“Bah! Of course not,” growled the Sergeant. “I made a mistake. You wouldn’t be there to bury, because as sure as you stand there, and go to sleep, one of them twelve-foot long lizardly crocs as you have seen hundreds of times lying on the top will be watching you, with his eyes just out of the water, and as soon as ever you are fast he will crawl out and have you by the leg and into the river before you know where you are. So if that happens, be careful and leave your rifle ashore.”
“Yes, Sergeant, I’ll mind,” said the man coolly.
“Silence in the ranks!” cried the Sergeant again, for there was the beginning of a chuckle.—“Now then,” he continued, “that’s all. Don’t forget the word—Aldershot; and—oh, keep a very sharp lookout for boats, for that’s the only way an enemy can approach the campong— Eh, what?” said the Sergeant, in response to a growl.
“What shall I do, Sergeant, if one of them big evats comes at me? Am I to fire?”
“Fire? No! What for? Want to alarm the camp?”
“No, Sergeant. I don’t mind tackling a real enemy, but if it was one of them scaly varmints he would alarm me.”
“Never mind; you are not to fire.”
“Well, what am I to do, then, sir?”
“Fix bayonets and let him have it. Tenderest place is underneath.”
“Well, but, Sergeant, how am I to get at him underneath?”