shows how the lady of the institute discourses to the sergeant, how jack-tars go out on the spree, and how music conquers warriors.
“it seems wonderful to me, madam,” said sergeant hardy, looking round the lady’s room with an admiring gaze, “how quickly you have got things into working order here. when i remember that last year this place was a heap of rubbish, it seems like magic.”
“ah! the work of god on earth seems magical the more we reflect on it,” returned the lady. “the fact that our institute was conceived, planned, and carried into successful operation by an invalid lady, in spite of discouragement, and, at first, with inadequate means, is itself little short of miraculous, but what is even more surprising is the fact that the government, which began by throwing cold water on her portsmouth work, has ended by recognising it and by affording us every facility here in alexandria.”
“well, you see, madam, i suppose it’s because they see that we soldiers and sailors likes it, an’ it does a power o’ good—don’t you think?”
“no doubt, but whatever may be the reason, sergeant, we are very thankful for the encouragement. i suppose you have heard what a grand occasion our opening day was?”
“no, madam, i haven’t. you see, away at suakim we was so constantly taken up with the attentions of osman digna that we had little time for anything but eatin’ and sleepin’ when we wasn’t on sentry an’ fightin’, so that we often missed bits of news. was there a great turn-out o’ men?”
“indeed there was,” returned the lady, with animation; “and not only of men, but of all the alexandrian notables. it was on the 23rd of february last (1885) that our institute was opened by major-general lennox, v.c., c.b., who was in command of the garrison. this was not the first time by any means that the soldiers had paid us a visit. a number of men, who, like yourself, sergeant hardy, sympathise with our work in its spiritual aspects, had been frequently coming to see how we were getting on, and many a pleasant hour’s prayer and singing we had enjoyed with them, accompanied by our little harmonium, which had been sent to us by kind friends in england; and every sunday evening we had had a little service in the midst of the shavings and carpenters’ benches.
“but on this grand opening day the men came down in hundreds, and a great surprise some of them got—especially the sceptical among them. the entrance was decorated with palms. at the further end of the reading-room the trophy of union jacks and the royal standard, which you see there now, was put up by a band of jack-tars who had come to help us as well as to see the fun. over the trophy was our text, ‘in the name of the lord will we set up our banners,’ for we liked to feel that we had taken possession of this little spot in egypt for god—and we believe that it will always be his.
“everything was bright and hearty. there were about five hundred soldiers and sailors, and between two and three hundred officers and civilians of all nationalities. on the platform we had osman pasha—”
“ha!” interrupted the sympathetic sergeant, “i only wish we could have had osman digna there too! it would do more to pacify the soudan than killing his men does!”
“i daresay it would,” responded the lady with a laugh, “but have patience, hardy; we shall have him there yet, and perhaps the mahdi too—or some future grand occasion. well, as i was saying, we had osman, the governor of alexandria, on our platform, and a lot of big-wigs that you know nothing about, but whose influence was of importance, and whose appearance went far to make the place look gay. of course we had music, beginning with ‘god save the queen,’ and speeches—brilliant as well as heavy; sententious and comic—like all other similar gatherings, and the enthusiasm was unbounded. how could it be otherwise with sailors to cheer and soldiers to back them up? and you may be sure that in such a meeting the enthusiasm about the undertaking did not fail to extend to the ‘soldiers’ friend’ who had originated the whole. in short, it was a splendid success.”
“of course it was,” said the sergeant, with emphasis; “first, because of god’s blessing, an’, second, because the institoot was greatly needed. why, madam, if it wasn’t for this place the thousands of soldiers stationed here, not to mention the sailors, would have no place to go to spend their leave and leisure time but the drinkin’ dens o’ the town; an you know well, though p’r’aps not so well as i do, what terrible places these are, where men are tempted, fleeced, debauched, and sometimes murdered.”
“quite true, hardy. did you hear of the case that occurred just two days ago? a sergeant of one of the regiments, i forget which, after paying his fare to a donkey-boy, turned quietly to walk away, when the scoundrel felled him with a stick and robbed him of one pound 10 shillings. the case is before the law-court now, and no doubt the robber will receive a just reward.
