There were few folk in the streets, for the toilers had all been absorbed since break of day by the huge smoke-spouting monster, which sucked in the manhood of the town, to belch8 it forth9 weary and work-stained every night. Little groups of children straggled to school, or loitered to peep through the single, front windows at the big, gilt-edged Bibles, balanced upon small, three-legged tables, which were their usual adornment10. Stout11 women, with thick, red arms and dirty aprons12, stood upon the whitened doorsteps, leaning upon their brooms, and shrieking13 their morning greetings across the road. One stouter14, redder, and dirtier than the rest, had gathered a small knot of cronies around her and was talking energetically, with little shrill15 titters from her audience to punctuate16 her remarks.
“Old enough to know better!” she cried, in answer to an exclamation17 from one of the listeners. “If he hain’t no sense now, I ‘specs he won’t learn much on this side o’ Jordan. Why, ‘ow old is he at all? Blessed if I could ever make out.”
“Well, it ain’t so hard to reckon,” said a sharp-featured pale-faced woman with watery18 blue eyes. “He’s been at the battle o’ Waterloo, and has the pension and medal to prove it.”
“That were a ter’ble long time agone,” remarked a third. “It were afore I were born.”
“It were fifteen year after the beginnin’ of the century,” cried a younger woman, who had stood leaning against the wall, with a smile of superior knowledge upon her face. “My Bill was a-saying so last Sabbath, when I spoke19 to him o’ old Daddy Brewster, here.”
“And suppose he spoke truth, Missus Simpson, ‘ow long agone do that make it?”
“It’s eighty-one now,” said the original speaker, checking off the years upon her coarse red fingers, “and that were fifteen. Ten and ten, and ten, and ten, and ten—why, it’s only sixty-and-six year, so he ain’t so old after all.”
“But he weren’t a newborn babe at the battle, silly!” cried the young woman with a chuckle20. “S’pose he were only twenty, then he couldn’t be less than six-and-eighty now, at the lowest.”
“Aye, he’s that—every day of it,” cried several.
“I’ve had ‘bout enough of it,” remarked the large woman gloomily. “Unless his young niece, or grandniece, or whatever she is, come to-day, I’m off, and he can find some one else to do his work. Your own ‘ome first, says I.”
“Ain’t he quiet, then, Missus Simpson?” asked the youngest of the group.
“Listen to him now,” she answered, with her hand half raised and her head turned slantwise towards the open door. From the upper floor there came a shuffling21, sliding sound with a sharp tapping of a stick. “There he go back and forrards, doing what he call his sentry22 go. ‘Arf the night through he’s at that game, the silly old juggins. At six o’clock this very mornin there he was beatin’ with a stick at my door. ‘Turn out, guard!’ he cried, and a lot more jargon23 that I could make nothing of. Then what with his coughin’ and ‘awkin’ and spittin’, there ain’t no gettin’ a wink24 o’ sleep. Hark to him now!”
“Missus Simpson, Missus Simpson!” cried a cracked and querulous voice from above.
“That’s him!” she cried, nodding her head with an air of triumph. “He do go on somethin’ scandalous. Yes, Mr. Brewster, sir.”
“I want my morning ration25, Missus Simpson.”
“It’s just ready, Mr. Brewster, sir.”
“Blessed if he ain’t like a baby cryin’ for its pap,” said the young woman.
“I feel as if I could shake his old bones up sometimes!” cried Mrs. Simpson viciously. “But who’s for a ‘arf of fourpenny?”
The whole company were about to shuffle26 off to the public house, when a young girl stepped across the road and touched the housekeeper27 timidly upon the arm. “I think that is No. 56 Arsenal View,” she said. “Can you tell me if Mr. Brewster lives here?”
The housekeeper looked critically at the newcomer. She was a girl of about twenty, broad-faced and comely28, with a turned-up nose and large, honest grey eyes. Her print dress, her straw hat, with its bunch of glaring poppies, and the bundle she carried, had all a smack29 of the country.
“You’re Norah Brewster, I s’pose,” said Mrs. Simpson, eyeing her up and down with no friendly gaze.
“Yes, I’ve come to look after my Granduncle Gregory.”
