Although the musket of old time became obsolete before the memory of living man, the term “musketry” survives yet, and probably will always survive for laconic description of the art and practice of military rifle-shooting. Musketry is the primary business of the infantry soldier, and it also enters largely into the training of the cavalryman, who is expected to be able to dismount and hold a desired position until infantry arrive to relieve him.

So far as the recruit is concerned, by far the greater part of the necessary instruction in musketry takes place not on the rifle range, but on the regimental or battalion drill-ground, where the beginner is taught the correct positions for shooting while standing, kneeling, and lying. He is taught the various parts of his weapon and their peculiar uses; he is taught that when a wind gauge is adjusted one division to either side, it makes a lateral difference of a foot for every hundred yards in the ultimate destination of the bullet. He is taught the business of fine adjustment of sights, taught with clips of dummy cartridges how to charge the magazine of his rifle. The extreme effectiveness of the weapon is impressed on him, and the instructor not only tells him that he must not point a loaded rifle at a pal, but also explains the reason for this, and usually draws attention to accidents that have occurred through disregard of elementary rules of caution. For long experience has demonstrated that the unpractised man is liable to be careless in the way in which he handles a rifle, and the recruit, being at a careless age, and often coming from a careless class, is especially prone to make mistakes unless the need for caution is well hammered home.

At first glance, a rifle is an extremely simple thing. You pull back the bolt, insert a cartridge, and close the bolt. Then you put the rifle to your shoulder and pull the trigger—and the trick is done. But first impressions are misleading, and the recruit has to be trained in the use of the rifle until he understands that he has been given charge of a very delicate and complex piece of mechanism, of which the parts are so finely adjusted that it will send its bullet accurately for a distance of 2800 yards—considerably over a mile and a half. In order to maintain the accuracy of the instrument the recruit is taught by means of a series of lessons, which seem to him insufferably long and tedious, how to clean, care for, and handle his rifle. An immense amount of time and care is given to the business of teaching him exactly how to press the trigger, for on the method of pressing the quality of the shot depends very largely. The musketry instructor gives individual instruction to each man in this, and the man is made to undergo “snapping practice”—that is, repeatedly pressing the trigger of the empty rifle until he has gained sufficient experience to have some idea of what will happen when the trigger is pressed with a live cartridge in front of the bolt.

When the recruit has been well grounded in the theory of using a rifle, he is taken to the rifle range for actual practice with real ammunition. He starts off at the 200 yards’ range with a large target before him, and, in all probability, the first shot that he fires scores a bull’s-eye. He feels at once that he knows a good bit more about the use of a rifle than the man who is instructing him, and at the given word he aims and fires again. This time he is lucky if he scores an outer; more often than not the bullet either strikes the ground half-way up the range, or goes sailing over the back of the butts, and the recruit, with a nasty painful feeling about his shoulder, has an idea that rifle-shooting is a tricky business, after all. The fact was that, with his experience of “snapping,” he had learned to pull the trigger—or rather, to press it—without experiencing the kick of the rifle; that kick, felt with the first real firing, caused an instinctive recoil on his part in firing the second time. Later on he learns to stand the kick, and to mitigate its effects by holding the rifle firmly in to his shoulder, and from that time onward he begins to improve in the art of rifle-shooting and to make consistent practice.

For the recruits’ course, the targets are naturally larger and the conditions easier than when the trained man fires. At the conclusion of the recruits’ course, the men are graded into “marksmen,” who are the best shots of all, first-class, second-class, and third-class shots, and they have to qualify in each annual “duty-man’s” course of firing in order to retain or improve their positions as shots. Before the new regulations, which made pay dependent on proficiency on the range, came into force, there was a good deal of juggling with scores in the butts; one company or squadron of a unit would provide “markers” for another, and since the men at the firing point shot in regular order, it was a comparatively easy matter to “square the marker” and get him to mark up a better score than was actually obtained. Under the present rules governing proficiency pay, however, a man’s rate of pay is dependent on his musketry, and third-class shots suffer to the extent of twopence per day for failing to make the requisite number of points for second class. In consequence of this, supervision in the butts is much more severe, and there is little opportunity of putting on a score that is not actually obtained. A case occurred two or three years ago, the 5th Dragoon Guards being the regiment concerned, in which the men of a whole squadron made such an abnormally good score as a whole that, when the returns came to be inspected, it was suspected that the markers had had a hand in compiling what was practically a record. The squadron in question was ordered to fire its course over again, and the markers were carefully chosen with a view to the prevention of fraud in the butts. After two or three days of firing, however, the repeat course was stopped, for the men of the squadron were making even better scores than before. The incident goes to show that there is little likelihood of frauds occurring at the butts under the present system of supervision, and incidentally demonstrates the shooting capabilities of that particular squadron of men.

