VC -- A Chronicle of Castle Barfield and of the Crimea | Page 4

cloth into which he had changed gave him
something of a seafaring look; but the high white collar, the shining
black satin stock, the heavy gold chain which trailed across his
waistcoat, and the clean-trimmed hirsute mutton-chop on either side the
heavy jowl combined to make him intensely respectable to look at. He
thrust his feet into a pair of wool-lined slippers, which he had left
toasting till the last moment before the fire, and took his way
downstairs, and along the passage which traversed the whole side of the
house. His face was drawn into a heavy frown as he thrust open the
door he came to, and he entered the room with a cough of magisterial
importance. A tall, gaunt man, with stooping shoulders, rose to meet
him, and the expression of Mr. Jervase's face changed as if by magic.
Something of such a change had taken place between his looking in on
the rustics assembled round his kitchen fire and his appearance
amongst them. But now it was even swifter, and more pronounced.
'Why, General Boswell!' he cried. 'This is indeed an unexpected honour.
I'm proud to see you, sir, beneath my 'umble roof. Jack Jervase wasn't a
very distinguished servant of Her Majesty. He never held the Queen's
commission, sir; but he fowt beneath his country's flag, and he'll always
feel it an honour to welcome a superior officer of the sister arm.'
He said this with a laugh, and a roll of the head, as if to carry off by his
own geniality any sense of presumption which might appear to lurk
within his speech, and he bent low over the hand which was proffered
to him.
The visitor's type was as pronouncedly English as John Jervase's own,
and yet it could hardly have differed further from it if the two men had
been inhabitants of planets strange to one another. John Jervase was
British bourgeois from head to foot, and the General from crown to

sole was an aristocrat. His very figure told the observer that, and the
manly aquiline features and the mild, yet searching blue eye had never
left an instant's doubt about it in the mind of any man. He was some six
feet four in stature, and the slight stoop which sat upon his shoulders
looked somehow as if it had been brought about by the innate courtesy
of a man who could not refrain from bending to people of inferior
stature. It scarcely detracted from the military character of his carriage,
and, indeed, the General could stand up straight enough when he chose,
as divers of the old incorrigibles who had been under his command in
many climates knew full well. It was always a bad sign to one of these
when he saw the General square his shoulders: and if, in addition to this,
both hands were sent at the same time to twist the ends of the great
drooping grey moustache, the old offender knew that his plight was
serious indeed. Yet, for a grizzled old campaigner, who was now
growing nigh to three score years, the General was marvellously mild
and sweet in manner. His features, to be sure, were high, and in some
of their signs a little harsh; but his mouth was very gentle in expression,
and the large yet deepset eyes beamed with a kind simplicity. It was a
common saying in his fighting days that Boswell's men would have
followed him into hell. But children trusted and loved him at sight; and
it was a pretty picture sometimes in his social hours to see him as the
centre of a bevy of young girls--over whom he always seemed to
exercise a perfectly unconscious fascination.
'You've been to town, Jervase, I understand,' said the General, 'What's
the news there?'
'The news, sir,' said Mr. Jervase. 'The news, sir, has come at last, and
by this time I suppose Her Majesty's forces have got their marching
orders.'
'Do you mean it's war, Jervase?' cried the General.
'I mean it's war, sir,' Jervase answered. 'The latest news, before I came
away, was that the Queen had sent a message to Parliament that
negotiations with the Czar are broken off. The message goes on to say
that Her Majesty relies upon her faithful subjects to protect the Sultan
against the encroachments of Russia.'

His manners and his accent were alike more dignified than they had
been when he addressed the rustic crowd. It could be seen that he had
one manner for the kitchen and another for the parlour.
'At last!' said the General, half under his breath. 'At last! Well,
everybody has seen it coming, and there----' he went on, turning upon
his heel and speaking in a raised voice, 'there is your chance, Polson.
You're a