“And a good job too,” cried the housekeeper, with a toss of her head. “It’s about time that some of his own folk took a turn at it, for I’ve had enough of it. There you are, young woman! In you go and make yourself at home. There’s tea in the caddy and bacon on the dresser, and the old man will be about you if you don’t fetch him his breakfast. I’ll send for my things in the evenin’.” With a nod she strolled off with her attendant gossips in the direction of the public house.
Thus left to her own devices, the country girl walked into the front room and took off her hat and jacket. It was a low-roofed apartment with a sputtering30 fire upon which a small brass31 kettle was singing cheerily. A stained cloth lay over half the table, with an empty brown teapot, a loaf of bread, and some coarse crockery. Norah Brewster looked rapidly about her, and in an instant took over her new duties. Ere five minutes had passed the tea was made, two slices of bacon were frizzling on the pan, the table was rearranged, the antimacassars straightened over the sombre brown furniture, and the whole room had taken a new air of comfort and neatness. This done she looked round curiously32 at the prints upon the walls. Over the fireplace, in a small, square case, a brown medal caught her eye, hanging from a strip of purple ribbon. Beneath was a slip of newspaper cutting. She stood on her tiptoes, with her fingers on the edge of the mantelpiece, and craned her neck up to see it, glancing down from time to time at the bacon which simmered and hissed33 beneath her. The cutting was yellow with age, and ran in this way:
“On Tuesday an interesting ceremony was performed at the barracks of the Third Regiment34 of Guards, when, in the presence of the Prince Regent, Lord Hill, Lord Saltoun, and an assemblage which comprised beauty as well as valour, a special medal was presented to Corporal Gregory Brewster, of Captain Haldane’s flank company, in recognition of his gallantry in the recent great battle in the Lowlands. It appears that on the ever-memorable 18th of June four companies of the Third Guards and of the Coldstreams, under the command of Colonels Maitland and Byng, held the important farmhouse37 of Hougoumont at the right of the British position. At a critical point of the action these troops found themselves short of powder. Seeing that Generals Foy and Jerome Buonaparte were again massing their infantry38 for an attack on the position, Colonel Byng dispatched Corporal Brewster to the rear to hasten up the reserve ammunition40. Brewster came upon two powder tumbrils of the Nassau division, and succeeded, after menacing the drivers with his musket41, in inducing them to convey their powder to Hougoumont. In his absence, however, the hedges surrounding the position had been set on fire by a howitzer battery of the French, and the passage of the carts full of powder became a most hazardous42 matter. The first tumbril exploded, blowing the driver to fragments. Daunted43 by the fate of his comrade, the second driver turned his horses, but Corporal Brewster, springing upon his seat, hurled44 the man down, and urging the powder cart through the flames, succeeded in forcing his way to his companions. To this gallant36 deed may be directly attributed the success of the British arms, for without powder it would have been impossible to have held Hougoumont, and the Duke of Wellington had repeatedly declared that had Hougoumont fallen, as well as La Haye Sainte, he would have found it impossible to have held his ground. Long may the heroic Brewster live to treasure the medal which he has so bravely won, and to look back with pride to the day when, in the presence of his comrades, he received this tribute to his valour from the august hands of the first gentleman of the realm.”
The reading of this old cutting increased in the girl’s mind the veneration45 which she had always had for her warrior46 kinsman47. From her infancy48 he had been her hero, and she remembered how her father used to speak of his courage and his strength, how he could strike down a bullock with a blow of his fist and carry a fat sheep under either arm. True, she had never seen him, but a rude painting at home which depicted49 a square-faced, clean shaven, stalwart man with a great bearskin cap, rose ever before her memory when she thought of him.
She was still gazing at the brown medal and wondering what the “Dulce et decorum est” might mean, which was inscribed50 upon the edge, when there came a sudden tapping and shuffling upon the stair, and there at the door was standing51 the very man who had been so often in her thoughts.
