Chapter 21: The Battle Of Candahar.
The plan of action upon which General Roberts determined wassimple. The 1st and 2nd brigade were to advance abreast, the 3rd tofollow in support. As the 66th were to take no part in the fight,Will Gale obtained leave to ride out with General Weatherby, withthe 3rd division.
The enemy were well aware of the weak point of the position which theyoccupied; and they had mustered thickly in the plain, in which wereseveral villages; with canals cutting up the ground in all directions,and abounding with hedges, ditches, and enclosures--altogether, a verystrongly defensible position.
It was at 10 o'clock, on the 1st of September, that the Britishforce advanced. The first division, on the right, advanced againstthe large walled village of Gundi, which was strongly held by theenemy. Against this General Macpherson sent the 92nd and the 2ndGhoorkas and, stubbornly as the enemy fought, the place was carriedby the bayonet.
On the line taken by the 2nd division--under General Baker--threevillages had successively to be carried: Abasabad, Kaghanary, andGundigan. The 72nd Highlanders and the 2nd Sikhs advanced to theattack of these. The resistance of the Afghans was stubborn in theextreme, but they were driven out. The fighting line of the twodivisions kept abreast and, for two miles, had to fight every inchof their way; from wall to wall, from garden to garden and, hereand there, from house to house and from lane to lane.
Illustration: Gundi carried by the Bayonet.
Once or twice the attack was checked, for a few minutes, by thedesperate resistance of the Afghans--at the crossing places ofcanals and in walled enclosures--and again and again, the Ghazisrushed down upon the troops. The 3rd Sikhs and the 5th Ghoorkasjoined the fighting line and, step by step, the ground was won;until the base of the hill was turned, and the attacking force saw,in front of them, the great camp of Ayoub's troops. Up to thispoint, the enemy had fought with the greatest bravery; but a suddenpanic seized them, now they saw that their line of retreat wasthreatened by our cavalry--for an Afghan always loses heart, undersuch circumstances. As if by magic, the defense ceased; and theenemy, horse and foot--abandoning their guns, and throwing awaytheir arms--fled up the Argandab valley. Everything was abandoned.
There was nothing more for the infantry to do but to sack Ayoub'scamp, and to park the captive guns, thirty in number. The amount ofstores and miscellaneous articles in the camp was enormous: arms,ammunition, commissariat, and ordnance stores; helmets, bullockhuts crammed with native wearing apparel, writing materials,Korans, English tinned meats, fruit, and money. Here, in fact, wasall the baggage which the army had brought from Herat; togetherwith all the spoil which they had captured at Maiwand.
The cavalry took up the pursuit. Unfortunately they had met withgreat difficulties, in advancing through the broken country in rearof the infantry. Had they been close at hand, when the latterfought their way into Ayoub's camp, very few of the fugitives wouldhave escaped. As it was, they did good service in following up therout; and driving the enemy, a dispersed and broken crowd, into thehills.
To the fury of the men they found, in Ayoub's camp, the body ofLieutenant Maclaine; who had been taken prisoner at Maiwand, andwho was barbarously murdered, a few minutes before the arrival ofthe English troops. The battle cost the lives of three officers:Lieutenant Colonel Brownlow, commanding the 72nd Highlanders;Captain Frome, of the same regiment; and Captain Straton, 2ndbattalion of the 22nd. Eleven officers were wounded, 46 men werekilled, and 202 wounded.
The enemy left 1200 dead on the field. Ayoub's regular regimentsscarcely fired a shot, and the British advance had been opposedentirely by the irregulars and Ghazis; the regular regiments havingbeen drawn up behind the Pir-Paimal Pass, by which they expectedour main attack to be made--a delusion which was kept up by ourheavy fire, from early morning, upon the Afghan guns on the summitof the pass. When our troops appeared round the corner of the spurupon their flank they lost heart at once; and for the most part,throwing away their arms, joined the body of fugitives.
"It would have been hard work, sir," Will Gale said to ColonelRipon, as they rode forward in rear of the fighting brigade, "tohave taken this position with the Candahar force, alone."
"It could not have been done," Colonel Ripon replied, "but no onewould have dreamed of attempting it. The Afghans say that the forcewhich Roberts brought down, from Cabul, was so large that theystood on the defensive; but they would have ventured to attack us,had we sallied out and offered battle on the level plain, round thecity. Then, I have no doubt we could have beaten them.
"However, all is well that ends well. Roberts has come up in time,and has completely defeated the enemy; still, it would have beenmore satisfactory had we retrieved Maiwand, by thrashing himsingle-handed.
