BILL'S TOMBSTONE
There were soldiers riding down the road, on horses, two and two. Thatis the horses were two and two, and the men not. Because each man wasriding one horse and leading another. To exercise them. They came fromChatham Barracks. We all drew up in a line outside the church-yard wall,and saluted as they went by, though we had not read _Toady Lion_ then.We have since. It is the only decent book I have ever read written by_Toady Lion's_ author. The others are mere piffle. But many people likethem.
In _Sir Toady Lion_ the officer salutes the child.
There was only a lieutenant with those soldiers, and he did not saluteme. He kissed his hand to the girls; and a lot of the soldiers behindkissed theirs too. We waved ours back.
Next day we made a Union Jack out of pocket-handkerchiefs and part of ared flannel petticoat of the White Mouse's, which she did not want justthen, and some blue ribbon we got at the village shop.
Then we watched for the soldiers, and after three days they went byagain, by twos and twos as before. It was A1.
We waved our flag, and we shouted. We gave them three cheers. Oswald canshout loudest. So as soon as the first man was level with us (not theadvance guard, but the first of the battery)--he shouted:
"Three cheers for the Queen and the British Army!"
And then we waved the flag, and bellowed. Oswald stood on the wall tobellow better, and Denny waved the flag because he was a visitor, and sopoliteness made us let him enjoy the fat of whatever there was going.
The soldiers did not cheer that day; they only grinned and kissed theirhands.
The next day we all got up as much like soldiers as we could. H. O. andNoel had tin swords, and we asked Albert's uncle to let us wear some ofthe 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 cleanedthem up first with Brooke's soap and brick dust and vinegar, and theknife polish (invented by the great and immortal Duke of Wellington inhis spare time when he was not conquering Napoleon. Three cheers for ourIron Duke!), and with emery paper and wash leather and whitening. Oswaldwore a cavalry sabre in its sheath. Alice and the Mouse had pistols intheir belts, large old flint-locks, with bits of red flannel behind theflints. Denny had a naval cutlass, a very beautiful blade, and oldenough to have been at Trafalgar. I hope it was. The others had Frenchsword-bayonets that were used in the Franco-German War. They are verybright, 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 oncewielded it. I wonder where they are now. Perhaps some of them died inthe 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 bestschools, 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 notlet 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, outof 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 Isuppose a bugler has to play what he is told, no matter how galling tothe 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, andyou don't know what you can do with red socks and blue jerseys till youtry--and we waited by the church-yard wall for the soldiers. When theadvance-guard (or whatever you call it of artillery--it's that forinfantry, I know) came by we got ready, and when the first man of thefirst 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 batterycheered too. It was glorious. It made you tremble all over. The girlssaid it made them want to cry--but no boy would own to this, even if itwere true. It is babyish to cry. But it was glorious, and Oswald feltdifferent to what he ever did before.
Then suddenly the officer in front said, "Battery! Halt!" and all thesoldiers pulled their horses up, and the great guns stopped too. Thenthe officer said, "Sit at ease," and something else, and the sergeantrepeated it, and some of the men got off their horses and lit theirpipes, and some sat down on the grass edge of the road, holding theirhorses' 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 thatday, except Dora, who had to sit, because her foot was bad, but we lether have the three-edged rapier to wear, and the blunderbuss to hold aswell--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 haltedthe 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 thoughtfulas this brave and distinguished officer.
We said, "Oh yes," and then we got off the wall, and that good and nobleman 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 theenemy, even if he takes it); and he let us look down the gun to see therifling, all clean and shiny; and he showed us the ammunition boxes, butthere was nothing in them. He also told us how the gun was unlimbered(this means separating the gun from the ammunition carriage), and howquick 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 thecarriage, in white letters, 15 Pr., which the captain told us meantfifteen-pounder.
"I should have thought the gun weighed more than fifteen pounds," Dorasaid. "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 sooften, he said:
"You won't see us many more times. We're ordered to the front; and wesail on Tuesday week; and the guns will be painted mud-color, and themen 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, andno nonsense about your education--to go and fight for their Queen andcountry.
