CHAPTER XXVIII.--ON BOARD THE URGENT.

"Weather bit your chain, and cast loose the topsails!" cried a hoarse

voice, rousing me from a reverie into which I had fallen--one of those

waking-dreams in which I am so apt to indulge.

By this time the quarter-boats had been hoisted in, and the anchor got

up "reluctant from its oozy cave"--no slight matter in the great

troopship Urgent--when there was a stiff breeze even under the lee of

the Isle of Wight; and as her head pitched into the sea, the water

rushed through the hawse-holes, and the chain cables surged in such a

fashion as almost to start the windlass-barrel when it revolved

beneath the strength of many sturdy arms, and tough, though bending,

handspikes. Leaning over the taffrail, and looking at the dim outline

of the coast of Hampshire from St. Helen's Roads, to which two tugs

had brought us from the great tidal dock at Southampton to a temporary

anchorage, and seeing Portsmouth, with its spires and shipping steeped

in a golden evening haze, I recalled the events of the past bustling

day--could it be that only _a day_ had passed?--since "the first bugle

sounded after _réveil_," and all our detachments, five in number,

destined for the army of the East had paraded amid the gray light of

dawn, in the barrack-square at Winchester, in heavy marching order,

with packs, blankets, and kettles, and marched thence, their caps and

muskets decked with laurel-leaves, the drums and fifes playing many a

patriotic air, accompanied by the cheers of our comrades, and the

tears of the girls who were left behind us--the girls "who doat upon

the military."

Yet so had we marched--the drafts of the Scots Royals and Kentish

Buffs, the two oldest regiments in the world, leading the way; then

came those of the 7th Fusileers, my own of the Royal Welsh, the 46th,

and the wild boys of the 88th bringing up the rear--to the railway

station, when they were packed in carriages, eight file to each

compartment--packed like sheep for the slaughter, yet all were singing

merrily, their spirits high though their purses were empty, the last

of their "clearings" having gone in the grog-shop and canteen over

night; and there by that railway platform many saw the last they were

to see, in this life, at least, of those they loved best on earth--the

wife of her husband, the parent of the child--separated all, with the

sound of the fatal drum in their ears, and the sadness of remembered

kisses on their lips, or tear-wetted cheeks, till, with a shriek and a

snort, the iron horse swept them away on his rapid journey. I caught

the enthusiasm of the brave fellows around me. It was impossible not

to do so; and yet, amid it all, there was the recollection of a

woman's face, so pale and beautiful, as I had seen it last (when

bidding a brief and formal farewell at the drawing-room door of Walcot

Park), with her mouth half open, her sorrowful eyes full of

earnestness, and the tender under lip clenched by the teeth above it,

as if to restrain emotion and repress tears--the face of Estelle

Cressingham.

My heart and thoughts were with her, while mechanically I had, as in

duty bound, to see to the most prosaic wants of my detachment,

consisting of one officer (Hugh Price), two sergeants, and forty rank

and file of the Royal Welsh. To the latter were issued their coarse

canvas fatigue-frocks. I had to see their muskets racked, their berths

allotted, the messes and watches formed, the ammunition secured, and

fifty other things required by her Majesty's regulations. All baggage

not required for the voyage was sent below; and we heartily quizzed

poor Price, whose bullock trunks were alleged to contain only cambric

handkerchiefs, odd tiny kids, variously-tinted locks of hair, and

faded ribbons. But strict orders were issued concerning smoking, as we

had gunpowder in the lower hold; and a number of four-wheeled

hospital-waggons for the Land Transport Corps, grimly suggestive, as

each vehicle was divided into four compartments, fitted to receive

four killed or wounded men, on commodious stretchers, with

under-carriages, canopies, and medicine-chests.

Some of my brother officers were glad enough, glory apart, to be

leaving Jews and lawyers, "shent. per shent." and legal roguery,

behind them. One of the former tribe, having followed Raymond Mostyn

concerning a bill discounted at only sixty per cent., came alongside,

insisting that the balance should be taken half in cash, and half in a

"warranted Correggio," with some villainous wine for the voyage, and

some jewelry "for the girls at Malta;" but he was swamped in his boat

under the counter, when the first mate unceremoniously cast loose the

painter, and sent old Moses--"Mammon incarnate"--to leeward, shrieking

and cursing in rage and terror. So my short reverie was completely

broken now, as the great ship, with her deck crowded by soldiers in

forage-caps and gray greatcoats, swayed round, and our skipper, an old

man-o'-war lieutenant, from the poop continued his orders with that

promptitude and tone of authority which are best learned under the

long pennant.

"Make sail on her, my lads, with a will!" he cried. And the watch

rushed to the coils at the belaying-pins, aided by the soldiers told

off for deck duty. "Cast loose the topsails! hoist away, and sheet

home!"

"Bear a hand, forecastle, there! cat and fish the anchor!" added the

first mate; and in a few minutes, with a heavy head sea--the same sea

where, by that shore now lessening in the distance, Danish Canute

taught his servile Saxon courtiers the lesson of humility--we bore

past Sandown Bay, with its old square fort of bluff King Harry's day

upon its level beach: and Portsmouth's spires and Selsey Point sunk

fast upon our lee, while our bugles were announcing sunset. And then

something of sadness and silence seemed to steal over the once noisy

groups, as they gathered by the starboard side, when we cleared the

Isle of Wight. When the yards were squared, more sail was made on the

Urgent; and before the north wind we stood down the Channel, and ere

the same bugles sounded again, for all save the deck-watches to

turn-in below, we were standing well over to the coast of France. The

white cliffs had melted into the world of waters, and we had bidden a

long good-night to dear old England. The twinkling light on St.

Catharine's Point lingered long at the horizon, and was watched by

many an eye, as Mostyn, Clavell, and I, with others, cigar in mouth,

walked to and fro on the poop, surmising what awaited us in the land

for which we were bound.

As yet the land forces of the Allies had not come to blows with the

Russians; but the imperial fort and mole at Odessa (works constructed

at vast cost and care by Catharine and Alexander) had been destroyed,

and all their ships of war lying there had been burnt or sunk by the

Anglo-French fleet. The Russians had taken and burned our war-steamer

the Tiger, and cruelly bombarded Sinope. The Turks had driven them

across the Danube, and defeated them at Giurgevo, but had lost a

subsequent battle in Armenia. Napier had bombarded and destroyed the

forts upon the Aland Isles in the Baltic; and we on board the Urgent,

with many other successive drafts departing eastward, from every

British port south of Aberdeen, were full of ardour and of hope to be

in time to share in the landing that was to be made at _last_ upon the

coast of the enemy, though no one knew _where_.