If the officers of His Majesty's Service have a wonderful innings in the piping times of peace, they have a very rough outing in the time of war. It is not all beer and skittles, for, in addition to facing death, they have to pay for the privilege of doing the same. The sword and revolver with which they kill the Huns is purchased out of their pockets. The few shillings per diem which they receive will not even pay for their food and drinks. This system has many disadvantages for the poor but keen soldier. It has practically denied thousands the right to make the Army a profession, and has turned many educated N.C.O.'s out into the world to become somewhat fierce antagonists of a system largely founded on privilege and caste. But things are improving. And, in passing, it is only fair to observe that the [pg 113] men produced by the old system were really of the ruling caste—leaders and fighters, and gentlemen with very few exceptions. It is true they purchased text-books and never read them, yet it is equally true that, in war, they have seldom failed, and have even managed to outdo such skilful tacticians and strategists as the Germans. The Militia, of course, was never so efficient as the Regular Army. That could not be expected. The officers were mainly men of means who had served in the Regular Army; others were county gentlemen with a passion for rank and arms; some the well-to-do sons of ambitious business men; while the more junior officers were cadets of poor but good families, who used the Militia as a back door to the Army. And in this time of war the vacancies were largely filled by the wonderful children of the O.T.C. An occasional ranker with a corpulent quartermaster gave such a gathering a democratic leavening, which did no harm. This, then, was the sort of stuff which composed the regiment under review. All had fighting instincts, and every man believed that it was "the thing to do." They felt it a pleasure to serve, and deemed it an honour to die. [pg 114] There was no vulgar bragging about what they would do with the Germans. Indeed, they had chivalry enough to accord the Germans admiration for their work. War was no picnic to them. If they had slacked it in the past, they bucked into their job with a thoroughness which did them credit. In brief, they represented a few of the willing thousands who have always been eager to die for the Britain which, unfortunately, left them and their men in the lurch when saddled with poverty and old age. A materialist has termed such men the "Fools of Imperialism." Thank God, materialists are in the minority. Such "fools" have secured to us a mighty heritage. Men of this breed have stuck to the flag in the freezing Antarctic and in the sun-baked East. We know little of them, and in the times of peace care less. Yet when the drums of war are rolling hard, we turn and yell for their arms and aid. How brutally selfish; how horribly weird! Let us hope the war will teach us to honour and care for such men, when these awful days are past.

Now let us review these gentlemen and their billet. First, there was old Colonel [pg 115] Corkleg. He was a tough old dog, with a red nose and cork stump, the relic of a grim struggle with Dervishes. He could neck the best part of a bottle of Scotch at a sitting, yet, next morning, he would be found in his cold tub before parade. Spick and span as a dandy, erect as a Guardsman, as strict as Wellington, yet every inch a gentleman. The men loved him because he gave them a square deal. And he knew his job. True, he could curse like Marlborough's men in Flanders, but you cannot drill Militiamen without a wide vocabulary of oaths. The more original the better. To these heroic scallywags, it was the hall-mark of soldierly efficiency. But Colonel Corkleg could do more than curse. He could drill and manoeuvre his men "on the top of a barrel," as the old sergeant-major used to say. When he shouted "'Shun" they shivered; when he roared out "double" they ran like hares. And he was not afraid. Men loved to tell of how he had killed a dozen niggers in a skirmish, and captured a cannibal king with only a smile and a walking-stick. You will therefore realise that Colonel Corkleg was a good fellow; you will also understand how every man felt confidence in his leadership. [pg 116] Confidence in a colonel, let me tell you, is worth everything in a fight.

The second in command was "The Dandy Major," a rollicking squire who owned broad acres and big cellars. A bit of a Beau Brummell, too. He was measured for his socks, pyjamas, and ties. There was a touch about his waist-line which suggested the "Nut," and a look in his eye which was deadly. The subalterns said that he had kissed everything human, from a Geisha girl to an Eskimo. He had done everything from killing a tiger to sticking a Hun, and had crowned his career with the capture of a famous beauty of the land.

Major Tartan was the junior major. He was chief of a clan possessing numerous castles and miles of heather. He looked a ghillie, and was very proud of his calves. These never required the Sassenach stuffing of cotton wool. And in his bedroom he hung a painted scroll of his lineage. That was his weakness. He could recite his descent from Macdonald M'Tartan, who ran away with the wife of Dugald M'Phail, once chief of the thieves on Benmore. He loved the kilt and he lived in it. It greatly distressed him to think that his regiment [pg 117] had the awful trews. But this owner of Highland homes and grouse moors hadn't a bean to call his own. Everything was mortgaged, even his kilt, and that was a sore strait for a true Highland gentleman. So he lived in a cottage on the shore of a lonely loch. There he read the 'Spectator,' drank Scotch, and cursed the Government, as every Tory is expected to do. Yet he was as proud as CÆsar. He was content to accept the little dole left when his lawyers paid the interests on his heavily mortgaged bonds. He was glad of this war. It gave him something to do. And he had the dour, grim, hacking qualities which always distinguish the Highland soldier. If he was as surly as a Highland bull, he was also as kind as a little child. His last shilling had often gone into the beer-pot of a scheming Militiaman. Militiamen, I can assure you, are like Chinamen—as deep as the seas and as canny as the snakes. They can squeeze blood out of a stone, and so this kind old major was frequently their prey.

