Pretty soon the colonel turned his horse and left; the company officers barked snappy orders, and the companies were marched back to stack arms again and be dismissed. Hannibal came rollicking without his drum.
“I’m off till tattoo at half-past nine,” he announced, to Jerry. “No guard duty. Our company’s to rest. If I wasn’t a drummer I wouldn’t have anything to do till to-morrow. But a drummer never gets much rest. He has to be Johnny-on-the-Spot all the time. Just wait till you’re a drummer. What you want to do? Where’ve you been since morning?”
“I was up in the naval battery.”
“Under fire, you mean?”
“Guess so. A big shell burst right in front of me, inside the battery; in the middle of us all. Didn’t kill anybody, though. Then an officer made me get. But I’ve joined the army.”
“You have? How? Already?”
“You bet. I’m in the Fourth Regiment.”
“What do you do there? A drummer? Who’s teaching you? Old Brown?”
“No, I’m not a drummer. I’m with the officers. I’m attached to Lieutenant Grant.”
“Aw——!” and Hannibal stared. “What you mean now? How ‘attached?’”