"Well, I suppose this is the end of the Afghan war. We have beatenAyoub: I hope, so effectually that Abdul-Rahman will have nodifficulty in dealing with him, in future and, if he really meansthe professions of friendship which he has made us, we may hope forpeace, for some time. Probably the next time we have to fight, inthis country, it will be against the Russians and Afghans, united.
"There are men in England who persist in shutting their eyes to thecertain consequences of the Russian advance towards the northernfrontier of Afghanistan; but the time will come when England willhave to rue, bitterly, the infatuation and folly of her rulers.When that day arrives, she will have to make such an effort, tohold her own, as she has never had to do since the days when shestood, alone, in arms against Europe."
Upon the following day, Will paid a visit to his friends in theRangers.
"So you got through Maiwand safely!" the colonel said. "Upon myword, I begin to think that you have a charmed life.
"I hear one of your captains died, last night. That gives you yourstep, does it not?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are the luckiest young dog I ever heard of. You got your commission,within a year of enlisting; and now, by an extraordinary fatality, yourregiment is almost annihilated; and you mount up, by death steps, to acaptain's rank, nine months after the date of your gazette. In any otherregiment in the service, you would have been lucky if you had got threeor four steps, by this time."
"I am fortunate, indeed, sir," Will said. "I can scarcely believeit, myself."
"Ah! whom do I see here?" the colonel exclaimed, as a mountedofficer rode through the camp. "My old friend, Ripon!
"Ah Ripon, how are you?"
The colonel reined in his horse; and the two officers, who had notmet for some years, entered into a warm conversation; while Willstrolled away to talk to some of the younger officers, whocongratulated him most heartily on the luck which had, in a fewmonths, taken him over their heads.
In the afternoon Will received a note from Colonel Ripon, askinghim to dine with him, as Colonel Shepherd was going to do so. Willreplied that he would gladly dine, but must be excused for a time,afterwards; as he was on duty, and would have to go the rounds, inthe evening.
There were three or four other officers at dinner, as Colonel Riponhad many friends in the relieving column. When dinner was over,Will made his excuses and left; promising to look in again, in acouple of hours, when he had finished his rounds. Soon afterwards,the other young officers left. Colonel Shepherd, only, remained.
"That is a singularly fine young fellow--young Gale, I mean,"Colonel Shepherd said; "and a singularly fortunate one. I feelquite proud of him. It was upon my advice that he enlisted; but ifany one had told me, at the time, that he would be a captain in twoyears, I should have said that it was absolutely impossible."
"Yes," Colonel Ripon replied, "his luck has been marvelous; but ifever a fellow deserved it, he did. I have a very warm liking--I maysay an affection--for him. He saved my life, when I was attacked bysome Ghazis here, and must have been killed, had it not been forhis promptness, and coolness. He was wounded, too; and we werenursed together, here. Since then I have seen a great deal of himand, the more I see him, the more I like him.
"Do you know anything of
him, previous to the time of hisenlisting? You told me he joined your regiment, on the day when itarrived at Calcutta. I know nothing of his history, before that.The subject never happened to occur, in conversation; and it wasone upon which I naturally should have felt a delicacy in askingany questions--though I have sometimes wondered, in my own mind,how he came to be penniless in Calcutta; as I suppose he must havebeen, to have enlisted. Did you happen to hear anything about it?"
"Yes, indeed," Colonel Shepherd answered. "Curiously enough, he wasby no means penniless; as he had just received 100 pounds reward,for the services he had rendered in preventing a ship from beingcaptured, by the Malays. I happened to meet its captain on shore,the day I landed; and heard from him the story of the affair--whichwas as follows, as nearly as I can recollect."
Colonel Shepherd then related, to his friend, the story of themanner in which the brig--when chased by Malays--was saved, bybeing brought into the reef, by Will.
"Naturally," he went on, "I was greatly interested in the storyand--expressing a wish to see the young fellow--he was brought offthat evening, after mess, to the Euphrates; and told us how he hadbeen wrecked on the island in a Dutch ship, from which only he, anda companion, were saved. I was so struck with his conduct--and, Imay say, by his appearance and manner--that I took him aside intomy own cabin, and learned from him the full particulars of hisstory. I don't think anyone else knows it for, when he expressedhis willingness to take my advice, and enlist, I told him that hehad better say nothing about his past. His manner was so good thatI thought he would pass well, as some gentleman's son who had gotinto a scrape and, as I hoped that the time might come when hemight step upwards, it was perhaps better that it should not beknown what was his origin."
