"I would like to get 'old of some of the gentry as writes to the papers on warlike topics," said "Tiny" to the world at large, "more especially them that takes the Volunteers under their special care. I would unfold me mind to them. Now 'ere's one of 'em as 'olds the opinion that shootin's everything, an' 'e quotes the opinion of a furriner who 'as bin through the war an' ses the first thing a soldier needs is to shoot well, an' the next thing is to shoot well, an' the last thing is to shoot well. Now that's all right, but me worthy friend misses the first point, which is that it refers to a soldier, an' not a civilian. So 'e jumps off from the wrong place to start with. 'Then,' ses 'e, 'teach 'em to shoot, an' take 'em down to the carefully selected position an' 'ave the distances marked off, an' the Boers 'ave taught us that under these circumstances good rifle shots is a match for trained troops.' Now there's where 'e run's the wrong side of the post. In the fust place this 'ere country ain't the Transvaal, an' what 'ud be first rate out there 'ud be all wrong 'ere; an' in the nex' place, is it just by good shootin' the Boers 'ave done what they 'ave? Don't think I despise shootin', but drivin' comfortable to the range an' gettin' up to the firin' line is two different things.
The Firing Exercise.
Our own thoughtful Subaltern has carefully studied the new firing
positions, and has also read that "methods must be improvised for
utilizing the fire of two or even more ranks," and, by the above
arrangement, he hopes to fulfil both conditions.
"I will ask you one question: 'If the King's prize man can only walk ten miles, an' 'e 'as to march twenty, how many bullseyes is 'e likely to make when 'e's fallen out an' lying in the ambulance? For there'll be no goin' down comfortable to a camp that's bin arranged an' catered for months before, an' finding yer tent up an' the tea ready. There'll be no breaking you in soft an' easy, so that at the end of the week too many of you won't fall out on a twenty-five mile field day. The bloomin' foe won't study yer convenience, an' you'll get no notice before'and of the picnic. The Foreign Power that 'as made up its mind for a slap at us will not advertize that it'll 'old a remnant sale in the metropolis on the first of nex' month. Our relations will be most friendly with 'im 'till all of a sudden 'e ses, ''Ere goes for London.' There'll be a navy fight first, an' twill be no ordinary one, for 'e'll lose two ships to our one, cheerfully, if 'e can clear the Channel for a week.
"We 'ope 'e won't manage it, and we don't think 'e will, but if 'e does, it'll be no week's camp then. The orders one day, the assembly nex' mornin' an' the trains waitin'. 'Arf the camp kettles ain't 'ere, Sir.' 'Can't be helped, you'll have to manage as best you can.' 'No room for that baggage. Chuck it out, anywhere.' 'All in? Right away!' Heaven help the man that 'as forgot to stuff his haversack with a ration! Twenty-four hours they'll be before they have a chance of a meal, an' then, Heaven help the corps twice over as 'asn't been used to feeding itself, or that 'asn't give a thought to how to meet an emergency like this! Quartermaster, Captain, or Corporal, anyone as knows his job at the camp kitchen, will be worth his weight in gold then, an' that's only the start.
"Tired an' stale, the lads 'll work like niggers at the trenches, but before they're finished the order will come to get to somewhere without delay, the enemy not 'aving been kind enough to fall in with our plans. No trains this time, the lines being blocked. Twenty miles before nex' mornin', an' all baggage to be left be'ind. The boys will stay in the ranks till they drop, an' where they drop they will stay. The ambulance? That's for the fighting line. 'Ave ye ever seen a stiff field day? An' that's child's play. Lucky the Battalion that can feed its men that night.
"'We're in reserve, thank God!' they'll cry, though every mother's son is only wishful to fight, an' they'll fall asleep by companies till the section commanders kick 'em to wake up. 'Battalion will advance!' 'Halt!' 'Lie down!' 'Advance!' 'Halt!' 'Lie down!' 'Retire!' 'Halt!' 'You've had an easy day, Colonel. Hold your men in readiness to attack at nightfall.'
"Mile after mile through the mud. 'What are we going to do, Dick?' 'Spoil their beauty sleep; they've been kept at it two days, and if we——.' 'Stop that talking in the ranks! Close up there! What's that?' 'One of their patrols, Sir.' 'Push on, boys, push on! It's come at last.'
"'Men, their picquets are on that hill, ready for us. We are going to take it, and hold it to the last man. The Battalion will form for attack.'
"You'll want soldiers then, gents; an' you must 'ave 'em ready before'and."
Our Review
