The next day, being thoroughly armed, we put on everything red, white, and blue that we could think of—night-shirts are good for white, and you don't know what you can do with red socks and blue jerseys till you try—and we waited by the church-yard wall for the soldiers. When the advance-guard (or whatever you call it of artillery—it's that for infantry, I know) came by we got ready, and when the first man of the first battery was level with us Oswald played on his penny whistle the "advance" and the "charge"—and then shouted:
"Three cheers for the Queen and the British Army!"
This time they had the guns with them. And every man of the battery cheered too. It was glorious. It made you tremble all over. The girls said it made them want to cry—but no boy would own to this, even if it were true. It is babyish to cry. But it was glorious, and Oswald felt different to what he ever did before.
Then suddenly the officer in front said, "Battery! Halt!" and all the soldiers pulled their horses up, and the great guns stopped too. Then the officer said, "Sit at ease," and something else, and the sergeant repeated it, and some of the men got off their horses and lit their pipes, and some sat down on the grass edge of the road, holding their horses' bridles.
We could see all the arms and accoutrements as plain as plain.
Then the officer came up to us. We were all standing on the wall that day, except Dora, who had to sit, because her foot was bad, but we let her have the three-edged rapier to wear, and the blunderbuss to hold as well—it has a brass mouth, and is like in Mr. Caldecott's pictures.
He was a beautiful man the officer. Like a Viking. Very tall and fair, with mustaches very long, and bright blue eyes.
He said:
So did we.