V. THE SONG AND THE STRANGER
The trumpet-major now contrived to place himself near her, Anne's
presence having evidently been a great pleasure to him since the
moment of his first seeing her. She was quite at her ease with him,
and asked him if he thought that Buonaparte would really come during
the summer, and many other questions which the gallant dragoon could
not answer, but which he nevertheless liked to be asked. William
Tremlett, who had not enjoyed a sound night's rest since the First
Consul's menace had become known, pricked up his ears at sound of
this subject, and inquired if anybody had seen the terrible
flat-bottomed boats that the enemy were to cross in.
'My brother Robert saw several of them paddling about the shore the
last time he passed the Straits of Dover,' said the trumpet-major;
and he further startled the company by informing them that there
were supposed to be more than fifteen hundred of these boats, and
that they would carry a hundred men apiece. So that a descent of
one hundred and fifty thousand men might be expected any day as soon
as Boney had brought his plans to bear.
'Lord ha' mercy upon us!' said William Tremlett.
'The night-time is when they will try it, if they try it at all,'
said old Tullidge, in the tone of one whose watch at the beacon
must, in the nature of things, have given him comprehensive views of
the situation. 'It is my belief that the point they will choose for
making the shore is just over there,' and he nodded with
indifference towards a section of the coast at a hideous nearness to
the house in which they were assembled, whereupon Fencible Tremlett,
and Cripplestraw of the Locals, tried to show no signs of
trepidation.
'When d'ye think 'twill be?' said Volunteer Comfort, the blacksmith.
'I can't answer to a day,' said the corporal, 'but it will certainly
be in a down-channel tide; and instead of pulling hard against it,
he'll let his boats drift, and that will bring 'em right into
Budmouth Bay. 'Twill be a beautiful stroke of war, if so be 'tis
quietly done!'
'Beautiful,' said Cripplestraw, moving inside his clothes. 'But how
if we should be all abed, corpel? You can't expect a man to be
brave in his shirt, especially we Locals, that have only got so far
as shoulder fire-locks.'
'He's not coming this summer. He'll never come at all,' said a tall
sergeant-major decisively.
Loveday the soldier was too much engaged in attending upon Anne and
her mother to join in these surmises, bestirring himself to get the
ladies some of the best liquor the house afforded, which had, as a
matter of fact, crossed the Channel as privately as Buonaparte
wished his army to do, and had been landed on a dark night over the
cliff. After this he asked Anne to sing, but though she had a very
pretty voice in private performances of that nature, she declined to
oblige him; turning the subject by making a hesitating inquiry about
his brother Robert, whom he had mentioned just before.
'Robert is as well as ever, thank you, Miss Garland,' he said. 'He
is now mate of the brig Pewit--rather young for such a command; but
the owner puts great trust in him.' The trumpet-major added,
deepening his thoughts to a profounder view of the person discussed,
'Bob is in love.'
Anne looked conscious, and listened attentively; but Loveday did not
go on.
'Much?' she asked.
'I can't exactly say. And the strange part of it is that he never
tells us who the woman is. Nobody knows at all.'
'He will tell, of course?' said Anne, in the remote tone of a person
with whose sex such matters had no connexion whatever.
Loveday shook his head, and the tete-a-tete was put an end to by a
burst of singing from one of the sergeants, who was followed at the
end of his song by others, each giving a ditty in his turn; the
singer standing up in front of the table, stretching his chin well
into the air, as though to abstract every possible wrinkle from his
throat, and then plunging into the melody. When this was over one
of the foreign hussars--the genteel German of Miller Loveday's
description, who called himself a Hungarian, and in reality belonged
to no definite country--performed at Trumpet-major Loveday's request
the series of wild motions that he denominated his national dance,
that Anne might see what it was like. Miss Garland was the flower
of the whole company; the soldiers one and all, foreign and English,
seemed to be quite charmed by her presence, as indeed they well
might be, considering how seldom they came into the society of such
as she.
Anne and her mother were just thinking of retiring to their own
dwelling when Sergeant Stanner of the --th Foot, who was recruiting
at Budmouth, began a satirical song:--
When law'-yers strive' to heal' a breach',
And par-sons prac'-tise what' they preach';
Then lit'-tle Bo-ney he'll pounce down',
And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!
Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.
When jus'-ti-ces' hold e'qual scales',
And rogues' are on'-ly found' in jails';
Then lit'tle Bo'-ney he'll pounce down',
And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!
Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.
When rich' men find' their wealth' a curse',
And fill' there-with' the poor' man's purse';
Then lit'-tle Bo'-ney he'll pounce down',
And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!
Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.