Bad shots are the trial of instructors, who are held more or less responsible for the musketry standard of their units—certainly more, if there are too many bad shots in any particular unit. The bad shot is usually a nervous man, who cannot keep himself and his rifle steady at the moment of firing, though drink—too much of it—plays a large part in the reduction of musketry scores. At any rifle range used by regular troops, during the carrying out of the annual course, one may see the musketry instructor lying beside some man at the firing point, instructing him where to aim, pointing out the error of the last shot, and telling the soldier how to correct his aim for the next—generally helping to keep up the average of the regiment or battalion. As a rule, there is no man more keen on his work than the musketry instructor, who is usually a very good shot himself, as well as being capable of imparting the art of shooting to others.

The great musketry school of the British Army, so far as home service goes, is at Hythe, where all instructors have to attend a class to qualify for instructorship. Here the theory and practice of shooting are fully taught; a man at Hythe thinks shooting, dreams shooting, talks shooting, and shoots, all the time of his course. He is initiated into the mysteries of trajectory and wind pressure, taught all about muzzle velocity and danger zone, while the depth of grooving in a rifle barrel is mere child’s play to him. He is taught the minutiÆ of the rifle, and comes back to his unit knowing exactly why men shoot well and why they shoot badly. He is then expected to impart his knowledge, or some of it, to the recruits of the unit, and to supervise the shooting of the trained men as well. In course of time, constantly living in an atmosphere of rifle-shooting, and spending more time and ammunition on the range than any other man of his unit, he becomes one of the best shots, though seldom the very best. For rifle-shooting is largely a matter of aptitude, and some men, after their recruits’ training and a duty-man’s course on the range, can very nearly equal the scores compiled by the musketry instructor.

Since shooting is a matter of aptitude to a great extent, it follows that the present system, punishing men for bad shooting by deprivation of pay and in other ways, is not a good one. It has not increased the standard of shooting to any appreciable extent; men do not shoot better because they know their rate of pay depends on it, for they were shooting as well as they could before. Certainly the man who can shoot well is of greater value in the firing line than the one who shoots badly, but, apart from this, all men are called on to do the same duty, and the third-class shot, if normally treated, has as much to do, does it just as well, and is entitled to as much pay for it as the marksman. There can be no objection to a system which rewards good shooting, but that is an entirely different matter from penalising bad shooting, as is done at present.

The penalties do not always stop at deprivation of pay. In some infantry units a third-class shot is regarded as little better than a defaulter; he has extra drill piled on him—drill which has nothing at all to do with the business of learning to shoot; he is liable for fatigues from which other men are excused, and altogether is regarded to a certain extent as incompetent in other things beside marksmanship. This, naturally, does not improve his shooting capabilities; he gets disgusted with things as they are, knows that, since his commanding officer has determined things shall be no better for him, it is no use hoping for a change, and with a feeling of disgust resolves that, since in his next annual course he cannot possibly put up a better score, he will put up a worse. It is the way in which the soldier reasons, and there is no altering it; the way in which men are disciplined makes them reason so, and the determination to make a worse score since a better is impossible is on a par with the action of a cavalry squadron in cutting its saddlery to pieces because the men are disgusted with the ways of an officer or non-commissioned officer. Thus, in the case of unduly severe action on the part of commanding officers, the pay regulations, which make musketry a factor in the rate of pay, have done little good to shooting among the men.

When actually at the firing point, a soldier is taught that he must “keep his rifle pointing up the range,” for accidents happen easily, and, in spite of the extreme caution of officers and instructors, hardly a year goes by without some accidental shooting to record. The wonder is not that this sort of thing happens, but that it does not happen more often, for, until a soldier has undergone active service and seen how easily fatal results are produced with a rifle, it seems impossible to make him understand the danger attaching to careless use of the weapon. One may find a man, so long as he is not being watched, calmly loading a rifle and closing the bolt with the muzzle pointed at the ear of a comrade; it is not a frequent occurrence, but it happens, all the same. And, in consequence, accidents happen.

The range and the annual course are productive of a good deal of amusement, at times. There is a story of an officer who pointed out to a man that every shot he was firing was going three feet to the right of the target, and who, after having pointed this out several times, at last ordered the man to stop firing while he telephoned up to the butts and ordered that that particular target should be moved three feet to the right. Whether the result justified the change is not recorded. Cases are not uncommon in which a man fires on the wrong target by mistake, especially at the long ranges, and there is at least one well-authenticated case of a man who put all his seven shots on to the next man’s target, and of course scored nothing for himself. For the law of the range is that if a man plants a shot on another man’s target, the other man gets the benefit of the points scored by that shot. The markers in the butts must mark up what they see, for if they were compelled to go by instructions from the firing point and had to disregard the evidence of the targets, a musketry course would be an extremely complicated business, and would last for ever.

One oft-told story is that of the recruit who sent shot after shot over the back of the butts, in spite of the repeated instructions of the musketry instructor to take a lower aim. At last, probably being tired of being told to aim low, the recruit dropped his rifle muzzle to such an extent that the bullet struck the ground about half-way up the range and went on its course as a whizzing ricochet. “Missed again!” said the instructor in disgust.

“Yes,” said the recruit, “but I reckon the target felt a draught that time, anyhow.”