"But what was his origin, Shepherd? I confess you surprise me, forI have always had an idea that he was a man of good family;although in some strange way his education had been neglected for,in fact, he told me one day that he was absolutely ignorant ofLatin."
"Well, Ripon, as you are a friend of the young fellow, and I knowit will go no further, I will tell you the facts of the case. Hewas brought up in a workhouse, was apprenticed to a Yarmouth smackman and--the boat being run down in a gale by a Dutch troopship, towhich he managed to cling, as the smack sank--he was carried in herto Java. On her voyage thence, to China, he was wrecked on theisland I spoke of."
"You astound me," Colonel Ripon said, "absolutely astound me. Icould have sworn that he was a gentleman by birth. Not, mind you,that I like or esteem him one iota the less, for what you tell me.Indeed, on the contrary; for there is all the more merit in hishaving made his way, alone. Still, you astonish me.
"They tell me," he said, with a smile, "that he is wonderfully likeme but, strangely enough, he reminds me rather of my wife. Youremember her, Shepherd? For you were stationed at Meerut, at thetime I married her there."
Colonel Shepherd nodded and, for a few minutes, the two friends satsilent; thinking over the memories which the words had evoked.
"Strange, is it not," Colonel Ripon went on, arousing himself,"that the child of some pauper parents should have a resemblance,however distant, to me and my wife?"
"Curiously enough," Colonel Shepherd said, "the boy was not born ofpauper parents. He was left at the door of the workhouse, at Ely,by a tramp; whose body was found, next morning, in one of theditches. It was a stormy night; and she had, no doubt, lost her wayafter leaving the child. That was why they called him William Gale.
"Why, what is the matter, Ripon? Good heavens, are you ill?"
Colonel Shepherd's surprise was natural. The old officer sat rigidin his chair, with his eyes open and staring at his friend; andyet, apparently, without seeing him. The color in his face hadfaded away and, even through the deep bronze of the Indian sun, itspallor was visible.
Colonel Shepherd rose in great alarm, and was about to call forassistance when his friend, with a slight motion of his hand,motioned to him to abstain.
"How old is he?" came presently, in a strange tone, from his lips.
"How old is who?" Colonel Shepherd asked, in surprise. "Oh, youmean Gale! He is not nineteen yet, though he looks four or fiveyears older. He was under seventeen, when he enlisted; and I ratherstrained a point to get him in, by hinting that, when he was askedhis age, he had better say under nineteen. So he was entered aseighteen, but I know he was more than a year younger than that.
"But what has that to do with it, my dear old friend? What is thematter with you?"
"I believe, Shepherd," Colonel Ripon said solemnly, "that he is myson."
"Your son!" his comrade exclaimed, astonished.
"Yes, I believe he is my son."
"But how on earth can that be?" his friend asked. "Are you surethat you know what you are saying? Is your head quite clear, oldfriend?"
"My head is clear enough," the colonel replied, "although I feltstunned, at first. Did you never hear of my having lost my child?"
"No, indeed," Colonel Shepherd replied, more and moresurprised--for he had at first supposed that some sudden access offever, or delirium, had seized his friend. "You will remember that,a week or two after you were married, my regiment was moved up tothe north; and we remained three years longer in India. When I gotback to England, I heard that you had lost your wife, a short timebefore, and had returned. I remember our ships crossed on the way.When we met again, the conversation never turned on the past."
"I will tell you the story," the colonel said, "and you will seethat, at any rate, the boy may be my son and, that being so, thedouble likeness proves to me, incontestably, that he is.
"I had, as you know, been ill before I left India. I had not beenhome for fifteen years, and got two years' leave. As you may know,I had a good fortune, irrespective of the service; and I took aplace called Holmwood Park, near Dawlish and, as I had thought ofretiring, at the end of my leave, I was put on the commission ofthe peace. My boy was born a few months after I got home.
"Soon after I took the place, some gipsy fellows broke into thepoultry yard, and stole some valuable chickens--which were greatpets of my wife. I chased them and, finally, brought home the guiltof the theft to one of the men, in whose tent a lot of theirfeathers were found. He had been previously convicted, and wassentenced to a term of penal servitude.
"Before the trial his wife--also a gipsy--called upon me, andbegged me not to appear against her husband, This, of course, wasout of the question, as he had already been sent to trial. When shefound that her entreaties were useless she, in the most vindictivetone, told me that I should repent it; and she certainly spoke asif she meant it.
