Chapter II: Part 2

4. Never allow your common-sense to overcome your natural modesty so far as to induce you to report to a superior officer the presence of the enemy in force. You will only acquire a reputation for officiousness by doing so.

5. Always attack an enemy in front. It is unsportsmanlike and unprofessional to attack the flanks.

6. When retiring before an attack maintain as close a formation as the ground will admit of, and retire directly upon the main infantry support. You will thus expose yourselves to the fire of both your own friends and the enemy, and as blank cartridge hurts nobody it will add to the excitement of the operation.

7. It is more important to roll your cloaks and burnish your bits than to worry about unimportant details of minor tactics.

8. Since a solitary horseman never attracts the enemy's attention, be careful to take up a position in compact formation; to do so by files might escape observation.

9. When being charged by the enemy, go fours about and gallop for all you are worth; it is just as agreeable to be prodded in the back as in the chest, and gives the enemy more satisfaction. To extend, or work to the flanks, might deprive your enemy of useful experience.

10. Never cast your eyes to the direction from which the enemy is not expected, as that is the usual direction of his real attack, and it is not polite to spoil the arrangement of your friend the enemy.

11. Lastly, remember that the best motto for Yeomanry Troopers is "Point de Zele."

* * * * *

OUR RIFLE VOLUNTEERS

_A Peace Song_ (1859)

(_Composed and volunteered by Mr. Punch_)

Some talk of an invasion
As a thing whereat to sneeze,
And say we have no occasion
To guard our shores and seas:
Now, _Punch_ is no alarmist,
Nor is moved by idle fears,
But he sees no harm that we all should arm
As Rifle Volunteers!

Let sudden foes assail us,
'Tis well we be prepared;
Our Fleet--who knows?--may fail us,
Nor serve our shores to guard.
For self-defence, then, purely,
Good reason there appears,
To have, on land, a force at hand
Of Rifle Volunteers!

To show no wish for fighting,
Our forces we'd increase;
But 'tis our foes by frighting
We best may keep at peace,
For who will dare molest us
When, to buzz about their ears,
All along our coast there swarms a host
Of Rifle Volunteers!

Abroad ill winds are blowing,
Abroad war's vermin swarm;
What _may_ hap there's no knowing,
We may not 'scape the storm.
Athirst for blood, the Eagles
May draw our dove's nest near;
But we'll scare away all birds of prey
With our Rifle Volunteers!

No menace we're intending,
Offence to none we mean,
We arm but for defending
Our country and our Queen!
To British hearts 'tis loyalty
'Tis love her name endears:
Up! then, and form! shield her from harm
Ye Rifle Volunteers!

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Trevor Carthew._ "Well, my grandmother died at the age of ninety-seven."

_Brown._ "In _my_ family there are several who are not dead yet!"]

* * * * *

_Small Boys_ (_to Volunteer Major in temporary command_). "I say, guv'nor--hi! Just wipe the blood off that 'ere sword!"]

* * * * *

_Sergeant._ "Back a little, number five!"]

_Sergeant._ "Up a little, number five!"]

* * * * *

_Aide-de-Camp (at the review)._ "What are you doing here, sir? Where's your regiment?"

_Party on the Grass._ "Shure I don' know. Bu-r I don't rec'nise your 'thority, gov'nour!"

_Aide-de-Camp (furious)._ "What the deuce d'you mean, sir? You're a Volunteer, aren't you?"

_Party on the Grass._ "_(Hic!)_ Norabirofit!--Was jus' now--bu-r I've reshigned 'n cons'quence--temp'ry indishposition!"]

* * * * *

_Captain._ "What's the charge, sergeant?"

_Sergeant._ "This time it's drunkenness, sir. But this man is the most troublesome fellow in the regiment, sir. He goes out when he likes, and comes in when he likes, and gets drunk when he likes--in fact, he might be a horficer!!"]

* * * * *

CHAT A LA MODE.

_Brown, Jones, and Robinson, discovered discussing the stats of the Navy in a first-class compartment._

_Brown._ My dear fellows, I can assure you we are in a terrible condition of unpreparedness. If France was to declare war to-morrow we should be nowhere--absolutely nowhere!

_Jones._ You mean, of course, with Russia.

_Robinson._ Or was it Italy?

_Brown._ It doesn't matter which. I fancy that France alone could tackle us. Why, a man was telling me the other day that if Gibraltar was seized--as it might be--we should not get a ship-load of wood for months--yes, for months!

