One day, when Private Richard Doubled.i.c.k came out of the Black hole, where he had been pa.s.sing the last eight and forty hours, and in which retreat he spent a good deal of his time, he was ordered to betake himself to Captain Taunton"s quarters. In the stale and squalid state of a man just out of the Black hole, he had less fancy than ever for being seen by the Captain; but he was not so mad yet as to disobey orders, and consequently went up to the terrace overlooking the parade-ground, where the officers" quarters were; twisting and breaking in his hands, as he went along, a bit of the straw that had formed the decorative furniture of the Black hole.
"Come in!" cried the Captain, when he knocked with his knuckles at the door. Private Richard Doubled.i.c.k pulled off his cap, took a stride forward, and felt very conscious that he stood in the light of the dark, bright eyes.
There was a slight pause. Private Richard Doubled.i.c.k had put the straw in his mouth, and was gradually doubling it up into his windpipe and choking himself.
"Doubled.i.c.k," said the Captain, "do you know where you are going to?"
"To the devil, sir," faltered Doubled.i.c.k.
"Yes," returned the Captain. "And very fast."
Private Richard Doubled.i.c.k turned the straw of the Black hole in his mouth, and made a miserable salute of acquiescence.
"Doubled.i.c.k," said the Captain, "since I entered his Majesty"s service, a boy of seventeen, I have been pained to see many men of promise going that road; but I have never been so pained to see a man determined to make the shameful journey as I have been, ever since you joined the regiment, to see you."
Private Richard Doubled.i.c.k began to find a film stealing over the floor at which he looked; also to find the legs of the Captain"s breakfast-table turning crooked, as if he saw them through water.
"I am only a common soldier, sir," said he. "It signifies very little what such a poor brute comes to."
"You are a man," returned the Captain, with grave indignation, "of education and superior advantages; and if you say that, meaning what you say, you have sunk lower than I had believed. How low that must be, I leave you to consider, knowing what I know of your disgrace, and seeing what I see."
"I hope to get shot soon, sir," said Private Richard Doubled.i.c.k; "and then the regiment and the world together will be rid of me."
The legs of the table were becoming very crooked. Doubled.i.c.k, looking up to steady his vision, met the eyes that had so strong an influence over him. He put his hand before his own eyes, and the breast of his disgrace-jacket swelled as if it would fly asunder.
"I would rather," said the young Captain, "see this in you, Doubled.i.c.k, than I would see five thousand guineas counted out upon this table for a gift to my good mother. Have you a mother?"
"I am thankful to say she is dead, sir."
"If your praises," returned the Captain, "were sounded from mouth to mouth through the whole regiment, through the whole army, through the whole country, you would wish she had lived to say, with pride and joy, "He is my son!""
"Spare me, sir," said Doubled.i.c.k. "She would never have heard any good of me. She would never have had any pride and joy in owning herself my mother. Love and compa.s.sion she might have had, and would have always had, I know; but not--Spare me, sir! I am a broken wretch, quite at your mercy!" And he turned his face to the wall, and stretched out his imploring hand.
"My friend--" began the Captain.
"G.o.d bless you, sir!" sobbed Private Richard Doubled.i.c.k.
I have heard from Private Richard Doubled.i.c.k"s own lips, that he dropped down upon his knee, kissed that officer"s hand, arose, and went out of the light of the dark, bright eyes, an altered man.
In that year, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, the French were in Egypt, in Italy, in Germany, where not? Napoleon Bonaparte had likewise begun to stir against England in India, and most men could read the signs of the great troubles that were coming on. In the very next year, when we formed an alliance with Austria against him. Captain Taunton"s regiment was on service in India. And there was not a finer non-commissioned officer in it,--no, nor in the whole line,--than Corporal Richard Doubled.i.c.k.
In eighteen hundred and one, the Indian army were on the coast of Egypt.
Next year was the year of the proclamation of the short peace, and they were recalled. It had then become well known to thousands of men, that wherever Captain Taunton, with the dark, bright eyes, led, there, close to him, ever at his side, firm as a rock, true as the sun, and brave as Mars, would be certain to be found, while life beat in their hearts, that famous soldier, _Sergeant_ Richard Doubled.i.c.k.
