‘You ought to give the sergeant a supper,’ said a man who had joined about a month before; ‘we gave our conducting sergeant a supper.’
It was therefore agreed that we could be no worse than the others, and he was accordingly invited along with our drill sergeant. When night came, and we were going into town, it was moved that the sergeants of our companies ought to be invited also; of course it was insinuated that we would be no losers by so doing. When we were all met, between sergeants of companies and their friends, whom they had taken the liberty to invite, we were a goodly company.
The supper came in, and was done great justice to by the guests. Next came the drink, and when all hearts were warmed by the rum punch, numerous were the protestations of friendship and promises of favour from the sergeants to the recruits, which were very soon forgotten. I was sitting next our conducting sergeant: he seemed very restless, and spoke often to a very loquacious sergeant who sat near him, who replied several times that it was too soon yet. At last, however, when he found we were all pretty mellow, he rose and commenced his harangue with, ‘I say, lads, I daresay you are all very well pleased with Sergeant A——.’ This was assented to by all the recruits. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I just wished to inform you that it is the usual custom for the recruits to give the sergeant who conducts them a present when they receive their bounty.’
The acquiescence of all present, showed how well the sergeant had chosen the time to make his proposition.
‘What is the usual sum?’ said one.
This question was put to our conducting sergeant: and after some hesitation, he very modestly replied, ‘five shillings each.’
The money was soon collected, and he pocketed it with great glee.
At a late hour we separated, and got home to our barrack rooms without disturbance, having previously had leave from tattoo. Next day I was roused for drill at daylight; and after coming in, wishing to procure some breakfast, I was surprised to find my cash dwindled to a very few shillings. During the day, I was applied to by some of my comrades for the loan of more money; but I refused, alleging that I had little left. I could soon see that this information made a great impression on them; for the things which they had formerly been so officious in doing for me were now left to be done by myself; and amongst all those who had been so anxious to become my comrades, I could not find one now that would accept of me, and a new party of recruits joining I was soon altogether forgot.
Next day, having purchased some little things that I needed, I found my money expended; but I gave myself little uneasiness about it, as I had lent so much, and the following day was pay-day. When the men received their pay, I spoke to those who had borrowed the money from me, and said that I would be obliged to them for it; but how was I surprised when some of them swore I had never lent them a farthing, and threatened to beat me for presuming to say so! Others said they could not pay me at that time; and more of them laughed at my simplicity in expecting repayment of any money borrowed out of a bounty! This is strange kind of justice, thought I; and leaving the room, I wandered down by the sea side, thinking on the honest men I had got amongst. I heard the step of some one behind me, and turning round to see who it was, I perceived one of the recruits who had joined some time before me. His name was Dennis ——: he was an Irishman. I had remarked that he took no part with the others, in their professions of kindness to me, and that on the night of the spree he had gone to bed without joining in it. When he came up to me, he said, ‘I have waited until now to speak to you, for I would not say a word while the bounty lasted, lest you might suspect that I was like the others; but now I have come to say that if you choose you can be my comrade, for mine left me before you came to the room, to go along with a recruit; and now, that his bounty is finished, he wishes to come back again; but I hate such meanness, and would never associate with a fellow of his description; however, I think you and I will agree.’ I was glad to accept his disinterested offer; and during all the time that Dennis and I were comrades, I never had reason to repent it; for he was of a warm-hearted generous disposition, and never flinched from me in distress. He had no education: he could neither read nor write; but he had a judgment, which no sophistry could blind, and his acute Hibernian remarks often puzzled men who thought themselves better informed; besides this, he had a fund of honour that never would allow him to stoop to a mean action. One fault, indeed, he had in common with the generality of his countrymen, and that was, when he got liquor he was a thorough madman.
Dennis and I were now left to ourselves, to act as we pleased, and the ‘knowing boys’ looked out for newer hands to fleece, some of them descending to very mean stratagems to get drink. I remember being in town with Dennis one evening, and having gone into a public-house to get a glass before we went home, one of those disgraceful animals came into the room where we were sitting, and after telling some rigmarole story, without being asked to drink, he lifted the glass from before us, and having said, ‘Here’s your health,’ swallowed its contents. I was confounded at his impudence, and sat staring at him; but Dennis was up in an instant, and knocked him down, and, as he said himself, ‘kicked him for falling.’ The fellow never made any resistance, but gathered himself up, and crawled out of the room. When he was gone,—‘By my faith!’ said Dennis, ‘I think I gave the rascal the worth of his money—that is the only cure for a “spunge.”’