But could this indeed be he? Where was the martial52 air, the flashing eye, the warrior face which she had pictured? There, framed in the doorway53, was a huge twisted old man, gaunt and puckered54, with twitching55 hands and shuffling, purposeless feet. A cloud of fluffy56 white hair, a red-veined nose, two thick tufts of eyebrow57 and a pair of dimly questioning, watery blue eyes—these were what met her gaze. He leaned forward upon a stick, while his shoulders rose and fell with his crackling, rasping breathing.
“I want my morning rations58,” he crooned, as he stumped59 forward to his chair. “The cold nips me without ’em. See to my fingers!” He held out his distorted hands, all blue at the tips, wrinkled and gnarled, with huge, projecting knuckles60.
“It’s nigh ready,” answered the girl, gazing at him with wonder in her eyes. “Don’t you know who I am, granduncle? I am Norah Brewster from Witham.”
“Rum is warm,” mumbled61 the old man, rocking to and fro in his chair, “and schnapps is warm, and there’s ‘eat in soup, but it’s a dish o’ tea for me. What did you say your name was?”
“Norah Brewster.”
“You can speak out, lass. Seems to me folk’s voices isn’t as loud as they used.”
“I’m Norah Brewster, uncle. I’m your grandniece come down from Essex way to live with you.”
“You’ll be brother Jarge’s girl! Lor, to think o’ little Jarge having a girl!” He chuckled62 hoarsely63 to himself, and the long, stringy sinews of his throat jerked and quivered.
“I am the daughter of your brother George’s son,” said she, as she turned the bacon.
“Lor, but little Jarge was a rare un!” he continued. “Eh, by Jimini, there was no chousing Jarge. He’s got a bull pup o’ mine that I gave him when I took the bounty64. You’ve heard him speak of it, likely?”
“Why, grandpa George has been dead this twenty year,” said she, pouring out the tea.
“Well, it was a bootiful pup—aye, a well-bred un, by Jimini! I’m cold for lack o’ my rations. Rum is good, and so is schnapps, but I’d as lief have tea as either.”
He breathed heavily while he devoured65 his food. “It’s a middlin’ goodish way you’ve come,” said he at last. “Likely the stage left yesternight.”
“The what, uncle?”
“The coach that brought you.”
“Nay, I came by the mornin’ train.”
“Lor, now, think o’ that! You ain’t afeard o’ those newfangled things! By Jimini, to think of you comin’ by railroad like that! What’s the world a-comin’ to!”
There was silence for some minutes while Norah sat stirring her tea and glancing sideways at the bluish lips and champing jaws66 of her companion.
“You must have seen a deal o’ life, uncle,” said she. “It must seem a long, long time to you!”
“Not so very long neither. I’m ninety, come Candlemas; but it don’t seem long since I took the bounty. And that battle, it might have been yesterday. Eh, but I get a power o’ good from my rations!” He did indeed look less worn and colourless than when she first saw him. His face was flushed and his back more erect67.
“Have you read that?” he asked, jerking his head towards the cutting.
“Yes, uncle, and I’m sure you must be proud of it.”
“Ah, it was a great day for me! A great day! The Regent was there, and a fine body of a man too! ‘The ridgment is proud of you,’ says he. ‘And I’m proud of the ridgment,’ say I. ‘A damned good answer too!’ says he to Lord Hill, and they both bu’st out a-laughin’. But what be you a-peepin’ out o’ the window for?”
“Oh, uncle, here’s a regiment of soldiers coming down the street with the band playing in front of them.”
“A ridgment, eh? Where be my glasses? Lor, but I can hear the band, as plain as plain! Here’s the pioneers an’ the drum-major! What be their number, lass?” His eyes were shining and his bony yellow fingers, like the claws of some fierce old bird, dug into her shoulder.
“They don’t seem to have no number, uncle. They’ve something wrote on their shoulders. Oxfordshire, I think it be.”
“Ah, yes!” he growled68. “I heard as they’d dropped the numbers and given them newfangled names. There they go, by Jimini! They’re young mostly, but they hain’t forgot how to march. They have the swing-aye, I’ll say that for them. They’ve got the swing.” He gazed after them until the last files had turned the corner and the measured tramp of their marching had died away in the distance.
He had just regained69 his chair when the door opened and a gentleman stepped in.
“Ah, Mr. Brewster! Better to-day?” he asked.