Eighteen hundred and five, besides being the great year of Trafalgar, was a year of hard fighting in India. That year saw such wonders done by a Sergeant-Major, who cut his way single-handed through a solid ma.s.s of men, recovered the colors of his regiment, which had been seized from the hand of a poor boy shot through the heart, and rescued his wounded Captain, who was down, and in a very jungle of horses" hoofs and sabres,--saw such wonders done, I say, by this brave Sergeant-Major, that he was specially made the bearer of the colors he had won; and _Ensign_ Richard Doubled.i.c.k had risen from the ranks.
Sorely cut up in every battle, but always reinforced by the bravest of men,--for the fame of following the old colors, shot through and through, which Ensign Richard Doubled.i.c.k had saved, inspired all b.r.e.a.s.t.s,--this regiment fought its way through the Peninsular war, up to the investment of Badajos in eighteen hundred and twelve. Again and again it had been cheered through the British ranks until the tears had sprung into men"s eyes at the mere hearing of the mighty British voice, so exultant in their valor; and there was not a drummer boy but knew the legend, that wherever the two friends, Major Taunton, with the dark, bright eyes, and Ensign Richard Doubled.i.c.k, who was devoted to him, were seen to go, there the boldest spirits in the English army became wild to follow.
One day, at Badajos,--not in the great storming, but in repelling a hot sally of the besieged upon our men at work in the trenches, who had given way,--the two officers found themselves hurrying forward, face to face, against a party of French infantry, who made a stand. There was an officer at their head, encouraging his men,--a courageous, handsome, gallant officer of five-and-thirty, whom Doubled.i.c.k saw hurriedly, almost momentarily, but saw well. He particularly noticed this officer waving his sword, and rallying his men with an eager and excited cry, when they fired in obedience to his gesture, and Major Taunton dropped.
It was over in ten minutes more, and Doubled.i.c.k returned to the spot where he had laid the best friend man ever had, on a coat spread upon the wet clay. Major Taunton"s uniform was opened at the breast, and on his shirt were three little spots of blood.
"Dear Doubled.i.c.k," said he, "I am dying."
"For the love of Heaven, no!" exclaimed the other, kneeling down beside him, and pa.s.sing his arm round his neck to raise his head. "Taunton! My preserver, my guardian angel, my witness! Dearest, truest, kindest of human beings! Taunton! For G.o.d"s sake!"
The bright, dark eyes--so very, very dark, now, in the pale face--smiled upon him; and the hand he had kissed thirteen years ago laid itself fondly on his breast.
"Write to my mother. You will see home again. Tell her how we became friends. It will comfort her, as it comforts me."
He spoke no more, but faintly signed for a moment toward his hair as it fluttered in the wind. The Ensign understood him. He smiled again when he saw that, and, gently turning his face over on the supporting arm as if for rest, died, with his hand upon the breast in which he had revived a soul.
No dry eye looked on Ensign Richard Doubled.i.c.k that melancholy day. He buried his friend on the field, and became a lone, bereaved man. Beyond his duty he appeared to have but two remaining cares in life,--one, to preserve the little packet of hair he was to give to Taunton"s mother; the other, to encounter that French officer who had rallied the men under whose fire Taunton fell. A new legend now began to circulate among our troops; and it was, that when he and the French officer came face to face once more, there would be weeping in France.
The war went on--and through it went the exact picture of the French officer on the one side, and the bodily reality upon the other--until the battle of Toulouse was fought. In the returns sent home appeared these words: "Severely wounded, but not dangerously, _Lieutenant_ Richard Doubled.i.c.k."
At midsummer-time, in the year eighteen hundred and fourteen, Lieutenant Richard Doubled.i.c.k, now a browned soldier, seven-and-thirty years of age, came home to England invalided. He brought the hair with him, near his heart. Many a French officer had he seen since that day; many a dreadful night, in searching with men and lanterns for his wounded, had he relieved French officers lying disabled; but the mental picture and the reality had never come together.
