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The Roll-Call Of The Reef
by
“‘Phut!’ says the trumpeter, and spat on the ground; ‘a parcel of Marines!’
“The boy eyed him a second or so, and answered up: ‘If I’d a tab of turf handy, I’d bung it at your mouth, you greasy cavalryman, and learn you to speak respectful of your betters. The Marines are the handiest body of men in the service.’
“The trumpeter looked down on him from the height of six foot two, and asked: ‘Did they die well?’
“‘They died very well. There was a lot of running to and fro at first, and some of the men began to cry, and a few to strip off their clothes. But when the ship fell off for the last time, Captain Mein turned and said something to Major Griffiths, the commanding officer on board, and the Major called out to me to beat to quarters. It might have been for a wedding, he sang it out so cheerful. We’d had word already that ’twas to be parade order, and the men fell in as trim and decent as if they were going to church. One or two even tried to shave at the last moment. The Major wore his medals. One of the seamen, seeing I had hard work to keep the drum steady– the sling being a bit loose for me and the wind what you remember– lashed it tight with a piece of rope; and that saved my life afterwards, a drum being as good as a cork until ’tis stove. I kept beating away until every man was on deck; and then the Major formed them up and told them to die like British soldiers, and the chaplain read a prayer or two–the boys standin’ all the while like rocks, each man’s courage keeping up the others’. The chaplain was in the middle of a prayer when she struck. In ten minutes she was gone. That was how they died, cavalryman.’
“‘And that was very well done, drummer of the Marines. What’s your name?’
“‘John Christian.’
“‘Mine is William George Tallifer, trumpeter, of the 7th Light Dragoons–the Queen’s Own. I played “God Save the King” while our men were drowning. Captain Duncanfield told me to sound a call or two, to put them in heart; but that matter of “God Save the King” was a notion of my own. I won’t say anything to hurt the feelings of a Marine, even if he’s not much over five-foot tall; but the Queen’s Own Hussars is a tearin’ fine regiment. As between horse and foot, ’tis a question o’ which gets the chance. All the way from Sahagun to Corunna ’twas we that took and gave the knocks–at Mayorga and Rueda, and Bennyventy.’ (The reason, sir, I can speak the names so pat is that my father learnt ’em by heart afterwards from the trumpeter, who was always talking about Mayorga and Rueda and Bennyventy.) ‘We made the rear-guard, under General Paget, and drove the French every time; and all the infantry did was to sit about in wine-shops till we whipped ’em out, an’ steal an’ straggle an’ play the tom-fool in general. And when it came to a stand-up fight at Corunna, ’twas the horse, or the best part of it, that had to stay sea-sick aboard the transports, an’ watch the infantry in the thick o’ the caper. Very well they behaved, too; ‘specially the 4th Regiment, an’ the 42nd Highlanders an’ the Dirty Half-Hundred. Oh, ay; they’re decent regiments, all three. But the Queen’s Own Hussars is a tearin’ fine regiment. So you played on your drum when the ship was goin’ down? Drummer John Christian, I’ll have to get you a new pair o’ drum-sticks for that.’
“Well, sir, it appears that the very next day the trumpeter marched into Helston, and got a carpenter there to turn him a pair of box-wood drum-sticks for the boy. And this was the beginning of one of the most curious friendships you ever heard tell of. Nothing delighted the pair more than to borrow a boat off my father and pull out to the rocks where the Primrose and the Despatch had struck and sunk; and on still days ’twas pretty to hear them out there off the Manacles, the drummer playing his tattoo–for they always took their music with them–and the trumpeter practising calls, and making his trumpet speak like an angel. But if the weather turned roughish, they’d be walking together and talking; leastwise, the youngster listened while the other discoursed about Sir John’s campaign in Spain and Portugal, telling how each little skirmish befell; and of Sir John himself, and General Baird and General Paget, and Colonel Vivian, his own commanding officer, and what kind of men they were; and of the last bloody stand-up at Corunna, and so forth, as if neither could have enough.