Sergeant Seth E-Book

Ernest William Hornung

• Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

In *Sergeant Seth*, Ernest William Hornung crafts a compelling narrative that examines the complexities of soldiering during a time of conflict, weaving together themes of duty, bravery, and the often harsh realities faced by those in the line of fire. Hornung's prose is rich and engaging, filled with vivid descriptions and acute psychological insights, which reflect the burgeoning literary style of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, where authors began to delve deeper into the inner lives of their characters against the backdrop of war. This book serves as a poignant commentary on the human spirit amidst the chaos of battle, offering readers a unique perspective on the military experience that extends beyond mere heroism to the everyday struggles of soldiers. Ernest William Hornung, best known for creating the gentleman thief Raffles, draws on his experiences and observations from life in a tumultuous era defined by strong nationalistic sentiments and warfare. Born in England and later emigrating to Australia, Hornung's diverse background and firsthand encounters with the war narrative brought authenticity and depth to *Sergeant Seth*, making it a reflection of his understanding of the complexities surrounding military life. *Sergeant Seth* is a must-read for those interested in military fiction and the exploration of character under duress. Hornung'Äôs ability to intertwine personal stories with broader historical themes provides a resonant experience for readers, inviting them to reflect on the true cost of conflict and the resilience of the human spirit.

Leseprobe

Ernest William Hornung

Sergeant Seth

Published by Good Press, 2021

[email protected]

EAN 4064066452667

Table of Contents

Cover

Titlepage

Text

Sergeant Seth

Table of Contents

II

TROOPER WHITTY was off for a holiday at last. The circumstance was in itself strange enough, for Whitty had been two years in the Mounted Police without ever once seeking leave of absence until now. What, however, seemed really unique was that a man who took only one holiday in two years should be content to go and spend it in a dismal, dead-alive hamlet like Timber Town.

'Some jokers are easily pleased, we know, and you're one; but what can be the attraction in that dull hole, Seth?' Whitty's sergeant asked him the night before he started. 'If there is one you might have ridden over there any day these eighteen months; but I never heard you had a friend there, did I?'

'No; but then I didn't know it myself until the other day,' said Whitty. 'It was only then that I heard of an old friend of mine being there.'

The sergeant pulled reflectively at his pipe.

'Your friend should welcome you with open arms, Seth,' said he presently. 'Your friend should leave you his money for looking him up just now, Seth. It will be the making of him, this Christmas, to be seen along with you. It would be the making of any one not a teetotaller, at any time, but Christmas for choice, to be seen along with the man that took Red Jim. I know Timber Town; I know Timber Town ways; there'll be liquor enough going to float an Orient liner. Take my tip, Seth—keep in your depth!'

Whitty laughed. 'No fear, sergeant. You don't know my friend. But if it's as bad as you say, you ought to come too, and see me through, since we were both in the Red Jim go. Bad luck to Red Jim! I'm not going to Timber Town to get clapped on the back and made a fool of. I'm going to see a very old friend, sergeant—a very great friend. I'll go in plain clothes.'

It was Christmas Eve at the loneliest little police-barracks in those ranges. The verandah was too dark for the sergeant to see how the younger man's face flushed, how his eyes glistened, as he spoke of his friend. Nor did the sergeant know, in the early morning following, with what high spirits his subordinate set off. Seth hummed in his bedroom, whistled in the stables, and burst into lusty song as he rode out of the yard at daybreak; and the sergeant would certainly have been interested had he been awake, for Seth was seldom so ill-advised as to try to whistle or sing, while his normal temper was sedate and self-contained to a degree unusual in young men.

It is a matter of opinion, however, whether Seth Whitty was a young man; and if he was not, there was something highly refreshing in the middle-aged fellow's boyish behaviour. In dry fact, Seth was just thirty; but a man, one knows, does not age only by years. Seth looked more than thirty. Often he looked nearer forty. The times when one would have stood a chance of gauging his years accurately were rare; but this morning was such a time.

Whitty was so very happy this Christmas morning; his face showed it so very plainly, too. It was not by any means a striking face: the cheek bones were prominent, the nose aquiline and thin; but a broad high forehead and good brown eyes, and a certain regularity of features, gave him at least average good looks. Moreover, his short black beard and long black moustache, though they helped to make him look so old, became his dark style very suitably.

