We stood easy awaiting the arrival
of the general; platoons sized from flanks to centres (namely, the
tallest men stood at the flanks, and the khaki lines dwindled in
stature towards the small men in the middle), and company officers at
front and rear. The officers saw that everything was correct, that no
lace-ends showed from under the puttees, that no lace-eye lay idle,
and that laces were not crossed over the boots. Each man had shaved
and got his hair cut, his hat set straight on his head, and the
regimental badge in proper position over the idle chin-strap.
Pocket-flaps and tunics were buttoned, water-bottles and haversacks
hung straight, the tops of the latter in line with the bayonet rings,
and entrenching tool handles were scrubbed clean--my mate and I had
spent much soap on ours the night before.
One of our officers gave us instructions as to how we had to behave
during the inspection, more especially when we were under the direct
gaze of the general.
"Not a movement," he told us. "Every eyelash must be still. If the
general asks me your name and I make a mistake and say you are Smith
instead of Brown, your real name, you're not to say a word. You are
Brown for the time being. If he speaks to you, you're to answer:
'Sir,' and 'Sir' only to every question. If you're asked what was your
age last birthday, 'Sir' is to be the only answer. Is that clear to
every man?"
It was, indeed, clear, surprisingly clear; but we wondered at the
command, which was new to us.
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