., or cells!' replied Tim Stokes with grim humour.

This needed to be explained to Teddy, who went on after it was made clear to him: 'Ah! my Captain always helps me. Mr. Upton says when I do wicked things and get beaten by the enemy, I must call out to my Captain, and He will come at once and help me.'

'I reckon I've heard tell of your Captain, then, for that fellow Saxby is always dinning it into me; but I can't come to religion nohow—I can't make head or tail of it. I tell you, youngster, I've been having an awful time lately, and I can't keep to it. I'm certain sure the drink will do for me again. I can't keep away from it much longer, and this march'll see the end of my teetotal ways, I'm thinking.'

'And won't my Captain help you?'

'I'm not a hand at prayers and psalm-singing.'

'I wish you'd talk to Mr. Upton; he made me enlist a short time ago, and
I've been ever so much happier since I did it.'

They were walking across the field leading to the farm, and as they came to the stile the soldier leant heavily on it. Turning his face full on the child, he said determinedly, 'I'm not a-goin' to talk to any Mr. Upton or no one about it. I'd as lief hear you as a parson. You mind me of a little brother of mine that died ten years ago. "Tim," he said, just afore he went, "Tim, will you meet me in heaven?" He was the only one I ever loved, and I've lived a dog's life since!'

His eyes were moist with feeling, and for a minute Teddy looked at him silently in pitying wonder. Then he said, 'Look here, Bouncer, this is what Mr. Upton said to me. He told me Jesus had died for me, and how dared I keep from being His soldier when He loved me so? You know that, don't you?'

'Ay, so Saxby tells me; but it don't make no difference.'

'No more it didn't to me,' continued the boy eagerly, 'until I went to
God and enlisted. I did it quite by myself in the wood. You do it too,
Bouncer—you give yourself to God as His soldier, and He'll take you and
keep you.'

'I've been too bad; it keeps me wakeful at nights, the very thinkin' of it!'

'But won't God forgive you if you ask Him to?'

'Saxby says so; but I don't know. The fact is, a soldier can't be a
Christian in the Army.'

'I don't believe you want to be one of God's soldiers,' said Teddy in a disappointed tone; 'you keep making 'scuses!'

There was silence; then Tim Stokes heaved a heavy sigh.

'I won't come no further, youngster; I ain't in a mind to-day to see company, but I'll be at the tea to-night.'

'Oh, Bouncer, do come!' and Teddy's eyes filled with tears. 'You promised you would. I do want you to see mother and granny!'

But Tim wheeled round and strode off with something like a sob in his throat. Teddy had little idea of the mighty conflict in his breast. The child's words had awakened many memories, and Tim was at that stage now when the powers of good and of evil were contending for his soul.

'He don't believe I want it, for I keep making excuses!' muttered the poor man. 'Ay, I do; but I haven't got over the longing to be different. I'd cut off my right hand, I do believe, if I could be as Saxby is. I can't bring myself up to the point; that's it!'

Meanwhile, poor little Teddy crept indoors with a sad face, to announce to his mother the failure of his mission.

'He was nearly here, mother—just the other side of the hedge outside—and yet he turned back!'