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 withchildren.
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 whenyou 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 andOswald knew the dark but pleasant scheme at present fermenting in theiryouthful nuts.
The captain talked a lot to us. At last Noel said:
"I think you are like Diarmid of the Golden Collar. But I should like tosee your sword out, and shining in the sun like burnished s
ilver."
The captain laughed and grasped the hilt of his good blade. But Oswaldsaid, hurriedly:
"Don't. Not yet. We sha'n't ever have a chance like this. If you'd onlyshow us the pursuing practice! Albert's uncle knows it; but he only doesit on an arm-chair, because he hasn't a horse."
And that brave and swagger captain did really do it. He rode his horseright 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. Themorning sun shone on his flashing blade, and his good steed stood withall its legs far apart and stiff on the lawn. Then we opened the paddockgate and he did it again, while the horse galloped as if upon the bloodybattle-field among the fierce foes of his native land, and this was farmore ripping still.
Then we thanked him very much, and he went away, taking his men withhim. And the guns, of course.
Then we wrote to my father, and he said "Yes," as we knew he would, andnext time the soldiers came by--but they had no guns this time, only thecaptive Arabs of the desert--we had the keepsakes ready in awheelbarrow, and we were on the church-yard wall.
And the bold captain called an immediate halt.
Then the girls had the splendid honor and pleasure of giving a pipe andfour whole ounces of tobacco to each soldier.
Then we shook hands with the captain and the sergeant and the corporals,and the girls kissed the captain--I can't think why girls will kisseverybody--and we all cheered for the Queen.
It was grand. And I wish my father had been there to see how much youcan do with L12 if you order the things from the Stores.
We have never seen those brave soldiers again.
I have told you all this to show you how we got so keen about soldiers,and why we sought to aid and abet the poor widow at the white cottage inher desolate and oppressedness.
Her name was Simpkins, and her cottage was just beyond the church-yard,on the other side from our house. On the different military occasionswhich I have remarked upon this widow woman stood at her garden gate andlooked on. And after the cheering she rubbed her eyes with her apron.Alice noticed this slight but signifying action.
We feel quite sure Mrs. Simpkins liked soldiers, and so we felt friendlyto her. But when we tried to talk to her she would not. She told us togo along with us, do, and not bother her. And Oswald, with his usualdelicacy and good breeding, made the others do as she said.
But we were not to be thus repulsed with impunity. We made complete butcautious inquiries, and found out that the reason she cried when she sawsoldiers was that she had only one son, a boy. He was twenty-two, and hehad gone to the war last April. So that she thought of him when she sawthe soldiers, and that was why she cried. Because when your son is atthe wars you always think he is being killed. I don't know why. A greatmany of them are not. If I had a son at the wars I should never think hewas dead till I heard he was, and perhaps not then, consideringeverything.
After we had found this out we held a council.
Dora said, "We must do something for the soldier's widowed mother."
We all agreed, but added, "What?"
Alice said, "The gift of money might be deemed an insult by that proud,patriotic spirit. Besides, we haven't more than eighteenpence among us."
We had put what we had to father's L12 to buy the baccy and pipes.
The Mouse then said, "Couldn't we make her a flannel petticoat and leaveit without a word upon her doorstep?"
But every one said, "Flannel petticoats in this weather?" so that was nogo.
Noel said he would write her a poem, but Oswald had a deep, inwardfeeling that Mrs. Simpkins would not understand poetry. Many people donot.
H. O. said, "Why not sing 'Rule Britannia' under her window after shehad gone to bed, like waits," but no one else thought so.
Denny thought we might get up a subscription for her among the wealthyand affluent, but we said again that we knew money would be no balm tothe haughty mother of a brave British soldier.
"What we want," Alice said, "is something that will be a good deal oftrouble to us and some good to her."
"A little help is worth a deal of poetry," said Denny. I should not havesaid that myself. Noel did look sick.
