The Trumpet-Major. Thomas Hardy
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ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lo’-rum,
Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lay.
When jus’-ti-ces’ hold e’qual scales’,
And rogues’ are on’-ly found’ in jails’;
Then lit’tle Bo’-ney he’ll pounce down’,
And march’ his men’ on Lon’-don town’!
Chorus. – Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lo’-rum,
Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lay.
When rich’ men find’ their wealth’ a curse’,
And fill’ there-with’ the poor’ man’s purse’;
Then lit’-tle Bo’-ney he’ll pounce down’,
And march’ his men’ on Lon’-don town’!
Chorus. – Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lo’-rum,
Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lay.
Poor Stanner! In spite of his satire, he fell at the bloody battle of Albuera a few years after this pleasantly spent summer at the Georgian watering-place, being mortally wounded and trampled down by a French hussar when the brigade was deploying into line under Beresford.
While Miller Loveday was saying ‘Well done, Mr. Stanner!’ at the close of the thirteenth stanza, which seemed to be the last, and Mr. Stanner was modestly expressing his regret that he could do no better, a stentorian voice was heard outside the window shutter repeating,
Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lo’-rum,
Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lay.
The company was silent in a moment at this reinforcement, and only the military tried not to look surprised. While all wondered who the singer could be somebody entered the porch; the door opened, and in came a young man, about the size and weight of the Farnese Hercules, in the uniform of the yeomanry cavalry.
‘’Tis young Squire Derriman, old Mr. Derriman’s nephew,’ murmured voices in the background.
Without waiting to address anybody, or apparently seeing who were gathered there, the colossal man waved his cap above his head and went on in tones that shook the window-panes: —
When hus’-bands with’ their wives’ agree’.
And maids’ won’t wed’ from mod’-es-ty’,
Then lit’-tle Bo’-ney he’ll pounce down’,
And march’ his men’ on Lon’-don town’!
Chorus. – Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lo’-rum,
Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lay.
It was a verse which had been omitted by the gallant Stanner, out of respect to the ladies.
The new-comer was red-haired and of florid complexion, and seemed full of a conviction that his whim of entering must be their pleasure, which for the moment it was.
‘No ceremony, good men all,’ he said; ‘I was passing by, and my ear was caught by the singing. I like singing; ’tis warming and cheering, and shall not be put down. I should like to hear anybody say otherwise.’
‘Welcome, Master Derriman,’ said the miller, filling a glass and handing it to the yeoman. ‘Come all the way from quarters, then? I hardly knowed ye in your soldier’s clothes. You’d look more natural with a spud in your hand, sir. I shouldn’t ha’ known ye at all if I hadn’t heard that you were called out.’
‘More natural with a spud! – have a care, miller,’ said the young giant, the fire of his complexion increasing to scarlet. ‘I don’t mean anger, but – but – a soldier’s honour, you know!’
The military in the background laughed a little, and the yeoman then for the first time discovered that there were more regulars present than one. He looked momentarily disconcerted, but expanded again to full assurance.
‘Right, right, Master Derriman, no offence – ’twas only my joke,’ said the genial miller. ‘Everybody’s a soldier nowadays. Drink a drap o’ this cordial, and don’t mind words.’
The young man drank without the least reluctance, and said, ‘Yes, miller, I am called out. ’Tis ticklish times for us soldiers now; we hold our lives in our hands – What are those fellows grinning at behind the table? – I say, we do!’
‘Staying with your uncle at the farm for a day or two, Mr. Derriman?’
‘No, no; as I told you, six mile off. Billeted at Casterbridge. But I have to call and see the old, old – ’
‘Gentleman?’
‘Gentleman! – no, skinflint. He lives upon the sweepings of the barton; ha, ha!’ And the speaker’s regular white teeth showed themselves like snow in a Dutch cabbage. ‘Well, well, the profession of arms makes a man proof against all that. I take things as I find ’em.’
‘Quite right, Master Derriman. Another drop?’
‘No, no. I’ll take no more than is good for me – no man should; so don’t tempt me.’
The yeoman then saw Anne, and by an unconscious gravitation went towards her and the other women, flinging a remark to John Loveday in passing. ‘Ah, Loveday! I heard you were come; in short, I come o’ purpose to see you. Glad to see you enjoying yourself at home again.’
The trumpet-major replied civilly, though not without grimness, for he seemed hardly to like Derriman’s motion towards Anne.
‘Widow Garland’s daughter! – yes, ’tis! surely. You remember me? I have been here before. Festus Derriman, Yeomanry Cavalry.’
Anne gave a little curtsey. ‘I know your name is Festus – that’s all.’
‘Yes, ’tis well known – especially latterly.’ He dropped his voice to confidence pitch. ‘I suppose your friends here are disturbed by my coming in, as they don’t seem to talk much? I don’t mean to interrupt the party; but I often find that people are put out by my coming among ’em, especially when I’ve got my regimentals on.’
‘La! and are they?’
‘Yes; ’tis the way I have.’ He further lowered his tone, as if they had been old friends, though in reality he had only seen her three or four times. ‘And how did you come to be here? Dash my wig, I don’t like to see a nice young lady like you in this company. You should come to some of our yeomanry sprees in Casterbridge or Shottsford-Forum. O, but the girls do come! The yeomanry are respected men, men of good substantial families, many farming their own land; and every one among us rides his own charger, which is more than these cussed fellows do.’ He nodded towards the dragoons.
‘Hush, hush! Why, these are friends and neighbours of Miller Loveday, and he is a great friend of ours – our best friend,’ said Anne with great emphasis, and reddening at the sense of injustice to their host. ‘What are you thinking of, talking like that? It is ungenerous in you.’
‘Ha, ha! I’ve affronted you. Isn’t that it, fair angel, fair – what do you call it? – fair vestal? Ah, well! would you was safe in my own house! But honour must be minded now, not courting. Rollicum-rorum, tol-lol-lorum. Pardon me, my sweet, I like ye! It may be a come down for me, owning land; but I do like ye.’
‘Sir, please be quiet,’ said Anne, distressed.
‘I will, I will. Well, Corporal Tullidge, how’s your head?’ he said, going towards the other end of the room, and leaving Anne to herself.
The company had again recovered its liveliness, and it was a long time before the bouncing Rufus who had joined them could find heart to tear himself away from their society and good liquors, although he had had quite enough of the latter before he entered.