CHAPTER III

THE ALLIED ARMIES IN CHINA

To a soldier no city in the world could prove as interesting as Tientsin from the unequalled opportunity it presented of contrasting the men and methods of the Allied Armies. And the officers of the Anglo‐Indian forces saw with pride that they had but little to learn from their Continental brothers‐in‐arms. In organisation, training, and equipment our Indian Army was unsurpassed. Clad in the triple‐proof armour of self‐satisfaction, the soldiers of Europe have rested content in the methods of 1870. The effects of the increased range and destructive power of modern weapons have not been appreciated by them. Close formations are still the rule, and the history of the first few battles in the next European war will be a record of terrible slaughter. The lessons of the Boer campaign are ignored. They ascribe the failures and defeats of the British forces to the defective training and want of _morale_ of our troops, and disdain to learn from a “nation of farmers.”

The world has long believed that the German Army is in every respect superior to all others. But those who saw its China expeditionary force—composed though it was of picked troops and carefully selected officers—will not agree with this verdict. Arriving too late for the serious fighting—for there were no German troops in the Allied Army which relieved the Legations—it could only be criticised from its behaviour in garrison and on a few columns which did not meet with very serious opposition. All nationalities had looked forward eagerly to the opportunity of closely observing a portion of the army which has set the fashion in things military to Europe during the past thirty years. But I think that most of those who had hoped to learn from it were disappointed.

The German authorities are still faithful to the traditions of close formations and centralisation of command under fire. Unbroken lines in the attack are the rule, and no divergence from the straight, forward direction, in order to take advantage of cover lying towards a flank, is authorised. The increased destructive power given by low trajectory to modern firearms does not seem to be properly understood by them. The creeping forward of widely extended and irregularly advancing lines of skirmishers, seizing every cover available within easy reach, is not favoured; and the dread of the effect of cavalry charges on the flanks of such scattered formations still rules the tactics of the attack. The development of the initiative of the soldier, of his power of acting for himself under fire, is not striven after. In steady, mechanical drill the German private is still pre‐eminent, but in wide extensions he is helpless without someone at his elbow to give him orders. One of the Prussian General Staff—sent out as a Special Service Officer—argued seriously with me that even when advancing over open ground against an entrenched enemy armed with modern rifles, it would be impossible to extend to more than an interval of one pace, “as otherwise the captain could not command his company.”

Those in high places in Germany probably appreciate the lessons of the South African campaign. But the difficulty of frontal assaults in close formations on a well‐defended position, the impossibility of battalion or company commanders directing the attack in the firing line at close ranges, the necessity of training men to act for themselves when near the enemy, have not struck home to the subordinate grades. Viewed in the light of our experiences in the Boer War and on the Indian Frontier, their adherence to systems that we have proved disastrous before modern weapons stamps their tactics as antiquated. “Entrenching,” another staff officer said to me, “is contrary to the spirit of the German Army. Our regulations now force us to employ the spade, but our tradition will always be to trust to the bayonet.” And I thought of another army, which also used to have a decided liking for the same weapon, and which had gone to South Africa in the firm belief that cold steel was the only weapon for use in war!

The German officers were very smart in their bearing and dress. Their khaki uniforms were similar to ours, the coats well made; but the clumsy cut of their riding breeches offends the fastidious eyes of the horsey Britisher, who is generally more particular about the fit of this garment than any other in his wardrobe. The product of despotic militarism in a land where the army is supreme and the civilian is despised, the German officers are full of the pride of caste. In China they were scarcely inclined to regard those of the other allied troops as equals. The iron discipline of their army does not encourage intercourse between the various ranks. The friendly association of English officers with their men in sports is inexplicable to them; and that a private should excel his superior in any pastime is equivalent, in their opinion, to the latter at once forfeiting the respect of his subordinate. When a team of British officers in Tientsin were training for a tug‐of‐war against those of the Pekin garrison in the assault‐at‐arms at the Temple of Heaven, they used to practise with a team of heavy non‐commissioned officers. A German captain said to a British subaltern who was taking part:

“Is it possible that you allow your soldiers to compete against officers even in practice?”

