“Now, gin’lemen, you’ll please to observe that, when I says ‘Shoulder!’—will you look this way, Mr. Wildgoose, if you please?—when I says ‘Shoulder!’ you must each take a firm ‘grist’ (grasp) of his piece (a titter)—just here, about the middle; and when I gives the word ‘Up!’ you must chuck her up sharp. Now, then. ‘Shoulder!’ ‘Grist’ her higher, Mr. Cobbold. ‘Up!’ That’s it.” “D——n it, Cobbold, take care what you’re at, man,” exclaimed Cobbold’s left-hand man, on getting a crack on the head from the said Cobbold’s awkward shouldering. “Order! as you were!—What are you doing, sir? That’s not right. When I says ‘As you were,’ I means ‘As you was;’ that is, as you was afore—rewerting to your former pisishion. Right about face! That’s it. Now, gin’lemen, when I says ‘Left about face,’ you’ll please to do jist the same thing, only directly the _contrary_. Steady, gin’lemen, if you please—steady! Now march in file—quick march—lock-up step!” “Brown, mind where you’re treading, man.” “D——n it, I can’t help it; _don’t_ be so savage.” “Mark time! that is, keep moving without advancing. Halt front! left back’ards wheel! Now, gin’lemen, you’ll be pleased to remember that when I gives the words ‘Quick march!’ you’ll fall back’ards on the pivot man—that is to say, on the wheeling pint—all one as a gate on its ’inges. Quick march! that’s it, gin’lemen—that’s it.” In this style the good-humoured but consequential little sergeant was wont to instruct us in the rudimental part of the glorious art of war. On breaking off and dismissing the awkward squad the young men composing it assembled round Sergeant Giblett, who appeared to be a prime favourite amongst them, and he on his part was evidently so much pleased with them, that it was obviously with difficulty that his good-nature allowed him to maintain that dignity which he evidently felt, and which ought to be the inseparable concomitant of command. “Well, sergeant, how did I do to-day?” “Why, sir,” said Giblett, “it’s not my wish to flatter no gin’leman, but you have sartainly improved in your marchings.” “And me, sergeant,” said another, “how do I get on?” “Why, sir, you’ll soon be all right, if you pays a little more attention.” “I say, sergeant, what makes you call the musket ‘she?’” “Why, you know, sir, the firelock among ’Ropeyarn[27] sogers (it’s different, of coorse, among the Seapies[28]) alw’s goes by the denomy-nation of Brown Bess, and so we calls it ‘she.’” “Oh, that’s it, is it, sergeant?” “Take a glass of grog, Giblett, after your fatigues?” “Thankye, sir, I don’t care if I do.” “Here, you bearer, black fellow,” said the donor, “_brandy_, _shrub_, _pawney_, _sergeant_, _ko do_” (_i.e._, give the sergeant some brandy-and-water). Sergeant Giblett took the empty glass, extended his arm in one direction to have it filled, whilst he turned his head in another; bearer applies his teeth to the brandy-bottle to get the cork out.