_Jones._ But what has Gibraltar to do with it?

_Robinson._ Why, of course, it guards our approaches to the Suez Canal.

_Brown._ Oh, that's only a matter of detail. But what we want is a hundred millions to be spent at once. Cobden said so, and I agree with Cobden.

_Jones._ But upon what?

_Robinson._ Oh, in supporting the Sultan, and subsidising the Ameer.

_Brown._ I don't think that sort of thing is of much importance. But if we had a hundred millions (as Mr. Cobden suggested), we might increase our coaling stations, and build new ships, and double the navy, and do all sorts of things.

_Jones._ But I thought we were fairly well off for coaling stations, had lots of ships on the stocks, and, with the assistance of our merchant marine, an ample supply of good sailors.

_Robinson._ That's what all you fellows say! But wait till we have a war, then you will see the fallacy of all your arguments. No, we should buy the entire fleet of the world. There should be no other competitor. Britannia should _really_ rule the waves.

_Brown._ Yes, yes. Of course; but after all, that is not the important matter. What we want is a hundred millions available to be spent on anything and everything. And it's no use having further discussion because that was Cobden's view of it, and so it is mine.

_Jones._ Where is it to come from--out of the rates?

_Brown and Robinson_ (_together_). Certainly not.

_Jones._ Or the taxes?

_Brown and Robinson_ (_as before_). Don't be absurd.

_Jones._ Well, it must come from somewhere! Can you tell me where?

_Robinson._ Why should we?

_Brown._ Yes, why should we? Even Cobden didn't go so far as that, and----But, here we are at the station.

[_Invasion of porters, and end of the conversation._

* * * * *

_Extract from Private Letter.--April 1._

"I'm afraid Milly and I have put our respective feet in it this time. We thought we would test our capacities at hospital work, and attach ourselves to pa's regiment--of course, without telling pa--and were getting along quite nicely with a soldier who wasn't very well, when we met pa and the General and his regiment. They took away the patient, and judging from pa's looks, there's a warm time coming."]

* * * * *

The new helmet as ordinarily | The same, as worn on worn. | motor duty.

_Directions:_--Simply unhook the lower portion of the helmet; thereby extending the collapsible weather-and dust-proof mask. Admirable also as a disguise.]

* * * * *

_Sergeant of Signallers._ "What ai's Murphy to-day? He don't seem able to take in a thing!"

_Private Mulvaney._ "Shall I signal to 'im, 'Will ye 'ave a drink?'?"

* * * * *

_Army Candidate._ "And I only muffed one thing in the geography paper. Couldn't for the life of me think where the Straits of Macassar were!"

_Fond Father._ "Oh, I say, you ought to have known that. Fancy--the Straits of Macassar!"

_Army Candidate._ "Well, I didn't, anyhow. By the way, where are they, dad?"

_Fond Father._ "Oh--where are they? Oh--er--they're--well, they're---- but don't you think we'd better go to lunch?"]

* * * * *

_Club Wag._ "Well, good-night, Admiral."

_Warrior._ "There's a stupid joke. Admiral! Can't you see my spurs?"

_Wag._ "Oh, I thought they were your twin screws."]

* * * * *

* * * * *

MILITARY DIALOGUES

II

ARMY REFORM

SCENE.--_The canteen of the Rutlandshire Regiment, at Downboro', an
airy, plastered hall with high windows. A bar at one end is backed
by a rampart of beer barrels. A double line of barrack tables and
benches runs down the room. The hour is 5 p.m. At one of the tables
sits Mr. W. Wilson, late Private in the regiment, in all his glory
of a new check suit with an aggressive pattern, a crimson tie, a
horseshoe pin, an aluminium watch-chain, a grey "bowler" and a
buttonhole of violets. Privates W. and G. Smith, P. Brady, E. Dudd
and other men of H. company are at the table, or standing near it._

_Mr. Wilson (passing round a great tin measure containing beer, after taking a preliminary pull himself)._ Of course I do 'ear more, being in the smoke, than you 'ear down in this provincial 'ole; and there's generals and statesmen and such-like comes and stays at our place, and when they gets tied up in a knot over any military question, as often as not they says, "Let's ask Wilson, the under-gardener. 'E's a hex-military man; 'e's a 'ighly intellergent feller"; and I generally gets them out of their difficulty.

_Pte. W. Smith._ D'ye know anything about this army reform?