"I heard nothing more of the matter, until the boy was sixteenmonths old. Then he disappeared. He was stolen from the garden. Aclue was left, evidently that I might know from whom the blow came.The gipsy had been convicted partly on the evidence of thefeathers; but principally from the fact that the boot, which he hadon, had half the iron on the heel broken off, and this talliedexactly with some marks in my fowl house. An hour after the childwas gone we found, in the center of the drive, in the park, a boot,conspicuously placed there to catch the eye; and this boot Irecognized, by the broken iron, as that which had transported thegipsy.
"That the woman had stolen the child, I had not the least doubt;but neither of her, nor it, could I ever gain the slightest clue. Iadvertised in every paper in the kingdom, I offered a reward of1000 pounds, and I believe the police searched every gipsyencampment in England, but without success.
"My wife had never been strong and, from that day, she graduallysank. As long as there was hope she kept up, for a time. I hopedall would go well; but three months afterwards she faded rapidlyand, ere six months had passed from the loss of the child, I buriedher, and came straight out to India. I went home once, for two orthree months, upon business connected with my property there, someseven years since. That was when we last met, you know, at theclub. With that exception, I have remained here ever since."
"The trouble will be, I fear," Colonel Shep
herd said, "for you toidentify him. That vindictive gipsy woman, who stole your child, isnot likely to have left any marks on its clothing by which it mightbe identified at any future time, and her revenge on youfrustrated."
"Thank God!" the colonel said, earnestly, "if it be my son, hebears a mark by which I shall know him. That was one of his poormother's greatest comforts. The child was born with an ugly bloodmark on its neck. It used to bother my wife a good deal, and sheconsulted several surgeons whether it could not be removed; butthey all said no, not without completely cutting out the flesh--andthis, of course, was not to be thought of. After the child was lostI remember, as well as if it had been spoken today, my wife saying:
"'How strange are God's ways! I was foolish enough to fret overthat mark on the darling's neck; and now, the thought of it is mygreatest comfort and, if it shall be God's will that years shallpass away, before we find him, there is a sign by which we shallalways know him. No other child can be palmed off upon us as ourown. When we find Tom we shall know him, however changed he maybe.'
"Listen, Shepherd! That is his step on the stairs. May God grantthat he prove to be my son!"
"Be calm, old friend," Colonel Shepherd said. "I will speak tohim."
The door opened, and Will entered.
"I am glad you have not gone, colonel--I was afraid you might haveleft, for I have been longer than I expected. I just heard the newsthat the 66th are in orders this evening to march, the day aftertomorrow, for Kurrachee; to sail for England, where we are to bereorganized, again."
"Gale, I am going to ask you a rather curious thing. Will you doit, without asking why?" Colonel Shepherd said, quietly.
"Certainly, colonel, if it is in my power," Will said, somewhatsurprised.
"Will you take off your patrol jacket, open your shirt, and turn itwell down at the neck?"
For a moment, Will looked astounded at this request. He saw, by thetone in which it was made, that it was seriously uttered and,without hesitation, he began to unhook his patrol jacket. As he didso, his eye fell upon Colonel Ripon's face; and the intenseanxiety, and emotion, that it expressed caused him to pause, for amoment.
Something extraordinary hung on what he had been asked to do. Allsorts of strange thoughts flashed through his brain. Hundreds oftimes in his life he had said to himself that, if ever hediscovered his parents, it would be by means of this mark upon hisneck, which he was now asked to expose. The many remarks which hadbeen made, of his likeness to Colonel Ripon, flashed across hismind; and it was with an emotion scarcely inferior to that of theold officer that he opened his shirt, and turned down the collar.
The sight was conclusive. Colonel Ripon held out his arms, with acry of:
"My son, my son!"
Bewildered and delighted, Will felt himself pressed to the heart ofthe man whom he liked, and esteemed, beyond all others.
With a word of the heartiest congratulation, Colonel Shepherd leftthe father and son together; to exchange confidences, and tell toeach other their respective stories, and to realize the greathappiness which had befallen them both. Their delight was without asingle cloud--save that which passed for a moment through ColonelRipon's mind, as he thought how his wife would have rejoiced, hadshe lived to see that day.
