" Then comes
much dressing of ranks and adjusting of distances. The Colonel is very
particular about a clean finish to any piece of work.
Presently the four companies are aligned: the N.C.O.'s retire to the
supernumerary ranks. The battalion stands rigid, facing a motionless
figure upon horseback. The figure stirs.
"Fall out, the officers!"
They come trooping, stand fast, and salute--very smartly. We must set
an example to the men. Besides, we are hungry too.
"Battalion, slope _arms!_ Dis-_miss!_"
Every man, with one or two incurable exceptions, turns sharply to his
right and cheerfully smacks the butt of his rifle with his disengaged
hand. The Colonel gravely returns the salute; and we stream away, all
the thousand of us, in the direction of the savoury smell. Two o'clock
will come round all too soon, and with it company drill and tiresome
musketry exercises; but by that time we shall have _dined_, and Fate
cannot touch us for another twenty-four hours.
III
GROWING PAINS
We have our little worries, of course.
Last week we were all vaccinated, and we did not like it. Most of
us have "taken" very severely, which is a sign that we badly needed
vaccinating, but makes the discomfort no easier to endure. It is
no joke handling a rifle when your left arm is swelled to the full
compass of your sleeve; and the personal contact of your neighbour in
the ranks is sheer agony.
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