MY DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Our Battalion has gone. It has called back to the
ranks all but a few of its soldier clerks. Even as I write it is racing
through the darkness across the Indian plains to its new station. I can
almost hear the grinding thunder of the wheels; the thud of men sleeping
on the seats as they roll off and crash upon men sleeping on the floors;
the pungent oaths mingling with the shriek of the engine whistle ... and
I am left behind in the Divisional Staff Office and attached to another
Territorial unit just arrived from England. Woe is me!
I paid a last visit to the barracks to see my comrades before they left.
They were well and cheerful, but all suffering from a singular delusion.
When I expressed regret that I was not accompanying them owing to the
fact that my services could not be spared from the Office, they all
assured me with perfect gravity that this was not the real explanation
of my being left behind. While I have been plying the pen, they, it
appears, have reached such a state of military proficiency that to
re-introduce me into the ranks at this stage would have had a most
disintegrating effect upon the _moral_ of the entire Battalion.
It was hard on me, they were prepared to admit, but efficiency must come
first. When, very shortly, they march down _Unter den Linden_ I must
surely recognise how very disastrous it would be for me to be there with
my rifle at an unprofessional slope. It would be so noticeable in the
pictures afterwards.
They were all full of kindly commiseration about my future. They, of
course, will presently be leaving for the Front. England will ring from
end to end with the story of their prowess. In six weeks they will have
beaten the Germans to a standstill. Then--best of all--they will return
home, covered with glory and medals, to be received with frantic
demonstrations of joy, affection and adulation.
Several years later, I gather, I may (if exceptionally lucky) return to
England unhonoured and unsung, with indelible inkstains on my fingers
and three vaccination marks on my left forearm as my only mementoes of
the Great War. On the other hand, having got fairly into the grip of the
Indian Government, it is quite likely that I shall end my days here.
Perceiving my chagrin at this prospect, one of them generously promised
to present me with a few Iron Crosses which he anticipates collecting on
the battlefield. But this gift, he was at pains to point out, was
contingent upon the very improbable circumstance of my surviving plague,
dysentery, enteric, smallpox, heat apoplexy, snakebite and other perils
of a prolonged sojourn in India.
In the immediate future I can unfortunately see for myself that my
prospects are of the gloomiest. When I mildly suggested to my Colour
Sergeant that he should send me my pay by post each week from the new
station, he stared at me fixedly and reminded me with unnecessary and
offensive emphasis that I was now attached to another regiment, and that
he had finally and thankfully washed his hands of all responsibility
concerning me. When I sought out my new Colour, he informed me even more
emphatically that I was merely attached to his company for disciplinary
purposes and that it was blooming well useless for me to look to him for
pay. So there I am.
It is the same with rations. None were sent for me this morning. It is
tolerably certain that none will be sent to-morrow.
Ah, well, it will be a sad and disappointing end to a promising career,
won't it, Mr. Punch? I feel sure if Lord KITCHENER knew the facts of the
case he would do something about it. Perhaps you could approach him on
the matter. Still, I have read somewhere that life can be supported on
four bananas a day. I can get eight bananas for an anna here, and I have
Rs. 1, As. 7, P. 2 remaining in my money belt. I leave you to work it
out.
I remember now that a wandering Punjabi fortune-teller revealed to me at
Christmas that I should live to be 107. That was one of his best points.
He also told me that I should be married three times and have eleven
children; that I had a kind heart; that a short dark lady was interested
in my career; that the KAISER would be dethroned next June; and that
fortune-telling was a precarious means of livelihood and its professors
were largely dependent upon the generosity of wealthy _sahibs_ such as
myself. Wealthy!
But he was a true prophet in one particular. He foretold that I should
shortly be unhappy on account of a parting.
Seriously, Mr. Punch, it was hard to say good-bye to all my friends; it
is not cheering to reflect now that they are a thousand miles away, amid
fresh and fascinating scenes, about to undergo novel and wonderful
experiences from which I am debarred. But there is one lesson which the
Army teaches very efficiently--that, whatever one's personal feelings,
orders have to be obeyed without question.
And I suppose they also serve who only sit and refer correspondents to
obscure sub-sections and appendices of Army Regulations, India.
Yours ever,
ONE OF THE _PUNCH_ BRIGADE.
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[Illustration: FOR NEUTRAL NATIONS.