The most interesting senior captain was Captain Coronet. A splendid fellow, but annoyingly clean. He washed himself six times per day. His shirts were spotless, [pg 118] and his clothes were aided by corsets. Captain Coronet had the waist-line of a lady, and the smooth creamed complexion of a girl. His features were regularly massaged, and he always prided himself on his pinky-coloured nails. Through the ages his family had fought like devils for God and Duty. Their tombs could be found in Flanders, Egypt, and burning Hindostan. Naturally he was rich. Tons of gold lay to hand, and he lavishly sent it round. An awfully good fellow, as an Oxford grad. would say. Soldiering was his game. He cursed the passing of the Feudal System and the rise of commerce. Killing was the family job. Leading was his special prerogative. Naturally he scorned the man in trade, and only had time for men of his caste. Haughty as a Prussian to all who would ape his own, yet as generous as a monk to the poor beggars in the ranks. He loved good deeds, and did them without offence. When he gave a thousand guineas he did not inform the Press. A civilian would sum him up as a snob; a soldier would call him a man, and would follow him to the gates of death. True, Captain Coronet had the little faults of his kind, but [pg 119] these were mainly affected and superficial—simply a pose, which hid a real white man. When you scratch the skin of such a type you will find a courage and grit which simply staggers. If you know the Army you will understand. He was called the chocolate soldier for many a day, till once a man was drowning in a tidal river before the eyes of the whole regiment. No one ventured to the rescue except Coronet. He plunged in, rescued his man after a thrilling struggle, and calmly brought him up to the bank. All he ever said about it was that "it was beastly wet."

Another interesting gent was Captain Hardup. He was a professional Militiaman, and therefore a mystery. His pedigree was uncertain; his schooling vague; while his cheques were frequently marked "overdrawn." But he had the necessary qualifications to keep up appearances—that is to say, he had a knickerbocker suit, a club address, and a mess kit, which, by the way, had the appearance of having passed through the hands of grenadiers, fusiliers, light infantry, and other branches of the service. In the times of peace he collared a living, for about four and a half months of the year, [pg 120] by training with various militia corps. For this he received a captain's pay, which was supplemented by his winnings at bridge and an occasional cheque for taking a richer fellow's turn of duty. The county men tolerated him, regarding him as a necessary evil, and, at times, a useful friend. What Captain Hardup did when the Militia "broke down" was wrapped in a cloud. Some said he canvassed for insurance; others averred that he travelled for beer; while a few suggested that he ran baby incubators at country fairs. Nevertheless, Hardup was a man of experience. He knew his job, and could even tell when a Militiaman had no feet in his socks. To Colonel Corkleg he was invaluable, for he could twist a company outside in.

The subalterns, of course, were equally interesting; they always are. These youthful officers are the life of a regiment. Invariably they are splendid sportsmen. To the outside world they present a haughty air, which generally merits for them the title of snobs. But this is an unfair characterisation. The air of supreme importance which they adopt is really the result of old army training, which compels an officer to hide his virtues [pg 121] and his failings under a mask of chilling hauteur. Scrape that, and you will always find a generous heart and a kindly soul. It is in the mess that you realise this. There, they are all big bouncing boys, full of innocent fun and youthful candour. To them a spade is a spade. If a brother officer is really a prig and abuses his men, these youths will take it out of his skin. A broken bed and a broken head is the penalty of unpopularity. Tar and feathers is the punishment of the cad. Drinks all round is usually the verdict when a subaltern forgets his manners and commits a smaller sin. The mess is the school for courage, honour, and truth. In the British officers' anteroom you will find the foundations of that splendid chivalry which has given us fame. Isolated cases to the contrary usually mean that the colonel is an idiot, and the adjutant a fool. But these are rare, and when found the War Office has a blunt style of treatment. A German officer has shown us, in the pages of 'Life in a Garrison Town,' how things are in the Army of the Kaiser. You will not find these things in the Army of our King. This statement can also be applied to the Militia and Territorials.

[pg 122] And this was the type in Colonel Corkleg's corps. Jim Longlegs, the senior sub, was cox of the Cambridge boat. His nose had been flattened while learning the noble art of self-defence. He could tear a pack of cards with his hands, and crack an iron bar over his knee. He was clean-limbed and alert, good at a spree, and if he did like a whisky-and-soda, he could drink it as Luther did, in the manner of a gentleman.