Though he was weak and suffered pain, he lost not an hour in getting down to Frome in Somersetshire, where Taunton"s mother lived. In the sweet, compa.s.sionate words that naturally present themselves to the mind to-night, "he was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow."
It was a Sunday evening, and the lady sat at her quiet garden-window, reading the Bible; reading to herself, in a trembling voice, that very pa.s.sage in it, as I have heard him tell. He heard the words: "Young man, I say unto thee, arise!"
He had to pa.s.s the window; and the bright, dark eyes of his debased time seemed to look at him. Her heart told her who he was; she came to the door quickly, and fell upon his neck.
"He saved me from ruin, made me a human creature, won me from infamy and shame. O G.o.d, forever bless him! As He will, He will!"
"He will!" the lady answered. "I know he is in heaven!" Then she piteously cried, "But O my darling boy, my darling boy!"
Never from the hour when Private Richard Doubled.i.c.k enlisted at Chatham had the Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Sergeant-Major, Ensign, or Lieutenant breathed his right name, or the name of Mary Marshall, or a word of the story of his life, into any ear except his reclaimer"s. That previous scene in his existence was closed. He had firmly resolved that his expiation should be to live unknown; to disturb no more the peace that had long grown over his old offences; to let it be revealed, when he was dead, that he had striven and suffered, and had never forgotten; and then, if they could forgive him and believe him--well, it would be time enough--time enough!
But that night, remembering the words he had cherished for two years, "Tell her how we became friends. It will comfort her, as it comforts me," he related everything. It gradually seemed to him as if in his maturity he had recovered a mother; it gradually seemed to her as if in her bereavement she had found a son. During his stay in England, the quiet garden into which he had slowly and painfully crept, a stranger, became the boundary of his home; when he was able to rejoin his regiment in the spring, he left the garden, thinking was this indeed the first time he had ever turned his face toward the old colors with a woman"s blessing!
He followed them--so ragged, so scarred and pierced now, that they would scarcely hold together--to Quatre Bras and Ligny. He stood beside them, in an awful stillness of many men, shadowy through the mist and drizzle of a wet June forenoon, on the field of Waterloo. And down to that hour the picture in his mind of the French officer had never been compared with the reality.
The famous regiment was in action early in the battle, and received its first check in many an eventful year, when he was seen to fall. But it swept on to avenge him, and left behind it no such creature in the world of consciousness as Lieutenant Richard Doubled.i.c.k.
Through pits of mire and pools of rain; along deep ditches, once roads, that were pounded and ploughed to pieces by artillery, heavy wagons, tramp of men and horses, and the struggle of every wheeled thing that could carry wounded soldiers; jolted among the dying and the dead, so disfigured by blood and mud as to be hardly recognizable for humanity; dead, as to any sentient life that was in it, and yet alive,--the form that had been Lieutenant Richard Doubled.i.c.k, with whose praises England rang, was conveyed to Brussels. There it was tenderly laid down in hospital; and there it lay, week after week, through the long, bright summer days, until the harvest, spared by war, had ripened and was gathered in.
Slowly laboring, at last, through a long, heavy dream of confused time and place, presenting faint glimpses of army surgeons whom he knew, and of faces that had been familiar to his youth,--dearest and kindest among them, Mary Marshall"s, with a solicitude upon it more like reality than anything he could discern,--Lieutenant Richard Doubled.i.c.k came back to life. To the beautiful life of a calm autumn evening sunset, to the peaceful life of a fresh, quiet room with a large window standing open; a balcony beyond, in which were moving leaves and sweet-smelling flowers; beyond, again, the clear sky, with the sun full in his sight, pouring its golden radiance on his bed.
It was so tranquil and so lovely that he thought he had pa.s.sed into another world. And he said in a faint voice, "Taunton, are you near me?"
A face bent over him. Not his, his mother"s.
"I came to nurse you. We have nursed you many weeks. You were moved here long ago. Do you remember nothing?"
"Nothing."