“Certainly,” replied the Englishman.

“But of course you always beat them?”

“Not at all,” was the answer. “On the contrary, they generally beat us.”

“But surely that is a mistake,” said the scandalised Prussian. “They must in that case inevitably lose all respect for you.” And nothing could convince him that it was not so.

As the German military officer does not as a rule travel much abroad, the realisation of England’s predominance beyond the seas seemed to come on those in China almost as a surprise. One remarked to a member of the staff of our Fourth Brigade:

“Our voyage out here has brought home to most of us for the first time how you English have laid your hands on all parts of the earth worth having. In every port we touched at since we left Germany, everywhere we coaled, we found your flag flying. Gibraltar, Malta, Aden, Colombo, Singapore, Hong Kong—all British.”

“Yes,” added another, “we have naturally been accustomed to regard our own country as the greatest in the world. But outside it we found our language useless. Yours is universal. I had said to myself that Port Said, at least, is not British; but there, too, your tongue is the chief medium of intercourse. Here in China, even the coolies speak English, or what they intend to be English.”

The German organisation—perfect, perhaps, for Europe, where each country is a network of roads and railways—was not so successful in China. For the first time the leading military nation was brought face to face with the difficulties involved in the despatch of an expedition across the sea and far from the home base. And its mistakes were not few. Their contingent found themselves at first devoid of transport and dependent on the kindness of the other armies for means to move from the railway. One projected expedition had to be long delayed because the German troops could not advance for this reason, until the English at length furnished them with the necessary transport. The enormous waggons they brought with them were useless in a country where barrows are generally the only form of wheeled transport possible on the very narrow roads. Their knowledge of horse‐mastership was not impressive, their animals always looking badly kept and ill‐fed.

The first German troops despatched to China were curiously clothed. Their uniform consisted of ill‐fitting tunics and trousers made of what looked like coarse, bright yellow sacking, with black leather belts and straw hats shaped like those worn by our Colonials, the broad brim caught up on one side and fastened by a metal rosette of the German colours. Later on all were clothed in regular khaki, and wore helmets somewhat similar to the British pattern, but with wider brims. The square portion covering the back of the neck was fastened by hinges, so that the helmet was not tilted over the wearer’s eyes when he lay down to fire, which is the great disadvantage of our style of headgear. Some of the officers wore silver sashes and belts which looked out of place on khaki, the embodiment of severe simplicity in campaigning dress.

The physique of the German soldiers was very good, but they were members of a comparatively small contingent picked from an enormous army. To those used to the smart and upright bearing of the British private their careless and slouching gait seemed slovenly. But on parade they moved like automatons. A curious phase in the relations of the Allies was the intimacy which prevailed between the men of the French and German troops. In the French Concession numbers of them were to be constantly seen fraternising together, strolling arm‐in‐arm in the streets, or drinking in the _cafés_. This was chiefly owing to the fact that many in either army could speak the language of the other. But this intimacy did not extend to the commissioned ranks.

The vast increase in their mercantile marine of late years enabled the Germans to transport their troops in their own vessels. The Russians, on the other hand, were frequently forced to employ British ships, although the bulk of their forces in North China did not come from Europe by sea, but was furnished by the Siberian Army.

The German Navy took a prominent part in the China imbroglio. The _Iltis_ was well to the fore in the bombardment of the Taku forts by the gunboats in the Peiho. In the assault by the storming parties from the Allied Fleet 130 German sailors shared, and lost 6 killed and 15 wounded; 200 more accompanied Seymour’s column on the advance to Pekin. The Navy of the Fatherland possesses the immense advantage of being very modern and homogeneous, and is consequently quite up to date. Even at its present strength it is a formidable fighting machine. If the Kaiser’s plans are realised, and it is increased to the size he aims at, Germany will play a prominent rôle in any future naval complications.

English officers are frequently accused of a lack of interest in their profession from not acquainting themselves with the problems which arise in contemporary campaigns, the course of which many persons believe that they do not follow. But we found a singular want of knowledge of the history and events of the South African campaign among the commissioned grades of the Allied Armies. I understood the crass ignorance of Continental peoples with regard to the Boer War after a conversation with a foreign staff officer. I had asked him what he thought had been the probable strength of the Republican forces at the beginning of the campaign.

