The Young Dragoon: Every Day Life of a Soldier

by Alfred W. Drayson

As thousands of my readers have never seen the camps at Aldershot or the Curragh, a slight sketch of each of these great military stations will, no doubt, be interesting. It has never been my lot to be quartered at either place, therefore I am unable to enter into details as regards the extent of accommodation. I believe, however, that upwards of twenty thousand men of all arms are frequently concentrated at Aldershot, the object of which appears to be the thorough training of troops for foreign service. The authorities in this, as well as many other matters connected with the War Department, display a lamentable degree of ignorance. When first the camp at Aldershot was instituted, the greater part of the men were encamped in huts built of deal and roofed with felt, and some few regiments were under canvas. Gradually the accommodation was extended, until at the present time there are numerous ranges of brick buildings erected on quite a model plan, and superior as examples of barrack architecture to anything in Europe. These are called the “permanent barracks;” the cavalry quarters and stabling, with two spacious riding-schools and other necessary buildings, such as cook-houses, saddlers’, armourers’, shoemakers’, and tailors’ shops, all being separated some distance from the infantry barracks.

Very many infantry regiments and several brigades of artillery, together with one regiment of cavalry and a battalion of the Rifle Brigade, were in huts when I visited the camp in April, 1860. It is the ridiculous system of picketing horses in the open air to which I allude as displaying a great amount of ignorance on the part of the authorities of the War Department. The system entails a great and very unnecessary loss to the country annually. When troop-horses have been used to warm stables—many of them for years—they are certain to take cold when picketed in the open air. Inflammation, influenza, greasy heels, and that dreadful disease, glanders, are almost sure to break out, and in time extend their effects to other regiments who come in contact with them or their quarters. If young horses, on being purchased from their breeders, were never permitted to enter a stable, no harm would come of the system; but moving horses from warm stables to the open air, in such an exposed situation as Aldershot, can only have a parallel in a gardener transplanting his choicest hot-house plants into the open air during the rigours of a severe winter.

Aldershot, in the county of Hants, is about fifty miles from London, on the South-Western Railway. The camp is fourteen miles in circumference, and is completely surrounded by piquets (soldier-police-men), mounted and on foot; so that if any poor, discontented wight makes an attempt to desert, it is a guinea to a gooseberry in favour of his being caught, and walked back under escort to camp. When I alighted at Farnborough Station my eye at once rested upon the fine bronzed countenance of Sergeant McGuinness, of the 10th Hussars (one of the Kertch heroes), who was at that period provost-sergeant in charge of a piquet always on duty between Farnborough and the camp, a distance of three miles. No ticket is allowed to be issued at the Farnborough or other stations to soldiers until the provost-sergeants have inspected the “pass,” or “furlough,” which they ought to have duly signed by the captain of their troop or company.

As an instance of the want of discretion before spoken of, in reference to the unnecessary exposure to the weather of men and horses, I may state, that while I was visiting the camp, the 40th Regiment and a few companies of the 41st Regiment of infantry arrived, having come direct from the West Indies, where they had been stationed many years. I was at the railway-station when they were disgorged from the special train, in all about 1000 men, besides women and children. The sick, some partially blind, others lame, and many suffering from extreme weakness, were assisted into the ambulances sent from the camp to convey them from the station to the hospital. The main body looked sadly emaciated, and in want of warmer and more comfortable quarters than are to be found at Aldershot. I have seen thousands upon thousands of soldiers embarked and disembarked, many with more than a chance of certain death staring them in the face, but none with such miserable-looking countenances as these poor men. It was a cold, showery day for the time of year, and they were accompanied by many women and children, who had to toil through to camp on foot as best they could; some with infants at the breast, and others toddling and fretting at their side. Why a few ambulances were not sent down from the camp to convey these women and children to their quarters, Lieutenant-General Knollys (then in command of the troops at Aldershot) can best answer.

It is, however, impossible not to ask why soldiers, calling themselves men, should marry women to such misery as this? And why do women ever marry soldiers at all? The Legislature ought either to prohibit the marriage of soldiers, or treat their wives as women, and not worse than dogs.

