The Military Sketch-Book. Vol. 1 (of 2): Reminiscences of seventeen years in the service abroad and at homeMaginn, William
General
The Military Sketch-Book. Vol. 1 (of 2): Reminiscences of seventeen years in the service abroad and at home
Maginn, William
Bushrangers; Military biography; Soldiers -- Conduct of life
beggar of Corpolar there,” a little slang-going Jack would cry out
from the rear-rank, well knowing that his size secured him from the
observation of the officer. Then perhaps the man immediately before
him, to show his sense of decorum, would turn round and remark: “I
say, who made you a fugle man, master Billy? can't ye behave like a
sodger afore the commander, eh?” Then from another part of the squad, a
stentorian roar would arise, with “I'll not stand this, if I do, bl——t
me; here's this here bl——y Murphy stickin' a sword into my starn.” Then
perhaps the middy[12] would give the word “_right face_,” in order to
prepare for marching; but some turned right and some left, while others
turned right round and were faced by their opposite rank man. This
confusion in a few minutes, however, would be rectified, and the word
“_march_” given: off they went, some whistling a quick-step, and others
imitating the sound of a drum with his voice, and keeping time with the
whistler, “row dididow, dididow, row dow, dow”—every sort of antic
trick began immediately, particularly treading on each others' heels.
I once saw a fellow suddenly jump out of the line of march, crying
out, “I be d——d if Riley hasn't spikes in his toes, an' I won't march
afore him any longer,” and then coolly fell in at the rear. “Keep the
step,” then was bandied about, with a thousand similar expressions,
slapping each other's hats down upon their eyes, elbowing, jostling,
and joking—away they went to beat the bushes for Frenchmen; and even
when under the fire of both the hidden riflemen and the rampart guns,
their jollity was unabated. One of these odd fellows was hit in the leg
by a rifle-ball which broke the bones, and he fell: it was in a hot
pursuit which he and a few others were engaged in after a couple of the
riflemen, who had ventured a little too far from their position, when,
seeing that he could follow no farther, he took off his tarry hat and
flung it with all his might after them; “there, you beggars, I wish it
was a long eighteen for your sakes.” The poor fellow was carried off by
his comrades, and taken to the hospital, where he died.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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