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Just behind the gun-carriage stalks a solitary figure in civilian
clothes--the unmistakable "blacks" of an Elder of the Kirk. At
first sight, you have a feeling that some one has strayed into the
procession who has no right there. But no one has a better. The sturdy
old man behind the coffin is named Adam Carmichael, and he is here,
having travelled south from Dumbarton by the night train, to attend
the funeral of his only son.
II
Peter Carmichael was one of the first to enlist in the regiment. There
was another Carmichael in the same company, so Peter at roll-call
was usually addressed by the sergeant as "Twenty-seven fufty-fower
Carmichael," 2754 being his regimental number. The army does not
encourage Christian names. When his attestation paper was filled up,
he gave his age as nineteen; his address, vaguely, as Renfrewshire;
and his trade, not without an air, as a "holder-on." To the mystified
Bobby Little he entered upon a lengthy explanation of the term in a
language composed almost entirely of vowels, from which that
officer gathered, dimly, that holding-on had something to do with
shipbuilding.
Upon the barrack square his platoon commander's attention was again
drawn to Peter, owing to the passionate enthusiasm with which he
performed the simplest evolutions, such as forming fours and sloping
arms--military exercises which do not intrigue the average private to
any great extent. Unfortunately, desire frequently outran performance.
Peter was undersized, unmuscular, and extraordinarily clumsy. For a
long time Bobby Little thought that Peter, like one or two of
his comrades, was left-handed, so made allowances. Ultimately he
discovered that his indulgence was misplaced: Peter was equally
incompetent with either hand. He took longer in learning to fix
bayonets or present arms than any other man in the platoon. To be
fair, Nature had done little to help him. He was thirty-three inches
round the chest, five feet four in height, and weighed possibly nine
stone. His complexion was pasty, and, as Captain Wagstaffe remarked,
you could hang your hat on any bone in his body. His eyesight was not
all that the Regulations require, and on the musketry-range he
was "put back," to his deep distress, "for further instruction."
Altogether, if you had not known the doctor who passed him, you would
have said it was a mystery how he passed the doctor.
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