The Dead Drummer: a Legend of Salisbury Plain. 



That he was, or had been, 

 A something between 

 The regular "Jack" and the " Jolly Marine." 

 For though he would give an occasional hitch, 

 Sailor-like, to his slops, there was something, the which 

 On the whole savoured more of the pipe-clay than pitch. 

 Such were now the two men who appeared on the Hill, 

 Harry Waters the tall one, the short "Spanking Bill." 



To be caught in the rain, 

 I repeat it again, 

 Is extremely unpleasant on Salisbury Plain. 

 And when with a good soaking shower there are blended 

 Blue lightnings and thunder, the matter's not mended. 

 Such was the case 

 In this wild dreary place 

 On the day that I'm speaking of now, when the brace 

 Of travellers alluded to quickened their pace, 

 Till a good steady walk became more like a race, 

 To get quit of the tempest which held them in chase. 



Louder and louder 



Than mortal gunpowder 

 The heavenly artillery kept crashing and roaring, 

 The lightning kept flashing, the rain too kept pouring, 



While they, helter-skelter 



In vain sought for shelter 

 From what I've heard termed "a regular pelter." 



But never a screen 



Could be any where seen, 

 Or an object, except that on one of the rises 



An old way-post showed 



Where the Lavington road 

 Branched off to the left from the one to Devizes. « 



And thither the footsteps of Waters seemed tending, 

 Though a doubt might exist of the course he was bending, 

 To a landsman at least, who wherever he goes, 

 Is content for the most part to follow his nose; 



While Harry kept backing 



And "filling" and "tacking;" 

 Two nautical terms which, I'll wager a guinea, are 



Meant to imply 



What you, Reader, and I 

 Would call going zigzag, and not rectilinear. 



