“Rattleton,” said the adjutant, “your men fired badly yesterday; how was that?”
“Why, I believe it was my fault,” said Tom; “I was nervous, and that confounded gunpowder, the grains as big as swan-shot, blowing in my face from the men’s pans, made me more so; however, I must summon my force next time.”
“Do, my dear fellow,” said the adjutant; “the colonel noticed it, I assure you, and desired me in a friendly way just to give you a hint.”
“He’s a noble fellow,” said Tom, with warmth, “and I love him; I had rather have my cheeks excoriated, and my eyes damaged in future, than give him cause of complaint.”
“Well, that’s all as it should be,” said Wigwell. “Rattleton, your friend Mr. Gernon had better fall in with your company at parade; it may be pleasant for him, and you, you know,” added he with a smile, “can give him the benefit of your experience.”
The next day Tom took me to an unoccupied bungalow, near the lines, used for various purposes, in order that I might have my first lesson in the manual and platoon.
We found Sergeant Giblett already there, and talking to several cadets or ensigns, who seemed much amused, and listening to him attentively. “And that, as near as I can kal-ki-late, was when I first jined the army under his Excellency Lifttennant Gineral Lord Lake”—was, however, all we caught of the yarn.
Rattleton now introduced me to my brother-aspirants for military glory—beardless tyros, wild as unbroken colts, and all agog for fun and frolic, in whatever shape it might present itself.
“You’ve never had no instruction in the man’il and plytoon, I think you said, Sir?” said the sergeant to me, touching his hat.
“You’re quite right; I did say so.”