“Come in, doctor! Yes, I’m better. But there’s a deal o’ bubbling in my chest. It’s all them toobes. If I could but cut the phlegm, I’d be right. Can’t you give me something to cut the phlegm?”
The doctor, a grave-faced young man, put his fingers to the furrowed70, blue-corded wrist.
“You must be careful,” he said. “You must take no liberties.” The thin tide of life seemed to thrill rather than to throb71 under his finger.
The old man chuckled.
“I’ve got brother Jarge’s girl to look after me now. She’ll see I don’t break barracks or do what I hadn’t ought to. Why, darn my skin, I knew something was amiss!
“With what?”
“Why, with them soldiers. You saw them pass, doctor—eh? They’d forgot their stocks. Not one on ’em had his stock on.” He croaked72 and chuckled for a long time over his discovery. “It wouldn’t ha’ done for the Dook!” he muttered. “No, by Jimini! the Dook would ha’ had a word there.”
The doctor smiled. “Well, you are doing very well,” said he. “I’ll look in once a week or so, and see how you are.” As Norah followed him to the door, he beckoned73 her outside.
“He is very weak,” he whispered. “If you find him failing you must send for me.”
“What ails74 him, doctor?”
“Ninety years ails him. His arteries75 are pipes of lime. His heart is shrunken and flabby. The man is worn out.”
Norah stood watching the brisk figure of the young doctor, and pondering over these new responsibilities which had come upon her. When she turned a tall, brown-faced artilleryman, with the three gold chevrons77 of sergeant78 upon his arm, was standing, carbine in hand, at her elbow.
“Good-morning, miss,” said he, raising one thick finger to his jaunty79, yellow-banded cap. “I b’lieve there’s an old gentleman lives here of the name of Brewster, who was engaged in the battle o’ Waterloo?”
“It’s my granduncle, sir,” said Norah, casting down her eyes before the keen, critical gaze of the young soldier. “He is in the front parlour.”
“Could I have a word with him, miss? I’ll call again if it don’t chance to be convenient.”
“I am sure that he would be very glad to see you, sir. He’s in here, if you’ll step in. Uncle, here’s a gentleman who wants to speak with you.”
“Proud to see you, sir—proud and glad, sir,” cried the sergeant, taking three steps forward into the room, and grounding his carbine while he raised his hand, palm forwards, in a salute80. Norah stood by the door, with her mouth and eyes open, wondering if her granduncle had ever, in his prime, looked like this magnificent creature, and whether he, in his turn, would ever come to resemble her granduncle.
The old man blinked up at his visitor, and shook his head slowly. “Sit ye down, sergeant,” said he, pointing with his stick to a chair. “You’re full young for the stripes. Lordy, it’s easier to get three now than one in my day. Gunners were old soldiers then and the grey hairs came quicker than the three stripes.”
“I am eight years’ service, sir,” cried the sergeant. “Macdonald is my name—Sergeant Macdonald, of H Battery, Southern Artillery76 Division. I have called as the spokesman of my mates at the gunner’s barracks to say that we are proud to have you in the town, sir.”
Old Brewster chuckled and rubbed his bony hands. “That were what the Regent said,” he cried. “‘The ridgment is proud of ye,’ says he. ‘And I am proud of the ridgment,’ says I. ‘And a damned good answer too,’ says he, and he and Lord Hill bu’st out a-laughin’.”
“The non-commissioned mess would be proud and honoured to see you, sir,” said Sergeant Macdonald; “and if you could step as far you’ll always find a pipe o’ baccy and a glass o’ grog a-waitin’ you.”
The old man laughed until he coughed. “Like to see me, would they? The dogs!” said he. “Well, well, when the warm weather comes again I’ll maybe drop in. Too grand for a canteen, eh? Got your mess just the same as the orficers. What’s the world a-comin’ to at all!”
“You was in the line, sir, was you not?” asked the sergeant respectfully.
“The line?” cried the old man, with shrill scorn. “Never wore a shako in my life. I am a guardsman, I am. Served in the Third Guards—the same they call now the Scots Guards. Lordy, but they have all marched away—every man of them—from old Colonel Byng down to the drummer boys, and here am I a straggler—that’s what I am, sergeant, a straggler! I’m here when I ought to be there. But it ain’t my fault neither, for I’m ready to fall in when the word comes.”
