Our Battalion.
RECRUITS.
The boy hesitated as he looked down the wet street of the little country town.
"I've 'arf a mind not to go," he said, "blessed if I ain't——;" then, after a pause, with hands in pockets and coat collar turned up, he lounged off, muttering, "I'll see what Bill ses."
Bill was waiting at the corner, looking somewhat sheepishly at the miscellaneous display in a "general" shop window.
"Goin'?" he said, as the other came up. "Don't think I shall—at any rate not to-night."
A depressing silence ensued, until a smart lad, with belt and bayonet, came by whistling and hailed them.
"Wot O! Bill; you ought to be down at the ord'ly room by now, the sergeant's bin there ever so long. I told 'im I'd bring you two along to-night. Wot are you scared about?" he continued, eyeing them critically.
"Ain't scared about nothing; we was only waiting till the rain cleared off."
"Well, 'urry up, I've got to go to the Arm'ry."
"All right," said the first boy. "Come on, Bill."
The boys stared furtively round the orderly-room, a little box partitioned off from the disused malt-house that served as drill shed. On the walls were highly-coloured posters, setting forth the various advantages of his Majesty's services, while in the corner a jumble of arms and equipment and a half-opened case of rifles caused them to nudge each other. A huge Sergeant was writing at a table covered with Army forms, drill books, and parade registers, amongst which a couple of cartridges attracted their attention.
"Ball cartridge, mark four," whispered the leading lad carelessly to the others.
"Ullo, what's this?" said the Sergeant. "Recruits? That's right. Shut the door be'ind you, an' keep out the cold. I'm glad to see the lads about here is waking up, an' I wish more 'ud copy their example! Them cripples in the next village ain't got enough spirit to get up a dog-fight, let alone learn 'ow to 'andle a rifle; all they're fit for is funerals. Now let's look at you," he continued, and the deep-set grey eyes ran swiftly over the lads. "You'll do all right. Now, listen to me; afore ye signs on, I've got to read over a lot o' reg'lashuns to ye, so as you'll clearly understand what ye're promisin' to do. Now reg'lashuns is like Acts of Parlyment, no two persons can agree as to what they mean, so you won't understand them, probably; but that's not important, as my experience of the ways o' Gov'mint teaches me that they'll be altered shortly, so there's no need for ye to worry. But the one thing ye have to do is, to do as ye're told; attend to that now. It's the blessid privilege of the volunteer to endeavour to make himself a soldier in spite of all obstacles, an' what the reg'lar takes months to learn, an' the militia weeks, 'e 'as to try and do in days, so 'tis no picnic if 'e's goin' to do 'is duty. An' duty don't mean church parades, an' the annual dinner, an' as little else as you can; duty means everything you can possibly do, an' it's the pride of a good lad, that if there's an extry job o' work to be done, e's the lad that'll do it; for there's none better than a keen Volunteer, an' no one worse than a slack one, that'll turn up smart when the drinks is free, but is most unduly anxious about 'is master's business on other occasions, a nuisince to 'is sergeant, 'is captin', 'is colonel, an' 'is country; an' if I thought you were that sort I'd send ye to the right-about now, but I think, by yer looks, ye have the makings o' soldiers. Now, if there's anything ye want to know, now's the time to ask. What's that? Ye don't know if ye're up to standard? Fancy a lad 'avin' the face to ask me that! Why, when I was a boy, with a couple o' corks in me heels, an' a wisp o' straw under me waistcut, I'd a' passed for a giant. When you've learnt to throw a chest and hold yer heads up, yer own mothers won't know yer. Now, after I've read over these 'ere reg'lashuns, ye'll sign these papers, an' when the doctor's passed you, go an' tell yer best girls that ye'll 'ave yer futtygraphs took d'rectly yer uniforms is ready. You will p'rade at seven o'clock, sharp, mind ye, nex' Monday."
"Recruitin's a funny business!" muttered the Sergeant; officially Colour-Sergeant Instructor of E Company 1st Downshire Volunteer Rifles, a Battalion scattered over half a county, unofficially "Tiny," for the most obvious reasons. "'Tis a funny business, at least in these parts; p'raps it's different in London and them 'ere big towns, but if we told 'em all we was supposed to tell 'em, as it's laid down, 'twould frighten 'arf of 'em off the job; while if yer tell 'em in their own way, yer can get 'em to do anything. They say ye must lead a Volunteer, not drive 'im, but 'pon me soul I think a judicious push is what 'e wants mostly."