Poor Stanner! In spite of his satire, he fell at the bloody battle
of Albuera a few years after this pleasantly spent summer at the
Georgian watering-place, being mortally wounded and trampled down by
a French hussar when the brigade was deploying into line under
Beresford.
While Miller Loveday was saying 'Well done, Mr. Stanner!' at the
close of the thirteenth stanza, which seemed to be the last, and Mr.
Stanner was modestly expressing his regret that he could do no
better, a stentorian voice was heard outside the window shutter
repeating,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.
The company was silent in a moment at this reinforcement, and only
the military tried not to look surprised. While all wondered who
the singer could be somebody entered the porch; the door opened, and
in came a young man, about the size and weight of the Farnese
Hercules, in the uniform of the yeomanry cavalry.
''Tis young Squire Derriman, old Mr. Derriman's nephew,' murmured
voices in the background.
Without waiting to address anybody, or apparently seeing who were
gathered there, the colossal man waved his cap above his head and
went on in tones that shook the window-panes:--
When hus'-bands with' their wives' agree'.
And maids' won't wed' from mod'-es-ty',
Then lit'-tle Bo'-ney he'll pounce down',
And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!
Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum,
Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.
It was a verse which had been omitted by the gallant Stanner, out of
respect to the ladies.
The new-comer was red-haired and of florid complexion, and seemed
full of a conviction that his whim of entering must be their
pleasure, which for the moment it was.
'No ceremony, good men all,' he said; 'I was passing by, and my ear
was caught by the singing. I like singing; 'tis warming and
cheering, and shall not be put down. I should like to hear anybody
say otherwise.'
'Welcome, Master Derriman,' said the miller, filling a glass and
handing it to the yeoman. 'Come all the way from quarters, then? I
hardly knowed ye in your soldier's clothes. You'd look more natural
with a spud in your hand, sir. I shouldn't ha' known ye at all if I
hadn't heard that you were called out.'
'More natural with a spud!--have a care, miller,' said the young
giant, the fire of his complexion increasing to scarlet. 'I don't
mean anger, but--but--a soldier's honour, you know!'
The military in the background laughed a little, and the yeoman then
for the first time discovered that there were more regulars present
than one. He looked momentarily disconcerted, but expanded again to
full assurance.
'Right, right, Master Derriman, no offence--'twas only my joke,'
said the genial miller. 'Everybody's a soldier nowadays. Drink a
drap o' this cordial, and don't mind words.'
The young man drank without the least reluctance, and said, 'Yes,
miller, I am called out. 'Tis ticklish times for us soldiers now;
we hold our lives in our hands--What are those fellows grinning at
behind the table?--I say, we do!'
'Staying with your uncle at the farm for a day or two, Mr.
Derriman?'
'No, no; as I told you, six mile off. Billeted at Casterbridge.
But I have to call and see the old, old--'
'Gentleman?'
'Gentleman!--no, skinflint. He lives upon the sweepings of the
barton; ha, ha!' And the speaker's regular white teeth showed
themselves like snow in a Dutch cabbage. 'Well, well, the
profession of arms makes a man proof against all that. I take
things as I find 'em.'
'Quite right, Master Derriman. Another drop?'
'No, no. I'll take no more than is good for me--no man should; so
don't tempt me.'
The yeoman then saw Anne, and by an unconscious gravitation went
towards her and the other women, flinging a remark to John Loveday
in passing. 'Ah, Loveday! I heard you were come; in short, I come
o' purpose to see you. Glad to see you enjoying yourself at home
again.'
The trumpet-major replied civilly, though not without grimness, for
he seemed hardly to like Derriman's motion towards Anne.
'Widow Garland's daughter!--yes, 'tis! surely. You remember me? I
have been here before. Festus Derriman, Yeomanry Cavalry.'
Anne gave a little curtsey. 'I know your name is Festus--that's
all.'
'Yes, 'tis well known--especially latterly.' He dropped his voice
to confidence pitch. 'I suppose your friends here are disturbed by
my coming in, as they don't seem to talk much? I don't mean to
interrupt the party; but I often find that people are put out by my
coming among 'em, especially when I've got my regimentals on.'
'La! and are they?'
'Yes; 'tis the way I have.' He further lowered his tone, as if they
had been old friends, though in reality he had only seen her three
or four times. 'And how did you come to be here? Dash my wig, I
don't like to see a nice young lady like you in this company. You
should come to some of our yeomanry sprees in Casterbridge or
Shottsford-Forum. O, but the girls do come! The yeomanry are
respected men, men of good substantial families, many farming their
own land; and every one among us rides his own charger, which is
more than these cussed fellows do.' He nodded towards the dragoons.
