Begumbagh | Page 2

account of it all; but little thinking it would ever come to
be my task. For it's not in my way; but seeing how much has been said
about other parts and other people's sufferings; while ours never so
much as came in for a line of newspaper, I can't think it's fair; and as
fairness is what I always did like, I set to, very much against my will;
while, on account of my empty sleeve, the paper keeps slipping and
sliding about, so that I can only hold it quiet by putting the lead
inkstand on one corner, and my tobacco-jar on the other. You see, I'm
not much at home at this sort of thing; and though, if you put a pipe
and a glass of something before me, I could tell you all about it, taking
my time, like, it seems that won't do. I said, "Why don't you write it
down as I tell it, so as other people could read all about it?" But "No,"
he says; "I could do it in my fashion, but I want it to be in your simple
unadorned style; so set to and do it."
I daresay a good many of you know me--seen me often in Bond Street,
at Facet's door--Facet's, you know, the great jeweller, where I stand
and open carriages, or take messages, or small parcels with no end of
valuables in them, for I'm trusted. Smith, my name is, Isaac Smith; and
I'm that tallish, grisly fellow with the seam down one side of my face,
my left sleeve looped up to my button, and not a speck to be seen on
that "commissionaire's" uniform, upon whose breast I've got three
medals.
I was standing one day, waiting patiently for something to do, when a
tallish gentleman came up, nodded as if he knew me well, and I saluted.
"Lose that limb in the Crimea, my man?"
"No, sir. Mutiny," I said, standing as stiff as use had made nature with
me.

And then he asked me a lot more questions, and I answered him; and
the end of it was that one evening I went to his house, and he had me in,
and did what was wanted to set me off. I'd had a little bit of an itching
to try something of the kind, I must own, for long enough, but his words
started me; and in consequence I got a quire of the best foolscap paper,
and a pen'orth of pens, and here's my story.
CHAPTER I.
Dun-dub-dub-dub-dub-dub. Just one light beat given by the boys in
front--the light sharp tap upon their drums, to give the time for the
march; and in heavy order there we were, her Majesty's 156th
Regiment of Light Infantry, making our way over the dusty roads with
the hot morning sun beating down upon our heads. We were marching
very loosely, though, for the men were tired, and we were longing for
the halt to be called, so that we might rest during the heat of the day,
and then go on again. Tents, baggage-wagons, women, children,
elephants, all were there; and we were getting over the ground at the
rate of about fifteen miles a day, on our way up to the station, where we
were to relieve a regiment going home.
I don't know what we should have done if it hadn't been for Harry Lant,
the weather being very trying, almost as trying as our hot red coats and
heavy knapsacks, and flower-pot busbies, with a round white ball like a
child's plaything on the top; but no matter how tired he was, Harry Lant
had always something to say or do, and even if the colonel was close
by, he'd say or do it. Now, there happened to be an elephant walking
along by our side, with the captain of our company, one of the
lieutenants, and a couple of women in the howdah; while a black nigger
fellow, in clean white calico clothes, and not much of 'em, and a muslin
turban, and a good deal of it, was striddling on the creature's neck,
rolling his eyes about, and flourishing an iron toasting-fork sort of thing,
with which he drove the great flap-eared patient beast. The men were
beginning to grumble gently, and shifting their guns from side to side,
and sneezing, and coughing, and choking in the kicked-up dust, like a
flock of sheep, when Captain Dyer scrambles down off the elephant,
and takes his place alongside us, crying out cheerily: "Only another

mile, my lads, and then breakfast."
We gave him a cheer, and another half-mile was got over, when once
more the boys began to flag terribly, and even Harry Lant was silent,
which, seeing what Harry Lant