“Ah, that I know precisely,” he replied. “I have heard it from an officer in our army, now in China, who served with the Boers. I can state positively on his authority that your antagonists were never able to put into the field, either at the beginning of the war or at any other time, more than 30,000 men. The total populations of both States could not produce any greater number capable of carrying a rifle.”

“And how many do you think they have in the field now?” I asked. This was in August, 1901.

“About 25,000.”

“But surely,” I argued, “after nearly two years of fighting their losses must amount to more than 5,000 between killed, wounded, and captured.”

“Not at all. Perhaps not even that.”

“Then you apparently do not know,” I said, “that we have about 30,000 or 40,000 prisoners or surrendered men in St. Helena, South Africa, Ceylon, and India.”

“Oh, but you have not,” he said, with a politely incredulous smile; “two or three thousand at most. In our army we are not ignorant of the course of the campaign. We read our newspapers carefully.”

I ceased to wonder at the ignorance of his nation when he, a Staff and Special Service Officer, was so ill‐informed.

The French Army in China suffered some loss of _prestige_ in the beginning through their first contingent, composed of Infanterie Coloniale and others sent up from _l’Indo‐Chine_. Long service in unhealthy tropical climates had rendered the men debilitated and fever‐stricken. They were by no means fair samples of the French soldier, and certainly not up to the standard of the troops which came out later from France. The Zouaves and Chasseurs d’Afrique, particularly, were excellent. Both are crack corps, and were much admired, the physique of the men being very good. The latter were fine specimens of European cavalry, good riders, well mounted; but their horses seemed too heavily weighted, especially for service in hot climates.

The infantry were weighed down by an extraordinarily heavy pack, which they carried on nearly all duties—mounting guard, marching, even in garrison. They were trained in the same obsolete close formations as the Germans; but, with the traditional aptitude for loose fighting which dates from the days of Napoleon’s _tirailleurs_, they can adapt themselves much more rapidly to extended order.

The French officers, though not so well turned out as the Germans, were much more friendly and agreeable. There was a good deal of intercourse between them and the Britishers. Their manner of maintaining discipline was very different to our ideas on the subject. I have seen one of them box the ears of his drunken orderly who had assaulted the Indian servant of an English officer, and who, considering himself aggrieved at being reprimanded by his master, had staggered up to him to tell him so.

The training and organisation of the French Army has immensely improved since the disastrous campaign of 1870. A soldier serves first in the Active Army, then in the Reserve of the Active Army, where he is called up for training somewhat on the lines of our Militia. He is then passed into the Territorial Army, where he is not allowed to forget what he has learned with the colours. Finally he is enrolled in the Reserve of the Territorial Army, and is still liable to be summoned to defend his country in emergency. A regiment has all its equipment and stores in its own keeping; so that, when suddenly ordered on active service, there is no rush to indent upon the Commissariat or Ordnance Departments. Its reservists join at regimental headquarters, where they find everything ready for them, and take their places as though they had never quitted the colours. In marching powers, at least, no troops in Europe surpass the French; and legs are almost as useful as arms in modern warfare, where wide flanking _détours_ and extended movements will be the rule in future.

France’s long experience of colonies and wars beyond the sea rendered the organisation and fitting out of her expeditionary force an easier task than some other nations found it. The men were always cheerful; and the French soldier is particularly handy at bivouacking and fending for himself on service.

The Russian troops were composed of big, heavy, rather fleshy men. Unintelligent and slow, for the most part, they were determined fighters, but seemed devoid of the power of initiative or of thinking for themselves. I doubt if the Muscovite soldier is much more advanced than his Crimean predecessor. The men of the Siberian army may be best described as cheerful savages, obedient under an iron discipline, but not averse to excesses when not under the stern hand of authority, especially when their blood has been heated by fighting. The great power of the Russian soldier lies in his wonderful endurance under privations that few other European troops could support. I should be sorry to offer Englishmen the meagre fare on which he manages to exist. His commissariat rations were anything but lavish in China, and had to be supplemented by the men themselves by foraging. Yet those whom I saw in North China and Manchuria looked well fed and almost fat.