His joy was, in some respects, even greater than that of his son.The latter had always pictured to himself that, if he everdiscovered his father, he should find him all that was good; butthe colonel had, for many years, not only given up all hope of everfinding his son, but almost every desire to do so. He had thoughtthat, if still alive, he must be a gipsy vagabond--a poacher, aliar, a thief--like those among whom he would have been brought up.From such a discovery, no happiness could be looked for; onlyannoyance, humiliation, and trouble. To find his son, then, allthat he could wish for--a gentleman, a most promising youngofficer, the man, indeed, to whom he had been so speciallyattracted--was a joy altogether unhoped and unlooked for.
Morning had broken before the newly united father and son had donetheir long and happy talk, and they separated only to take a bath,to prepare them for the day's work.
The astonishment of everyone was unbounded when Colonel Riponannounced, on the following morning, that in Captain Gale of the66th--who, it was known, had risen from the ranks--he haddiscovered a son that had been stolen from him, as a child. No oneentertained a doubt, for an instant, that any mistake had arisen;for the likeness between the two men, as they strode down thestreet together, on their way to General Roberts' quarters, was somarked that--now that men knew the relationship--none doubted for amoment that they were, indeed, father and son.
The warmest congratulations poured in upon them, from all sides;and from none more heartily than from the general, who was morethan ever pleased that he had been the means of Will's obtaininghis commission from the ranks.
The same day Colonel Ripon sent off, by a mounted messengercarrying despatches, a telegram to be sent from the nearest stationof the flying line--which the engineers advancing with GeneralPhayre's force had already carried as far as the Kojak Pass--to thegovernment of India; asking leave to go home, at once, on the mosturgent and pressing family business.
Yossouf's grief, when he heard that his master was going to leave forEngland, was very great. At first, he begged that he might accompanyhim; but Tom pointed out that--much as he should like to have him withhim--his position in England would be an uncomfortable one. He wouldmeet with no one with whom he could converse; and would, after a time,long for his own country again. Yossouf yielded to his reasoning;and the picture which Will drew of his own loneliness when in Cabul,separated from all his own people, aided greatly in enforcing hisarguments on his mind. He said however that, at any rate, he would notreturn to Afghanistan, at present.
"It will be long," he said, "before things settle down there; andit will be useless for me to put my money into a herd which mightbe driven off by plunderers, the next week.
"Besides, at present the feeling against the English will bestrong. So many have lost men of their family, in the fighting. IfI returned, I should be a marked man. It is known that I threw inmy lot with the English, and it will be cast in my teeth, even ifno worse came of it.
"No, I will enlist in the Guides. I shall be at home with them, formost of them belong to the Afghan tribes. I am young yet, not fullya man, and I have my life before me. Some day, perhaps, if thingsare quiet and prosperous at home, I will go back and end my daysthere."
So it was arranged. One of the officers of the Guides hadaccompanied General Roberts, as interpreter; and Will handed overYossouf to him, telling him how well the lad had served him. Theofficer promised to enroll him in the corps, as soon as he rejoinedit; and also that he would not fail to report his conduct to thecolonel, and to obtain his promotion to the rank of a nativeofficer, as soon as possible. From Will Yossouf would acceptnothing except his revolver, as a keepsake; but Colonel Riponinsisted upon his taking, from him, a present which would make hima rich man, when he chose to return to his native country.
Chapter 22: At Home At Last.
The next day Colonel Ripon started with the 66th and, at the end ofthe first day's march, met a messenger who, among other despatches,carried a telegram granting him, at once, the leave he askedfor--and which, indeed, had been due, had he asked for it manyyears before. His intention was to accompany the 66th to Kurrachee,and to sail with it to England. This intention was carried out, andthe remnant of the regiment safely reached England.
One of Colonel Ripon's first steps was to accompany Will--or, as heought now to be called, Tom--to the Horse Guards; and to procure aninsertion in the Gazette stating that Captain William Gale, of the66th, would henceforth be known by his true and proper name ofThomas Ripon.
The colonel purchased a fine estate in Somersetshire and, retiringfrom the service, settled down there. There was a considerablediscussion, between father and son, as to whether the latter shouldremain in the army. Colonel Ripon was unwilling that his son shouldrelinquish a profession of wh
ich he was fond; and in which, fromhis early promotion, he had every chance of obtaining high rank andhonor--but Tom, who saw how great a pleasure his society was to hisfather, and how lonely the latter's life would be without him, wasresolute in his determination to quit the service. He had already,as he said, passed through a far greater share of adventure thanusually falls to one man's lot; and the colonel's property was solarge that there was not the slightest occasion for him to continuein the service.
