Whether it was the feeling of good-fellowship and sympathy that pervaded the meeting, or some word that was dropped at a venture and found root in his heart, Miles could not tell, but certain it is that at that entertainment he formed the resolution to write home before leaving. Not that he had yet repented of the step he had taken, but he was sorry for the manner in which he had done so, and for allowing so much time to elapse that now the opportunity of seeing his parents before starting was lost.
As it was impossible for him to write his letter in the noise of the barrack-room, he went off next day to the reading-room of the Institute, and there, with no other sounds to disturb him than the deep breathing of some studious red-coats, and the chirping pen of a comrade engaged like himself, he began to write.
But his thoughts somehow would not work. His pen would not write. He even fancied that it had a sort of objection to spell. So it had, when not properly guided by his hesitating hand. The first part went swimmingly enough:
Dearest mother,
Im so sorry
But here he stopped, for the memory of his fathers severity re-aroused his indignation, and he felt some doubt as to whether he really was sorry. Then, under the impulse of this doubt, he wrote a long letter, in imagination, in which he defended his conduct pretty warmly, on the ground that he had been driven to it.
Driven to what? asked Something within him. To the course which I have taken and am now defending, replied Something-else within him hotly.
Then the course was a wrong one, else you wouldnt have to defend it! rejoined the first Something.
Wellyesnno, it wasnt, returned the second Something doggedly.
Before this internal dispute could be carried further, Miles was aroused by a sudden burst of noisy voices, as if a lunatic asylum had been let loose into the hall below. Rising quickly, he hurried down with his studious comrades to see what it could be all about.
Its only another troop-ship come in, and theyve all come up here without giving us warning to get ready, said Tufnell, as he bustled about, endeavouring to introduce order into what appeared to Miles to be the reproduction of Babel, minus the bricks.
The fact was that a troop-ship having arrived rather suddenly, a sergeant had driven up in hot haste from the docks to make arrangements for the reception of the soldiers wives and children!
Look sharp! he cried, on entering the hall abruptly; sixteen families are on their way to you.
All right; we can take em in, was the prompt reply; and orders were given to set the food-producing machinery of the establishment instantly in motion. But almost before the preparation had fairly begun, the advance-guard of the army, largely composed of infantry, burst upon them like a thunder-clap, and continued to pour in like a torrent. There were men shouting, women chattering, tired children whining, and excited children laughing; babies yelling or crowing miscellaneously; parrots screaming; people running up and down stairs in search of dormitories; plates and cups clattering at the bar, as the overwhelmed barmaids did their best to appease the impatient and supply the hungry; while the rumbling of control-wagons bringing up the baggage formed a sort of bass accompaniment to the concert.
You see, it varies with us a good deal, remarked Brown to Miles, during a lucid interval, Sometimes we are almost empty, a few hours later we are overflowing. It comes hard on the housekeeper, of course. But we lay our account wi that, and, do you know, it is wonderful what can be done in trying circumstances, when we lay our account wi them!Yes, Miss, its all ready! shouted the speaker, in reply to a soft female voice that came down the wide staircase, as it were, over the heads of the turbulent crowd.
In a moment he disappeared, and Tufnell stood, as if by magic, in his place.
Yes, said the manager, taking up his discourse where the other had left off; and in a few minutes youll see that most of these wives and children of the soldiers will be distributed through the house in their bed-rooms, when our ladies will set to work to make acquaintance with them; and then well open our stores of warm clothing, of which the poor things, coming as they do from warm climates, are often nearly or quite destitute.
But where do you get these supplies from? asked Miles.
From kind-hearted Christians throughout the country, who send us gifts of old and new garments, boots and shoes, shawls and socks, etcetera, which we have always in readiness to meet sudden demands; and I may add that the demands are pretty constant. Brown told you just now that we have varied experience. I remember once we got a message from the Assistant Quartermaster-Generals office to ask how many women and children we could accommodate, as a shipful was expected. We replied that we could take 140, and set to work with preparations. After all, only one woman came! To-day we expected nobody, andyou see what we have got!
The genial countenance of the manager beamed with satisfaction. It was evident that what he had got did not at all discompose him, as he hurried away to look after his flock, while the originatorthe heart and soul of all thisalthough confined to her room at that time with spine complaint, and unable to take part in the active work, as she had been wont to do in years gone by, heard in her chamber the softened sound of the human storm, and was able to thank God that her Soldiers Institute was fulfilling its destiny.
Hallo! Miles! exclaimed Armstrong, over the heads of the crowd; Ive been looking for you everywhere. Dyou know we run a chance of being late? Come along, quick!
Our hero, who, in his interest in the scene, had forgotten the flight of time, hurried out after his comrade as the band struck up Home, sweet Home, and returned to barracks, utterly oblivious of the fact that he had left the unfinished letter to his mother on the table in the reading-room.
Chapter Six.
The Unfinished LetterToo Late!
Next morning young Miltonor, as he was called by his comrades, John Milesrose with the depressing thought that it was to be his last day in England. As he was dressing, it flashed across him that he had left his unfinished letter on the reading-room table, and, concluding that it would be swept away in the rush of people thereat all events that, not having been folded or addressed, it could not be postedhis depression was deepened.
The first thing that roused him to a better frame of mind was the smell of tea!
Most people are more or less familiar with teapots; with the few teaspoonfuls of the precious leaf which thrifty housekeepers put into these pots, and the fragrant liquid that results. But who among civilians, (save the informed), can imagine a barrack-room teapot?
Open your ears, O ye thrifty ones! while we state a few facts, and there will be no need to tell you to open your eyes.
Into the teapot which supplied Miles with his morning cup there was put, for one making, eight pounds of tea!not ounces, observe, but pounds,twenty-nine pounds of sugar, and six gallonsan absolute cowfulof milk! The pot itself consisted of eight enormous coppers, which were filled with boiling water to the brim.
Yes, sir, remarked the military cook, who concocted the beverage, to a speechless visitor one day; it is a pretty extensive brew; but then, you see, we have a large family!
A considerable portion of this large family was soon actively engaged in preparation for immediate embarkation for Egypt. Then the General made the men a farewell speech. It was a peculiar speechnot altogether suited to cheer timid hearts, had any such been there, but admirably adapted to British soldiers.