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CHAPTER V



Phyllis thanked him for his beautiful gift; but the talking was soon
entirely on Humphrey's side as they walked along. He told her of the
latest movements of the world of fashion--a subject which she
willingly discussed to the exclusion of anything more personal--and
his measured language helped to still her disquieted heart and brain.
Had not her own sadness been what it was she must have observed his
embarrassment. At last he abruptly changed the subject.

'I am glad you are pleased with my little present,' he said. 'The
truth is that I brought it to propitiate 'ee, and to get you to help
me out of a mighty difficulty.'

It was inconceivable to Phyllis that this independent bachelor--whom
she admired in some respects--could have a difficulty.

'Phyllis--I'll tell you my secret at once; for I have a monstrous
secret to confide before I can ask your counsel. The case is, then,
that I am married: yes, I have privately married a dear young belle;
and if you knew her, and I hope you will, you would say everything in
her praise. But she is not quite the one that my father would have
chose for me--you know the paternal idea as well as I--and I have
kept it secret. There will be a terrible noise, no doubt; but I
think that with your help I may get over it. If you would only do me
this good turn--when I have told my father, I mean--say that you
never could have married me, you know, or something of that sort--
'pon my life it will help to smooth the way vastly. I am so anxious
to win him round to my point of view, and not to cause any
estrangement.'

What Phyllis replied she scarcely knew, or how she counselled him as
to his unexpected situation. Yet the relief that his announcement
brought her was perceptible. To have confided her trouble in return
was what her aching heart longed to do; and had Humphrey been a woman
she would instantly have poured out her tale. But to him she feared
to confess; and there was a real reason for silence, till a
sufficient time had elapsed to allow her lover and his comrade to get
out of harm's way.

As soon as she reached home again she sought a solitary place, and
spent the time in half regretting that she had not gone away, and in
dreaming over the meetings with Matthaus Tina from their beginning to
their end. In his own country, amongst his own countrywomen, he
would possibly soon forget her, even to her very name.

Her listlessness was such that she did not go out of the house for
several days. There came a morning which broke in fog and mist,
behind which the dawn could be discerned in greenish grey; and the
outlines of the tents, and the rows of horses at the ropes. The
smoke from the canteen fires drooped heavily.

The spot at the bottom of the garden where she had been accustomed to
climb the wall to meet Matthaus, was the only inch of English ground
in which she took any interest; and in spite of the disagreeable haze
prevailing she walked out there till she reached the well-known
corner. Every blade of grass was weighted with little liquid globes,
and slugs and snails had crept out upon the plots. She could hear
the usual faint noises from the camp, and in the other direction the
trot of farmers on the road to the town, for it was market-day. She
observed that her frequent visits to this corner had quite trodden
down the grass in the angle of the wall, and left marks of garden
soil on the stepping-stones by which she had mounted to look over the
top. Seldom having gone there till dusk, she had not considered that
her traces might be visible by day. Perhaps it was these which had
revealed her trysts to her father.

While she paused in melancholy regard, she fancied that the customary
sounds from the tents were changing their character. Indifferent as
Phyllis was to camp doings now, she mounted by the steps to the old
place. What she beheld at first awed and perplexed her; then she
stood rigid, her fingers hooked to the wall, her eyes staring out of
her head, and her face as if hardened to stone.

On the open green stretching before her all the regiments in the camp
were drawn up in line, in the mid-front of which two empty coffins
lay on the ground. The unwonted sounds which she had noticed came
from an advancing procession. It consisted of the band of the York
Hussars playing a dead march; next two soldiers of that regiment in a
mourning coach, guarded on each side, and accompanied by two priests.
Behind came a crowd of rustics who had been attracted by the event.
The melancholy procession marched along the front of the line,
returned to the centre, and halted beside the coffins, where the two
condemned men were blindfolded, and each placed kneeling on his
coffin; a few minutes pause was now given, while they prayed.

A firing-party of twenty-four men stood ready with levelled carbines.
The commanding officer, who had his sword drawn, waved it through
some cuts of the sword-exercise till he reached the downward stroke,
whereat the firing-party discharged their volley. The two victims
fell, one upon his face across his coffin, the other backwards.

As the volley resounded there arose a shriek from the wall of Dr.
Grove's garden, and some one fell down inside; but nobody among the
spectators without noticed it at the time. The two executed Hussars
were Matthaus Tina and his friend Christoph. The soldiers on guard
placed the bodies in the coffins almost instantly; but the colonel of
the regiment, an Englishman, rode up and exclaimed in a stern voice:
'Turn them out--as an example to the men!'

The coffins were lifted endwise, and the dead Germans flung out upon
their faces on the grass. Then all the regiments wheeled in
sections, and marched past the spot in slow time. When the survey
was over the corpses were again coffined, and borne away.

Meanwhile Dr. Grove, attracted by the noise of the volley, had rushed
out into his garden, where he saw his wretched daughter lying
motionless against the wall. She was taken indoors, but it was long
before she recovered consciousness; and for weeks they despaired of
her reason.

It transpired that the luckless deserters from the York Hussars had
cut the boat from her moorings in the adjacent harbour, according to
their plan, and, with two other comrades who were smarting under ill-
treatment from their colonel, had sailed in safety across the
Channel. But mistaking their bearings they steered into Jersey,
thinking that island the French coast. Here they were perceived to
be deserters, and delivered up to the authorities. Matthaus and
Christoph interceded for the other two at the court-martial, saying
that it was entirely by the former's representations that these were
induced to go. Their sentence was accordingly commuted to flogging,
the death punishment being reserved for their leaders.

The visitor to the well-known old Georgian watering-place, who may
care to ramble to the neighbouring village under the hills, and
examine the register of burials, will there find two entries in these
words:-


'Matth:- Tina (Corpl.) in His Majesty's Regmt. of York Hussars, and
Shot for Desertion, was Buried June 30th, 1801, aged 22 years. Born
in the town of Sarrbruk, Germany.

'Christoph Bless, belonging to His Majesty's Regmt. of York Hussars,
who was Shot for Desertion, was Buried June 30th, 1801, aged 22
years. Born at Lothaargen, Alsatia.'

Their graves were dug at the back of the little church, near the
wall. There is no memorial to mark the spot, but Phyllis pointed it
out to me. While she lived she used to keep their mounds neat; but
now they are overgrown with nettles, and sunk nearly flat. The older
villagers, however, who know of the episode from their parents, still
recollect the place where the soldiers lie. Phyllis lies near.

October 1889.





Life's Little Ironies by Thomas Hardy
Category:
19th century fiction

Short stories
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