When it comes to long marches, to sleeping on the ground in the wet, bad food, and fever from the marshes, the young soldier breaks down, the hospital gets full of boys, and they just die off like flies, while the older men pull through." "You are a Job's comforter, I must say," Jack said with a laugh; "but I must hope that I shan't have long marches, and bad food, and damp weather, and marsh fever till I get a bit older." "I don't want to discourage you," the sergeant remarked, "and you know there are young soldiers and young soldiers.

There are the weedy, narrow chested chaps as seems to be made special for filling a grave; and there is the sturdy, hardy young chap, whose good health and good spirits carries him through.

That's your sort, I reckon.

Good spirits is the best medicine in the world; it's worth all the doctors and apothecaries in the army.

But how did you come to be pressed?
it's generally the ne'er do well and idle who get picked out as food for powder.