Bullet Marks
A Story of Love and Circumstantial Evidence.
I had a sort of second cousin, Gerald Ashton, who had been brought up with myself and my sister, my father being his guardian.
We had all been like brothers and sisters, when one day he woke up to find he could not live without a nearer relationship to her. He spoke to the old gentleman, and there was a little family fracas.
He had only a hundred a year, and my father did not think that was enough, though Gerald did; there was no objection at all in other respects—let him earn some more and they would see—wait a little—you know the kind of thing an old gentleman would say. Well, it was of no use. He said he felt himself a burden; there was no scope for his energies, and he would go—and go he did.
I urged upon him that he should get something to do. He had been well educated, and a clerkship, or something of the kind, could be got for him if he still resolved not to go on at the hospital.
No—he would go. There was only one thing he did do well, that was to shoot; and he would carry his abilities to a market where they would be appreciated. And so, at the mature age of twenty-two, he left us his profession, his home, and his prospects.
He disappeared, and six months after we heard he was with, say the 40th dragoons in India.
We wrote, and offered to buy his discharge, but he would “have none of us.” He liked it very well; was already corporal; expected the three stripes soon; and was “Gentleman Jack” with his comrades.
Some six months after this I was sent out to India with a company; and as my sister was getting thin, and showing other signs of the desirability of a sea-voyage, and of a warm climate, it was agreed I should take her over.
We reached Calcutta, and in a few weeks settled down.
There was war going on,… Read More