"What _does_ she do that we can help in?" Dora asked. "Besides, shewon't let us help."
H. O. said, "She does nothing but work in the garden. At least if shedoes anything inside you can't see it, because she keeps the door shut."
Then at once we saw. And we agreed to get up the very next day, ere yetthe rosy dawn had flushed the east, and have a go at Mrs. Simpkins'sgarden.
We got up. We really did. But too often when you mean to, over night, itseems so silly to do it when you come to waking in the dewy morn. Wecrept down-stairs with our boots in our hands. Denny is rather unlucky,though a most careful boy. It was he who dropped his boot, and it wentblundering down the stairs, echoing like thunder-bolts, and waking upAlbert's uncle. But when we explained to him that we were going to dosome gardening he let us, and went back to bed.
Everything is very pretty and different in the early morning, beforepeople are up. I have been told this is because the shadows go adifferent way from what they do in the awake part of the day. But Idon't know. Noel says the fairies have just finished tidying up then.Anyhow it all feels quite otherwise.
We put on our boots in the porch, and we got our gardening tools and wewent down to the white cottage. It is a nice cottage, with a thatchedroof, like in the drawing-copies you get at girls' schools, and you dothe thatch--if you can--with a B.B. pencil. If you cannot, you justleave it. It looks just as well, somehow, when it is mounted and framed.
We looked at the garden. It was very neat. Only one patch was coming upthick with weeds. I could see groundsell and chickweed, and others thatI did not know. We set to work with a will. We used all ourtools--spades, forks, hoes, and rakes--and Dora worked with the trowel,sitting down, because her foot was hurt. We cleared the weedy patchbeautifully, scraping off all the nasty weeds and leaving the nice cleanbrown dirt. We worked as hard as ever we could. And we were happy,because it was unselfish toil, and no one thought then of putting it inthe Book of Golden Deeds, where we had agreed to write down ourvirtuous actions and the good doings of each other, when we happen tonotice them.
We had just done, and we were looking at the beautiful production of ourhonest labor, when the cottage door burst open, and the soldier'swidowed mother came out like a wild tornado, and her eyes looked likeupas-trees--death to the beholder.
"You wicked, meddlesome, nasty children!" she said, "ain't you gotenough of your own good ground to runch up and spoil but you must comeinto _my_ little lot?"
Some of us were deeply alarmed, but we stood firm.
"We have only been weeding your garden," Dora said; "we wanted to dosomething to help you."
"Dratted little busybodies," she said. It was indeed hard, but every onein Kent says "dratted" when they are cross. "It's my turnips," she wenton, "you've hoed up, and my cabbages. My turnips that my boy sowed aforehe went. There, get along with you, do, afore I come at you with mybroom-handle."
She did come at us with her broom-handle as she spoke, and even theboldest turned and fled. Oswald was even the boldest.
"They looked like weeds right enough," he said.
And Dicky said, "It all comes of trying to do golden deeds."
This was when we were out in the road.
As we went along, in a silence full of gloomy remorse, we met thepostman. He said:
"Here's the letters for the Moat," and passed on hastily. He was a bitlate.
When we came to look through the letters, which were nearly all forAlbert's uncle, we found there was a post-card that had got stuck in amagazine wrapper. Alice pulled it out. It was addressed to Mrs.Simpkins. We honorably only looked at the address, although it isallowed by the rules of honorableness to read post-cards that come toyour house if you like, even if they are not for you.
After a heated discussion, Alice and Oswald s
aid they were not afraid,whoever was, and they retraced their steps, Alice holding the post-cardright way up, so that we should not look at the lettery part of it, butonly the address.
With quickly beating heart, but outwardly unmoved, they walked up to thewhite cottage door.
It opened with a bang when we knocked.
"Well?" Mrs. Simpkins said, and I think she said it what people in bookscall "sourly."
Oswald said, "We are very, very sorry we spoiled your turnips, and wewill ask my father to try and make it up to you some other way."