“We’ve all got to muster81 there,” answered the sergeant. “Won’t you try my baccy, sir?” handing over a sealskin pouch82.
Old Brewster drew a blackened clay pipe from his pocket, and began to stuff the tobacco into the bowl. In an instant it slipped through his fingers, and was broken to pieces on the floor. His lip quivered, his nose puckered up, and he began crying with the long, helpless sobs83 of a child. “I’ve broke my pipe,” he cried.
“Don’t, uncle; oh, don’t!” cried Norah, bending over him, and patting his white head as one soothes84 a baby. “It don’t matter. We can easy get another.”
“Don’t you fret85 yourself, sir,” said the sergeant. “‘Ere’s a wooden pipe with an amber86 mouth, if you’ll do me the honour to accept it from me. I’d be real glad if you will take it.”
“Jimini!” cried he, his smiles breaking in an instant through his tears. “It’s a fine pipe. See to my new pipe, Norah. I lay that Jarge never had a pipe like that. You’ve got your firelock there, sergeant?”
“Yes, sir. I was on my way back from the butts87 when I looked in.”
“Let me have the feel of it. Lordy, but it seems like old times to have one’s hand on a musket. What’s the manual, sergeant, eh? Cock your firelock—look to your priming—present your firelock—eh, sergeant? Oh, Jimini, I’ve broke your musket in halves!”
“That’s all right, sir,” cried the gunner laughing. “You pressed on the lever and opened the breech-piece. That’s where we load ’em, you know.”
“Load ’em at the wrong end! Well, well, to think o’ that! And no ramrod neither! I’ve heard tell of it, but I never believed it afore. Ah! it won’t come up to brown Bess. When there’s work to be done, you mark my word and see if they don’t come back to brown Bess.”
“By the Lord, sir!” cried the sergeant hotly, “they need some change out in South Africa now. I see by this mornin’s paper that the Government has knuckled88 under to these Boers. They’re hot about it at the non-com. mess, I can tell you, sir.”
“Eh—eh,” croaked old Brewster. “By Jimini! it wouldn’t ha’ done for the Dook; the Dook would ha’ had a word to say over that.”
“Ah, that he would, sir!” cried the sergeant; “and God send us another like him. But I’ve wearied you enough for one sitting. I’ll look in again, and I’ll bring a comrade or two with me, if I may, for there isn’t one but would be proud to have speech with you.”
So, with another salute to the veteran and a gleam of white teeth at Norah, the big gunner withdrew, leaving a memory of blue cloth and of gold braid behind him. Many days had not passed, however, before he was back again, and during all the long winter he was a frequent visitor at Arsenal View. There came a time, at last, when it might be doubted to which of the two occupants his visits were directed, nor was it hard to say by which he was most anxiously awaited. He brought others with him; and soon, through all the lines, a pilgrimage to Daddy Brewster’s came to be looked upon as the proper thing to do. Gunners and sappers, linesmen and dragoons, came bowing and bobbing into the little parlour, with clatter89 of side arms and clink of spurs, stretching their long legs across the patchwork90 rug, and hunting in the front of their tunics91 for the screw of tobacco or paper of snuff which they had brought as a sign of their esteem92.
It was a deadly cold winter, with six weeks on end of snow on the ground, and Norah had a hard task to keep the life in that time-worn body. There were times when his mind would leave him, and when, save an animal outcry when the hour of his meals came round, no word would fall from him. He was a white-haired child, with all a child’s troubles and emotions. As the warm weather came once more, however, and the green buds peeped forth again upon the trees, the blood thawed93 in his veins94, and he would even drag himself as far as the door to bask95 in the life-giving sunshine.
“It do hearten me up so,” he said one morning, as he glowed in the hot May sun. “It’s a job to keep back the flies, though. They get owdacious in this weather, and they do plague me cruel.”
“I’ll keep them off you, uncle,” said Norah.
“Eh, but it’s fine! This sunshine makes me think o’ the glory to come. You might read me a bit o’ the Bible, lass. I find it wonderful soothing96.”
