In cases where non-commissioned officers misconduct themselves, they are not confined in the guard-room, but considered as placed under arrest in their own room, without a guard over them. In serious cases, where it is necessary to hold a court-martial over them, and the offence is established, they are generally sentenced to be reduced to the rank and pay of a private, being stripped of their stripes in the presence of a parade of the whole regiment. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part, sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The sergeant; to whom I alluded in a former chapter as having deserted from Liverpool, where he was stationed in command of a recruiting party, was the first non-commissioned officer that ever I witnessed "broke" and reduced to the ranks. It was two years after the corporal with whom he deserted gave himself up, and the regiment was then stationed at York. The sergeant had been to the "gold diggings" in California, or part way there; but, after a great deal of privation and suffering, he resolved to come to England again and run his chance of being taken as a deserter. Landing in Liverpool, spirit-broken, and with but little money in his pocket, he set out for his native place, somewhere near Sheffield, travelling by railway; and having to change carriages at Victoria Station, Manchester, he was recognised by our adjutant (the son of a Liverpool brewer), who had been on a visit to his friends, and of course given into the custody of the police until an escort could be sent to bring him to head-quarters. He was tried by court-martial in the ordinary course, and, having made away with all his regimental clothing, kit, necessaries, and some money belonging to the regiment, he was sentenced to three months' imprisonment in York gaol, and reduced to the rank and pay of a private soldier. Some months after he had returned to his duty, I was on guard with him one very cold night in the depth of winter. We were sitting round the guard-room fire waiting for our turn to go on sentry. The ex-sergeant, was dull and morose generally, and more especially when on guard; "the time above all times," he used to say, when he reflected the most upon his disgrace, was as he paced to and fro in the dark and deep stillness of a winter's night. We had a gay young Irishman in the same relief, Jerry O'Neil, who had told several good stories in the course of the night and so got the party into good spirits. Singing was not allowed in the guard-room; and, therefore, story-telling was always the most approved method of entertainment. We had each told our story, and it came round to Brailsford's turn (that was his name); and, now that he was a private soldier, he was always addressed by his surname, like the rest of us.