It was curious to see the number of parrots and birds of beautiful plumage, together with monkeys and goats, the men had brought with them from the West Indies. I noticed a soldier carrying one of the latter, which was lame, across his shoulders; I also noticed several pure-bred Arab horses, especially two noble-looking greys of high caste, with flowing manes and tails, and showing a perfection of symmetry such as I very seldom see in Arab horses imported into this country. Those of the officers who had wives assisted them to cabs, and then took their own places in the ranks; the colonels mounted their Arab chargers, and “Forty-ninth, fall in! Forty-first, fall in! Attention! Right form four deep! Quick march!” the columns stepped off with the left foot, and commenced their measured tramp to the music, which sounded as a mockery to the horde of weary women and children toiling in their rear, and who were soon left far behind.

The road from Farnborough station to the camp is pleasant enough in fine weather to those who are light-hearted and free, but it is miserable at any time, with nothing but more, misery at the end of the journey, to the unfortunate individuals I have described. I mounted the box of an omnibus which meets every train, and we trundled merrily away along the sandy lane, bounded on each side for a part of the way by stately firs. The ’bus stops a few minutes at the “Queen’s Hotel,” a temporary building of iron and glass, situate on the edge of what is called the north camp, and on an eminence overlooking the south camp in the far distance. To the right, almost as far as the eye can reach, is a barren desert, with only here and there a patch of stunted heather; and, although the showers have been heavy, I notice a dense cloud of black dust, moving now here, now there. Hark! I hear borne on the wind that well-known trumpet-sound, “Halt!” and when the dust (which has been trodden up by the horses’ feet) has partially cleared away, I can perceive the gay pennons of that time, newly-raised corps, the 5th Royal Irish Lancers. Lower down in the valley are the 18th Royal Irish Hussars, another regiment raised since the close of the Crimean campaign; these, at the time I write, are about embarking for India. The old time-honoured “Green Horse,” the 5th Dragoon Guards, are with them at field-drill, and all are in a high state of efficiency. I saw them march to their quarters an hour afterwards all begrimed with dust, which made them appear as black as sweeps, the whites of their eyes rolling beneath their shaggy eyebrows, like those of the inhabitants of an uncivilised region, more than British dragoons.

The first range of huts that met my eye after passing the Queen’s Hotel was occupied by a battalion of the Rifle Brigade—a fine, well-made class of men, of more than ordinary intelligence: these were at drill, all on the run (double) on the wide sandy plain in front of their huts. In the rear of these huts, and nearer to the north camp railway-station (on the South Eastern line), are a couple of squadrons of the 16th Lancers not long arrived from York, the men in huts, and the horses picketed in sand-pits; and farther on still I could distinguish a party of foot guards, attired in their white flannel jackets, at rifle practice. Lower down, on our way to the south camp and permanent barracks, is the canal with its pontoon bridge, the connecting link between the north and south camps. Away the omnibus trundles along the Farnham road, leaving the aforesaid encampments on our left, until it reaches the Club-house, for the use of officers only, and situate in a fine space of pleasure-ground: it is a prettily designed structure of wood, iron, and glass, painted green and white. Opposite the Club-house we diverge from the main road, and enter the precincts of the south camp, and pass by the innumerable huts, which would be black and sombre enough but for the scarlet uniforms of their inmates, hung here and there while being brushed and pipeclayed, which helps to relieve the everlasting blackness of their asphalte-bedaubed roofs and sides.

The first regiment I noticed was the 21st Light Infantry: a smart, well-disciplined corps it is too, hardy-looking, well-built fellows, with plenty of bone and muscle. They wear white facings on their jackets, and have white plumes nodding in their ugly-looking shakos. Passing the 11th regiment, wearing green facings, and the 12th, not long arrived from Australia, where I was told they lost many men, who deserted to the gold diggings, I came to the lines of a militia regiment, their uniform fitting them like sentry-boxes, their forage-caps placed on their heads like inverted quartern measures, and their heads sticking out of their stiff leathern stocks like a cod-fish boiling in a kettle with the head upwards. Why do the militia wear leathern stocks, especially in hot weather?