FullReads

The next day, being thoroughly armed, we put on everything red, white, and blue that we could think of–night-shirts are good for white, and you don’t know what you can do with red socks and blue jerseys till you try–and we waited by the church-yard wall for the soldiers. When the advance-guard (or whatever you call it of artillery–it’s that for infantry, I know) came by we got ready, and when the first man of the first battery was level with us Oswald played on his penny whistle the “advance” and the “charge”–and then shouted:

“Three cheers for the Queen and the British Army!”

This time they had the guns with them. And every man of the battery cheered too. It was glorious. It made you tremble all over. The girls said it made them want to cry–but no boy would own to this, even if it were true. It is babyish to cry. But it was glorious, and Oswald felt different to what he ever did before.

Then suddenly the officer in front said, “Battery! Halt!” and all the soldiers pulled their horses up, and the great guns stopped too. Then the officer said, “Sit at ease,” and something else, and the sergeant repeated it, and some of the men got off their horses and lit their pipes, and some sat down on the grass edge of the road, holding their horses’ bridles.

We could see all the arms and accoutrements as plain as plain.

Then the officer came up to us. We were all standing on the wall that day, except Dora, who had to sit, because her foot was bad, but we let her have the three-edged rapier to wear, and the blunderbuss to hold as well–it has a brass mouth, and is like in Mr. Caldecott’s pictures.

He was a beautiful man the officer. Like a Viking. Very tall and fair, with mustaches very long, and bright blue eyes.

He said:

“Good-morning.”

So did we.

Then he said:

“You seem to be a military lot.”

We said we wished we were.

“And patriotic,” said he.

Alice said she should jolly well think so.

Then he said he had noticed us there for several days, and he had halted the battery because he thought we might like to look at the guns.

Alas! there are but too few grown-up people so far-seeing and thoughtful as this brave and distinguished officer.

We said, “Oh yes,” and then we got off the wall, and that good and noble man showed us the string that moves the detonator, and the breech-block (when you take it out and carry it away, the gun is in vain to the enemy, even if he takes it); and he let us look down the gun to see the rifling, all clean and shiny; and he showed us the ammunition boxes, but there was nothing in them. He also told us how the gun was unlimbered (this means separating the gun from the ammunition carriage), and how quick it could be done–but he did not make the men do this then, because they were resting. There were six guns. Each had painted on the carriage, in white letters, 15 Pr., which the captain told us meant fifteen-pounder.

“I should have thought the gun weighed more than fifteen pounds,” Dora said. “It would if it was beef, but I suppose wood and gun are lighter.”

And the officer explained to her very kindly and patiently that 15 Pr. meant the gun could throw a shell weighing fifteen pounds.

When we had told him how jolly it was to see the soldiers go by so often, he said:

“You won’t see us many more times. We’re ordered to the front; and we sail on Tuesday week; and the guns will be painted mud-color, and the men will wear mud-color too, and so shall I.”

The men looked very nice, though they were not wearing their busbies, but only Tommy caps, put on all sorts of ways.