Theory and Practice.
Scene.—Sand on the —— Frontier of —-. A Cavalry outpost recently arrived is sitting in a hollow in a vile temper, morosely gouging hunks of tepid bully beef out of red tins. Several thousand mosquitos are assiduously eating the outpost. There is nothing to do except to kill the beasts and watch the antics of the scavenger beetle, who extracts a precarious livelihood from the sand by rolling all refuse into little balls and burying them. It is very hot.
1st Trooper. Shoot the devils, I would. I can't understand their letting 'em go the way they do. The first one I meets I shoots. Killing our wounded the way they do.
2nd Trooper. Ay, and killing's not the worst they do, neither. You should ha' seen them, two poor fellows of ours wot was found. You wouldn't be taking no prisoners after that.
1st Trooper. If I 'ad my way I wouldn't take no prisoners. 'Tain't safe, for one thing. That was 'ow pore old Bill got done in; went to take a white-headed old devil prisoner as might have been his grandfather, and he up and strafed him in the stomach with a shot-gun. Don't care 'oo it is. They say the women's as bad as the men.
Corporal (darkly). Ah, shooting's too good for 'em, I say, after wot they done.
1st Trooper. They do say they're starving now. Living on grass, 'alf of 'em; specially after that lot of camels wot was captured.
Corporal (darkly). Ah, let 'em starve, I say. Starving's too good for 'em after wot they done.
2nd Trooper. That's just it. They won't let 'em starve. As soon as they've finished killing our wounded they comes into our camp with all their families, and we feeds 'em up with dates and biscuits and probably lets 'em go again.
1st Trooper. We're too soft-'earted, that's wot we are. Them Germans wouldn't carry on like that; they'd shoot 'em quick and no more said.
2nd Trooper. Ay, you're right there, and when we gets home the first thing we shall find is a relief fund to provide food for 'em.
Corporal. Well, they'd better not come near this post; they won't get no dates 'ere.
Sentry. Corporal, I can see 'alf-a-dozen of them blighters coming along about a mile away. Shall I give 'em one?
Corporal. No, you idiot. Let's 'ave a look at 'em first.
[Enter a middle-aged Arab, dressed in the most indescribable rags and in the last stage of exhaustion. He is followed at long intervals by his family to two generations, who watch his reception anxiously from afar.]
Arab (falling flat on his face at sight of the Corporal). Bimbashi, bimbashi, mongeries, mongeries.
Corporal. Yes, I'll bash yer all right. Grey-'eaded old reprobate, you ought to know better.
Arab (in an anguished voice). Mongeries, mongeries.
1st Trooper. Lord, he do look thin, por beggar. Mongeries—that means food, don't it? 'E looks as if 'e hadn't eaten nothing for weeks. 'Ere, 'ave a biscuit, old sport.
[Arab makes a spasmodic wriggle towards him.]
2nd Trooper. Look out, Bill, 'e's going to bite your leg.
1st Trooper (with dignity). No, 'e ain't; 'e's a-going to kiss my boots. Gorblimy, 'e's a rum old devil!
Corporal (suddenly remembering his duty). 'Ere you, take your clothes off. Efta aygry. Strip.
[The Arab undoes his rags, which slip to the ground.]
2nd Trooper. Blimy, Alf, look at 'em. I never see such a thing in my life. Look at that big one on his neck.
1st Trooper (suddenly). I say, old chap, don't you never 'ave a bath?
2nd Trooper. Lord, though, ain't he thin? 'E's a fair skeleton.
[The Arab puts on his clothes again and falls exhausted with the effort.]
Corporal. Pore old feller, 'e's fair done; give 'im a biscuit, Alf.
1st Trooper. Try 'im with some bully; they say they won't eat that, though.
2nd Trooper. Won't 'e! I never seen the stuff go so quick. 'Ere, old feller, don't eat the tin.
Corporal. Don't give 'im any more or 'e'll kill 'isself. Let's see if his family can do the disappearing trick as quick as 'e can. Poor devils, they've been through something. 'Ere, you family, mongeries. Tala henna.
[The family are brought up and fed on the day's rations.]
2nd Trooper. Lord, Alf, look at this kid; 'is legs ain't as thick as my finger; cries just like they do at 'ome too. 'Ere, 'ave a bit o' jam.
Corporal. Take 'em back to camp now and 'and 'em over. Come on, old boy; you're all right. Lord, ain't they pretty near done. Lucky they found us when they did.