Their respect for, and faith in, their officers is admirable. Their religion is a living force to their simple natures. Once, in Newchwang, in Manchuria, I passed a small Russian church in which a number of their troops were attending a Mass of the gorgeous Greek ritual. Their rifles were piled outside under the charge of a sentry. Helmet in hand he was devoutly following the service through the open window, crossing himself repeatedly and joining in the prayers of the congregation inside. I am afraid that such a sight would be very rarely seen at a church parade in our army.

Of the courage of the Russians there can be no doubt. Their behaviour during the stern fighting around Tientsin was admirable. The European settlements owed their preservation largely to the timely reinforcements which arrived from Port Arthur at a time of deadly peril. When Admiral Seymour started on his desperate attempt to relieve the Legations, he left behind at Tientsin a small number of British sailors and marines under Captain Bayly, H.M.S. _Aurora_, with orders to hold the town, so that his column, if defeated, might have some place to fall back on. When, after his departure, the Concessions were suddenly assailed, the commanding officers of the other Allies were of opinion that the defence of the settlements was hopeless, and advocated a retirement on Taku. Captain Bayly pointed out the peril to which the Relieving Column would be exposed if repulsed and forced to fall back only to find Tientsin in the hands of the Chinese. His remonstrances had no effect. Then the dauntless sailor, with true British grit, declared that the others might go if they wished. He had been ordered to remain in Tientsin, and remain he would. He would not desert his admiral even if left alone to hold the town with his handful of Britishers. I have it on his own authority that the Russian commander was the first to applaud his resolution and declare that he and his men would stay with the English to the end. His action turned the scale, and all remained to defend Tientsin and save Seymour’s gallant but unfortunate column.

Though the Russian officers exceed even the Germans in the severity with which they treat their men, there is, nevertheless, more of a spirit of comradeship existing between the higher and lower ranks. This is truer, perhaps, of the European army than the Siberian, which was more employed in the China campaign, and is inferior to the former, especially the splendid Guards corps. The officers were fine men physically, but seemed in military training rather behind those of the other Allies.

Profiting by the experience gained in their previous campaign against China, the Japanese Army arrived well equipped in 1900. As long as road or river was available, their transport system of carts and boats was excellent; but when it came to flying columns moving across country the Indian mule train was superior. Beginning the war in white uniform, the disadvantages of such a conspicuous dress were soon evident, and khaki was substituted. The men were well clothed, and carried a horsehide knapsack containing the usual necessaries and an extra pair of boots.

The cavalry, consisting as it does of small men on undersized animals, would be of little use in shock tactics. It would be far more useful converted into mounted infantry, for their infantry earned nothing but praise. Small, sturdy, easily fed, and capable of enduring an extraordinary amount of hardship, they were ideal foot soldiers. Recruited among an agricultural population, inhabitants of a mountainous country, they were inured to toil and fatigue. Under a load that few white men could carry they tramped long distances, arriving at the end of the march apparently not in the least exhausted. Their racial respect for superiors has bred a perfect spirit of unquestioning discipline. Their high patriotism and almost fanatical courage endow them with an absolute contempt of death, and their heroic bravery extorted the admiration even of such unfriendly critics as the Russians. Trained in German methods, their army suffers from all the defects of the hide‐bound Teutonic system. In the attack on some fortified villages held by banditti, after Major Browning’s death in a preliminary skirmish, two Japanese companies advanced in line with the 4th Punjaub Infantry. Under a fierce fire from 4,000 brigands, armed with Mannlichers and ensconced behind walls, the Indian troops extended to ten or twelve paces. The Japanese came on in single rank, almost shoulder to shoulder. They lost four times as many as the Punjaubis, but never wavered for an instant, closing in mechanically as their comrades fell, and almost outstripping our sepoys in the final charge that carried the position. Though many of their officers have realised that the day of close formations is past, they have not sufficient confidence in the ability of their men to fight independently _yet_; while they know that no amount of slaughter will dismay them in an attack. Besides, in China they were anxious to blood them well and to show to their European critics the splendid fighting quality of their soldiers, and prove that they were worthy to combat with or against any troops in the world.

