old friends in new aspects.
on the evening of the third day after the conversation narrated in the last chapter, sergeant hardy sat in an easy-chair on the verandah of the soldiers’ institute at alexandria, in the enjoyment of a refreshing breeze, which, after ruffling the blue waters of the mediterranean, came like a cool hand on a hot brow, to bless for a short time the land of egypt.
like one of aladdin’s palaces the institute had sprung up—not exactly in a night, but in a marvellously short space of time. there was more of interest about it, too, than about the aladdin buildings; for whereas the latter were evolved magically out of that mysterious and undefinable region termed nowhere, the miss robinson edifice came direct from smoky, romantic london, without the advantage of supernatural assistance.
when miss robinson’s soldier friends were leaving for the seat of war in egypt, some of them had said to her, “three thousand miles from home are three thousand good reasons why you should think of us!” the “soldiers’ friend” took these words to heart—also to god. she did think of them, and she persuaded other friends to think of them, to such good purpose that she soon found herself in possession of funds sufficient to begin the work.
as we have seen, her energetic servant and fellow-worker, mr thomas tufnell, was sent out to egypt to select a site for the building. the old iron and wood oratory at brompton was bought, and sent out at government expense—a fact which speaks volumes for the government opinion of the value of miss robinson’s work among soldiers.
in putting up the old oratory, tufnell had transformed it to an extent that might almost have made aladdin’s slave of the lamp jealous. certainly, those who were wont to “orate” in the building when it stood in brompton would have failed to recognise the edifice as it arose in egypt on the boulevard ramleh, between the grand square of alexandria and the sea.
the nave of the old oratory had been converted into a room, ninety-nine feet long, with couches and tables running down both sides, a billiard-table in the centre, writing materials in abundance, and pictures on the walls. at one end of the room stood a pianoforte, couches, and easy-chairs, and a door opened into a garden facing the sea. over the door were arranged several flags, and above these, in large letters, the appropriate words, “in the name of the lord will we set up our banners.” at the other end was a temperance refreshment bar. on a verandah facing the sea men could repose on easy-chairs and smoke their pipes or cigars, while contemplating the peculiarities of an eastern climate.
it was here that our friend sergeant hardy was enjoying that blessed state of convalescence which may be described as gazing straight forward and thinking of nothing!
of course there were all the other appliances of a well-equipped institute—such as sleeping-cabins, manager’s room, bible-class room, lavatory, and all the rest of it, while a handsome new stone building close beside it contained sitting-rooms, bed-rooms, club-room for officers, kitchens, and, by no means least, though last, a large lecture-hall.
but to these and many other things we must not devote too much space, for old friends in new aspects claim our attention. only, in passing from such details, it may not be out of place to say that it has been remarked that the sight of miss robinson’s buildings, steadily rising from the midst of acres of ruins, while men’s minds were agitated by the bombardment and its results, produced a sense of security which had a most beneficial and quietening effect on the town! indeed, one officer of high rank went so far as to say that the institute scheme had given the inhabitants more confidence in the intentions of england than anything yet done or promised by government!
in a rocking-chair beside the sergeant reclined a shadow in loose—remarkably loose—fitting soldier’s costume.
“what a blessed place to sit in and rest after the toils and sufferings of war,” said hardy, to the shadow, “and how thankful i am to god for bringing me here!”
“it’s a hivenly place intirely,” responded the shadow, “an’ ’tis mesilf as is thankful too—what’s left o’ me anyhow, an’ that’s not much. sure i’ve had some quare thoughts in me mind since i come here. wan o’ them was—what is the smallest amount o’ skin an’ bone that’s capable of howldin’ a thankful spirit?”
“i never studied algebra, flynn, so it’s of no use puttin’ the question to me,” said hardy; “besides, i’m not well enough yet to tackle difficult questions, but i’m real glad to see you, my boy, though there is so little of you to see.”
“that’s it, sarjint; that’s just where it lies,” returned flynn, in a slow, weak voice. “i’ve bin occupied wi’ that question too—namely, how thin may a man git widout losin’ the power to howld up his clo’es?”
“you needn’t be uneasy on that score,” said hardy, casting an amused glance at his companion, “for there’s plenty o’ flesh left yet to keep ye goin’ till you get to old ireland. it rejoices my heart to see you beside me, thin though you are, for the report up country was that you had died on the way to suez.”
“bad luck to their reports! that’s always the way of it. i do think the best way to take reports is to belaive the exact opposite o’ what’s towld ye, an’ so ye’ll come nearest the truth. it’s thrue i had a close shave. wan day i felt a sort o’ light-hiddedness—as if i was a kind o’ livin’ balloon—and was floatin’ away, whin the doctor came an’ looked at me.
“‘he’s gone,’ says he.
