A WARNING AND ITS EFFECT
After superintending the coal fatigue, I was put in charge of a dozen privates, young and old, in one of the bottom rooms of the castle. Some of the young bloods were very generous in their fault-finding and acts of disobedience. One of the old fellows actually point-blankly refused to wash and scrub the benches in the room—which I had ordered him to do. By this time their pleading and other things had somewhat “softened my heart towards them,” and the thought came into my head, “don’t be so hard on the poor old chaps; you’re abler to do the work than some of them.” Thus my feelings prompted me to take my turn with them, and, divesting myself of my jacket, and rolling up my shirt sleeves, I set myself to scrubbing the benches. But, by Jupiter! no sooner had I commenced my self-imposed task than in popped Captain Clifford Lloyd, who was on his rounds. “What are you doing there, corporal?” he bellowed forth when he saw me. “Oh, I am just scrubbing the forms, sir, for a bit of exercise” said I. “D... you and your exercise,” retorted the captain sternly. “Now, don’t let me catch you at it again. Here’s an old lazy hound behind you who knows very well that it is his duty, and I shall take that stripe off your arm if I catch you at this job again.” Of course, as a non-commissioned officer, I took the warning to heart, and kept to my own duties for the future—the warning having taken effect with the old soldiers as well as myself.
HOAXED BY THE SERGEANTS
Of course I came in for hoaxes from the sergeants. I mind one incident which happened one evening. During the day I had been in charge of the cook-house. Sergeant Murphy, an old soldier, came to me and said I was wanted by the sergeant-major immediately. “What’s the matter? There is nothing wrong with me, is there?” I asked, noticing that the messenger looked rather concerned. “Don’t you know?” I asked again, and then the sergeant said, “If you don’t know, you soon will do. The fact is, you have spoiled the coppers in the cook-house, you have burned the bottoms out of them.” “They were all right when I left” I retorted, beginning to feel rather “queer.” If I had never been one before I felt a coward then; but, come what might, I thought, they can only reduce me in rank. So with “firm step” I marched to the sergeant-major’s quarters. To my surprise—and in a manner which at once put me at my ease—the sergeant-major bade me a cheerful “Good evening.” He told me that he had a job for me—he wanted me to accompany fifteen recruits to the theatre, and strictly enjoined me to see them back to barracks after the theatre closed. I took the men to the play-house, and brought them all back safe and sound, and the sergeant-major expressed himself very pleased with my abilities as a chaperon.
BANQUET AT EDINBURGH CASTLE
Shortly after there was to be a grand festival in the Castle given by Captain Darnall, who was severing his connection with the Castle. I was relieved of all soldier’s duties for nine days, and told off with others to decorate certain rooms on the premises in preparation for the festival. The event came off in due course; it was a grand affair, and was made the most of on all hands. Captain Darnall presented the oldest soldier with a silver cup.
CHANGE OF VENUE
It was not long ere I was made a full Corporal, and commenced to receive double pay. Now I felt a hero, and no mistake. All this time I had been a keen observer of both men and manners, and I had really seen all there was to be seen in Edinburgh and neighbourhood. It was, therefore, with pleasurable feelings that I heard that No. 7 Company, to which I belonged, was to be sent to the military garrison at Greenlaw—a bonny little village some ten miles from Edinburgh. I think the scenery in this district is about the most picturesque and romantic in all Scotland. Roslin Castle is only a short distance away. The neighbourhood is divided into little villages, and to one of these—Milton Bridge—I paid frequent visits during my sojourn at Greenlaw. At Milton Bridge there was a tavern, known by the sign of “The Fishers’ Tryst,” kept by a cheery old gentleman and his daughter. I got on very friendly terms with the landlord and his lassie, and entrusted to them the secret as to who I really was;—for I had joined the regiment under a nom de plume. In my communications with my friends at Keighley I gave them to understand that I was working as an ordinary individual for my living. I dated all my letters from “The Fishers’ Tryst,” in the name of “William Ferdinand Wright,” and for three years I avoided identification.