_Mr. Wilson (with lofty scorn)._ Do I know anything about it?

_Pte. G. Smith._ D'ye think they're going to make a good job of it?

_Mr. Wilson._ Naaw. And why? Becos they're goin' the wrong wai to work. They're arskin the opinion of perfeshernal hexperts and other sich ignoramuses, and ain't goin' to the fountain 'ead. Oo's the backbone of the English service?

_Pte. P. Brady._ The Oirish private.

_Mr. Wilson._ Right you are, my 'Ibernian--always subsitooting British for Hirish--and the British compiny is the finest horganisation in the world. Give the private a free 'and and a rise of pay, and make the compiny the model of the army, and then yer can put all the hexperts and all the Ryle Commissions and their reports to bed.

_Pte. Dudd._ As how?

_Mr. Wilson._ As 'ow, yer old thick head? It's as plain as a pike-staff. Taike this question of responsibility. When some one comes a bloomer, and the paipers all rise 'ell, the civilian toff, 'oos a sort of a commander-in-chief in a Sunday coat and a chimney-pot 'at, 'e says, "It ain't me. Arsk the real commander-in-chief," and the feeld-marshal 'e says, "Arsk the hadjutant-general," and the hadjutant-general, 'e says, "Arsk the hordnance bloke." Now in the compiny there ain't none of that. If the colonel goin' round at kit inspection finds the beds badly made up, or jags and sight-protectors deficient, or 'oles in the men's socks, 'e goes fierce for the captin' and threatens to stop 'is leave; and the captin' don't say, "Oh, it's the hadjutant, or the quarter-master, or the chaplain what's to blame," no, 'e gives the subalterns and the coloured-sergeant beans, and they slip it in to the sergeants and corprils in charge of squads, and the beds is set up straight, and the men put down for jags and sight-protectors, and the 'oles in the socks is mended.

_Pte. W. Smith._ That's so, old pal. What else would you recermend?

_Mr. Wilson_ (_reaching out for the measure)._ Thank yer. This 'ere army-reforming's a dry job. Now as to the metherd of attack. When the regiment goes out field-firing the henemy's a line of hearthenware pots, touched up on the sly by the markers with a dash of white; the captains count the telergraph posts up the range and give the exact distance; and the men goes 'opping along in line like crows on a ploughed field, the sergeantes a-naggin' 'em about the 'Ithe position and the coprils calling them back to pick up empty cartridge cases. Is that the wai, that you, George Smith, and you, Bill, and you, Pat, used ter creep up to the rabbit warrens when we used ter go out in the herly morning to assist the farmers to keep down the ground gime--poaching the colonel called it? No, we hexecuted wide turning movements and never showed no more than the tip of a nose. Let drill of attack alone, I say, and develop the sporting hinstinct of the private.

_Omnes._ 'Ear, 'ear.

_Mr. Wilson._ And this matter of mobility. Why, if you or me or any of us was on furlough at 'Ampstead or Margit, we was never off a 'orse's or a moke's back as long as the dibs lasted. Give us the brass, and we'll find the mobility.

_Pte. W. Smith._ Why don't yer write to the Prime Minister, and give him your ideas?

_Mr. Wilson._ I shall. A few hintelligent ex-privates in the Cabinet, a rise of pay for privates and two days' rabitting, and a trip to Margit every week would sive the British Army.

* * * * *

TRAMPS

["In spite of the demand for recruits, the number of tramps remain,
undiminished."--_Daily Paper._]

Why does not patriotic fire
My all too torpid heart inspire
With irresistible desire
To seek the tented camp, sir,
Where Glory, with her bronze V.C.,
Waits for the brave, perhaps for me?
Because I much prefer to be
A lazy, idle tramp, sir.

I toil not, neither do I spin.
For me, the laggard days begin
Hours after all my kith and kin
Are weary with their labours;
The heat and burden of the day
They bear, poor fools, as best they may,
While I serenely smoke my clay
And pity my poor neighbours.

When Afric burns the trooper brown,
By leafy lanes I loiter down
Through Haslemere to Dorking town,
Each Surrey nook exploring;
Or 'neath a Berkshire hay-rick I
At listless length do love to lie,
And watch the river stealing by
Between the hills of Goring.

Why should I change these dear delights
For toilsome days and sleepless nights,
And red Bellona's bloody rites
That bear the devil's stamp, sir?
Let others hear the people cry
"A hero he!"--I care not, I,
So I may only live and die,
A lazy, idle tramp, sir.