The organisation, equipment, and material of the Japanese Army leave little to be desired. Their engineers and artillery are well trained, and both rendered good service to the Allies in 1900. Their Intelligence Department had been brought to a high standard of efficiency; and its perfection astonishes those who are permitted to gain a glimpse of its working. The whole East is sown with its spies. When the Legations were threatened, Japanese who had been working at inferior trades in Pekin came in and revealed themselves as military officers who for months or years had been acquainting themselves with the plans, the methods, and the strength of China.

The discipline of Japanese soldiers in small things as well as great is admirable. I have often watched crowded troop‐trains arriving at the Shimbashi railway terminus in Tokio. The men sat quietly in their places until the order to leave the carriages was given. Then, without noise or confusion, they got out, fell in on the platforms, piled arms, fell out, and remained near their rifles without chattering; indeed, with hardly a word except in an undertone. Prompt and unquestioning obedience in everything is the motto of the Japanese soldier. Their courage at the storming of Tientsin city, on the march to the capital, and at the capture of Pekin won the admiration of all the Allies, and their behaviour and self‐restraint in the hour of victory were equalled only by their gallantry in action. No charges of cruelty to inoffensive peasants or women and children could be substantiated against them; and they treated the conquered Chinese with great kindness. They employed their prisoners to work for them and paid them liberally for their labour. Their conduct in garrison was admirable. Well armed and equipped, well officered and led, the Japanese Army is now a powerful fighting machine, and would prove a formidable enemy or a useful ally in the field.

Throughout the campaign a remarkable spirit of comradeship existed between the Japanese and the Indian troops. The Gurkhas were their especial friends. So like in appearance that it points to a common ancestry in the past, they hailed each other as relatives, and seemed quite puzzled to find no resemblance in the languages. This did not seem to slacken their friendship; and it was amusing to see a mingled group of the two races chatting together in an animated manner, neither understanding a word of the other’s tongue.

The men of the American Army were equalled in physique only by the Australian Contingent and our Royal Horse Artillery. Their free‐and‐easy ideas on the subject of discipline, the casual manner in which a private addressed an officer, astonished and shocked their Continental critics. I heard the remark of a German officer who, after a slight acquaintance with their ways, exclaimed, “_That_ an army? Why, with the Berlin Fire Brigade I would conquer the whole of America!” The speech was so typically German! But the men, accustomed to think and act for themselves, were ideal individual fighters; and for scouting, skirmishing, and bush‐whacking could not easily be surpassed. Their troops in China consisted at first mainly of marines and regiments diverted when on their way to the Philippines, and consequently were not well equipped for a long campaign. But soon after the outset of the expedition all deficiencies were made good and ample supplies were forthcoming, their hospitals especially being almost lavishly furnished with all requirements.

The new American Army, like their excellent go‐ahead Navy, is a force to be reckoned with in the future. We hear much of the effects of “influence” in our army. It is nothing compared to what goes on in the American. With them to be the near connection of a Senator or a prominent politician is infinitely more advantageous than to be the scion of a ducal line or the son of a Commander‐in‐Chief with us.

If the Continental troops suffer from too rigid a discipline, which destroys the power of thinking for themselves in the lower ranks, the Americans, perhaps, err on the other side. They are too ready to act on their own responsibility, to question the wisdom of the orders they receive, and act, instead, as seems best to themselves. This was particularly evident in the case of the volunteer regiments in the Philippines; but instances of it were not wanting among the regulars and marines in North China. Democracy is impossible in an army. But the material at the service of the United States is unquestionably magnificent; and when the pressure of events in the future has called into being and welded together a really large army in America, there are few nations that can hope to oppose it successfully in the field. How rapidly the sons of the Star‐spangled Banner acquire the art of war was evidenced in Cuba and in the more difficult and trying guerilla campaign in the Philippines. Their faults were those of inexperience.

