Blue Shirt and Khaki: A Comparison

by James F. J. Archibald

Moreover, the breeding as well as the intelligence of many of the men accepted for enlistment is of the same kind that is required of the applicants at West Point. In an army where every recruit must be able at least to read and write, it is impossible to find, even among the colored troops, any of that low-bred class of men which exists in large numbers in the British army. Before the war with Spain, when the army was on a peace footing, there were about five applicants for every vacancy; consequently the recruiting officer could choose with care, and an exceptionally high class of men entered the regular army.

It is a rare circumstance that puts a gentle-born Englishman into the ranks, and the discredit he suffers for enlisting is deep indeed; for soldiers and servants in England stand on the same footing. In the continental nations of Europe soldiering, while it is disliked, is considered as a matter of course, because it is compulsory upon all men to serve. But in England, where the service is voluntary, the private rank is not a nice place for the upper classes.

In New York, in Boston, in Chicago, it is not impossible to see the private’s blouse at a tea function or across the table at dinner, in the most refined society; after the instant’s surprise at seeing the insignia of the common soldier, it is remembered that he is present in his own right, irrespective of uniform, and he is admired for his unostentatious service of the flag.

Once a charming Larchmont belle told me, with the greatest pride, that she had a brother who was a soldier, and she showed me his picture. There were no straps on the shoulders, and the collar of his blouse was turned down.

“He is a private in the Seventh Artillery,” she said; “regulars, you know; and some day he will be an officer.”

“Some day ... an officer” tells the whole story; it indicates one of the vital differences between the British and the American soldier. When the former enlists in the army, he knows he will never get beyond a “non-com.;” while many of those who cast in their lot with the United States forces, do so with the anticipation that eventually they may hold the President’s commission.

At the outbreak of the South African War I met a young Englishman in London who was bubbling over with patriotic enthusiasm, and whose fixed idea was to go to the war, and to go quickly before it was over; but he told me that he had almost given up all hope of getting there, as he had exhausted every possible means of accomplishing his desire. He had been to the War Office to see every one, from Sir Evelyn Wood down; and although he was a relative of the Duke of Devonshire, and swung a great deal of influence, he could not make it; and yet he said that he “simply must go.”

“If you really want to go so much, why do you not enlist?” I asked.

“What! go as a Tommy?” he exclaimed; “why, I could not do that.” And, as a matter of fact, he could not, since the feeling against such a course is so strong that even in time of war it would not be countenanced by his social judges. I saw him again in the later months of the war, and he had attained his desire by going to the Cape on his own responsibility and recruiting a troop of colonials, afterwards receiving a commission to command it.

There are instances where men of social standing have enlisted in the British army, but they are very rare in comparison with those of the same class who answered the President’s call to arms at the beginning of the war with Spain; men who joined not only the volunteer branches of the American army, but who enlisted in large number as privates in the regular service.