“Four, sir,” said I.
“How many are there now?”
“Two.”
“Pull that machine. Blow that machine. That will do; you can go,” said the doctor. “Sergeant-major, send in the next one.”
There were thirteen of us sent in one after the other; but only two, Dick Marshall, a Suffolk lad, and myself, were passed,—the rest having some defect which made them unfit for soldiers.
On our return, the sergeant asked Marshall and me if we would mind being transferred to the 90th regiment, stationed at Manchester.
We answered, “Not in the least.”
On that we handed back our shillings to the sergeant of the 44th regiment; the recruiting-sergeant of the 90th Light Infantry putting fresh shillings in our hands, and thus enlisting us in his regiment. We were then taken to a magistrate, and sworn in to serve Her Majesty for a period of ten years, if at home; or if on foreign service, not to exceed twelve.
We finished our day with a dinner, of which I may say that I have eaten many a better; and we then took a stroll about Westminster, and had a look at the fine old abbey and the Houses of Parliament, where the laws are made. I may just remark that a soldier, if he keeps his eyes open, and himself out of the beer-shop, may, wherever he goes, see a number of places and things worth seeing, which will give him something to think about and talk about to the end of his life.
The next day, after breakfast, we were marched off to “pass the colonel;” that is, that he might see us, and say whether he would have us. He arrived at noon.