Cocky Dan was an impish sprite from a public school. He was five feet of delightful impudence and daring. His nose was always stuck in the Maxim gun. This tricky machine was his hobby and his job. When he rode alongside of it on his piebald charger he resembled a beaming boy scout with the all-round cords. Cocky Dan was a name that suited him. And then there was Willie Winkie, the sausage merchant's son, who tried so hard to be a gentleman. He would have been a perfect gentleman if he hadn't worried too much about 'Etiquette for Officers,' and that other social handbook, 'Manners made Easy.' Billy Isaacs was hampered by his name. Not that he was a Jew, but, as he said himself, one of his female ancestors had got mixed up in a [pg 123] money-lending affair with a Hebrew, who was financing her fads in silks, port, and rouge. To save the family pewter and the old manorial brick bungalow, she married the man, and thus hampered a decent fellow with a hooked proboscis and an ikey name. Still, he was a devil at finance, and almost sent the colour-sergeant insane when he balanced a halfpenny out in his pay-sheet. Then there was Gerald Hay Du Patti Brown, who made the dickens of a row about some of his people coming over with William the Conqueror. This carried him far till Second Lieutenant Briefs discovered in the Doomsday Book that his ancestor was a pioneer-sergeant in the army which landed at Hastings in 1066. Still, he was a good fellow, and always willing to stand a port the day before the month's pay was due. Brown's boon companion was Giddy Greens, a husky youth intimate with the musical comedy stars. He had only a hundred a year, and was always dodging the Jews. His suits were easily the best, for the reason that he changed his tailor monthly and always burnt their bills. But there, one might rave for ever about the subalterns of this famous corps.

[pg 124] Now, the billets in which they were lodged at Mudtown was hardly in keeping with their tastes. It was a musty manor, with a touch of age and a scent of dead cats. Dirt was rampant and barrenness profound. Where the pictures once hung they found great holes, while through the windows came sparrows, bats, and rain. The floor was rotten, indeed Colonel Corkleg lost his artificial stump in a mouldy corner of his room. There wasn't a bath. All had to wash themselves in biscuit tins, and wipe their faces on a greasy roller towel. As to the kitchen, only a single fire remained to cook soup, fish, entrees, and sweets. These had to be served up on one old kitchen table.

"This is——" muttered the colonel.

"Yes, sir," replied the adjutant.

Still, it was war time, so things had to be devised. Tables were made out of floor boarding and salmon boxes; beds were created out of blankets, ancient and modern. These were sewn together in the form of sleeping bags. Candles were used for illumination; while other necessaries were begged, borrowed, or stolen from patrons and friends. But all the worry or discomfort did not upset the usual cheerfulness of the [pg 125] subs. Life to them was one continual round of joy. They danced till their legs burst through the floors, and sang so loud that the senior major vigorously protested. Guest-nights were occasionally held, when fellow-officers in other corps arrived to sample their good things. Tinned sardines, ration beef, Irish stew, slippery jellies, and musty macaroni were served on the one plate, liquid refreshments were gladly drunk out of bowls and collapsible mugs. After these sumptuous repasts the senior sub, Jim Longlegs, put his juniors through the "Modulator." This is a performance which the priggish youth hates like prussic acid, but one much enjoyed by all true sportsmen. In the course of this ceremony, a sub may be ordered to stand on his head, sing "Annie Laurie" in that position, and afterwards endeavour to swallow a Scotch. A somewhat ignoble performance to the uninitiated, but underneath all these foolish pranks there is a deep reasoning, and that is the teaching of youth a respect for authority and a prompt obedience to orders. Anteroom court martials were also held in the billets of Mudtown. At these tribunals all delinquents were bluntly catechised for their sins. For [pg 126] instance, Cocky Dan was charged with "irregular conduct, unable to control his horse, riding through a ham merchant's window and sitting in a basket of rotten eggs." This conduct was deemed unbecoming to an officer and a gentleman, so Cocky Dan received a formal sentence of "drinks all round, and to sleep three nights without his pyjamas." Being winter, this sentence will be well understood. Du Patti Brown was also arraigned on a charge of "unauthorised swank—blowing his horn about his Norman pedigree, having a double-barrelled and plebian name, and attempting to enter his name in Burke's Peerage." This was deemed a fraud. His sentence was "a cold tub in full regimentals, and afterwards drinking two quarts of ice-cold water." Billy Isaacs was charged with "Jewish tendencies, in that he in the billets of Mudtown did order a fatigue party from his company to search for the sum of one penny which he had lost on parade." Sentence of death was passed, but this was remitted on the understanding that Billy Isaacs would lend every subaltern a "fiver" till next pay-day.