Not long after his return to England, Will paid a visit to Elyworkhouse. He was accompanied by the colonel, and the two menwalked together up to the gate of the workhouse. He rang at thebell, and a woman opened the door. She curtsied, at seeing twotall, soldier-like gentlemen before her.
"Your name is Mrs. Dickson, I think?" the younger said.
The woman gave a violent start, and gazed earnestly at him.
"It is Will Gale!" she exclaimed, drawing back a step. "They saidyou were dead, years ago."
"No, I am very much alive, Mrs. Dickson; and glad, most glad, tosee an old friend again."
"Good Lord!" the woman exclaimed, "it is the boy himself, sureenough;" and, for a moment, she seemed as if she would have rushedinto his arms; and then she drew back, abashed at his appearance.
Tom, however, held out his arms; and the woman fell sobbing intothem.
"Why, you did not think so badly of me," he said, "as to think thatI should forget the woman who was a mother to me.
"Father," he said,
"--For I have found my real father, Mrs. Dickson, as you alwayssaid I should, some day--
"It is to this good woman that I owe what I am. But for her, Imight now be a laboring man; but it is to her kindness, to her goodadvice, to her lessons, that I owe everything. It was she whotaught me that I should so behave that, if my parents ever foundme, they should have no cause to be ashamed of me. She was, indeed,as a mother to me; and this lodge was my home, rather than the workhouse, inside.
"Ah! And here is Sam!"
Sam Dickson, coming out at this moment, stood in open-mouthedastonishment, at seeing his wife standing with her hand in that ofa gentleman.
"Oh, Sam! Who do you think this is?"
Sam made no reply, but stared at Tom, with all his eyes.
"If it warn't that he be drowned and dead, long ago," he said, atlast, "I should say it was Will Gale, growed up and got to be agentleman. I shouldn't ha' knowed him, at first; but when hesmiles, I don't think as how I can be far wrong."
"You are right, Sam. I am the boy you and your wife were so kindto, from the time you picked him up, just where we are standing;and whom you last handed over to go aboard a smack, at Yarmouth.She was--as you have heard--run down in the North Sea; but I wassaved, in the ship which ran over her, and was taken on it to theEast. There--after being wrecked again, and going through lots ofadventures--I went to India; enlisted there, and fought through theAfghan war.
"I am a captain, now; and my name is no longer Will Gale, but TomRipon, for I have found my real father--this gentleman, ColonelRipon."
"Who feels," Colonel Ripon went on, "how much he and his son owe toyour kindness, and that of your good wife, here; and who, as youwill find, is not ungrateful. I have just bought an estate, down inSomersetshire; and I mean to install you and your wife in a prettylodge, at the gates, with enough to live upon, comfortably, to theend of your lives."
Mrs. Dickson cried with joy, as Colonel Ripon entered into detailsof what he intended to do for them; and Sam--although, as was hisway, much less demonstrative in his gladness--was yet greatlydelighted. There was a good garden to the lodge. They were to havethe keep of a cow, and thirty shillings per week, as long as theylived. Before the colonel left, Sam Dickson's resignation of hispost was handed in to the master.
The colonel told them that at the end of the month, when Sam'snotice would expire, they were to sell off what furniture they had,as it would cost more, to convey it so long a distance, than it wasworth; and he would take care that they should find everythingcomfortable and ready for occupation, at the lodge, upon theirarrival.
Tom called upon the master and matron and schoolmaster, and thankedall for the kindness that they had shown him, when a boy; andColonel Ripon left a check with the master, to be expended intobacco, tea, and sugar for the aged inmates of the house.
No words can express the delight of Sam Dickson and his wife when,a month later, they arrived at their new home. Tom had spared notrouble in seeing that it was comfortably and cosily furnished. Thegarden had been thoroughly dug up, and planted; and Mrs. Dicksoncould scarcely believe that she was the mistress of so pleasant ahome. Tom was forgetful of none of his old friends; and he wrote toan address which Hans--his companion among the Malays--had givenhim when they separated, and forwarded to him a handsome watch, asa souvenir of his comrade.
There is no more to be told. Captain Ripon--still a very youngman--is living with his father, the colonel. He is one of the mostpopular men in his county; and there is some talk of his standingfor one of its boroughs, at the next election; and it is rumoredthat he is likely, ere long, to bring home a lady who will be thefuture mistress of Burnham Park.
He is quite content that he has left the army--though he fidgeted alittle, while the Egyptian war was going on, and could not helpfeeling a little regret that he did not take part in the stormingof Tel-el-Kebir.
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