“‘that’s a lie!’ says i, with more truth than purliteness, maybe.
“an’ would ye belave it?—i began to mind from that hour! it was the doctor saved me widout intindin’ to—good luck to him! anyhow he kep’ me from slippin’ my cable that time, but it was the good nursin’ as brought me back—my blissin’ on the dear ladies as give their hearts to this work all for love! by the way,” continued flynn, coughing and looking very stern, for he was ashamed of a tear or two which would rise and almost overflow in spite of his efforts to restrain them—but then, you see, he was very weak! “by the way,” he said, “you’ll niver guess who wan o’ the nurses is. who d’ee think?—guess!”
“i never could guess right, flynn.”
“try.”
“well, little mrs armstrong.”
“nonsense, man! why, she’s nursin’ her old father in england, i s’pose.”
“miss robinson, then?”
“h’m! you might as well say the prime minister. how d’ee s’pose the portsmuth institute could git along widout her? no, it’s our friend mrs drew!”
“what! the wife o’ the reverend gentleman as came out with us in the troop-ship?”
“that same—though she’s no longer the wife of the riverend gintleman, for he’s dead—good man,” said flynn, in a sad voice.
“i’m grieved to hear that, for he was a good man. and the pretty daughter, what of her?”
“that’s more nor i can tell ye, boy. sometimes her mother brings her to the hospital to let her see how they manage, but i fancy she thinks her too young yet to go in for sitch work by hersilf. anyhow i’ve seen her only now an’ then; but the poor widdy comes rig’lar—though i do belave she does it widout pay. the husband died of a flyer caught in the hospital a good while since. they say that lots o’ young fellows are afther the daughter, for though the drews are as poor as church rats, she’s got such a swate purty face, and such innocent ways wid her, that i’d try for her mesilf av it wasn’t that i’ve swore niver to forsake me owld grandmother.”
chatting thus about times past and present, while they watched the soldiers and seamen who passed continuously in and out of the institute—intent on a game, or some non-intoxicant refreshment, or a lounge, a look at the papers, a confab with a comrade, or a bit of reading—the two invalids enjoyed their rest to the full, and frequently blessed the lady who provided such a retreat, as well as her warm-hearted assistants, who, for the love of christ and human souls, had devoted themselves to carry on the work in that far-off land.
“i often think—” said hardy.
but what he thought was never revealed; for at that moment two ladies in deep mourning approached, whom the sergeant recognised at a glance as mrs drew and her daughter marion. the faces of both were pale and sorrowful; but the beauty of the younger was rather enhanced than otherwise by this, and by contrast with her sombre garments.
they both recognised the sergeant at once, and, hastening forward, so as to prevent his rising, greeted him with the kindly warmth of old friends.
“it seems such a long time since we met,” said the elder lady, “but we have never forgotten you or the comrades with whom we used to have such pleasant talks in the troop-ship.”
“sure am i, madam,” said the sergeant, “that they have never forgotten you and your kind—kind—”
“yes, my husband was very kind to you all,” said the widow, observing the delicacy of feeling which stopped the soldier’s utterance; “he was kind to every one. but we have heard some rumours that have made me and my daughter very sad. is it true that a great many men of your regiment were killed and wounded at the battle fought by general mcneill?”
“quite true, madam,” answered the sergeant, glancing at the daughter with some surprise; for marion was gazing at him with an intensely anxious look and parted lips. “but, thank god, many were spared!”
“and—and—how are the two fine-looking young men that were so fond of each other—like twins almost—”
“sure, didn’t i tell ye, misthress, that they was both ki—”
“hold your tongue, flynn,” interrupted the widow, with a forced smile. “you are one of my most talkative patients! i want to hear the truth of this matter from a man who has come more recently from the scene of action than yourself. what do you think, mr hardy?”
“you refer to john miles and william armstrong, no doubt, madam,” said the sergeant, in a somewhat encouraging tone. “well, if flynn says they were killed he has no ground whatever for saying so. they are only reported missing. of course that is bad enough, but as long as a man is only missing there is plenty of room for hope. you see, they may have managed to hide, or been carried off as prisoners into the interior; and you may be sure the arabs would not be such fools as to kill two men like miles and armstrong; they’d rather make slaves of ’em, in which case there will be a chance of their escaping, or, if we should become friendly again wi’ these fellows, they’d be set free.”
“i’m so glad to hear you say so, and i felt sure that my desponding patient here was taking too gloomy a view of the matter,” said mrs drew, with a significant glance at marion, who seemed to breathe more freely and to lose some of her anxious expression after the sergeant’s remarks.
perhaps at this point a little conversation that took place between mrs drew and her daughter that same evening may not be out of place.