* * * * *

"Well, my dear Admiral, and how did you sleep?"

"Not at all, General. Confounded butterfly flew in at the window, and was flopping around all night--couldn't get a wink of sleep."

"Ah, dashed dangerous things, butterflies!"]

* * * * *

_First Driver (after a long day)._ "The 'orse 'rtillery's a-getting quite aristercratic. It don't dine till eight o'clock!!"

_Second Driver._ "Stroikes me to-morrow the 'orse 'rtillery'll be too aristercratic to dine at all!!"]

* * * * *

_Horrid Boy to newly-appointed Volunteer Major, (who finds the military seat very awkward_). "Sit further back, General! You'll make his 'ead ache!"]

* * * * *

No, this is not heroism; this is simply discretion. Little Plumpleigh has just given "Charge!" and taken one look behind to see if his men are "backing him up, don't you know," and he is now making for safety!]

* * * * *

_Mr. Punch._ "And this is what you call instructing the Volunteers?"]

* * * * *

_Second Bluejacket._ "Lieutenant, '_e_ reports as 'ow I were dirty, an' my 'ammick weren't clean, an' captin, '_e_ ses, 'Wash 'is bloomin' neck, scrub 'is bloomin' face, an' cut 'is bloomin' 'air, every ten minnits!'"]

* * * * *

_Boys (who had followed expecting a "spill.")_ "Aye--we've whiles seen a waur horse, but never a waur rider!"]

* * * * *

_(Energetic Sub has been pursuing runaway mule)._ "Well done, old chap! You deserve the D.S.O. at least. What is it? Ammunition?" "Ammunition! D.S.O.!! V.C., you mean!!!! Why, it's bottled beer!!!!"]

* * * * *

_British Subaltern._ "By-the-by, Smith, can you lend me that sovereign I gave you this morning for a Christmas-box?!"]

* * * * *

_Captain of Rural Corps (calling over the roll)._ "George Hodge!" _(No answer.)_ "George Hodge!--Where on earth's George Hodge?"

_Voice from the ranks._ "Please, sir, he's turned dissenter, and says fighting's wicked."]

* * * * *

THE BUSY BISLEY

SCENE--_Within measurable distance of Woking. Enter lounger and marksman R. and L._

_Lounger (heartily)._ Why, I _am_ glad to see you! And how are things going on?

_Marksman (cordially, but abruptly)._ Capitally! Good-bye!

_Loung._ But I say, what a hurry you are in! Can't you stop a minute for a chat?

_Marks._ Another time, but just now moments are precious.

_Loung._ But I say, you see I have found myself here--it doesn't take much longer than getting down to Wimbledon.

_Marks._ Of course it doesn't--whoever said it did? But there, old chap, I _must_ be off!

_Loung._ You are in a hurry! Ah, we used to have pleasant days in the old place?

_Marks._ Did we? I daresay we did.

_Loung._ Why, of course! Grand old days! Don't you remember what fun it used to be decorating your tent; and then, when the ladies came down--which they did nearly all the day long--what larks it was getting them tea and claret-cup?

_Marks._ Very likely. But we don't have many ladies now, and a good job, too--they _are_ a bore.

_Loung._ Well, you _are_ a chap! Why, how can there be any fun without your sisters, and your cousins, and your maiden aunts?

_Marks._ We don't want fun. But there, good-bye!

_Loung._ But I say, I have come all this way to look you up.

_Marks. (unbending)._ Very kind of you, my dear fellow, you have chosen rather an unfortunate time.

_Loung._ Why, at Wimbledon you had nothing to do!

_Marks._ Very likely. But then Bisley isn't Wimbledon.

_Loung. (dryly)._ So it seems. Everyone said that when they moved the camp further away from home, they would ruin the meeting.

_Marks._ Then everyone was wrong. Why, we are going on swimmingly.

_Loung._ It must be beastly dull.

_Marks._ Not at all. Lovely country, good range, and, after it rains, two minutes later it is dry as bone.

_Loung._ Yes, but it stands to reason that it _can't_ be as popular as Wimbledon.

_Marks._ My dear fellow, figures are the best test of that. In all the history of the Association we never had more entries than this year.

_Loung._ That may be, but you don't have half the fun you had nearer town.

_Marks. (laughing)._ Don't want to! Business, my dear fellow, not pleasure! And now, old man, I really _must_ be off. Ta! ta! See you later.

