“I’ve been a-waitin’ for you, Mr. Brydell,” he cried in a weak voice. “There’s two things as I want done. One is, I want you to git that little Bible out o’ my haversack hanging up yonder and read them promises about them as believes in Jesus Christ shall live though they die. And the other is, to put my best uniform on me. You see, sir, something’s goin’ to happen; it’s a inspection, seems to me, but my head ain’t clear—yes, it’s a inspection sure. And Private Grubb ain’t never been reported at inspection in twenty-four, goin’ on twenty-five years, as long as I’ve been in the service.”
“Don’t you think you’d better wait until the doctor comes, Grubb?” asked Brydell soothingly.
“Lord, no, sir! I’ve got to be on time—there’s the bugle now, sir”—and indeed a faint echo of the bugle came through the open windows from the Constellation lying out in the harbor, half a mile away. He was so insistent that Brydell went to the closet and took out a new private’s uniform that hung there. He brought it to the bed and laid it down. Grubb began to finger it, and his face changed and his manner calmed.
“I know what ’tis, sir,” he said. “It ain’t no inspection here on earth I’m in for; it’s a inspection by the Great Captain as to how we’ve did our duty. But all the same, Mr. Brydell, I want this here uniform on—because I always said I wanted to die in it. Howsomever, do you think it’s right, as I might get my discharge papers any day, for me to be wearin’ it and bein’ buried in it?”
“BRYDELL GOT THE THUMBED BIBLE AND READ TO HIM.”
“I don’t believe anybody in the world would call it wrong, Grubb.”
“Well, sir, I’m glad to hear you say that. It does seem hard if, after I’ve served twenty-four, goin’ on twenty-five years, I’m to die and be buried like a plain cit.[2] And I’d like you to ask the admiral as how if I couldn’t have the right sort of a funeral; you know we give it to old Capps. I ain’t set on the band particklar, but I want the flag on my coffin, and I want to be carried by my messmates. Now will you ask the admiral all about this?”
“Yes,” said Brydell in a trembling voice. Then holding Grubb up by main force he managed to get the uniform on him, the poor fellow helping feverishly and showing unexpected strength. When at last it was done Brydell got the thumbed Bible and read to him those promises of comfort to the dying.
“That’s it, that’s it, Mr. Brydell. Life’s a sort o’ puzzle to me. I don’t know where my boy got his bad ways from,—and I’m afraid he won’t get over ’em,—but if ever you have a chance, I want you to befriend him for the sake of poor old Grubb. Ha! ha! What a funny little shaver you were! I can see you now, sir, the day I grabbed you for tearing up the turf at the navy yard and the way you banged away at me with that little rifle.”