A CIVIL NOTE FOR THE MILITARY.
My Dear Mr. Punch,—I observe that in a preliminary notice that has been sent round to the Press by the Executive Council (I suppose that that is the proper title of the Governing Body of the forthcoming Royal Military Tournament), it is said that there is likely to be some novelty in the mimic warfare known as the Combined Display of all Arms. The circular informs those whom it may concern, that "it is intended that, so far as space will allow, the scene shall be that of one of the more recent conflicts in which British troops were actually engaged, and special information from those present on such occasions has been invited, so that the result is likely to be of more than ordinary interest."
Quite so. I call your particular attention to the last few words in the above sentence, in which reference is made to "the special information from those present on such occasions." I thought the idea so good, that I immediately prepared a scheme for the adoption of the Royal Military Tournament, founded upon my acquaintance with the manners and customs of the English army when at Islington and elsewhere. I give it for what it is worth—not much, but (to quote the once popular song) "better than nothing at all."
Rough Idea.
A dozen Infantry privates saunter leisurely into their places, half-way across the arena, and await events.
Enter Bridging Battalion, Royal Engineers. They bridge over an old cloth river. The dozen Infantry men wait until the erection is completed, and then fire a volley. The Sappers return the compliment. No one hurt, and the dozen retire to the tower-like gateway in the background. The Artillery at this point rush in and trot over the newly-erected bridge. They then fire in the direction of the dozen heroes, but without any apparent result.
Grand charge of Colonial Cavalry, with and without additional men. They act as Mounted Infantry. They are fired upon—in a half-hearted sort of way—by the dozen of Infantry seeking shelter in the gateway. The fire seems to agree with them.
Enter an Ambulance Corps to pick up one of the colonists who has obligingly been wounded by the blank cartridges of the dozen Infantry.
Sudden appearance of the strength of the entire company. The gateway is stormed, and the dozen Infantry men are overpowered. Music on the band—"Rule Britannia!" and the National Anthem. Great cheering while some one waves the Union Jack. End of the performances.
There, my dear Mr. Punch, that is what I have sent to the "powers that are" at Islington. Whether it has been accepted or rejected I do not know. You will be able to see for yourself when the proper time arrives.
But then, I can assure you, my sketch is exactly like the real thing. It is not unsuggestive of the Battle of Waterloo, the siege of Sebastopol, or the taking of Pekin. This is my "special information, as one present on such occasions," and it is heartily at the service of the Executive. To be worthy of my title, I would beg you to send me, say, a fiver, or even a sov, or (if that is too much) a dollar.
I do not ask for the money as a gift, but as a loan. I prefer the latter to the former, although a long experience has taught me that gift and loan have much the same meaning.
Yours truly, A Very Old Soldier.
Inaudible Proceedings at the Hotel Victoria.—We have had "The Funny Frenchman" over here, at the Albambra, and now we have "The Calculating Frenchman," M. Jacques Inaudi, who, last week, at a séance, exhibited his marvellous powers of addition, multiplication, subtraction, and division. It is an error to suppose that he was educated for the French Navy, and has been appointed to a ship, which he was to have adorned as a "wonderful Figure-head." By the side of this Figure-head the "Calculating Buoy" would have been quite at sea.
