Before dealing with the drilling of Spud on the barrack square I must not forget to record his first ragging affair. This, as in the case of every recruit, occurred on the first night in the barrack-room. It is known as "setting the bed." As each bed is a collapsible affair, kept together by movable bolts and stays, it is quite an easy matter to abstract a few, leaving sufficient to allow the practical jokers to carry out their scheme. On the night in question Spud, of course, was quite unconscious of any trouble to come. When "Lights out" sounded he hopped into bed and soon was fast asleep. His snoring was the signal for the mischievous rascals to crawl out of their beds. Dirty Dick was one. He fastened long strings to the legs of the sleeping man’s bed. To the ends of his blankets strings were also attached. During these operations a "ghost" was getting ready by draping a white sheet over his body and tipping his fingers and eyes with phosphorus. A sergeant’s sword was also given a touch of gleaming phosphorus. This completed, all scuttled back to their beds and waited for the signal. "Go," shouted the leader. The strings were tugged, away went the legs, off went the blankets, and with a horrible crash Spud’s bed collapsed like a pack of cards on to the floor. His dreams were rudely shattered, and he found himself standing in his shirt-tail ’midst the wreckage, muttering some unparliamentary thoughts. The stillness and darkness of the barrack-room made the affair uncanny. He had just commenced to wonder whether his brain was sound when he was again startled to see a ghost advancing down the room, loudly exclaiming, "Spud Tamson, I am the Ghost of Jack the Ripper. I have come to slit thy gizzard with a sword, so prepare to pass into the land where the angels sell ice-cream and all drinks are free." This eerie person also waved his blazing-sword and hands in such a terrifying way that poor Spud shivered with a strange and awful fear. He thought he was in something like Dante’s Inferno. Nearer, nearer came the "Ghost," waving his awful sword. Was he to die? Would he never see his dearly beloved Gallowgate again? And oh, what of his Mary Ann, that romantic Glasgow creature who held his heart in the hollow of her hand? Something had to be done. Just then he caught the suppressed laughter of his fellows. His fears vanished with the wind. He knew he was being ragged. Again he would show his pluck. Picking up an iron leg of his bed, he waited for the "Ghost" to come quite near. "Spud Tamson, bare thy black and unwashed neck—I have come to slit it like a butcher cutting a pig——"