“dear may,” said the former, “did i not tell you that flynn took too gloomy a view of the case of these young soldiers, in whom your dear father was so much interested? but, darling, is it not foolish in you to think so much about miles?”
“it may be foolish, mother, but i cannot help it,” said marion, blushing deeply; for she was very modest as well as simple.
“may, dear, i wonder that you can make such an admission!” said the mother remonstratively.
“is it wrong to make such an admission to one’s own mother, when it is true?” asked marion, still blushing, but looking straight in her mother’s eyes; for she was very straightforward as well as modest and simple!
“of course not, dear, but—but—in short, miles is only a—a—soldier, you know, and—”
“only a soldier!” interrupted marion, with a flash from her soft brown eyes; for she was an enthusiast as well as straightforward, modest, and simple! “i suppose you mean that he is only a private, but what then? may not the poorest private in the army rise, if he be but noble-minded and worthy and capable, to the rank of a general, or higher—if there is anything higher? possibly the commander-in-chief-ship may be open to him!”
“true, my love, but in the meantime his social position is—”
“is quite as good as our own,” interrupted marion; for she was a desperate little radical as well as an enthusiast, straightforward, modest, and simple!
“you know he let out something about his parents and position, and of course he told the truth. besides, i repeat that i cannot help loving him, and surely we are not responsible for our affections. we cannot love and hate to order. i might fall in love with—with—well, it’s no good talking; but, anyhow, i could not help it. i could be silent if you like, but i could not help myself.”
mrs drew seemed a little puzzled how to deal with her impetuous daughter, and had begun to reply, when may interrupted her. flushing deeply, for she was very sensitive, and with a feeling that amounted almost to indignation, she continued—
“i wonder at you, mother—it’s so unlike you; as if those unworthy considerations of difference of rank and station could influence, or ought to influence, one in such a question as this!”
mrs drew paused for a moment. she knew that her daughter gave expression to the views that had marked the dealings of the husband and father, so lately lost to them, in every action of his life. marion’s happiness, too, during the remainder of her days, might be involved in the result of the present conversation, and she was moved to say—
“my dear, has john miles ever spoken to you?”
“oh! mother, how can you ask me? if he had done so, would i have delayed one minute in letting you know?”
“forgive me, dearest. i did you wrong in admitting the thought even for a moment. but you spoke so earnestly—as if you might have some reason for thinking that he cared for you.”
“don’t you know,” answered marion, looking down, and a little confused, “that men can speak with their eyes as well as their lips? i not only feel sure that he cares for me, but i feel sure, from the sentiments he expressed to me on the voyage, that nothing would induce him to talk to me of love while in his present position.”
“how does all this consist, my love,” asked mrs drew, “with your knowledge of the fact that he left home in anger, and would not be persuaded, even by your dear father, to write home a penitent letter?”
marion was silent. this had not occurred to her before. but love is not to be turned from its object by trifles. she was all that we have more than once described her to be; but she was not a meta-physician or a philosopher, capable of comprehending and explaining occult mysteries. enough for her if she loved miles and miles loved her, and then, even if he did not deserve her love, she would remain true—secretly but unalterably true—to him as the needle is to the pole!
“has it not occurred to you, dear,” said her mother, pursuing her advantage in a meditative tone, “that if miles has been so plain-spoken and eloquent with his blue eye, that your pretty brown ones may have said something to him?”
“never!” exclaimed the girl, with an indignant flash. “oh! mother, can you believe me capable of—of—no, i never looked at him except with the air of a perfect stranger—at least of a—a—but why should i try to deny what could not possibly be true?”
mrs drew felt that nothing was to be gained from pursuing the subject—or one aspect of it—further.
“at any rate,” she said, “i am glad, for his own sake, poor young fellow, that sergeant hardy spoke so hopefully.”
“and for his comrades’ sakes as well,” said marion. “you know, mother, that his friend armstrong is also reported as missing, and stevenson the marine, as well as that dear big bluff sailor, jack molloy. by the way, do you feel well enough to go to the lecture to-night? it is to be a very interesting one, i am told, with magic-lantern illustrations, and i don’t like to go alone.”
“i am going to-night, so you may make your mind easy,” said her mother. “i would not miss this lecturer, because i am told that he is a remarkably good one, and the hall is likely to be quite full.”
in regard to this lecture and some other things connected with the alexandrian institute, our friend sergeant hardy learned a good deal from the lady at the head of it, not long after the time that mrs drew had the foregoing conversation with marion.
it is scarcely needful to say that the lady-superintendent was a capable christian as well as an enthusiast in her work.
“come to my room, sergeant hardy, and i’ll tell you all about it,” she said, leading the way to her apartment, where the sergeant placed himself upon a chair, bolt upright, as if he were going to have a tooth drawn, or were about to illustrate some new species of sitting-drill.
