So saying, Giblett drained off the dark potation—a regular “north-wester”—set down the empty glass, and took his leave, reserving his “yarn” for another time.
CHAPTER XVII.
Under the able tuition of Sergeant Giblett I became, in a few days, sufficiently a proficient in the mysteries of marching, &c., to allow of my falling in with Lieut. Rattleton’s company, the left grenadiers,[[29]] and it was consequently arranged, with the concurrence of the adjutant, that I should make my début on parade when next the battalion was out for exercise.
On the day previous to that event taking place, after tiffin, a sepoy orderly brought in the regimental and station orders; and Tom, after reading them, directed my attention particularly to a paragraph in the former, which ran thus:
“The regiment will parade for exercise to-morrow morning, at a quarter after gun-fire, furnished with ten rounds of blank cartridge per man.”
“There! my sub,” said Rattleton; “to-morrow you will see a little service, and smell gunpowder for the first time in your life.”
“You’re wrong there,” said I; “you seem to have forgotten my recent engagement with the Dacoits; why sir,” said I, affecting to bristle up, “though you do command a company I have seen far more active service than you have. A siege—a pursuit—a rout—and a retreat, are pretty well, I take it, for an ensign of two months’ standing.”
“Ha! ha! Well, that’s true, to be sure,” rejoined my friend, laughing; “you have, indeed, seen balls fired with intent to do grievous bodily harm, and against the peace of our sovereign lord the king—but I would sink the bolt, Frank, when I talked of my Junglesoor exploits. But, seriously, you must get all your military trappings ready overnight, and I’ll see that you are called in good time in the morning.”
I retired to bed rather earlier than usual, oppressed with a most unpleasantly alarmed state of feelings, something akin, probably, to that which a man experiences the night before he is hanged—or has to fight a duel—or to encounter any other disagreeable novelty. I wished the initiatory process fairly over, having somehow or other allowed my anxiety to work on my imagination till I pictured it as something very formidable.
I was aroused, next morning, by Rattleton’s singing, with reference to my dormant state, I suppose, “Arise, arise! Britannia’s sons, arise,” and by a rough shake of the shoulder.