“well, as i was remarking, the opening day carried us to high tide, so to speak, and there has been no ebb from that day to this. one comical incident, however, occurred just at the beginning, which might have done us damage. the day after the opening all was prepared for the reception of our soldier and sailor friends. the tables were arranged with books and games, the writing-table with pens, ink, and blotting-paper, and the bar with all sorts of eatables, magnificent urns, coloured glass, etcetera. about one o’clock william, our barman, tasted the coffee. his usual expression of self-satisfaction gave place to one of horror. he tasted the coffee again. the look of horror deepened. he ran to the boiler, and the mystery was cleared up. the boiler had been filled with salt-water! our arab, ibraim, who carries up seawater daily to fill our baths, had filled the boiler with the same. luckily there was time to correct the mistake, and when our friends came trooping in at four o’clock they found the coffee quite to their taste.
“you know very well,” continued the superintendent, “our rules never to force religion on any of our customers, our object being to attract by all the legitimate means in our power. we have our bible-classes, prayer-meetings, temperance soirees, and the like, distinct—as at portsmouth—from the other advantages of the institute; and are quite content if some, who come at first from mere curiosity or for the enjoyment of temporal good things, should afterwards continue to come from higher and spiritual motives. but if our military friends prefer to read our papers and books, and play our games, and use our bar, they are at perfect liberty to do so, without what i may style religious interference. it’s all fair and above-board, you see. we fully recognise the freedom of will that god has bestowed on man. if you don’t care for our spiritual fare you may let it alone. if you relish it—there it is, and you are welcome. yet we hold by our right to win men if we can. in point of fact, we have been very successful already in this way, for our motive power from beginning to end is love.
“one of our most helpful soldier friends—a sergeant—has brought several men to the saviour, who are now our steady supporters. one of these men, whom our sergeant was the means of bringing in, was a professed unbeliever of good standing and ability. the first time he was prevailed on to come to a prayer-meeting, he sat bolt upright while we knelt, being a straightforward sort of man who refused to pretend when he could not really pray. he is now a happy follower of jesus.
“our large rooms are constantly filled with soldiers, some chatting, some making up for past privations by having a good english meal, and others reading or playing games. just now happens to be our quietest hour, but it won’t be long before we have a bustling scene.”
as if to verify the lady’s words there came through the doorways at that moment a sound of shouting and cheering, which caused all the staff of the institute to start into active life.
“there they come!” exclaimed the lady, with an intelligent smile, as she hurried from the room, leaving hardy to follow at a pace that was more consistent with his dignity—and, we may add, his physical weakness.
the shouts proceeded from a party of sailors on leave from one of the ironclads lying in the harbour. these, being out for the day—on a spree as some of them styled it—had hired donkeys, and come in a body to the institute, where they knew that food of the best, dressed in british fashion, and familiar games, were to be had, along with british cheer and sympathy.
when hardy reached the door he found the place swarming with blue-jackets, trooping up at intervals on various animals, but none on foot, save those who had fallen off their mounts and were trying to get on again.
“they’re all donkeyfied together,” remarked a sarcastic old salt—not one of the party—who stood beside hardy, looking complacently on, and smoking his pipe.
“they don’t steer as well on land as on sea,” replied hardy.
“’cause they ain’t used to such craft, you see—that’s w’ere it is, sarjint,” said the old salt, removing his pipe for a moment. “just look at ’em—some comin’ along sidewise like crabs, others stern foremost. w’y, there’s that grey craft wi’ the broad little man holdin’ on to its tail to prevent his slidin’ over its head. i’ve watched that grey craft for some minutes, and its hind propellers have bin so often in the air that it do seem as if it was walkin’ upon its front legs. hallo! i was sure he’d go down by the head at last.”
the donkey in question had indeed gone down by the head, and rolled over, pitching its rider on his broad shoulders, which, however, seemed none the worse for the fall.
“ketch hold of his tail, bill,” cried another man, “and hold his stern down—see if that won’t cure his plungin’. he’s like a dutchman in a cross sea.”
“keep clear o’ this fellow’s heels, jack, he’s agoin’ to fire another broadside.”
“if he does he’ll unship you,” cried jack, who was himself at the same moment unshipped, while the owner of the donkey, and of the other donkeys, shouted advice, if nothing worse, in arabic and broken english.
in a few minutes the sailors “boarded” the institute, and drew the whole force of the establishment to the bar in order to supply the demand.
“ah! thin, ye’ve got irish whisky, haven’t ye?” demanded a facetious seaman.