[_Exit._

Loung. Well, whatever he may say, I prefer Wimbledon. And as there doesn't seem much for _me_ to do down here, I shall return to town.

[_Does so. Curtain._

* * * * *

_Voice from Engine-room._ "Not at this end, sir!"]

* * * * *

_Festive Middy._ "I say, guv'nor! I think you must rather like being Bishop here!"

_His Lordship._ "Well, my boy, I hope I do! But why do you ask?"

_Festive Middy._ "Oh, I've just been taking a walk through the city,--and I _say_!--there _is_ an uncommonly good-looking lot o' girls about, and _no_ mistake!"]

* * * * *

_Colonel Smithson (of the Poonah Marines)._ "By the way, my boy at Sandhurst hopes to get into your regiment some day."

_Little Simpson (of the Royal Hussars Green)._ "Aw--I--aw hope your son is up to _our form!_"

_Colonel Smithson._ "_Your form!_ Dash it, he's over four feet high, anyhow!"]

* * * * *

_Old Gent (with difficulty)._ "Now really--Oh! this dis--graceful crowding--I'm--I'm positive my gun will go off!"]

* * * * *

_(The regiment is about to "march out" with twenty rounds of "blank cartridge.")_

_Sub-Lieutenant (of twenty-four hours' service)._ "Whereabouts is this pyrotechnic display of yours coming off, Colonel!!?"]

* * * * *

_Jack._ "Well, Polly lass, if it's true as 'ow you're going to get spliced to Bill, all I 'opes is that he'll stick to you through thick and thin!"

_Polly._ "Well, 'e _ought_ to, Jack. 'E works in a glue factory."]

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Volunteer Subaltern (as the enemy's scout continues to advance in spite of expenditure of much "blank" ammunition)._ "If that infernal yeoman comes any nearer, shy stones at him, some of you!"]

* * * * *

_Captain O'Dowd (of the firm of O'Dowd and Jones, stock-jobbers)._ "What'll I do now? It's beyond me jumpin' powers, an' if I wade I'll be wet to the waist." _(To Private Halloran, who in civil life is a stockbroker's clerk)._ "Here, Halloran, I want a carry over. You do it for me, an' I'll not forget it to you, me lad."

_Private Halloran._ "Sorry I can't, Captain. You know carryin'-over day is not till the sixteenth, an' this is only the seventh!"]

* * * * *

A LAY OF THE UNION JACK

(_By a patriotic Cockney_)

Though I feel less at home on the bounding wave
Than I do on the firm dry land,
I can spin you a yarn of a right good craft
That is true-British owned and manned.
The winds may blow, and the storms may beat,
And the hurricanes rage and roar,
But "the ship I love" on her course will hold
With the Union Jack at the fore.

Fair weather or foul, she ploughs along,
Leaving far astern the strand,
And many a towering sister bark
We pass on the starboard hand,
And, Westward ho! as we bear away!
I can count stout ships galore,
Abeam, in our wake, and ahead, that fly
The Union Jack at the fore.

And the sight of the flag that has swept the seas,
Nor ever has known disgrace,
Makes even a landlubber's bosom swell
With the pride of his English race.
At that gallant sight in my landsman's heart
I rejoice--and rejoice still more
That I'm only aboard of a road-car 'bus,
With the Union Jack at the fore!

* * * * *

* * * * *

DO'S AND DONT'S FOR VOLUNTEERS

1. DON'T go to camp. But if you do,

2. Don't get up when revally sounds. You'll find adjutant's parade in the early morning, the very early morning, such a beastly bore, and so bad for the liver that it is far wiser to stay in the "palliasse"--(besides, hasn't your doctor often told you that it is madness to suppose you can play such tricks at your time of life?)--they can only give you a few years' imprisonment for repeated mutinous conduct, and you could doubtless petition the Home Secretary for an aggravation of your sentence.

3. Don't submit to harsh or cursory remarks from the adjutant. Do answer him back. You know quite well that in private life you would not put up with his hasty, ill-considered and offensive language, nor permit him to hector you because your collar was not clean, and if you _have_ come on parade without cleaning your belt or rifle, what right has he to say that it makes him furious? Do point out to him how absurd it is to expect such minute attention to discipline on the part of so intelligent a volunteer as yourself.

4. Don't overtax your strength or weaken your heart by "doubling" up impossible hills, merely because the colonel (on a horse) thinks it looks pretty. Of course you would be perfectly ready to do anything that was necessary, but how can the empire's safety depend upon your losing your wind, when the enemy are some of your oldest friends, with a handkerchief tied round their sleeves?