“What part would you like, uncle?”
“Oh, them wars.”
“The wars?”
“Aye, keep to the wars! Give me the Old Testament97 for choice. There’s more taste to it, to my mind. When parson comes he wants to get off to something else; but it’s Joshua or nothing with me. Them Israelites was good soldiers—good growed soldiers, all of ’em.”
“But, uncle,” pleaded Norah, “it’s all peace in the next world.”
“No, it ain’t, gal35.”
“Oh, yes, uncle, surely!”
The old corporal knocked his stick irritably98 upon the ground. “I tell ye it ain’t, gal. I asked parson.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“He said there was to be a last fight. He even gave it a name, he did. The battle of Arm—Arm——”
“Armageddon.”
“Aye, that’s the name parson said. I ‘specs the Third Guards’ll be there. And the Dook—the Dook’ll have a word to say.”
An elderly, grey-whiskered gentleman had been walking down the street, glancing up at the numbers of the houses. Now as his eyes fell upon the old man, he came straight for him.
“Hullo!” said he; “perhaps you are Gregory Brewster?”
“My name, sir,” answered the veteran.
“You are the same Brewster, as I understand, who is on the roll of the Scots Guards as having been present at the battle of Waterloo?”
“I am that man, sir, though we called it the Third Guards in those days. It was a fine ridgment, and they only need me to make up a full muster.”
“Tut, tut! they’ll have to wait years for that,” said the gentleman heartily99. “But I am the colonel of the Scots Guards, and I thought I would like to have a word with you.”
Old Gregory Brewster was up in an instant, with his hand to his rabbit-skin cap. “God bless me!” he cried, “to think of it! to think of it!”
“Hadn’t the gentleman better come in?” suggested the practical Norah from behind the door.
“Surely, sir, surely; walk in, sir, if I may be so bold.” In his excitement he had forgotten his stick, and as he led the way into the parlour his knees tottered100, and he threw out his hands. In an instant the colonel had caught him on one side and Norah on the other.
“Easy and steady,” said the colonel, as he led him to his armchair.
“Thank ye, sir; I was near gone that time. But, Lordy I why, I can scarce believe it. To think of me the corporal of the flank company and you the colonel of the battalion101! How things come round, to be sure!”
“Why, we are very proud of you in London,” said the colonel. “And so you are actually one of the men who held Hougoumont.” He looked at the bony, trembling hands, with their huge, knotted knuckles, the stringy throat, and the heaving, rounded shoulders. Could this, indeed, be the last of that band of heroes? Then he glanced at the half-filled phials, the blue liniment bottles, the long-spouted kettle, and the sordid102 details of the sick room. “Better, surely, had he died under the blazing rafters of the Belgian farmhouse,” thought the colonel.
“I hope that you are pretty comfortable and happy,” he remarked after a pause.
“Thank ye, sir. I have a good deal o’ trouble with my toobes—a deal o’ trouble. You wouldn’t think the job it is to cut the phlegm. And I need my rations. I gets cold without ’em. And the flies! I ain’t strong enough to fight against them.”
“How’s the memory?” asked the colonel.
“Oh, there ain’t nothing amiss there. Why, sir, I could give you the name of every man in Captain Haldane’s flank company.”
“And the battle—you remember it?”
“Why, I sees it all afore me every time I shuts my eyes. Lordy, sir, you wouldn’t hardly believe how clear it is to me. There’s our line from the paregoric bottle right along to the snuff box. D’ye see? Well, then, the pill box is for Hougoumont on the right—where we was—and Norah’s thimble for La Haye Sainte. There it is, all right, sir; and here were our guns, and here behind the reserves and the Belgians. Ach, them Belgians!” He spat39 furiously into the fire. “Then here’s the French, where my pipe lies; and over here, where I put my baccy pouch, was the Proosians a-comin’ up on our left flank. Jimini, but it was a glad sight to see the smoke of their guns!”
“And what was it that struck you most now in connection with the whole affair?” asked the colonel.
