CHAPTER II
A Protege
Mine host of the Black Bull was a man who prided himself upon thewelcome his house provided, and on such an occasion, when Mr. BenjaminHalbut was the guest, there was extra need for haste. And so it happenedthat within a very few minutes a meal was announced as being ready.
"In the parlour, your honour," said the maid. "The best parlour, sir,along the passage to the left. My!" she went on, as she passed the ladfor whom the sergeant had just fought so handsomely, "but you've foundfriends to-day! Never mind, laddie; you look a nice little fellow."
"This way, sergeant. Come, my lad," said Mr. Benjamin. "We'll eat andtalk. We've much to arrange. Now, seat yourselves, and may this meal notbe the last that we may share for many a day to come."
He was so quiet and affable, so friendly, that even the lad who had sostrangely come into his company was far from abashed. Not that he feltat his ease, for all this was so strange to him. In the first place, hehad never even stepped within the doors of the Black Bull, though many atime, on market days, he had looked within, bashfully and wondering, atthe warmth and comfort, and the massive old dressers and chairs, and atthe stags' heads hung round the walls. It had never occurred to him thatone day he might have the right to enter. And here he was now, seated ata board which groaned beneath the weight of a massive joint of beef,while other dainties to which he was an entire stranger stood on thetable! And how he admired the fine gentleman opposite, and envied thecoolness of the sergeant!
"If I were only he," he thought. "He is as used to this as to fighting,while I am so strange. My feet hit against every chair I get near,and--oh dear!"
"Come, lad, sit down beside me and let us commence," said Mr. Benjamin,taking him by the hand and drawing him towards a chair. "A fine lad,sergeant, and growing, or he would not be so thin."
"He struck a plucky blow, sir. But he is thin, and no doubt the feedingprovided by the farmer was not of the best."
"Where does this farmer come from?" asked Mr. Benjamin, as he carved aslice of beef and placed it before the lad. "Tell me who he is andsomething about him. And first of all, who are you? What is your name,lad?"
He was so nice and courteous, so thoughtful, that in a little while thelad had forgotten his rags, his dirty hands and smudged face, and wasseated chatting easily, and eating the good things provided with a gustowhich there was no mistaking.
"Now, your name?" asked Mr. Benjamin, when he saw that the lad was wellengaged and feeling more at home.
"Jones, sir--at least that is what they call me," answered the littlefellow bravely.
"That is what they call you? How is that? Had you another name?"
"I think so, sir. I was found when I was smaller and taken to thepoorhouse, as I was an orphan with no one to claim me."
"Found! That is strange. And the lad speaks well, too."
Mr. Benjamin exchanged glances with the sergeant and became silent andthoughtful. For he had noticed something strange about this protege ofhis from the moment when the lad opened his lips. He spoke with a slightHampshire accent, which had evidently been recently acquired. But therewas something refined about the little fellow's voice, so much so thatit was difficult to imagine that he was merely a farmer's boy.
"You were found," he said. "Where? Tell us all about it, and how youcame to be working for this hulking bully. The fellow looked as if hehad thrashed you many a time."
"He has, sir. He said he would kill me some day. None dared to live withhim, except his wife and I, and I would have gone long ago had I notbeen his apprentice. Yes, sir, I was found, they tell me, when I wasabout five years of age, and a cottager and his wife, of the name ofJones, took me in and cared for me till they died. Then I went to thepoorhouse in this town, and from there to the farmer. That is all Iknow, sir, but perhaps Mrs. Towers, at the poorhouse, could tell youmore."
"A foundling, with a mysterious tale behind him, and of late a littleslave!"
Mr. Benjamin looked at the lad closely, noting his fair curly hair, nowall in disorder, his fine eyes, and the cast of his features.
"A fine little fellow," he thought aloud, "and I'll warrant he has hadfew friends so far. The farmer's wife, perhaps, for she looked as if shecared for him; and this Mrs. Towers."
"Yes, indeed, sir, they were very good to me," burst in the boy eagerly,loyally supporting the two who had been mentioned. "Mrs. Towers saysthat she was a mother to me, while Mrs. Ransom was very kind and goodwhen her husband could not see us. Am I to go back to him, sir?"
"Never! I have made a bargain with him, and your articles ofapprenticeship are to be cancelled. An attorney will get it done in acouple of weeks. You will have to be taken before a magistrate, and thefacts sworn to. Then as soon as the money is paid you will be free fromthat ruffian. Yes, ruffian, sergeant, and I fear that there are manyothers like him, who obtain the services of lads such as this and makedrudges of them. But your other name, lad?"
"Owen M., sir."