'Hush, hush! Why, these are friends and neighbours of Miller
Loveday, and he is a great friend of ours--our best friend,' said
Anne with great emphasis, and reddening at the sense of injustice to
their host. 'What are you thinking of, talking like that? It is
ungenerous in you.'
'Ha, ha! I've affronted you. Isn't that it, fair angel, fair--what
do you call it?--fair vestal? Ah, well! would you was safe in my
own house! But honour must be minded now, not courting. Rollicum-
rorum, tol-lol-lorum. Pardon me, my sweet, I like ye! It may be a
come down for me, owning land; but I do like ye.'
'Sir, please be quiet,' said Anne, distressed.
'I will, I will. Well, Corporal Tullidge, how's your head?' he
said, going towards the other end of the room, and leaving Anne to
herself.
The company had again recovered its liveliness, and it was a long
time before the bouncing Rufus who had joined them could find heart
to tear himself away from their society and good liquors, although
he had had quite enough of the latter before he entered. The
natives received him at his own valuation, and the soldiers of the
camp, who sat beyond the table, smiled behind their pipes at his
remarks, with a pleasant twinkle of the eye which approached the
satirical, John Loveday being not the least conspicuous in this
bearing. But he and his friends were too courteous on such an
occasion as the present to challenge the young man's large remarks,
and readily permitted him to set them right on the details of
camping and other military routine, about which the troopers seemed
willing to let persons hold any opinion whatever, provided that they
themselves were not obliged to give attention to it; showing,
strangely enough, that if there was one subject more than another
which never interested their minds, it was the art of war. To them
the art of enjoying good company in Overcombe Mill, the details of
the miller's household, the swarming of his bees, the number of his
chickens, and the fatness of his pigs, were matters of infinitely
greater concern.
The present writer, to whom this party has been described times out
of number by members of the Loveday family and other aged people now
passed away, can never enter the old living-room of Overcombe Mill
without beholding the genial scene through the mists of the seventy
or eighty years that intervene between then and now. First and
brightest to the eye are the dozen candles, scattered about
regardless of expense, and kept well snuffed by the miller, who
walks round the room at intervals of five minutes, snuffers in hand,
and nips each wick with great precision, and with something of an
executioner's grim look upon his face as he closes the snuffers upon
the neck of the candle. Next to the candle-light show the red and
blue coats and white breeches of the soldiers--nearly twenty of them
in all besides the ponderous Derriman--the head of the latter, and,
indeed, the heads of all who are standing up, being in dangerous
proximity to the black beams of the ceiling. There is not one among
them who would attach any meaning to 'Vittoria,' or gather from the
syllables 'Waterloo' the remotest idea of his own glory or death.
Next appears the correct and innocent Anne, little thinking what
things Time has in store for her at no great distance off. She
looks at Derriman with a half-uneasy smile as he clanks hither and
thither, and hopes he will not single her out again to hold a
private dialogue with--which, however, he does, irresistibly
attracted by the white muslin figure. She must, of course, look a
little gracious again now, lest his mood should turn from
sentimental to quarrelsome--no impossible contingency with the
yeoman-soldier, as her quick perception had noted.
'Well, well; this idling won't do for me, folks,' he at last said,
to Anne's relief. 'I ought not to have come in, by rights; but I
heard you enjoying yourselves, and thought it might be worth while
to see what you were up to; I have several miles to go before
bedtime;' and stretching his arms, lifting his chin, and shaking his
head, to eradicate any unseemly curve or wrinkle from his person,
the yeoman wished them an off-hand good-night, and departed.
'You should have teased him a little more, father,' said the
trumpet-major drily. 'You could soon have made him as crabbed as a
bear.'
'I didn't want to provoke the chap--'twasn't worth while. He came
in friendly enough,' said the gentle miller without looking up.
'I don't think he was overmuch friendly,' said John.
''Tis as well to be neighbourly with folks, if they be not quite
onbearable,' his father genially replied, as he took off his coat to
go and draw more ale--this periodical stripping to the shirt-sleeves
being necessitated by the narrowness of the cellar and the smeary
effect of its numerous cobwebs upon best clothes.
Some of the guests then spoke of Fess Derriman as not such a bad
young man if you took him right and humoured him; others said that
he was nobody's enemy but his own; and the elder ladies mentioned in
a tone of interest that he was likely to come into a deal of money
at his uncle's death. The person who did not praise was the one who
knew him best, who had known him as a boy years ago, when he had
lived nearer to Overcombe than he did at present. This
unappreciative person was the trumpet-major.
