The soldiers did not cheer that day; they only grinned and kissed their hands.
The next day we all got up as much like soldiers as we could. H. O. and Noël had tin swords, and we asked Albert's uncle to let us wear some of the real arms that are on the wall in the dining-room. And he said, "Yes," if we would clean them up afterwards. But we jolly well cleaned them up first with Brooke's soap and brick dust and vinegar, and the knife polish (invented by the great and immortal Duke of Wellington in his spare time when he was not conquering Napoleon. Three cheers for our Iron Duke!), and with emery paper and wash leather and whitening. Oswald wore a cavalry sabre in its sheath. Alice and the Mouse had pistols in their belts, large old flint-locks, with bits of red flannel behind the flints. Denny had a naval cutlass, a very beautiful blade, and old enough to have been at Trafalgar. I hope it was. The others had French sword-bayonets that were used in the Franco-German War. They are very bright, when you get them bright, but the sheaths are hard to polish. Each sword-bayonet has the name on the blade of the warrior who once wielded it. I wonder where they are now. Perhaps some of them died in the war. Poor chaps! But it is a very long time ago.
I should like to be a soldier. It is better than going to the best schools, and to Oxford afterwards, even if it is Balliol you go to. Oswald wanted to go to South Africa for a bugler, but father would not let him. And it is true that Oswald does not yet know how to bugle, though he can play the infantry "advance," and the "charge" and the "halt" on a penny whistle. Alice taught them to him with the piano, out of the red book father's cousin had when he was in the Fighting Fifth. Oswald cannot play the "retire," and he would scorn to do so. But I suppose a bugler has to play what he is told, no matter how galling to the young boy's proud spirit.
The next day, being thoroughly armed, we put on everything red, white, and blue that we could think of – night-shirts are good for white, and you don't know what you can do with red socks and blue jerseys till you try – and we waited by the church-yard wall for the soldiers. When the advance-guard (or whatever you call it of artillery – it's that for infantry, I know) came by we got ready, and when the first man of the first battery was level with us Oswald played on his penny whistle the "advance" and the "charge" – and then shouted:
"Three cheers for the Queen and the British Army!"
This time they had the guns with them. And every man of the battery cheered too. It was glorious. It made you tremble all over. The girls said it made them want to cry – but no boy would own to this, even if it were true. It is babyish to cry. But it was glorious, and Oswald felt different to what he ever did before.
Then suddenly the officer in front said, "Battery! Halt!" and all the soldiers pulled their horses up, and the great guns stopped too. Then the officer said, "Sit at ease," and something else, and the sergeant repeated it, and some of the men got off their horses and lit their pipes, and some sat down on the grass edge of the road, holding their horses' bridles.
We could see all the arms and accoutrements as plain as plain.
Then the officer came up to us. We were all standing on the wall that day, except Dora, who had to sit, because her foot was bad, but we let her have the three-edged rapier to wear, and the blunderbuss to hold as well – it has a brass mouth, and is like in Mr. Caldecott's pictures.
He was a beautiful man the officer. Like a Viking. Very tall and fair, with mustaches very long, and bright blue eyes.
He said:
"Good-morning."
So did we.
Then he said:
"You seem to be a military lot."
We said we wished we were.
"And patriotic," said he.
Alice said she should jolly well think so.
Then he said he had noticed us there for several days, and he had halted the battery because he thought we might like to look at the guns.
Alas! there are but too few grown-up people so far-seeing and thoughtful as this brave and distinguished officer.
We said, "Oh yes," and then we got off the wall, and that good and noble man showed us the string that moves the detonator, and the breech-block (when you take it out and carry it away, the gun is in vain to the enemy, even if he takes it); and he let us look down the gun to see the rifling, all clean and shiny; and he showed us the ammunition boxes, but there was nothing in them. He also told us how the gun was unlimbered (this means separating the gun from the ammunition carriage), and how quick it could be done – but he did not make the men do this then, because they were resting. There were six guns. Each had painted on the carriage, in white letters, 15 Pr., which the captain told us meant fifteen-pounder.
"I should have thought the gun weighed more than fifteen pounds," Dora said. "It would if it was beef, but I suppose wood and gun are lighter."
And the officer explained to her very kindly and patiently that 15 Pr. meant the gun could throw a shell weighing fifteen pounds.
When we had told him how jolly it was to see the soldiers go by so often, he said:
"You won't see us many more times. We're ordered to the front; and we sail on Tuesday week; and the guns will be painted mud-color, and the men will wear mud-color too, and so shall I."
The men looked very nice, though they were not wearing their busbies, but only Tommy caps, put on all sorts of ways.
We were very sorry they were going, but Oswald, as well as others, looked with envy on those who would soon be allowed – being grown up, and no nonsense about your education – to go and fight for their Queen and country.
Then suddenly Alice whispered to Oswald, and he said:
"All right; but tell him yourself."
So Alice said to the captain:
"Will you stop next time you pass?"
He said, "I'm afraid I can't promise that."
Alice said, "You might; there's a particular reason."
He said, "What?" which was a natural remark; not rude, as it is with children.
Alice said:
"We want to give the soldiers a keepsake. I will write to ask my father. He is very well off just now. Look here – if we're not on the wall when you come by, don't stop; but if we are, please, please do!"
The officer pulled his mustache and looked as if he did not quite know; but at last he said "Yes," and we were very glad, though but Alice and Oswald knew the dark but pleasant scheme at present fermenting in their youthful nuts.
The captain talked a lot to us. At last Noël said:
"I think you are like Diarmid of the Golden Collar. But I should like to see your sword out, and shining in the sun like burnished silver."
The captain laughed and grasped the hilt of his good blade. But Oswald said, hurriedly:
"Don't. Not yet. We sha'n't ever have a chance like this. If you'd only show us the pursuing practice! Albert's uncle knows it; but he only does it on an arm-chair, because he hasn't a horse."
And that brave and swagger captain did really do it. He rode his horse right into our gate when we opened it, and showed us all the cuts, thrusts, and guards. There are four of each kind. It was splendid. The morning sun shone on his flashing blade, and his good steed stood with all its legs far apart and stiff on the lawn. Then we opened the paddock gate and he did it again, while the horse galloped as if upon the bloody battle-field among the fierce foes of his native land, and this was far more ripping still.
Then we thanked him very much, and he went away, taking his men with him. And the guns, of course.
Then we wrote to my father, and he said "Yes," as we knew he would, and next time the soldiers came by – but they had no guns this time, only the captive Arabs of the desert – we had the keepsakes ready in a wheelbarrow, and we were on the church-yard wall.
And the bold captain called an immediate halt.
Then