"Owen M.! M.? What does that refer to, and where did you get the name ofOwen?"
"It is my right name, sir," answered the boy proudly, as he looked hisquestioner in the eyes. "When I was left near the cottage of the JonesesI was wrapped in a rug, and was fully dressed in old clothes. Theythought that my own had been removed, so as to make it impossible totrace who I was, or where I came from, and had it not been for a jerseyI was wearing next to my body nothing would have been known. Owen M. wasworked on the jersey, and that is why I have the name of Owen."
"And the M. may be your Christian name or surname. These Joneses aredead?"
With his usual interest in life Mr. Benjamin asked the question sharplyand waited impatiently for the answer, giving an exclamation ofsatisfaction when the lad replied that the clothing was now in the handsof Mrs. Towers at the poorhouse, and that the Joneses were dead.
"Then we will go there. Come, sergeant, what do you say to helping me inthe matter?" he said eagerly. "You took up the cudgels on behalf of thislad Owen, and will like to see the matter through. We will give him afresh start and make a man of him. What do you say?"
"Ready and willing, sir. He has pluck, by the way in which he struck thebully, and he'll do with a proper training and discipline. In the army,sir, we'd make a fine soldier of him."
The sergeant sat up to his full height; while it was clear from the openadmiration with which Owen regarded his defender that service in thearmy would not be unpleasant to him.
"And you like the idea?" smiled Mr. Benjamin, turning to him. "We willsee. He shall have the best. But, first, we will get him some fittingclothing. Come, another cut of beef and a tankard to wash it down,sergeant. You have had a struggle and need some refreshment."
He rose and went to the bell, giving it a lusty tug. When the maidarrived he requested mine host to be sent to him.
"Do me the favour of sending across to the nearest tailor's," he saidwhen the good man appeared, "and tell him to come here at once withclothing suited to this lad."
Half an hour later a hackney coach drew up at the door of the BlackBull, and the three who had refreshed themselves in the famous hostelrystepped into it and were driven away, Mr. Benjamin giving the poorhouseas the address to which they were to be taken. And if Owen Jones hadfelt strange before when he had been bidden to accompany this finegentleman, he felt even more so now, while his whole frame was filledwith a sense of elation. For he was transformed. The kind lady at theBlack Bull had helped to polish him with hot water and a plentifulsupply of soap, while the tailor and a haberdasher, who had also beencalled in to help, had rigged him out in a suit of simple stuff whichfitted him well, and in which he looked a little gentleman.
"My, who would have thought as he wasn't a little gentleman!" exclaimedthe maid at the Black Bull, as she saw him descend to the hall, hat inhand, his hair well brushed, and his eager little face shining with theapplication of good Windsor soap. "Don't you look fine!"
Owen greeted her with a bashful smile, and then walked quietly
into theroom where Mr. Benjamin and the sergeant awaited him. And there hisappearance caused more pleasure.
"He will do us credit, never fear," exclaimed the kindly gentleman. "Butthe coach is here and we will leave."
Paying the bill, and adding something to it for the welcome and helpgiven, he pushed Owen into the coach before him and they drove off. Owencould hardly believe that it was really he. Who could have guessed thathe would have ever ridden in a coach! And behind postillion-riddenhorses! And was it true that he was not to return to Farmer Ransom?There were to be no more beatings and no more scoldings! No need tocreep to bed amidst the sacks in a cold barn, and lie there shivering ofa cold night, and awake perhaps stiff with the cold, and hungry becausesupper had been denied him on the previous night out of pure spite! Itwas too much to believe. He sat forward in the coach, now looking up atMr. Benjamin and then out of the windows at the houses and streets, atthe boys playing there and at the pedestrians. Why, there was JohnnyBanks, a lad who had been at the poorhouse with him, and was nowapprenticed to the local baker. He at any rate had had plenty to eat,and Owen had been in the habit of envying him. Now! "I can't believeit!" he said to himself. "And if only they would make me a soldier!"
"Here we are. Tumble out and let us see this good lady. Ring the bell,sergeant. And, postillion, wait here for us."
A few moments later an individual appeared within the ample gate of thepoorhouse, dressed in the official uniform of the place, and showing aportly figure and a face indicative of good temper. To the inquiry forMrs. Towers he responded that she was within, and at once bustled off,impressed by the coach and by the unusually fine appearance of Mr.Benjamin. And in a little while the trio found themselves closeted withthe matron, a stout old lady, who hugged Owen with affection, and liftedher fat hands in amazement at finding him in such fine company.
"Lor'!" she said, "to think that you should have such friends! LittleOwen, as came to the house without a single one, and well-nigh starved!"
