THE DOCTOR AND THE SENTRY
Years ago in New Zealand there was a chain of forts stretching from
the sea to the centre of the island. These forts were intended to keep
open the road that had been constructed at great trouble and expense,
on which a coach ran every week, conveying the mails and passengers to
and from the wonderlands of Taupo and Rotomahana.
The headquarters of the district was at a place called Opepe, and
consisted of a strong stockaded fort on the top of a pumice-stone
hill, or, rather, I should say on a flat piece of ground surrounded by
steep-sided gullies, which made it into a hill, and contained
sufficient area for the fort and a parade ground.
Through the gully in front ran the road, and on the other side of the
road were the troopers' stables and a hotel for coach passengers,
which also held the troopers' canteen. The fort was approached by a
zigzag path cut out of the hill, which was here perpendicular, and on
the top of the path was posted a sentry.
Now among the officers stationed at headquarters was a doctor who had
medical charge of the district. As far as his profession went, he had
scarcely anything to do. The men were all picked men, most of them
young; and in that splendid climate, with plenty of good, healthy work
to do, sickness was almost unknown. This was very fortunately the
case, as the doctor, having, perhaps, too much spare time on his
hands, and caring nothing for sport, devoted that time to the worship
of Bacchus and, at the time I write about, had become scarcely fit to
attend to a crocodile, much less a human being.
Had he not given the regimental sergeant-major a dose for a cold that
made that ancient warrior tie himself into complicated knots, then
dance and squirm for a week, and even curse him for a year afterwards
with a fervency that made the atmosphere tingle and the blue sky grow
cloudy? Yes, it was fortunate the men were a healthy lot, and the
doctor's medicine was not in demand. The medico's appearance was also
decidedly against him. He wore his hair and whiskers, which were
white, very long. His face was very red, and his nose, bulbous in
shape, was purple in colour. He was, moreover, very slovenly in dress
and dirty in his habits. It was strange he, being an Irishman by
birth, should be morose and ill-tempered when sober (I beg his pardon.
I don't think I ever saw him really sober), and far from amusing when
drunk. So, taking him in the large, he was neither popular nor
respected by his brother-officers nor by the men. He had never been on
active service, was very nervous of being sent on it, and had a holy
dread of fire-arms of all sorts.
Well, this beauty made it his habit to go down to the hotel every
night and booze there by himself. The men's canteen was closed at 9.30
P.M., and lights-out was blown at ten. The doctor would leave the
hotel at 10.30 and proceed up the hill to his quarters; and as by
this time he was quite full up, he would climb the steep zigzag path
on his hands and knees, and refuse to answer the challenge of the
sentry. This caused trouble; he was reported over and over again and
the O.C. reprimanded him once or twice, till at last, determining to
give him a fright, he ordered the sentry to be served out with some
blank ammunition, and that if the doctor again refused to answer the
challenge, he was to let rip at him with a blank charge.
The following night the doctor began his crab-like ascent. "Halt, who
goes there?" rang out the challenge. No answer. Twice again the
challenge was repeated. Still no answer. Bang went the carbine. A loud
yell from the medico, and he rolled over and over to the foot of the
hill. Promptly the guard turned out. Down the hill they ran and found
the doctor much shaken by his roll, and sobered by his fright.
They brought him up, and next morning at office he complained to the
O.C., and charged the sentry with trying to murder him, swore that he
had heard the bullet whiz just past his ear, and that it was dangerous
to trust a sentry with such a thing as a carbine.
The O.C. listened to him and told him he could not punish the sentry
for firing at him, as he was performing his duty by doing so, but he
would severely reprimand him for making such a bad shot, and the next
sentry who missed him would be severely punished.
This put the fear of the Lord into the doctor; but the force of habit
was too strong for him, and the following night he was down at his
usual haunt, filled up, and started at 10.30, his usual time, to
return in his usual manner; but he took unusual precautions. No sooner
had he crept across the road than he started howling at the top of his
voice: "Friend, friend, friend"; and so on up the hill, past the
laughing sentry and guard, across the parade ground and crawled into
his quarters, still yelping his protecting cry.
This went on for a few nights, until one day he had to visit an
out-station. He stayed there that day, got full up and started to
return home that night. He must have fallen off his old pony and slept
in the fern, for he did not turn up till 6 A.M. next morning. Then,
having handed over his nag to the stable orderly, he immediately made
for the hotel, and began to freshen his nip with more liquor. That day
there was a commanding officer's parade, and at 10 o'clock all the
officers and men fell in. By 10.30 the inspection was over and the men
standing at ease, previous to the drill commencing, when the howl of
"Friend, friend!" was heard coming nearer and nearer. It seems that
the doctor, true to the clock, had filled up, and at his usual time,
but, oblivious to the fact that it was 10.30 A.M., and not 10.30 P.M.,
was making the best of his way to his lair and, by way of protection
against the possible murderous attack of the sentry, was singing his
usual ditty of "Friend, friend!"
Presently he appeared over the crest of the hill on his hands and
knees, crawling across the parade ground towards the quarters, still
uttering his doleful howl, when, glancing up, he saw the long line of
men looking at him. He staggered to his feet and gazed at them for a
full minute, with horror and consternation depicted on his face, then
yelled out, "O blessed St Bridget, they mean to kill me this night.
Sure, they've mounted one hundred bally sentries, and they can't all
miss me." With that he reeled away, looking over his shoulder and,
still yelling his shibboleth of "Friend, friend!" ran to earth in the
welcome portal of his stronghold. This spectacle was too much for the
risibility of the parade; officers and men went into a roar of
laughter, which could not be checked for some time.
Next morning the doctor was informed he must resign or stand a
court-martial. He did the former, and we got rid of him, while he
retired to some place where he could indulge in his favourite pastime
without running into danger from a murderous sentry or of the unkind
remarks of a censorious commanding officer.