5. Do insist upon having hot water to shave with, and an extra blanket when the nights get chilly. Very probably the captain of your company would turn out of his bed and take your palliasse if you asked him nicely.

6. Don't do any menial or degrading work, such as cleaning cooking utensils or greasing your own boots. The Government ought to know that gentlemen can't be expected to do that kind of work, and should provide an efficient staff of servants.

7. Don't do anything you would rather not.

8. Do set all military discipline at defiance. You probably know much better than your officers.

9. Don't blame me if you find yourself in prison.

10. Do make a stern resolution never to come to camp again.

11. Don't keep it.

* * * * *

BUTS AT BISLEY

_(Compiled by an evil-minded enthusiast)_

The shooting could not be more satisfactory _but_ for the customary "accident."

Everyone would make a "bull" _but_ for the haze and the shiftiness of the wind.

The catering is in every way excellent, _but_ heavy meals scarcely assist in getting on the target.

It is delightful to entertain visitors--especially ladies--at the camp, _but_ champagne-cup and provisions generally run into money.

It is healthy to sleep under canvas, _but_ when the thermometer marks ninety in the shade or the rain pours down in torrents a bed in an inn is preferable.

Bisley is a beautiful place, _but_ Woking cemetery is a dismal neighbour.

Distinctly it is nobly patriotic to spend a fortnight with the N. R. A., in the cause of the fatherland, _but_ is it quite worth the trouble?

* * * * *

_Job-master's Foreman._ "Very sorry, sir, but e's just gorn to a funeral!"]

* * * * *

(Scene--_General Inspection of Volunteer Battalion. Lieut. Tompkins--excellent fellow, but poor soldier--called out to show the General and British public what he knows._)

_General._ "Now, sir, you now have the battalion in quarter column facing south. How would you get into line, in the quickest possible way, facing north-east?"

_Tompkins (after much fruitless consideration)._ "Well, sir, do you know, that's always what I've wondered."

[_Report on subaltern officers--bad._

]

* * * * *

_Second M. S._ "Easy enough, old chap. Kill your grandmother."

_First M. S._ "Can't, dear boy. I'm keeping her for the Derby!"]

* * * * *

_Colonel (of the pre-examination period--to studious sub)._ "I say, youngster, you'll never make a soldier if you don't mind what you're about!"

_Sub (mildly)._ "I should be sorry to think that, sir!"

_Colonel._ "I saw you sneaking up the High Street yesterday, looking like a Methodist parson in reduced circumstances!--Hold up your head, sir! Buy a stick, sir! Slap your leg, sir! And stare at the girls at the windows!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Auxiliary Recruit (to himself)._ "Murder! Murder! What'll I do now? 'Drill-sarjint tould me always to salute me officer with the far-off hand, and here's two iv 'em! Faix, I'll make it straight for meself anyhow!"

[_Throws up both hands._

]

* * * * *

_Sergeant O'Leary._ "Double! Left! Right! What the blazes, Pat Rooney, d'ye mane by not doublin' wid the squad?"

_Pat._ "Shure, sergeant, 'twasn't a fair start"!]

* * * * *

_(Aiming drill.)_

_Musketry Instructor._ "Now, then! How do you 'xpect to see the hobject haimed at, if you don't keep your heye closed?"]

* * * * *

_Captain of Skirmishers (rushing in to seize picket sentries of the enemy)._ "Hullo! He-ar! You surrender to this company!"

_Opposition Lance-Corporal._ "Beg pardon, sir! It's the other way, sir. We're a brigade, sir!!!"]

* * * * *

_Sentry (with mixed ideas of manual and platoon)._ "Gar'd t'n out!"

_Commandant._ "Bless you, sir, what are you about?"

_Sentry._ "Shure, I'm waitin' for the worr'd foire!"

[Extract from Field Exercise or Red Book, pocket edition, page
356:--_Sentries paying compliments:_ "To field officers he will
_present_ arms."

]

* * * * *

_Captain Wilkinson (excitedly, to Major Walker, of the firm of Wilkinson, Walker, & Co., Auctioneers and Estate Agents)._ "Don't you think we'd better bring our right wing round to attack the enemy's flank, so as to prevent their occupying those empty houses we have to let in Barker's Lane?"]