The recruits’ course of musketry ends on the short ranges, but when the duty-man comes to fire for the year he is taken back, a hundred yards at a time, until he is distant 1000 yards from the target. This distance, 1000 yards, is considered the limit of effective rifle fire, though a good shot can do a considerable amount of damage at 2000 yards, and the limit of range of the Lee-Enfield magazine rifle, the one in use in the British Army, extends to 2800 yards. The weight of the bullet is so small, however, that at the long distances atmospheric conditions, and especially wind, have a great influence on the course of its flight, while the power of human sight is also a factor in limiting the effective range. Even at 1000 yards a man looks a very small thing, while at 2000 yards he is a mere dot, and it is impossible to take more than a general aim. More might be accomplished with more delicately adjusted sights and wind-gauges, but those at present in use are quite sufficiently delicate for purposes of campaigning, and telescopic sights, or appliances of a delicate nature for bettering shooting, are quite out of the question for use by the rank and file. Most of the shooting of the Army is done at ranges between 500 and 1000 yards, and, whatever weapon science may produce for the use of the soldier, it is unlikely that these distances will be greatly increased, since even science cannot overcome the limitations to which humanity is subject.

Up to a few years ago, the old-fashioned “bull’s-eye” targets were employed at all ranges and for all purposes, but they have been practically discarded now in favour of targets which reproduce, as accurately as possible, the actual targets at which men have to aim in war. The modern target is made up of a white portion representing the sky, and a shot on this portion counts for nothing at all; the lower part of the target is dull mud-coloured, and in the middle, projecting a little way into the white portion, is a black area corresponding roughly in shape and size to the head and shoulders of a man. Shots on this black portion, which may be considered as a man looking over a bank of earth, count as “bull’s-eyes,” and shots on the mud-coloured portion of the target have also a certain value, for it is considered that if a shot goes sufficiently near the figure of the man to penetrate the earth that the target represents, such a shot under actual conditions would possibly ricochet and kill the man, and in any case would fling up such a cloud of dust or shower of mud and stones as to wound him in some way, or at least put him out of action for a few minutes. Further, rapid individual fire plays a far greater part in modern rifle-shooting than it did a few years ago. The “volleys,” which used to be so tremendously effective in the days of muzzle loading and slow fire at short ranges, are little considered under present conditions; with the development of initiative, and the introduction of open order in the firing line, men are taught to fire rapidly by means of exposing the targets for a second or two at a time, two shots or more to be got on the target at each exposure. In the musketry course of ten years ago there was very little rapid firing, but now it takes up more than half of the total of exercises on the range.

Apart from the annual course of musketry which men are compelled to undergo, they are encouraged to practise shooting throughout the year by means of competitions, financed out of regimental funds, and offering prizes to be won in open competition. Competitors are graded into the respective classes in which their last course left them, and prizes are offered in each class, though why silver spoons should be offered to such an extent as they are is one of the mysteries that no man can explain. Certain it is that in nearly every shooting competition held, silver spoons are offered as prizes—and a soldier has little use for an ordinary teaspoon, silver or otherwise.

The scores put on by men of the Army, taken in the average, go to prove that British soldiers have little to learn from those of other nations in the matter of shooting. The “marksman,” in order to win the right to wear crossed guns on his sleeve, has to put up a score which even a Bisley crack shot would not despise, and yet the number of men to be seen walking out with crossed guns on their sleeves is no inconsiderable one, while first-class shots are plentiful in all units of the cavalry and infantry. Artillerymen, of course, know little about the rifle and its use; their weapon both of offence and defence is the big gun, and in the matter of rifle-shooting they trust to their escort of cavalry or infantry—usually the latter, except in the case of Horse Artillery. Taken in the mass, the British soldier has every reason to congratulate himself on the way in which he uses his rifle, and the present Continental war has proved that he is every whit as good at using the rifle in the field as he is on the range, though, in shooting on active service, the range of the object has to be found, while in all shooting practice in time of peace it is known and the sights correctly adjusted before the man begins to fire.

An adjunct to the course of musketry is that of judging distance, in which men are taken out and asked to estimate distances of various objects. Even for this there is a system of training, and men are instructed to consider how many times a hundred yards will fit into the space between them and the given object. They are taught how conditions of light and shade affect the apparent distance; how, with the sun shining from behind the observer on to the object, the distance appears less than when the sun is shining from behind the object on to the observer. They are taught at first to estimate short distances, and the range of objects chosen for experiment is gradually increased. In this, again, aptitude plays a considerable part; some men can judge distance from observation only with marvellous accuracy, while others never get the habit of making correct estimates. An interesting method practised in order to ascertain distance consists in taking the estimates of a number of men, and then striking an average. With any number of men over ten from whom to obtain the average, a correct estimate of the distance is usually obtained. Another method consists in observing how much of an object of known dimensions can be seen when looking through a rifle barrel, after the bolt of the rifle has been withdrawn for the purpose. Since, however, the object of training in judging distance is to enable a man to make an individual estimate, neither of these methods is permitted to be used in the judging when points are awarded. The award of points, by the way, counts toward the total number of points in the annual musketry course.