Part 4

_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.

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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.

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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._

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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!

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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.

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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?

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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 précis 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.