I noticed Sands got up rather hurriedly when the Colonel’s eye reached him; but he recovered himself outside the tent. He pushed his hat on to the back of his head, stuffed both hands in his pockets and led the way all over the place. The doctor was not in his tent and seemed to have died or deserted. We wandered about endlessly, without any obvious plan of campaign. Now and then Sands would stop some one and ask when the doctor had last been seen; and always he finished by swearing in a bored kind of way. Then off we moved again.
At last we found ourselves where we had started—outside the big tent. “Stay there,” Sands said suddenly, and disappeared inside. He came out with a large printed paper, a book, a pen, and a bottle of ink. The bottle of ink he balanced on a post, the pen he put between his teeth. Next he began to open out the sheet; and the wind took hold of it, shook it and wrestled with it; and he bungled it, crumpled it, and finished by swearing again. But in the end he won, and we took up opposite positions and made a start on our business. He asked endless questions, which I answered, and we came to the oath. “Take off your hat,” he said. He became solemn in a moment with an ease entirely his own and took off his hat. Next he held out a Bible. I took it and we began the oath. The wind blew, Sands mumbled; and there was difficulty in following what he said. More than once he eyed me sternly, and repeated the sentence. But we came through it safely, the signatures were made, the ceremony was ended. There was still the doctor’s signature to get; but Sands was sick of me. He pushed the paper into my hand, waved in the direction of the doctor’s tent, and departed.
I journeyed anew after the doctor, and this time found him in his tent. He was alone, reading a long letter and smiling over it. He asked what I wanted, told me to strip, and went on reading. He read still when I was ready; but presently put the letter away and started to tap me. He tried my teeth, tried my eyes, said I would do, and, while I dressed, filled in the papers.
I took the papers to the Brigade Office, and gave them to Sands. The Colonel was there, talking to an officer I did not know. “Captain Knight, I am giving Lake to you,” he said. “He will be coming on Sunday or Monday; in the meantime he is going down to Gippsland. Make him out a railway pass, will you?”
The captain swung round. He was a clean, rather well dressed man, with a restless manner. “Yes, sir,” he said, saluting. He told me to follow him, and marched off down a row of tents and across horse-lines, until we came to a tent with a notice board in front. A sergeant-major and a couple of clerks were inside writing: sundry other fellows hung round the door. Knight bounced into the tent with me at his heels.
“This man has been given to us, sergeant-major. He wants to get down to Gippsland to-morrow. Make a pass out, please.” He turned to me. “When can you come, Lake?”
“Sunday or Monday,” I answered.
“Then come here Sunday morning. We have not much time, and you ought to get in all the drills you can. I can’t wait. The sergeant-major will give you your pass.” He went off at full speed.
I was given the railway pass, and left the tent with mixed feelings. There was no drawing back; but—yes—I was glad. I walked fast, guessing Ted would be bored, and in truth he was at the gate, passing time by cracking his whip.
“I’m in!” I called out. Ted grinned and drew the reins together.