There were nights when the wine was rich and merriment strong. On these occasions [pg 127] the spirit of mischief and devilry became rampant. One of these famous nights was the celebration of Captain Coronet's receiving what he described as another "beastly legacy of fifty thousand from an old aunt, who had cheated her heirs for ninety-five years." The flowing bowl went round. Colonel Corkleg, with "The Dandy Major" and Major Tartan, like true sportsmen, helped to consume a few quarts of champagne vintage. Their red faces and beaming eyes told all that they had reached that stage which demands, for a senior, immediate retirement from the scene of action, so as not to prejudice good order and military discipline. In the privacy of their rooms they supped more wine, damned the Kaiser and the Radicals, and figured out their actual part in the triumphal march through the Unter der Linden. Meantime, the gay young bloods danced and hooched to their hearts' delight. Choruses, of course, were popular, and many of those songs so dear to all of our public schools echoed out into the still Mudtown night. And then the Tempter came into Jim Longlegs' brain.

"Let's rag the captains," he whispered round.

[pg 128] "Right ho," all cried. Now this is a violation of the unwritten law. A captain in the service is a little tin god. He must not be ragged by his juniors. But the spirit of mischief abounded. Armed with mops, brooms, hose pipes, and minus their caps and jackets, they rushed the captains' rooms. Danger had been scented. As they entered the sacred sanctum they were received with well-directed douches from buckets of water. This soaked them to the skin, and for a moment checked the general advance.

"Charge!" ordered the senior sub. An order is an order, so they promptly obeyed. There was a merry scrum. Jim Longlegs seized the nearest man and promptly commenced to give this somewhat portly person a half-nelson and a duck in a basin. Heavens! when he looked at his antagonist's face he found it was that of Major Tartan, who had been visiting the captains' rooms. He was nonplussed for a moment, for a major is like the prophet Allah, one of the Holy of Holies. To even touch a hair of his head is more irreligious than the tearing out of the precious eyes of a Brahmin's god. But the major was a [pg 129] sport. The temporary astonishment of the senior sub was used by him to the best advantage. With a great effort he encircled Longlegs' waist, and heaved him with a terrible crash to the floor. The lamp was smashed and the revellers found themselves in darkness. This lessened the fear of the consequences. Beds were lifted and crashed around. Basins were emptied out over the blankets. Brooms smashed through the windows, while many of the captains and subs had their shirts torn from their backs. And then the whistle blew "Retire." The subs retired singing "Rule, Britannia," and yelling

"Glory, Glory, Halleujah,

Glory, Glory, Halleujah,

Glory, Glory, Halleujah,

We've wrecked the Captains' Home."

It was in the after-discussion of the night's escapade that Cocky Dan dared Jim Longlegs to sneak into the C.O.'s room and collar the colonel's cork leg, which always lay by the side of his bed.

"Done," said the senior sub before he realised his venture. But it had to go on. His pluck was at stake. There was a tense silence as he crept out of the room in his [pg 130] stocking soles. Quietly he opened the colonel's door and slipped inside. The old gentleman lay on his bed asleep. Jim crept forward and stealthily picked up the colonel's cork limb. He smiled grimly as he turned towards the door. Cocky Dan would have to yield him that fiver after all. But just as he touched the handle there was a rustle on the bed and then a terrible roar—

"Damn you, Mr Longlegs—how dare you?...?...?" cursed the colonel, who slept lightly, due to his years of living amongst the Dervishes and Afridis.

"I'm—I'm—I'm sor——"

"Put that leg down—get out, you scamp. Report to me in the morning."

The senior sub placed the leg down again, in the most shamefaced manner. He was sorry he had been caught. He had meant no disrespect, for the colonel was a lovable old gentleman at heart. But he had violated a sacred rule, and he guessed what the morning would bring forth. When he arrived back in the subs' rooms his fellow-officers went pale with terror and quickly scampered to bed.

"I think we ought to report this ragging business to the colonel," said a supercilious senior to old Major Tartan next morning.

[pg 131] "What?"

"Report it to the colonel!"

"Don't be an ass," said old Tartan, stumping out of the room. He had been a true subaltern in his day.

The colonel, however, ordered the adjutant to bring Mr Longlegs in.

"Well," commenced the old gentleman in his best official manner.

"I—I—I'm very sorry, sir."

"Should think you would be! Damned impertinence, sir. How dare you? How dare you? Never heard of such a thing in my life. Good mind to cashier you."

"Really, I'm very sorry——"

"Hold your tongue, sir."

Then he harangued him in the best style of Judge Hawkins for a quarter of an hour, after which the senior sub felt like a little grease spot instead of a man.

"Now you can go, sir; don't let it happen again—understand!"

"Yes, sir," said Longlegs, saluting and marching out.

As the door shut, the colonel, with a subdued twinkle in his eye, remarked—"Useful man that, eh?"

"Yes, sir," replied the adjutant.

[pg 132]