Of their courage there can be no doubt. At the taking of Tientsin city nearly a thousand American infantry and marines served with the British under General Dorward. In a letter to their commander this officer warmly expressed the honour he, in common with all his men, felt in serving alongside the American troops. In his own words, “they formed part of the front line of the British attack, and so had more than their fair share of the fighting. The ready and willing spirit of both officers and men, their steady gallantry and power of holding on to exposed positions, made them soldiers of the highest class.” What greater praise could be given them? And well they deserved it! Two companies of the 9th Infantry (U.S.A.), attacked in front and flank by a merciless fire, held gallantly to their ground until nightfall with a loss of half their number in killed and wounded, including their brave leader, Colonel Liscum, who met a hero’s death at the head of his men. In all the actions of the campaign the American troops distinguished themselves by conspicuous bravery; and the British recognised with pride and pleasure the gallantry of their cousins. May we always fight shoulder to shoulder with, but never against, them!

Great _camaraderie_ existed between the Americans and the English troops. The sons of the Stars and Stripes amply repaid the disdain of the Continental officers with a contempt that was almost laughable. They classified the Allies as white men and “Dagoes.” The former were the Americans and the British, the latter the other European contingents. They distinguished between them though, and the terms “Froggie Dago,” “Sauerkraut Dago,” “Macaroni Dago,” and “Vodki Dago” left little doubt in the hearer’s mind as to which nationality was meant.

I heard a good story of an encounter between a young English subaltern and an American in North China. I fancy the same tale is told of a Colonial in South Africa; but it is good enough to bear repetition. The very youthful Britisher, chancing to pass a Yankee soldier who was sitting down and made no motion to rise, considered himself affronted at the private’s failure to salute him. He turned back indignantly and addressed the offender.

“Look here, my man, do you know who I am?”

“No—o—o,” drawled the American.

“Well, I’m a British officer.”

“Air ye naow?” was the reply. “Waal, sonny, you’ve got a soft job. See you don’t get drunk and lose it.”

The subaltern walked on.

Of the Italian Expeditionary Force, which was not numerically very strong, I saw little; but all spoke well of them. The famous Bersagliere, the cocks’ plumes fluttering gaily in their tropical helmets, were smart, sturdy soldiers.

I regret never having had an opportunity of seeing the contingent which Holland, not to be outdone by the other European Powers, despatched to the East. This nation was also determined to show its power to the world. So a Dutch Expeditionary Corps was equipped and sent out. It consisted of a sergeant and ten men.

The Indian Field Force was a revelation to Europe. Friend and foe realised for the first time that in the Indian army England has a reserve of immense value. While our Continental rivals fancied that our hands were tied by the South African war, and that we could take no part in the Chinese complication, they were startled to see how, without moving a soldier from Great Britain, we could put into the field in the farthest quarter of the globe a force equal to any and superior to most. It was mobilised and despatched speedily and without a hitch. The vessels for its transport were all available from the lines that ply from Calcutta and Bombay, and no ship was needed from England. The bluejackets and marines with half a battalion of the Royal Welch Fusiliers, already on the spot, and two batteries with some Engineers were all the white troops we had until gallant Australia sent her splendid little contingent as an earnest of what she could and would do if required.

Previous to the expedition of 1900, the Indian army was never allowed to engage in war without a strong backing of British troops. And even its own officers scarcely dared to allow themselves to believe that without such leavening their men could successfully oppose a European army. But now that they have seen them contrasted with the pick of Continental soldiers, they know that they could confidently lead their Sikhs, Gurkhas, Rajputs, Pathans, or Punjaubis against the men of any other nation. Not only is the Indian army as well equipped and organised as any it could now be called upon to face, but also the fighting races of our Eastern Empire, led by their British officers, are equal to any foe. The desperate battles of the Sikh War, when, as in the fierce struggle of Chillianwallah, victory often hung wavering in the balance, the determined resistance of the mutinous troops in 1857, show that skilful leadership is all that our sepoys need to enable them to encounter the best soldiers of any nation.

