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Updated: May 26, 2025
They endured all the pangs of poverty; pangs endured with heroic composure, while William relaxed not a whit in his devotion to the pursuit of knowledge. Happily, however, his musical proficiency attracted the attention of Lord Durham, who offered him the appointment of bandmaster to a militia regiment stationed in the north of England.
Down came the baton, two bars were played, and the result was so much worse that the bandmaster banged his music-stand frantically. "Stand back, sir!" he yelled. "This is ridiculous! What does the colonel mean? What do you mean, sir, by pretending you know the music? What? What's that you say?" "I said `I beg pardon, sir," began Dick. "Beg pardon!
Rockminster was dining with the officers of the Coldstream Guards the other evening, and he promised to send a copy to the bandmaster as soon as it is published. But Sybil wants more than that, of course; she wants to see whether the commander-in-chief wouldn't recommend it, so that it could be taken up by all the regiments.
The colonel saluted and backed his horse as the cavalcade swept past him; then he beckoned to the bandmaster. "Here's your chance," he said. "Orders are to charge anything that appears on that road. You'll play us in this time. Mount your men." Ten minutes later the regiment, band ahead, marched out of Sandy River and climbed the hill, halting in the road that passed the great white mansion.
Dick stood by the regular flute-player, who, rather grudgingly, made room at his tall stand; and then, as the bandmaster called attention with a fresh tap of the baton and opened the score, the flautist said: "Beg pardon, Mr Wilkins, sir; here's the recruit. Is he to stand with me?"
Into a broad common wheeled the cavalry; the boy followed on his pony, guiding the little beast in among the mounted men, edging as close as possible to the bandmaster, who had drawn bridle and wheeled his showy horse abreast of a group of officers.
"What a joke!" the bandmaster said, twirling his moustache with the foolish smile of a good-looking man, who dangles after women's petticoats, in order that he may get on all the quicker. His comrades' equivocal allusions puzzled him, though they flattered him like applause, and he stealthily looked in the large mirrors at the new lyres embroidered in gold on the collar of his tunic.
The crossing of the Elbe. Bandmaster Graun's Bravura. Conradi's Stomachic Liqueur, and the bronzed Apple-Woman. "The gentleman seems not to be in his right wits!" said a respectable burgher's wife, who, returning from a walk with her family, had paused here, and, with crossed arms, was looking at the mad pranks of the student Anselmus.
"As it happens, that's not a fair question. But I'll tell you this much, I came there with a brass band." I began to think the man out of his mind. "With the instruments, that is. I'd dropped the bandmaster on the way. Look here," he went on sharply, "the beginning is funny enough, but I'm telling you no lies. We'll suppose there was a ship, a British man-of-war name not necessary just now."
I don't think Santley had grown rich, but he always carried a fortune about with him wherever he went, viz., a kind heart and a cheerful disposition. Nobody could ever think of quarrelling with Santlay any more than with George Coppin, or with that benevolent bandmaster, Herr Plock.
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