Memorials of Capt. Hedley Vicars, Ninety-seventh Regiment by Marsh, Catherine, 1818-1912/Chapter 1
I.— BOYHOOD.
A brave, free-hearted, careless one.
Full of unchecked, unbidden joy,
Of dread of books, and love of fun;
And with a clear and ready smile
Unshadowed by a thought of guile."
Willis.
Hedley Shafto Johnstone Vicars was born in the Mauritius, on the 7th of December, 1826. His father, an officer in the Royal Engineers, was the representative of the family of Don Vicaro, a Spanish Cavalier who came to England in the suite of Katharine of Arragon, and settled in Ireland early in the sixteenth century, on the marriage of his eldest grandson with the heiress of the Lalor family. The family estate was Levally, in Queen's County.
There was little to distinguish the early days of Hedley Vicars from those of other healthy, high-spirited boys. Active and fearless, he was foremost among his playfellows wherever fun or frolic was to be found. Open-hearted and generous, quick to resent an injury, but ready to forgive, he was a universal favourite with them, whilst his sweetness of temper, and kind, unselfish nature, especially endeared him to his family at home. His faults were those of an energetic and wayward disposition, and those legends which are wont to be preserved in families, record occasional instances of his odd and amusing perversity. When the children were gathered around their mother to repeat texts of Scripture in turn, Hedley, refusing to enter into the spirit of the little circle, would contribute nothing but "Remember Lot's wife."
On one occasion, being reproved by his mother for light conduct at family worship, he walked off during the prayer, and ensconced himself in a little cave in the garden, barricading it with the determination of spending the night there, by way of punishing his mother for reproving him in the presence of the assembled family. But after a time his better nature was touched by the entreaties and caresses of his little sisters, and he returned, softened and penitent, to ask and obtain forgiveness.
Once, at the end of the holidays, when he was told to pack up his box for school, resolving to put off the evil day as long as possible, he paid no attention to his mother's repeated injunctions until they became positive commands, no longer to be disregarded. Then he walked away to his room, with an air of insulted dignity, and soon called out, "Mother, my box is packed." On opening the door of her room, she found the box placed there, loosely corded and packed, indeed, but with the housemaid's dust-pan and brushes, and a collection of old boots, shells, stones, and all sorts of rubbish, with which a few of Mrs. Vicars's favourite books were irreverently jumbled; the boy, meanwhile, hanging over the bannisters, humming a careless tune, calmly viewed a displeasure, the dignity of which it was not easy to preserve.
Yet in spite of these and similar exhibitions of waywardness, he never caused his mother serious anxiety in his boyhood, or gave lasting pain to that tender heart, ever knit to his own by the fondest affection.
She was for some years the only guardian of his childhood. Loss of health obliged her to return to England with her children, whilst their father was detained in the Mauritius by military duty. He came home to rejoice the hearts of his family in the year 1835 and died four years afterwards, in the prime of manhood, at Mullingar, West Meath, where he held a military appointment. He was honoured and beloved by the whole neigbourhood.
High-spirited, and fearless for himself, for his sisters Hedley was ever thoughtful, and treated them with invariable gentleness. The tenderness of his boyish years, for all who were under the power of his superior strength, was the germ of that constant consideration and goodness exercised in after-life towards those who were under his command, which drew forth from them an affection meet to illustrate the words, "Peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die."
When the boy was twelve years old his father's dying hand was laid upon his head, with the earnest prayer "that he might be a good soldier of Jesus Christ, and so fight manfully under his banner as to glorify his holy name."
It might almost seem that faith had given to the departing Christian, as to the aged Jacob, a voice of prophecy. Knows he not now, and will he not yet more perfectly know, in a day for which a groaning creation looketh, how fully a faithful God granted to him this — his last prayer?
From this time Hedley's love for his mother gradually deepened into that peculiar form of protecting tenderness which seems the prerogative of a widow's son, and there grew up with his growth an almost feminine gentleness and a sensitive regard for the feelings of others, which, combined with singular strength and stedfastness of character, rendered the friendship of his matured manhood so precious to those who had the privilege of enjoying it.