India is a continent—not a country—composed of many races that differ far more than European nationalities. A Russian and an Englishman, a Swede and an Italian are nearer akin, more alike in appearance, manners, and modes of thought than a Gurkha and a Pathan, a Sikh and a Mahratta, a Rajput and a Madrassi. It follows that the fighting value of all these various races of India is not the same. No one would seek among the Bengali _babus_ or the Parsees of Bombay for warriors. The Madras sepoy, though his predecessors helped to conquer India for British rule, has fallen from his high estate and is no longer regarded as a reliable soldier. Yet the wisdom of the policy which relegated him of late years altogether to the background during war may be questioned. For the Madras sappers and miners, who alone of all the Madras army have been constantly employed, have always proved satisfactory. But the fiat has gone forth; and the Madrassi will be gradually replaced even in his own presidency by the men of the more martial races of the North. The Mahratta, who once struck terror throughout the length and breadth of Hindustan, is considered by some critics to be no longer useful as a fighting man. But they forget that not so long ago in the desperate battles near Suakin, when even British troops gave back before the mad rushes of fanatical Dervishes, the 28th Bombay Pioneers saved a broken square from imminent destruction by their steadfast bravery. And they were Mahrattas then. Of the excellence of the gallant warrior clans of Rajputana, of the fierce Pathans inured to fighting from boyhood, of the sturdy, cheerful, little Gurkhas, the steady, long‐limbed Sikhs, none can doubt. Hard to conquer were they in the past; splendid to lead to battle now. To Lord Roberts is chiefly due the credit of welding together the Indian army and making it the formidable fighting machine it is.

One great factor of its efficiency is the excellence of its British officers. Early placed in a position of responsibility, they rapidly learn to rely on themselves and act, if need be, on their own initiative. In a British regiment an officer may serve twenty years without commanding more than a company; whereas the Indian army subaltern, before he has worn a sword three years, may find himself in command of his battalion on field‐days, in manœuvres, sometimes even in war. In the stern fighting at the Malakand in the beginning of the Tirah campaign, one Punjaub regiment was commanded by a subaltern, who acquitted himself of his difficult task with marked ability. Unlike the system of promotion that exists in the British army, the English officers of the native corps attain the different grades after a certain number of years’ service—nine for captain, eighteen for major, twenty‐six for lieutenant‐colonel—and may occupy any position in their regiments irrespective of the rank they hold.

An Indian infantry battalion consists of eight companies, each under a native officer, termed a subhedar, with a jemadar or lieutenant to assist him. He is responsible for the discipline and interior economy of his company. The senior native officer is known as the subhedar‐major. Instead of the terms lance‐corporal, corporal, sergeant, and sergeant‐major, lance‐naik, naik, havildar, and havildar‐major are the names of the corresponding grades.

The British officers practically form the staff of the regiment. The former number of eight has been recently increased to eleven, twelve, and thirteen, according to the presidency to which the corps belongs, those of the Punjaub—being nearest the danger zone of frontier wars and threatened invasion—possessing the largest number. The eight companies are grouped in four double companies—the double company commander (a British officer) having almost complete control of his unit. The commanding officer of the battalion mainly restricts himself to seeing that the training of each portion of the regiment is identical and efficient. Each corps possesses a commanding officer, four double company commanders, an adjutant, a quartermaster, and the remainder are known as double company officers.

The organisation of a native cavalry regiment is very similar, the terms squadron and squadron‐commander replacing double company and double company commander. In most of the corps the _sowar_, as the Indian cavalry private is called—_sepoy_ being employed to denote an infantryman—is usually the owner of his horse; and direct commissions to native gentlemen are of more frequent occurrence in the cavalry than in the infantry. Regimental transport consists of baggage‐ponies or mules, so that an Indian mounted corps is particularly mobile.