* * * * *

_Sergeant-Major._ "Now, Private Smith, you know very well none but officers and non-commissioned officers are allowed to walk across this grass!"

_Private Smith._ "But, sergeant-major, I've Captain Graham's verbal orders to----"

_Sergeant-Major._ "None o' that, sir! Show me the captain's verbal orders! Show'm to me, sir!!"]

* * * * *

Captain Barble (East Suffolkshire R. V.) going to drill, has occasion to pass a certain window for reasons best known to himself. A vague idea possesses him that something is wrong somehow, or what should create such amusement on this occasion!]

* * * * *

MILITARY DIALOGUES

III

HOW IT SHOULD NOT BE DONE

_Interior of a dreary room in the War Office. A tired-looking young
officer, in mufti, sits at a table with great piles of papers, each
bundle tied with red tape and ticketed with labels of different
colours, on one side of it ready to his hand. Another pile of
papers, which he has already dealt with, is on the other side of the
table. He is an official and has many letters, the first two being
D. A. after his name. The gas has just been lighted. A clerk brings
in another fat bundle of papers._

_The Officer (patting the smaller pile on the table)._ These can go on, Smithers. That question of sardine-openers must go back to the commissariat, and the General commanding the Central District must be authorised to deal on his own responsibility with the matter of the fierce bull in the field where the recruits bathe. What have you got there?

_The Clerk._ It is the correspondence, sir, relative to that false tooth requisitioned for by the officer commanding the Rutlandshire Regiment for the first cornet of the band. The Medical Department sent it back to us this morning, and there is another letter in from the Colonel, protesting against his regiment being forced to go route marching to an imperfect musical accompaniment.

_The Officer (groaning)._ I thought we had got rid of that matter at last by sending it to the doctors.

_The Clerk._ No, sir. The Surgeon-General has decided that "one tooth, false, with gold attachment," cannot be considered a medical comfort.

_The Officer (taking a precis from the top of the papers)._ I suppose we must go into the matter again. It began with the letter from the Colonel to the General?

_The Clerk._ Yes, sir, here it is. The O. C. the Rutland Regiment has the honour to report that the first cornet player in the band has lost a tooth, and as the band has become inefficient in the playing of marching music in consequence, he requests that a false tooth may be supplied at Government expense.

_The Officer._ And the General, of course, replied in the usual formula that he had no fund available for such purpose.

_The Clerk._ Yes, sir; but suggested that the regimental band fund might be drawn on.

_The Officer._ Where is the Colonel's letter in reply. (It is handed to him.) Ah, yes. Band fund is established, he writes, for purchase of musical instruments and music, and not for repair of incomplete bandsmen, and refuses to authorise expense, except under order from the Commander-in-Chief.

_The Clerk._ The General sends this on to us with a remark as to the Colonel's temper.

_The Officer._ And we pass it to the Quarter-Master-General's people, suggesting that under certain circumstances a false tooth might be considered a "necessary," and a free issue made.

_The Clerk._ A very long memo, on the subject, in reply, from the Q.-M.-G., sir. He points out that though, under exceptional circumstances, a pair of spectacles might be held to be a sight-protector, a false tooth could not be held to be either a fork, a spoon, a shaving-brush, a razor, or even an oil bottle.

_The Officer._ We wrote back suggesting that it might pass as a "jag"--our little joke.

_The Clerk._ _Your_ little joke, sir. The Q.-M.-G.'s people didn't see it.

_The Officer._ No? Then the correspondence goes on to the Ordnance Department, with a suggestion that a false tooth might be considered an arm or an accoutrement.

_The Clerk._ The Director-General replies, sir, that in the early days of the British Army, when the Army Clothing Department's sole issue was a supply of woad, a tooth, or indeed a nail, might have reasonably been indented for as a weapon, but that, owing to the introduction and perfection of fire-arms, such weapons are now obsolete and cannot be issued.

_The Officer._ And now the Medical Service refuse to help us.

_The Clerk._ Yes, sir. They cannot bring the fixing of it under the head of surgical operations, and the Surgeon-General points out very justly, if I may be permitted to say so, sir, that a seal-pattern false tooth could hardly be considered a "medical comfort."

_The Officer._ What are we to do? The Colonel of the regiment is evidently furious.

_The Clerk._ We might send the correspondence to the Inspector of Iron Structures. He may be able to do or suggest something.