The sun had made him very dark indeed; but it had not blistered him as it blisters your 'new chum'; he was an Australian by birth, and he only bronzed. And this man's eyes this morning shone with a happy, hopeful, youthful light, having good reason so to shine: for Trooper Whitty had had his chance, and seized it; Trooper Whitty had covered himself with honour and glory; the immediate promotion of Trooper Whitty was certain, and something a million times nearer to his heart than prosperity and promotion and fame Trooper Whitty was all but certain of, and intended to make dead certain of, that Christmas Day.

No wonder he rode away singing. When the sun got up (which was not just at once) and struck fire from Seth's spur and stirrup on the near side, he was singing still, in his own quaint fashion. Ultimately Whitty fell into a more natural mood. He grew silent and sensible. But the joyous light shone as bright as ever in his eyes; though his mind was occupied with some very ticklish questions.

'Shall I find her the same?' This was the main question. 'It's eighteen months ago; lots of time to change. We have heard nothing of each other all the time; every facility for getting out of it. But no, no, no: she promised; I promised too, and to-day I'll fulfil—my future being so certain now—though even if it weren't I couldn't help it, knowing her so near. If only she thinks as she thought then! But all life is change. Eighteen months ago! Who'd have dreamt then that Barbara Lyon would clear out of the station to work for her living? Who could fancy Barbara as schoolmissis? But it shall not be for long, Barbara; it shall be for a very, very little while now, my darling!'

This, in fact, was the 'very old friend'—Barbara Lyon. It is not strictly true that she was a very old friend. Whitty's first six months in the constabulary he was quartered near Kyneton, and within pistol-shot of Barbara's father's boundary fence. The very old friendship was squeezed into that half-year.

The ride to Timber Town was a long one: fifty miles. Whitty left home at four in the morning; he hoped to arrive, riding easily, not much later than noon. Rapid travelling was impossible, for the track was not only very rugged, and often steep, but it was so extremely faint, in the hard flinty places, that some vigilance was required merely to follow it. But it was wild, picturesque country, and the morning air was fresh and cool; and Whitty was not much more impatient than most men would have been in the circumstances. At nine he breakfasted at a queer little hostelry deep in a gully of gum-trees. Then came a long, slow, tiresome ascent; but Seth was on the southern edge of the ranges well before noon, winding slowly down to the thickly-timbered flats. Just below him, thin columus of smoke ascended through the tree-tops. The chimneys that the smoke came from were in visible; but deep down there, at the bottom of that leafy sea, and on the very edge of the level country, lay Timber Town; and Timber Town was just sufficiently civilised to have its State school; and the Timber Town State scholars were so inexpressibly privileged as to have Barbara Lyon for their schoolmistress—at the moment.

Whitty's predatory designs upon the Timber Town scholars swelled within him when his sharp eye descried the Timber Town smoke. He pressed on down the steep winding path. The trees closed over him; the track twisted, turned, but still descended; and Seth lost patience at last, and was riding recklessly, when a loud shout from the hill-side on the right startled him. He pulled up with some difficulty. Peering upward through the colonnade of smooth round trunks, he saw a tent, and, what was more alarming, a human ball bounding down headlong through the trees; and in an instant an acrobatic young man—a well-built and particularly nice-looking young man, of the Saxon order—stood breathless at the horse's head.

'Seth Whitty, as I live!' gasped the acrobat.

'That's my name, mate; but—'

'Mean to say you don't know me?'

'I'll' be shot if I do.'

'You don't remember the new chum who brought a letter of introduction to your father, stayed at your farm at Whittlesea for weeks on end, shot—but you're playing it too low down, Seth! Never pretend you don't remember Jack Lovatt!'

Seth jumped from his horse and wrung the young fellow's hand.

'How should I have remembered you? You were a boy then, without a hair on your face; now you sport a thundering great moustache—'

'And have just shaved off a thundering great beard: made to.'

'Then, too, you were a bit of a wild young spark; frankly, I never thought you'd do much good; I made sure you'd either be back home years before this, or at the dogs; but now—'

'Now I've gone in for complete reformation: made to!'

'Who is it that's taken you in hand?'