“I lost three half-crowns over it, I did,” crooned old Brewster. “I shouldn’t wonder if I was never to get that money now. I lent ’em to Jabez Smith, my rear rank man, in Brussels. ‘Only till pay-day, Grig,’ says he. By Gosh! he was stuck by a lancer at Quatre Bras, and me with not so much as a slip o’ paper to prove the debt! Them three half-crowns is as good as lost to me.”
The colonel rose from his chair laughing. “The officers of the Guards want you to buy yourself some little trifle which may add to your comfort,” he said. “It is not from me, so you need not thank me.” He took up the old man’s tobacco pouch and slipped a crisp banknote inside it.
“Thank ye kindly103, sir. But there’s one favour that I would like to ask you, colonel.”
“Yes, my man.”
“If I’m called, colonel, you won’t grudge104 me a flag and a firing party? I’m not a civilian105; I’m a guardsman—I’m the last of the old Third Guards.”
“All right, my man, I’ll see to it,” said the colonel. “Good-bye; I hope to have nothing but good news from you.”
“A kind gentleman, Norah,” croaked old Brewster, as they saw him walk past the window; “but, Lordy, he ain’t fit to hold the stirrup o’ my Colonel Byng!”
It was on the very next day that the old corporal took a sudden change for the worse. Even the golden sunlight streaming through the window seemed unable to warm that withered106 frame. The doctor came and shook his head in silence. All day the man lay with only his puffing107 blue lips and the twitching of his scraggy neck to show that he still held the breath of life. Norah and Sergeant Macdonald had sat by him in the afternoon, but he had shown no consciousness of their presence. He lay peacefully, his eyes half closed, his hands under his cheek, as one who is very weary.
They had left him for an instant and were sitting in the front room, where Norah was preparing tea, when of a sudden they heard a shout that rang through the house. Loud and clear and swelling108, it pealed109 in their ears—a voice full of strength and energy and fiery110 passion. “The Guards need powder!” it cried; and yet again, “The Guards need powder!”
The sergeant sprang from his chair and rushed in, followed by the trembling Norah. There was the old man standing up, his blue eyes sparkling, his white hair bristling111, his whole figure towering and expanding, with eagle head and glance of fire. “The Guards need powder!” he thundered once again, “and, by God, they shall have it!” He threw up his long arms, and sank back with a groan112 into his chair. The sergeant stooped over him, and his face darkened.
“Oh, Archie, Archie,” sobbed113 the frightened girl, “what do you think of him?”
The sergeant turned away. “I think,” said he, “that the Third Guards have a full muster now.”
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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greasy
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arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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5
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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6
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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7
dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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8
belch
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| v.打嗝，喷出 | |
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9
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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10
adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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12
aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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13
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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14
stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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15
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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16
punctuate
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| vt.加标点于；不时打断 | |
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17
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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18
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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19
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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20
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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21
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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22
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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23
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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24
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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25
ration
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| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
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26
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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27
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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28
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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29
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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30
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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31
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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32
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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33
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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34
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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35
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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36
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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37
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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38
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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39
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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40
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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41
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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42
hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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43
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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45
veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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46
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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47
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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48
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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49
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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50
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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51
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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52
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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53
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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54
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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56
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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57
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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58
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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59
stumped
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| 僵直地行走，跺步行走( stump的过去式和过去分词 )； 把（某人）难住； 使为难； （选举前）在某一地区作政治性巡回演说 | |
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60
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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61
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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64
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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65
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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66
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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67
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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68
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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69
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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70
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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72
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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73
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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75
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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76
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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77
chevrons
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| n.（警察或士兵所佩带以示衔级的）∧形或∨形标志( chevron的名词复数 ) | |
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78
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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79
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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80
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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81
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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82
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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83
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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84
soothes
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| v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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85
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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86
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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87
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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88
knuckled
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| v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的过去式和过去分词 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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89
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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90
patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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91
tunics
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| n.（动植物的）膜皮( tunic的名词复数 )；束腰宽松外衣；一套制服的短上衣；（天主教主教等穿的）短祭袍 | |
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92
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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93
thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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94
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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95
bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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96
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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97
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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98
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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99
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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100
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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101
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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102
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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103
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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104
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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105
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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106
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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107
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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108
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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109
pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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111
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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112
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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113
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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