"Let us have the tale, my good woman," said Mr. Benjamin, as he bowed tothe old dame's curtsy, and sat on a chair. "This lad here has madefriends with the sergeant and myself, and we are desirous of finding outa little about him. He tells us that his name is Owen M. Jones."
"As near as we know, sir," was the answer. "But, bless yer, begging yourpardon for so doing, sir, he's better than a Jones. That's the name ofthe poor folk who first found him. It was a dark night--let me see,yes, it will be nine years ago--when they heard a coach passing alongthe road, which runs some yards from their cottage. That wasn't anythingout of the common, for fifty and more pass by perhaps in the day. But itstopped for a while and then went on again at a gallop. Mrs. Jones toldme that herself. It drove on as if there were soldiers or some one ofthat sort behind, and it was soon gone out of hearing. Then there camethe cry of a child who is frightened at being left all alone, and whenthey ran out to see who it was, there was young Owen, a tiny littlefellow then, seated on the roadside, with his knuckles in his eyes."
"And like the kind-hearted folks they were they brought him in and fedhim, I suppose?" said Mr. Benjamin.
"That they did, sir. They weren't that well off, neither. But they hadnone of their own, and they took the boy in and cared for him. Then Mr.Jones walked in here as soon as it was day, and came to the house. Theguardians heard his tale and saw the boy, but they never learnedanything about the coach that had brought him, nor where he came from.And as the Joneses said they were willing to adopt him, why Owen stayedwith them till the old couple died, and that would be six years ago."
"And nothing was learned about his coming?"
"Nothing, sir. Foundlings are common enough, and I don't suppose as theguardians would spend much in making inquiries. Besides, the boy seemedto be the child of common parents, for his clothes were rough. But Mrs.Jones knew better, and so do I. I'll show you, sir."
She went off into another room, where they heard her pulling open thedoors of a cupboard; and finally she returned, bringing a tiny littleundervest which she handed to Mr. Benjamin.
"Made in India," he said at once, "and of the finest material. Thisgarment was in all probability made for the boy, and if so, then he wasborn out there. Yes, I am sure of it, for look at this, sergeant. Thoseletters, Owen M., were stitched by a native woman. The work ischaracteristic. I am perfectly sure of what I say."
All stared at the tiny garment, which was redolent of lavender, whileOwen, who had never regarded it with any importance before now, lookedat the letters stitched in one corner with great interest.
"Perhaps the lad can help us," suggested the sergeant. "Tell us, boy,whether you remember the coach."
"Of course he does!" exclaimed Mrs. Towers. "Why, I asked him many atime. Tell the gentlemen, Owen."
"I remember the coach well, and being left beside the road," said Owenpromptly; "and I recollect the journey. I am sure that I was strange tothe country, and I can see now the ship in which I came. How long wewere at sea I do not know, but it was for a long while. And all thattime I was tended by a black woman, who was very kind. I seem toremember places so different from these here. A bright sun, many trees,and very big houses. There were soldiers, too, and one big soldier whooften threw me on his shoulder. But it may be a dream. I may haveimagined it all."
"One minute, Owen," interrupted Mrs. Towers, whose interest was fullyaroused. "Mrs. Jones said that when you came you could speak well, butthat whenever you cried you called out in a tongue which was strange toher. You did it here too, that I remember, though bless me if I knowwhat the words meant. Have you forgotten?"
"Tell me," said Mr. Benjamin encouragingly, shifting a little farther onto his chair and looking closely at Owen. "What were the words?"
Owen repeated them as well as he was able, and though they were butchildish expressions, which he had learned when beginning to speak, theywere pronounced as undoubtedly hailing from India.
"Which proves that he actually came from India," said the sergeant.
"Exactly so. He probably landed and was kidnapped, for some purpose ofwhich we are ignorant. There is something very interesting about this,sergeant. I know the country well, and I say without hesitation that nochild but those belonging to Englishmen in high places would have beendressed in such a garment. Probably our little friend is the son of anEnglishman employed in India, and was sent home because of the death ofhis mother, or more likely because of the climate. Beyond that onecannot go. There is some dark secret attached to his capture. But thefact remains that he was kidnapped, and brought away from his guardians.Then his identity was hidden. I should say that he may very well havecome from Bristol or some other port, and it is not to be wondered atthat his loss did not occasion very much disturbance. If his parentswere abroad, considering how slowly news travels, it is not at allwonderful that no rumour of his having been found in this localityfailed to reach his guardians. Perhaps he was sent home to relatives,who may themselves have had something to do with the kidnapping. Therehave been cases quite as disgraceful before. But the important thing isthat one little garment is left as a clue, and that the lad can speak afew words of the Indian tongue, and remembers places which may without agreat stretch of imagination be allowed to correspond with some Indiancity--Bombay or Calcutta, for instance."
