“That’s what he said. I take care of his tent and I go along with him and the Fourth Regiment.”
“You do? That’s not soldiering; that’s only being a follower. But what did you join the Fourth for? Maybe I could have got you into the Eighth. You ought to be a drummer. A drummer gets nine dollars a month and he’s some pumpkins, too. He’s no private. He wears a sword like an officer, and has his own drill. I could have taught you the taps and flams and drags and rolls. They’re easy. Then maybe you’d be a drum major some day. That’s what I intend to be.”
“Well, I can learn to be an officer. Lieutenant Grant will teach me,” Jerry answered.
“You’ve got to be a soldier first, before you learn to be an officer. You ought to enlist or go to school. Nearly all the company officers in the Regulars went to school at West Point. The old fellows were appointed or rose from the ranks, but most of them fought in the War of 1812 or in Florida. Some of the fresh civilians are jolly green when they join. My eye! I know more than they do. But anyhow,” Hannibal continued, as if not to be disagreeable, “the Fourth is a good regiment, next to the Eighth. You’ll learn, I guess. I know Lieutenant Grant. I know all the officers. He’s got a funny name. Ever hear it? Ulysses! That’s it. He’s not very big, but you ought to see him stick on a horse. Come along. Let’s go up on top of one of the hills and watch the shells.”
Then, as they trudged:
“Here come the sailors from the battery. Jiminy, but they’re black! It’s no sport, serving those big guns. I’d rather be in the artillery than in the infantry, though, if I wasn’t a drummer.”
The tars from the naval battery trooped wearily by, for the beach and their ships. Black they were, with powder, and coated with sand, so that their eyes peered out whitely.
“Did you give ’em Davy Jones, Jack?” Hannibal called smartly.
They grinned and growled; and one of them answered back:
“Aye, aye, young hearty. Blowed their bloomin’ bul’arks all to smash, that’s wot. Hooray for the navy!”