_Time_--NIGHT.
SCENE.--_A shell-pitted plain and a cavalry regiment under canvas
thereon. It is not yet "Lights out," and on the right hand the
semi-transparent tents and bivouacs glow like giant Chinese lanterns
inhabited by shadow figures. From an Officers' mess tent comes the
tinkle of a gramophone, rendering classics from "Keep Smiling." In a
bivouac an opposition mouth-organ saws at "The Rosary." On the left hand
is a dark mass of horses, picketed in parallel lines. They lounge, hips
drooping, heads low, in a pleasant after-dinner doze. The Guard lolls
against a post, lantern at his feet, droning a fitful accompaniment to
the distant mouth-organ. "The hours I spent wiv thee, dear 'eart,
are-Stan' still, Ginger--like a string of pearls ter me-ee ... Grrr,
Nellie, stop kickin'!" The range of desolate hills in the background is
flickering with gun-flashes and grumbling with drum-fire--the Bosch
evensong.
A bay horse (shifting his weight from one leg to the other)._
Somebody's catching it in the neck to-night.
_A chestnut_. Yep. Now if this was 1914, with that racket loose, we'd be
standing to.
_A gunpack horse_. Why?
_Chestnut_. Wind up, sonny. Why, in 1914 our saddles grew into our backs
like the ivy and the oak. In 1914--
_A black horse_. Oh, dry up about 1914, old soldier; tell us about the
Battle of Hastings and how you came to let WILLIAM'S own Mounted
Blunderbusses run all over you.
_A bay horse_. Yes, and how you gave the field ten stone and a beating
in the retreat to Corunna. What are your personal recollections of
NAPOLEON, Rufus?
_Chestnut_. You blinkin' conscripts, you!
_Black._ Shiss! no bad language, Rufus--ladies present.
_Chestnut_. Ladies, huh. Behave nice and ladylike when they catch sight
of the nosebags, don't they?
_A skewbald mare_. Well, we gotta stand up for our rights.
_Chestnut_. S'truth you do, tooth and hoof. What were you in civil life,
Baby? A Suffragette?
_Skewbald_. No, I wasn't, so there.
_Bay_. No, she was a footlights favourite; wore her mane in plaits and a
star-spangled bearing-rein and surcingle to improve her fig-u-are; did
pretty parlour tricks to the strains of the banjo and psaltery.
_N'est-ce pas, chérie?_
_Skewbald_. Well, what if I did? There's scores of circus-gals is
puffect lydies. I don't require none of your familiarity any'ow, Mister.
_Bay_. Beg pardon. Excuse my bluff soldierly ways; but nevertheless take
your nose out of my hay-net, please.
_A Canadian dun_. Gee! quit weavin' about like that, Tubby. Can't you
let a guy get some sleep. I'll hand you a cold rebuff in the ribs in a
minute. Wazzer matter with you, anyhow?
_Tubby_. Had a bad dream.
_Black_. Don't wonder, the way you over-eat yourself.
_Bay_. Ever know a Quartermaster's horse that didn't? He's the only one
that gets the chance.
_Skewbald_. And the Officers' chargers.
_Voice from over the way_. Well, we need it, don't we? We do all the
bally head-work.
_Bay_. Hearken even unto the Honourable Montmorency. Hello, Monty there!
Never mind about the bally head-work, but next time you're out
troop-leading try to steer a course somewhat approaching the straight.
You had the line opening and shutting like a concertina this morning.
_An iron-grey_. Begob, and that's the holy truth! I thought my ribs was
goin' ivery minnut, an' me man was cursin' undher his breath the way
you'd hear him a mile away. Ye've no more idea of a straight line, Monty
avic, than a crab wid dhrink taken.
_Monty_. Sorry, but the flies were giving me gyp.
_Canadian dun_. Flies? Say, but you greenhorns make me smile. Why, out
West we got flies that--
_Iron-grey_. Och sure we've heard all about thim. 'Tis as big as
bull-dogs they are; ivery time they bite you you lose a limb. Many a
time the traveller has observed thim flyin' away wid a foal in their
jaws, the rapparees! F' all that I do be remarkin' that whin one of the
effete European variety is afther ticklin' you in the short hairs you
step very free an' flippant, Johnny acushla.
_A brown horse_. Say, Monty, old top, any news? You've got a pal at
G.H.Q., haven't you?
_Monty_. Oh, yes, my young brother. He's got a job on HAIG'S personal
Staff now, wears a red brow-band and all that--ahem! Of course he tells
me a thing or two when we meet, but in the strictest confidence, you
understand.
_Brown_. Quite; but did he say anything about the end of the War?
_Monty_. Well, not precisely, that is not exactly, excepting that he
says that it's pretty certain now that it--er--well, that it will end.
_Brown_. That's good news. Thanks, Monty.
_Monty_. Not a bit, old thing. Don't mention it.
_Iron-grey_. 'Tis a great comfort to us to know that the War will ind,
if not in our day, annyway some time.
_Canadian dun_. You bet. Gee, I wish it was all over an' I was home in
the foothills with the brown wool and pink prairie roses underfoot and
the Chinook layin' my mane over.
_Iron-grey_. Faith, but the County Cork would suit me completely; a
roomy loose-box wid straw litter an' a leak-proof roof.
_Tubby_. Yes, with full meals coming regularly.
_A bay mare_. I've got a two-year-old in Devon I'd like to see again.
_Monty_. I've no quarrel with Leicestershire myself.
_Gunpack horse_. Garn! Wot abaht good old London?
_Chestnut_. Steady, Alf, what are you grousing about? You never had a
full meal in your life until Lord DERBY pulled you out of that coster
barrow and pushed you into the Army.
_Tubby_. A full meal in the Army--help!
_Brown_. Listen to our living skeleton. Do you chaps remember that
afternoon he had to himself in an oat-field up Plug Street way? When the
grooms found him he was lying on his back, legs in the air, blown up
like a poisoned pup. "Blimy," says one lad to t'other, "'ere's one of
our observation bladders the 'Un 'as brought down."
_Chestnut_. I heard the Officer boy telling the Troop Sergeant that he'd
buy a hay-stack some day and try to burst you, Tubby. The Sergeant bet
him a month's pay it couldn't be done.
_Tubby_. Just because I've got a healthy appetite--
_Brown_. Healthy appetites aren't being worn this season, Sir--bad form.
How are the politicians' park hacks to be kept sleek if the troop-horse
don't tighten his girth a bit? Be patriotic, old dear; eat less oats.
_Chestnut_. That Mess gramophone must be red-hot by now. It's been
running continuous since First Post. I suppose somebody's mamma has sent
him a bottle of ginger-pop, and they're seeing life while the bubbles
last.
_Monty_. Yes, and I suppose my young gentleman will be parading
to-morrow morning with a _camouflage_ tunic over his pyjamas, looking to
me to pull him through squadron drill.
_Iron-grey_. God save us, thin!
_A Mexican roan. Buenas noches!_
_Gunpack horse_. Hish! Orderly Officer. 'E's in the Fourth Troop lines
nah; you can 'ear 'im cursin' as he trips over the heel shackles.
_Monty_. Hush, you fellows. Orderly Officer. _Bong swar_.
* * * * *
_Once more heads and hips droop. They pose in attitudes of sleep like a
dormitory of small boys on the approach of a prefect. The line Guard
comes to life, seizes his lantern and commences to march up and down as
if salvation depended on his getting in so many laps to the hour. From
the guard-tent a trumpet wails, "Lights out."_