His first walk abroad from barracks, clad in the “walking-out” finery of shell-jacket and overalls, with the jingle of spurs and effort at the true Cavalry swagger, or rather the first attempt at a walk abroad, for the expedition had ended disastrously ere well begun. Unable to shake off his admirer, Trooper Herbert Hawker, Dam had just passed the Main Guard and main gates in the company of Herbert, and the two recruits had encountered the Adjutant and saluted with the utmost smartness and respect…. “What the Purple Hell’s that thing?” had drawled the Adjutant thereupon—pointing his whip at Trooper Henry Hawker, whose trap-like mouth incontinent fell open with astonishment. “It’s got up in an imitation of the uniform of the Queen’s Greys, I do believe!… It’s not a rag doll either…. It’s a God-forsaken undertaker’s mute in a red and black shroud with a cake-tin at the back of its turnip head and a pair of chemises on its ugly hands…. Sergeant of the Guard!… Here!” “Sir?” and a salute of incredible precision from the Sergeant of the Guard. “What the name of the Devil’s old Aunt is _this_ thing? What are you on Guard for? To write hymns and scare crows—or to allow decayed charwomen to stroll out of barracks in a dem parody of your uniform? Look at her! Could turn round in the jacket without taking it off. Room for both legs in one of the overalls. Cap on his beastly neck. Gloves like a pair of … _Get inside you_!… Take the thing in with a pair of tongs and bury it where it won’t contaminate the dung-pits. Burn it! Shoot it! Drown it! D’ye hear?… And then I’ll put you under arrest for letting it pass….” It had been a wondrously deflated and chapfallen Herbert that had slunk back to the room of the reserve troop, and perhaps his reputation as a mighty bruiser had never stood him in so good stead as when it transpired that an Order had been promulgated that no recruit should leave barracks during the first three months of his service, and that the names of all such embryos should be posted in the Main Guard for the information of the Sergeant…. Memories …! His first march behind the Band to Church…. The first Review and March Past…. His first introduction to bread-and-lard…. His wicked carelessness in forgetting—or attempting to disregard—the law of the drinking-troughs. “So long as one horse has his head down no horse is to go.” There had been over a score drinking and he had moved off while one dipsomaniac was having a last suck. His criminal carelessness in not removing his sword and leaving it in the Guard-room, when going on sentry after guard-mounting—“getting the good Sergeant into trouble, too, and making it appear that _he_ had been equally criminally careless “.