“yes, plenty, but we call it coffee here!” answered the equally facetious barman, whose satellites were distributing hot and cold drinks with a degree of speed that could only be the fruit of much practice.
“you’ll have to be jolly on mild swipes,” said one; “no tostikatin’ liquors allowed, dick.”
“h’m!” growled dick.
“got any wittles here?” demanded another man, wiping his lips with his sleeve.
“yes, plenty. sit down and order what you want.”
“for nothin’?” asked the tar.
“for next to nothing!” was the prompt reply. meanwhile, those whose appetites were not quite so urgent had distributed themselves about the place, and were already busy with draughts, billiards, etcetera, while those who were of more sedate and inquiring temperament were deep in the columns of the english papers and magazines.
“i say, fred thorley, ain’t it bang up?” remarked a sturdy little man, through a huge slice of cake, with which he had just filled his mouth.
“fuss-rate!” responded fred, as he finished a cup of coffee at a draught and called for more. “didn’t i tell you, sam, that you’d like it better than the native grog-shops?”
“if they’d on’y got bitter beer!” sighed sam.
“they’ve got better beer,” said his friend; “try some ginger-pop.”
“no thankee. if i can’t git it strong, let’s at least have it hot. but, i say, what’s come o’ the lobsters? don’t seem to be many about. i thought this here institoot was got up a-purpose for them.
“so it was, lad, includin’ us; but you don’t suppose that because you are out on the spree, everybody else is. they’re on dooty just now. wait a bit an’ you’ll see plenty of ’em afore long.”
“are all that come here blue lights?” asked sam, with a somewhat doleful visage.
“by no manner o’ means,” returned his friend, with a laugh; “tho’ for the matter o’ that they wouldn’t be worse men if they was, but many of ’em are no better than they should be, an’ d’ee know, sam, there are some of ’em actually as great blackguards a’most as yourself!”
“there’s some comfort in that anyhow,” returned sam, with a pleasant smile, “for i hates to be pecooliar. by the way, fred, p’r’aps they may be able to give you some noos here, if you ax ’em, about your friend jack molloy. he was a blue light, wasn’t he?”
“not w’en i know’d ’im, but he was a fuss-rate seaman an’ a good friend, though he was fond of his glass, like yourself, sam.”
it chanced that at this point sergeant hardy, in moving about the place, taking profound interest in all that he saw, came within earshot of the two friends, to whom he at once went up and introduced himself as a friend of jack molloy.
“indeed,” said he, “molloy and i fought pretty near to each other in that last affair under general mcneill, so i can give you the latest news of him.”
“can you, old man? come, sit down here, an’ let’s have it then,” said thorley. “jack was an old messmate o’ mine. what’ll you take to drink, mate?”
“nothing, thankee. i’m allowanced by the doctor even in the matter o’ tea and coffee,” said the sergeant. “as to bein’ an’ old man—well, i ain’t much older than yourself, i daresay, though wounds and sickness and physic are apt to age a man in looks.”
sitting down beside the sailors, hardy told of the great fight at mcneill’s zereba, and how molloy and others of his friends had gone to rescue a comrade and been cut off. he relieved fred’s mind, however, by taking the most hopeful view of the matter, as he had previously relieved the feelings of marion. and then the three fell to chatting on things in general and the war in particular.
“now don’t this feel homelike?” said sam, looking round the room with great satisfaction. “if it wasn’t for the heat i’d a’most think we was in a temperance coffee-house in old england.”
“or owld ireland,” chimed in a sailor at the neighbouring table.
“to say naething o’ auld scotland,” added a rugged man in red hair, who sat beside him.
“well, messmate,” assented fred, “it do feel homelike, an’ no mistake. why, what ever is that?”
the sailor paused, and held up a finger as if to impose silence while he listened, but there was no need to enforce silence, for at that moment the sweet strains of a harmonium were heard at the other end of the long room, and quietude profound descended on the company as a rich baritone voice sang, with wonderful pathos, the familiar notes and words of “home, sweet home!”
before that song was finished many a warrior there had to fight desperately with his own spirit to conceal the fact that his eyes were full of tears. indeed, not a few of them refused to fight at all, but, ingloriously lowering their colours, allowed the tell-tale drops to course over their bronzed faces, as they thought of sweethearts and wives and friends and home circles and “the light of other days.”
