Mr. Calvesfoot, generally useful man at Baredown Farm, having walked about the magazine tent until tired, orders his arms, and lounging in an easy and not ungraceful attitude, awaits his relief; being quite happy with himself and the world in general, beer and beef agreeing with him immensely.
"Hallo! Is that what you call doing sentry?" suddenly demands a voice, which arouses him from his reverie, and in which he recognizes that of Squire ——, the captain of the day, and the officer commanding the corps to which the delinquent belongs.
"I was a looking after ye, captain. I thought you'd come some time and look I up," was the reply, said with charming naïveté.
"What are your orders?" asks the subaltern of the day from a youthful volunteer, supposed to be guarding the precious water-carts, but occupied in quarrelling with the cook, who had neglected the men on duty in the guard tent to which he belonged.
"To watch them waterbutts, sir, but seeing this'un I came away for a minute to let him know as we aint to be forgotten," replied the sentry.
There were, besides these, various tales told of out-of-the-way occurrences, such as tricks played off upon sentries, and the very queer views the men had of a sentry's duty. Going on sentry to the Wiltshire man was not the like of going to drill. There, at drill, he had to hold his head up, hold his tongue, and turn right or left at a moment's notice, whenever somebody shouted out a word of command; but here, after the corporal had left him, and said some stuff about looking after the camp, observing his front, and saluting officers, he had only to walk up and down a certain distance or stand still should he prefer it. After all, it was only a make believe, and "he warnt goin' to be made a vool on."
"Why don't you look sharper, sentry? Not one of those fellows to your left have passes; coming into camp at this time of night!" said an old hand, drawing the attention of the sentry to some few men leisurely passing across his beat into camp.
"Aint they though?" inquires Johnny, and proceeds to stop them and to demand the passes which each produces; meanwhile a goodly multitude of young rascals without passes, slip in among the tents unknown to our sentry, and have dodged being absent at roll call.
Another sentry story will suffice. It is a pouring wet night and the corporal starts on relief duties.
Corporal to relief, on approaching the cooking department, where are carts and ovens scattered about, "Relief, halt. Where's the sentry?" "Doan't know. Doan't zee un," said the man whose turn to be relief had come. "Didn't ask you," savagely retorted the corporal, and raising his voice, shouted out to the missing sentry, adding, "Where have you got to?" "Here," said a voice from under a waggon, a few yards inside the beat. "Here! Call under a waggon, here! Come out this instant. The colonel will let you know about this to-morrow," exclaimed the angry corporal, as the dripping man crept from under the shelter of the cart, and humbly apologized for being there; giving, as an excuse, "That he hadn't no greatcoat, that it poured 'wuss' enough to wet him through; and that them 'chimbleys and things' could be seen just as well from under the cart as 'where you said I was to stand.'"