The next day Tom took me to an unoccupied bungalow, near the lines, used for various purposes, in order that I might have my first lesson in the manual and platoon. We found Sergeant Giblett already there, and talking to several cadets or ensigns, who seemed much amused, and listening to him attentively. “And that, as near as I can kal-ki-late, was when I first jined the army under his Excellency Lifttennant Gineral Lord Lake”—was, however, all we caught of the yarn. Rattleton now introduced me to my brother-aspirants for military glory—beardless tyros, wild as unbroken colts, and all agog for fun and frolic, in whatever shape it might present itself. “You’ve never had no instruction in the man’il and plytoon, I think you said, Sir?” said the sergeant to me, touching his hat. “You’re quite right; I did say so.” “Well then, sir, if you please, as it’s the first day, it’ll be jist as well for you to look on.” “Now, gin’lemen,” said Sergeant-Major Giblett, dismissing at once his countenance of colloquial familiarity, and assuming the “wrinkled front” of stem duty; “now, gin’lemen, if you please—we’re a-losing of time, and had better begin. I think you’re all here, with the hexception of Mr. Wildman, and he, I am given to onderstand, is ill-disposed this morning.” At this speech one of the young hands in the squad winked to his neighbour, as much as to say, “Twig the sergeant”—he exploded with laughter; his next file gave him a jerk or dig with his elbow—he lost his balance, tumbled against his neighbour, and a general derangement of the ranks followed. “Come, gin’lemen, gin’lemen,” said the sergeant, half angry, “this won’t do—this won’t never do; if I am to teach you your man’l and plytoon, you must be steady—you must upon my life. Come, tention,” said he, briskly squaring up, and throwing open his shoulders, as if determined to proceed to business. “Shoulder! up! Order! up! Onfix bagganets! That’s all right. Shoulder! up! That won’t do, Mr. Cobbold; you must catch her up sharper than that. Now, please to look at me, sir,” taking the musket in hand, and doing the thing _secundum artem_. Another half-smothered laugh again disturbed the little sergeant’s self-complacency. “Oh! this can’t be allowed, gin’lemen. I’ll give it up—I’ll give it up, I will indeed. I’ll report you all to the adjutant, if this here larking goes on, I will.” This threat had a sedative effect on the disorderly rank and file, who now looked wonderfully demure, though with that mock and constrained gravity which threatened a fresh outbreak on the next elocutionary attempt of the self-important sergeant.