Foreign officers in North China at first made light of our Indian soldiers; but they were not those who had seen them fight in the early days of the campaign. For one arm, however, there was nothing but praise. All agreed that our native cavalry was excellent. Even German officers acknowledged that in smartness, horsemanship, and efficiency it could not easily be surpassed. The work done by the 1st Bengal Lancers in the advance on Pekin and afterwards could not be underrated. With the exception of a few Cossacks and Japanese, they were the only mounted troops available at first. They were in constant demand to accompany columns of Continental troops, and they won the admiration of all the foreign officers with whom they were brought in contact. In fact, the only persons who failed to appreciate their merits were the Tartar horsemen who ventured to oppose them in the march on the capital. _Their_ opinion is not recorded, but I think that it would not be fit for publication except in an expunged and mutilated form. The 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry—as good a regiment as any that Bengal can show—won many encomiums for its smartness from all who saw its squadrons at Tientsin, Shanghai, or Shanhaikwan.

But Indian officers were at first surprised and puzzled at the unflattering criticisms passed on our native infantry. Those who had seen our sepoys in many a hard‐fought struggle on the frontier could not understand the frequent remarks of foreign officers, that “our men were very unequal.”

“Some of them,” they said, “are tall, well‐built, and powerful, and should make good soldiers; but others are old, feeble, and decrepit. We have seen in the streets of Tientsin many who could not support the weight of a rifle.” But it was soon discovered that these critics failed to comprehend the distinction between fighting men and followers, since in China both were clad somewhat alike. The coolie corps, bheesties, syces, and dhoolie‐bearers were all dressed in khaki; and Continental officers were for a long time under the impression that these were soldiers. The error was not unnatural, and it accounted for the unfavourable reports on the Indian troops which appeared in many European journals. But those who understood the difference were struck by the fine physique and excellent training of our native army. When we compared our Sikhs, Pathans, Gurkhas, and Punjaubis with the men of most of the Allied forces, we recognised that, led by British officers, they would render a good account of themselves if pitted against any troops in the world. And our sepoys return to India filled with immeasurable contempt for the foreign contingents they have seen in China. As the ripples caused by a stone thrown into a lake spread over the water, so their opinion will radiate through the length and breadth of the land; and this unexpected lesson of the campaign will have a far‐reaching and beneficial effect throughout our Eastern Empire.

India is essentially a soldier’s country. Its army is practically always on a war footing, the troops near the frontier especially being ready to move at a few hours’ notice. The rapid despatch of the British contingent for Natal and the China expeditionary force are object‐lessons. The peace establishment of a native regiment is greater than the strength required for active service. Hence on mobilisation no reserves have to be called up to fill its ranks; recruits and sickly men can be left behind, and it marches with only fully trained and seasoned soldiers. In India vast stretches of country are available for manœuvres, which take place every winter on a scale unknown in England. Not a year passes without its little war. In consequence, the training of the troops is thorough and practical. The establishment of gun and rifle factories is all that is needed to make India absolutely self‐containing. It produces now all other requisites of war. Ammunition, clothing, and accoutrements are manufactured in the country, and it was able to supply, not only the needs of the expedition in China, but also many things required for the troops in South Africa.

To the pessimists in England and the hostile critics abroad, who talk of the possibility of another mutiny, the answer is that a general uprising of the Native army can never occur again. The number of British troops in India has been more than doubled since 1857, and the proportion between white and coloured regiments in each large station more equalised. The artillery is altogether in English hands, with the exception of the rank and file of a few mountain batteries and the smooth‐bore guns maintained by native princes for show. Communication has been enormously quickened by the network of railways that covers the country, enabling a force to be moved in two or three days to a point where formerly as many months were required.

And the Indian army is loyal to the core—loyal, not to the vague idea of a far‐distant England, not to the vast impersonal _Sircar_,[2] but loyal to itself; loyal to its British officers, who, to the limited minds of the sepoys, represent in concrete form the Power whose salt they eat. And those officers, speaking to each in his own tongue—be he Sikh, Rajput, or Dogra—stand in the relation of fathers to their men. To them in sorrow or perplexity comes the sepoy, sure of sympathy or aid. In their justice he reposes implicit confidence. And as in peace he relies on these men of alien race, so in war do they trust in him. And the tales of the struggle of the Guides round Battye’s corpse, of the gallant Sikhs who died at their post in Saragheri, of the men who refused to abandon their dead and dying officers in the treachery of Maizar, show that our trust is not misplaced.

[Footnote 2: _i.e._ Government.]