_Sergeant-Instructor of Bayonet-Fighting._--On guard. Long point. Withdraw.
On guard. Rest. Now, when I snap my fingers I want to see you come to the
high port and get roun' me _like lightning_. Some of you men seem to be
treatin' this bizness in a light-'earted way. We don't do _this_ work to
prevent you gettin' into mischief. Not much. Wotjer join the army for? To
fight. Right. I shows yer how to fight. 'Ow many Fritzes jer think I've
killed, by teachin' rookies the proper use of the baynit? This is _the
goods_. 'Ow are we goin' to win this bloomin' war? With the rifle? No. With
bombs? No. With machine guns? No. 'Ow then? By turnin' 'em out with the
baynit. Cold steel. That's it. An' I'll show yer where to pop it in, me
lads--three inches of it. That's all you want--three inches ... (_For sheer
bloodthirstiness there is no patter like that of the Bayonet Department._)