I was made very comfortable.

There were between forty and fifty soldiers stationed in the barracks--harmless warriors--who were very attentive.

At nightfall the tattoo was beaten.

The gong sounded; its notes died away in a distant murmur, then brayed forth with a stentorian clangour that might wake the dead.

At the same time a tattoo was beaten on the drum, then a gun was fired and the noise ceased, to be repeated again during the night at the change of guard.