n consequence, the review turned out a failure. In those
days the Volunteers were not provided with great coats, and a torrential
downpour soon wet every man to the skin. Reviewing under these conditions
would have been decidedly uncomfortable and unsatisfactory; consequently,
the whole battalion was dismissed, and told to seek shelter in the best
places they could find. The Keighley detachment went in batches into the
city. Drill-Sergeant Chick would have me to go with him into the nearest
tavern. The drill-sergeant was a remarkable man in his way, and over a
glass of ale he declared, with an unblushing countenance, that he had
been in some parts of the world where it had rained ten times heavier for
twelve months at a time than it was doing that day. Of course, I, in my
modesty kept quiet, and did not challenge the veracity of the statement
of this wonderful man. Yes; there were some "fine" boys among the
Volunteers in those days. We had some very popular non-commissioned
officers who were very kind to us, which made it a pleasure to serve
under them.

REVIEW AT DONCASTER

The next review was at Doncaster, shortly afterwards, when the day was
about as hot as it was wet on the occasion of the abandoned review at
York. The commissariat was ample for every man, but it was generally
thought that an improvement might have been effected by substituting
something for the "cayenne pies," _alias_ pork pies. Each man had a lb.
pork pie and two pints of beer allowed. The pies were hotly peppered, and
we all declared that they would have given a dog the hydrophobia. Then
the pint pots for drinking ran short--a cruel occurrence on a hot and dry
day. Only half-a-dozen of these drinking utensils fell to the Keighley
detachment, and they fell into the hands of six of the "smartest" lads in
the whole corps--Privates Billy Bentley, Jack Thom, John Hargreaves, Ned
Thretten, Jack Wilkinson, and Long Stanhope. I, for one, badly wanted to
quench my thirst, but was unable to do so, for the above-mentioned six
brave soldiers stuck to their guns--that is, their pint pots, manfully,
and there was no prospect of a drink until they had fairly "put the dust
down." At last, however, I managed to get a pot, but had it taken from me
as I was drinking. Captain Thomas Blakey went up to Private Bentley and
asked, "Are you a married man, Bentley?" "Yes," replied Bentley. "Have
you got any family?" "I have," said Bentley. "Well," said Captain Blake