To study he had always shown a marked and positive aversion, and devoted his time to anything rather than to the prescribed form of drudgery. At one school, then newly formed, where he was placed for a year or two, the contagion of his high spirits often carried off the master — himself a young man — from graver pursuits to join in the wild adventures and pranks of his gay and reckless pupil, somewhat to the scandal of their sober neighbours.
This determination not to study followed him to Woolwich, and prevented him from acquiring the distinction necessary to secure a commission in the Engineers or Artillery. All this was seriously regretted by him in after life, not alone because he thus deprived himself of a more advantageous branch of the service, but also on account of time wasted, which had been given him so to use that he might finally render his account of it with joy.
On Christmas day, 1843, his mother received a letter, announcing that her son had obtained a commission in the line, written by the same hand which on Good Friday, 1855, informed her how faithfully unto death that commission had been fulfilled.
Early in the following spring he commenced his military career by joining the depot of the 97th Regiment in the Isle of Wight. He was an ardent lover of his profession, and from first to last was devoted to its duties. In writing to his mother an account of his first review, with its fatigues of marching, skirmishing, and firing, he adds with boyish pride, "But my zeal for the service kept me up."
In the autumn of 1844 he returned home to take leave of his family at Langford Grove, in Essex, before sailing for Corfu. His eldest sister well remembers his joyous bearing as he first exhibited himself to them in the Queen's uniform, and her own admiration of the bright, intelligent countenance, broad shoulders, and well-knit, athletic figure of her young soldier-brother. A few weeks afterwards he sailed for Corfu — now fairly launched in the world and in a profession beset with temptations.
He still retained the frank demeanour and kind and generous disposition which had distinguished him as a boy, with a keen relish for adventure, and a quick perception of the beautiful in all around him, as his descriptions of scenery sufficiently show. Gifts are these, lovely in themselves, but dangerous, often fatal, to their possessor, as the wrecks upon many a shoal of life too truly testify.
He had a pleasant and prosperous voyage out; with his usual activity lending a helping hand to the sailors in the work of the ship, and winning their hearts by his genial manners. At Corfu he entered with spirit into all the amusements which offered themselves to him. His letters to his family were now less frequent than ever before or afterwards, and at this period of his life his reckless disposition often led him into scenes of which his conscience disapproved, and to excesses which, though never matured into habits, and, by the grace of God, early and for ever abandoned, were afterwards the subject of bitter and humiliating remembrance. In reference to this he wrote in 1854, "You will be spared poignant remorse in after years by remembering your Creator in the days of your youth. I speak from heartfelt experience. I would give worlds if I had them, to undo what I have done."
A single letter will be sufficient to show that his correspondence was at this time restricted to the details of his outward life:
TO HIS MOTHER.
"Cephalonia, 1845.
" * * * Last week I had a delightful trip to Zante, where I was ordered to sit on a court-martial, and remained three days. I never enjoyed a place more. It is a beautiful island covered with verdure. A wing of the reserved battalion of the 97th is quartered there — two companies in the town and one in the castle, which is about a mile above it. Clambering up was tedious work, as the hill in some parts is nearly perpendicular. I was, however, well repaid for my trouble on arriving at the summit, where the sight which presented itself to my eyes was most magnificent. On one side of the ramparts you behold the town far below and the harbor crowded with merchant vessels of every nation; while in the distance, through the misty haze, appears the dark outline of the Morean hills. Looking in the opposite direction, you see an immense plain thickly planted with vineyards, studded with olive groves and pretty villas, just visible in the distance. Still further, mountains capped with snow form a boundary to the valley."
Soon afterwards he was quartered in the castle at Zante, to his great delight, and his letters convey the same vivid impressions of the beauty of the scenes which surrounded him:
"Summer is changing the aspect of all around. The plains beneath are already clothed in green; the vines, olives, pomegranates and hawthorn, with roses, geraniums, and other wild but sweetly-scented flowers, shed their fragrance through the air, and every thing looks charming. Zante is a perfect garden of roses. I generally have two or three bouquets in my room. One could hardly have more pleasant quarters."