_The Officer._ Very well; and will you send off this telegram to my wife saying I have a long evening's work before me, and that I shall not be able to get back to dinner to-night? (_Exit the Clerk._) Whenever will they trust a General Commanding a District to spend for the public good on his own responsibility a sum as large as a schoolboy's allowance, and so take some of the unnecessary work off our shoulders?

[_He tackles wearily another file of papers._

* * * * *

"So glad to see you, Mrs. Bamsby! And how is your dear husband? Where _is_ the Colonel? I was only saying the other day, 'I wonder when I shall see Colonel Bamsby!'"

_Mrs. Colonel B._ "You'll see him _now_, my dear if I just step aside, or you walk round me."]

* * * * *

_Adjutant._ "Your orders are that when you are attacked, Captain Slasher, you are to fall back slowly."

_Capt. Slasher._ "In which direction am I to retire, sir?"

_Adjutant._ "Well, the proper way, of course, would be over that hill, but--_they intend to have lunch behind that farmhouse in the valley._"]

* * * * *

_Instructor._ "Now, I've explained the different 'sights,' you, Private Dumpy, tell me what a fine 'sight' is. Describe it as well as you can----"

_Private Dumpy._ "A fine sight, sir? A fine sight--(_pondering_)--'s a magnificen' spe'tacle, sir!!"]

* * * * *

_Sergeant._ "Can I do anything for you, captain?"

_Captain._ "Why, thanky, sergeant. If you wouldn't mind giving my other leg a hitch over!"]

* * * * *

_Inspecting Officer._ "How is it your khaki is so much too small?"

_Stout Yeoman._ "It do seem a bit skimpy, sur. But tailor says as how I'm bound to grow a 'eap smaller on hactive service, an' 'e's allowin' for shrinkage."

* * * * *

INSTRUCTIONS TO NAUTICAL MEN IN THE NOBLE ART OF QUADRILLE DANCING

LE PANTALON.--Haul upon the starboard tack and let the other craft pass--then bear up and get your head on the other tack--regain your berth on the port tack--back and fill with your partner and boxhaul her--wear round twice against the sun in company with the opposite craft, then your own--afterwards boxhaul her again and bring her up.

L'ETE.--Shoot ahead about two fathoms till you nearly come stem on with the other craft under weigh--then make a stern board to your berth and side out for a bend, first to starboard, then to port--make sail and pass the opposite craft--then get your head round on the other tack--another side to starboard and port--then make sail to regain your berth--wear round, back and fill and boxhaul your partner.

LA POULE.--Heave ahead and pass your adversary yard-arm to yard-arm--regain your berth on the other tack in the same order--take your station in a line with your partner--back and fill--fall on your heel and bring up with your partner--she then manoeuvres ahead and heaves all aback, fills and shoots ahead again and pays off alongside--you then make sail in company, till nearly stem on with the other line--make a stern board and cast her off to shift for herself--regain your berth in the best means possible, and let go your anchor.

LA TRENISE.--Wear round as before against the sun twice, boxhaul the lady, and range up alongside her, and make sail in company--when half-way across to the other shore drop astern with the tide--shoot ahead again and cast off the tow--now back and fix as before and boxhaul her and yourself into your berth, and bring up.

LA PASTORALE.--Shoot ahead alongside your partner, then make a stern board--again make all sail over to the other coast--let go the hawser, and pay off into your own berth and take a turn--the three craft opposite range up abreast towards you twice, and back astern again--now manoeuvre any rig you like, only under easy sail, as it is always "light winds" (zephyrs) in this passage--as soon as you see their helms down, haul round in company with them on port tack--then make all sail with your partner into your own berth, and bring up.

LA FINALE.--Wear round to starboard, passing under your partner's bows--sight the catheads of craft on your starboard bow--then make sail into your own berth--your partner passing athwart your bows--now proceed according to the second order of sailing--to complete the evolutions shoot ahead and back astern twice, in company with the whole squadron, in the circular order of sailing.

* * * * *

Some talk of Alexander, and some of Pericles,
Of Hector and Lysander, and such old guys as these;
But of all the horrid objects, the "wust" I do declare,
Is the Prusso-Russo-Belgo-Gallo-British Grenadier.

]

* * * * *

_Militia Officer._ "Augh!--a new man. Ah--'ve you been in 'service before?"

_Recruit._ "Yes, sir."

_Officer._ "Augh--what regiment?"

_Recruit._ "Mrs. Wiggins's coachman, sir!!"]

* * * * *

THE END

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE

* * * * *