"Lor'! To think that he may be a gentleman!" exclaimed Mrs. Towers,lifting her hands. "Well, I always said as much. He speaks differentfrom other lads, and he's better behaved. There's always been somethingqueer about little Owen. And I've tried to keep it up too, sir. I'veencouraged him to speak well, to address his betters as he should, andto be gentle in his play."
"And you've succeeded well, ma'am," exclaimed the sergeant withenthusiasm.
"Very well indeed, madam," agreed Mr. Benjamin. "Is there nothing moreto tell us?"
"Nothing, sir. He stayed here till a year ago, when the guardiansapprenticed him to Mr. George Ransom, a farmer that's not the best-lovedof all living about Winchester."
"A thorough ruffian,"
exclaimed Mr. Benjamin indignantly. "Well, madam,our friend the sergeant here very pluckily interfered when this farmerwas about to ill-use the boy to-day, and beat him handsomely in thefight which followed. Now I propose to have the boy's apprenticeshipcancelled, and shall look to his future. But we must do more than that.I will send here for you to-morrow, and will have you taken in a coachto my attorney's, where I will ask you to make a plain statement of allthe facts you have already mentioned. If you can remember more, all thebetter. We will hunt up others who may have known him, and the sergeantand I will add our evidence. I can swear that he can speak some words ofHindustani, for instance, and that may, one of these days, be valuableevidence. When the statement is completed we will have it attestedbefore a magistrate, and then carefully locked away with this garment.Then, supposing one day we happen to hear of these parents, we shall beable to help in proving that Owen is actually their missing son. And Ipromise you that I shall leave no stone unturned to effect that end.Now, sergeant, we will drive on to the barracks. Owen, for the timebeing, shall wear the uniform of a soldier."
He felt in his pocket for a guinea, which he placed in Mrs. Towers's fathand, and then led the way to the coach. An hour later he was with theColonel of the local detachment, and when he left that evening it hadbeen arranged that Owen should enlist as a band boy, and should beinstructed in the playing of the fife.
"And at the same time I can put him up to the use of his fists, as wellas side-arms and a pike," said the sergeant heartily. "And rememberthis, youngster, there's many a lad who has stepped it at first behindthe drum-major, and who afterwards has shouldered a sergeant's pike anddone fine service. Never fear, sir, I'll keep an eye on the lad."
"Turn him out a man, that is what I want," said Mr. Benjamin. "I mighthave put him on a stool in an office in London, or have found some otherwork for him; but the lad interests me, and I want to see how he getson. There is nothing like the rough life of the army for that. He willrub shoulders with every sort, and you will be able to keep an eye uponhim. Don't interfere, sergeant. Let him fight his own battles till heshows that he is unable to do so, and don't help him at all. Let himrise by his own exertions. When the time comes I shall have a fit postfor him."
And so, when a week had passed, Owen Jones was a full-fledged soldier,Jones of the 64th, and his name had been borne on the regimentalstrength. By then his apprenticeship with the farmer had been cancelled,while twenty guineas had been paid to his late master. Then a fullstatement of his history had been made before a magistrate and had beensigned, the document having afterwards been deposited with the attorney.
Owen looked a fine little fellow in his red-tailed tunic, his redwaistcoat and pantaloons, and felt a proud lad when he first donnedthem. There is no need to tell how he became introduced to his comradesof the regiment; how he met with and accepted with good temper all theirgood-natured chaff; and how, when a few days had passed, he endeavouredto take a leaf from the sergeant's book, and attacked a lad of greaterproportions who had attempted to bully him, and how, despite thegreatest perseverance, he had been ultimately worsted, and had retiredto his quarters with swollen eyes. He showed his grit and pluck, even ifhe were defeated, and thereafter was respected. And as the days andweeks passed, and the latter grew into months, Owen filled outwonderfully. A heavy sack which was suspended from the beams of thequarters given to his friend the sergeant kept his muscles in good play,for every day he spent an hour hammering at it with his fists, while thesergeant afterwards gave him instruction in boxing. And so, what withplaying the fife, skylarking, and becoming an expert in the use of everykind of fire-arm and weapon of defence, Owen passed three years with thedetachment, at first at Winchester and afterwards in other places. Whenhe was seventeen years of age, as near as could be guessed, Mr. BenjaminHalbut again put in an appearance, and our hero found that a new lifewas about to be opened for him.
Jones of the 64th: A Tale of the Battles of Assaye and Laswaree Page 3