She muttered something about not wanting to be beholden to anybody.
"We came back," Oswald went on, with his always unruffled politeness,"because the postman gave us a post-card in mistake with our letters,and it is addressed to you."
"We haven't read it," Alice said, quickly. I think she needn't have saidthat. Of course we hadn't. But perhaps girls know better than we dowhat women are likely to think you capable of.
The soldier's mother took the post-card (she snatched it really, but"took" is a kinder word, considering everything) and she looked at theaddress a long time. Then she turned it over and read what was on theback. Then she drew her breath in as far as it would go, and caught holdof the door-post. Her face got awful. It was like the wax face of a deadking I saw once at Madame Tussaud's.
Alice understood. She caught hold of the soldier's mother's hand andsaid:
"Oh _no_--it's _not_ your boy Bill!"
And the woman said nothing, but shoved the post-card into Alice's hand,and we both read it--and it _was_ her boy Bill.
Alice gave her back the card. She had held on to the woman's hand allthe time, and now she squeezed the hand, and held it against her face.But she could not say a word because she was crying so. The soldier'smother took the card again and she pushed Alice away, but it was not anunkind push, and she went in and shut the door; and as Alice and Oswaldwent down the road Oswald looked back, and one of the windows of thecottage had a white blind. Afterwards the other windows had too. Therewere no blinds really to the cottage. It was aprons and things she hadpinned up.
Alice cried most the morning, and so did the other girls. We wanted todo something for the soldier's mother, but you can do nothing whenpeople's sons are shot. It is the most dreadful thing to want to dosomething for people who are unhappy, and not to know what to do.
It was Noel who thought of what we _could_ do at last.
He said, "I suppose they don't put up tombstones to soldiers when theydie in war. But there--I mean--"
Oswald said, "Of course not."
Noel said, "I dare say you'll think it's silly, but I don't care. Don'tyou think she'd like it if we put one up to _him_? Not in thechurch-yard, of course, because we shouldn't be let, but in our garden,just where it joins on to the church-yard?"
And we all thought it was a first-rate idea.
This is what we meant to put on the tombstone:
"Here lies
BILL SIMPKINS
Who died fighting for Queen and Country.
* * * * *
"A faithful son, A son so dear, A soldier brave Lies buried here."
Then we remembered that poor, brave Bill was really buried far away inthe Southern hemisphere, if at all.
So we altered it to--
"A soldier brave We weep for here."
Then we looked out a nice flagstone in the stable-yard, and we got acold-chisel out of the dentist's tool-box, and began.
But stone-cutting is difficult and dangerous work.
Oswald went at it a bit, but he chipped his thumb, and it bled so he hadto chuck it. Then Dicky tried, and then Denny, but Dicky hammered hisfinger, and Denny took all day over every stroke, so that by tea-time wehad only done the H, and about half the E--and the E was awfullycrooked. Oswald chipped his thumb over the H.
We looked at it the next morning, and even the most sanguinary of us sawthat it was a hopeless task.
Then Denny said, "Why not wood and paint?" and he showed us how. We gota board and two stumps from the carpenter's in the village, and wepainted it all white, and when that was dry Denny did the words on it.
It was something like this:
"IN MEMORY OF BILL SIMPKINS DEAD FOR QUEEN & COUNTRY HONOR TO HIS NAME AND ALL OTHER BRAVE SOLDIERS."
We could not get in what we meant to at first, so we had to give up thepoetry.
We fixed it up when it was dry. We had to dig jolly deep to get theposts to stand up, but the gardener helped us.
Then the girls made wreaths of white flowers, roses and canterburybells, and lilies and pinks, and sweet pease and daisies, and put themover the posts, like you see in the picture. And I think if BillSimpkins had known how sorry we were, he would have been glad. Oswaldonly hopes if _he_ falls on the wild battle-field, which is his highestambition, that somebody will be as sorry about him as he was about Bill,that's all!
When all was done, and what flowers there were over from the wreathsscattered under the tombstone between the posts, we wrote a letter toMrs. Simpkins, and said:
"DEAR MRS. SIMPKINS,--We are very, very sorry about the turnips and things, and we beg your pardon humbly. We have put up a tombstone to your brave son."
And we signed our names.
Alice took the letter.
The soldier's mother read it, and said something about our oughting toknow better than to make fun of people's troubles with our tombstonesand tomfoolery.
Alice told me she could not help crying.
She said:
"It's _not_! it's NOT! Dear, _dear_ Mrs. Simpkins, do come with me andsee! You don't know how sorry we are about Bill. Do come and see. Wecan go through the church-yard, and the others have all gone in, so asto leave it quiet for you. Do come."
And Mrs. Simpkins did. And when she read what we had put up, and Alicetold her the verse we had not had room for, she leaned against the wallby the grave--I mean the tombstone--and Alice hugged her, and they bothcried bitterly. The poor soldier's mother was very, very pleased. Andshe forgave us about the turnips, and we were friends after that, butshe always liked Alice the best. A great many people do, somehow.
After that we used to put fresh flowers every day on Bill's tombstone,and I do believe his mother _was_ pleased, though she got us to move itaway from the church-yard edge and put it in a corner of our gardenunder a laburnum, where people could not see it from the church. But youcould from the road, though I think she thought you couldn't. She cameevery day to look at the new wreaths. When the white flowers gave out weput colored, and she liked it just as well.
About a fortnight after the erecting of the tombstone the girls wereputting fresh wreaths on it when a soldier in a red coat came down theroad, and he stopped and looked at us. He walked with a stick, and hehad a bundle in a blue cotton handkerchief and one arm in a sling.
And he looked again, and he came nearer, and he leaned on the wall, sothat he could read the black printing on the white paint.
And he grinned all over his face, and he said:
"Well, I _am_ blessed!"
And he read it all out in a sort of half whisper, and when he came tothe end, where it says, "and all such brave soldiers," he said:
"Well, I really _am_!" I suppose he meant he really was blessed.
Oswald thought it was like the soldier's cheek, so he said:
"I dare say you aren't so very blessed as you think. What's it to dowith you, anyway, eh, Tommy?"
Of course Oswald knew from Kipling that an infantry soldier is calledthat. The soldier said:
"Tommy yourself, young man. That's _me_!" and he pointed to thetombstone.
We stood rooted to the spot. Alice spoke first.
"Then you're Bill, and you're not dead," she said, "Oh, Bill, I am soglad! Do let _me_ tell your mother."
She start
ed running, and so did we all. Bill had to go slowly because ofhis leg, but I tell you he went as fast as ever he could.
We all hammered at the soldier's mother's door, and shouted:
"Come out! come out!" and when she opened the door we were going tospeak, but she pushed us away, and went tearing down the garden pathlike winking. I never saw a grown-up woman run like it, because she sawBill coming.
She met him at the gate, running right into him, and caught hold of him,and she cried much more than when she thought he was dead.
And we all shook his hand and said how glad we were.
The soldier's mother kept hold of him with both hands, and I couldn'thelp looking at her face. It was like wax that had been painted pink onboth cheeks, and the eyes shining like candles. And when we had all saidhow glad we were, she said:
"Thank the dear Lord for His mercies," and she took her boy Bill intothe cottage and shut the door.
We went home and chopped up the tombstone with the wood-axe and had ablazing big bonfire, and cheered till we could hardly speak.
The post-card was a mistake; he was only missing. There was a pipe and awhole pound of tobacco left over from our keepsake to the othersoldiers. We gave it to Bill. Father is going to have him forunder-gardener when his wounds get well. He'll always be a bit lame, sohe cannot fight any more.
I am very glad _some_ soldiers' mothers get their boys home again.
But if they have to die, it is a glorious death; and I hope mine will bethat.
And three cheers for the Queen, and the mothers who let their boys go,and the mothers' sons who fight and die for old England. Hip, hip,hurrah!