"Is that no' swank?" asked Tamson.
"Well—yes. What you call swank won Waterloo, the Crimea, and the Mutiny. See! But just to make it clear, gather round here and I'll tell you of a fight I was once in."
The recruits came closer, for when Cursem opened up his heart they loved him. And then all liked to hear the yarns of the tented field. And Cursem was a clever enough soldier to know that this was the best way to let these simple-hearted youngsters understand that tradition and duty are the mainsprings of an army.
"You see, this affair happened out on the Frontier. That's where the sun peels your nose like a banana, and gives you a thirst that gallons can't kill. Well, we had been marching, skirmishing, and killing for nearly six months. We had lost half of the regiment with bullets, fever, and sunstroke when we arrived at a place called Fugee. There the old colonel told us that there were three thousand oily-skinned Dacoits [pg 30] waiting to kill us out by a night attack. Mark you, we were only five hundred strong, and half-starved at that. The nearest garrison was 100 miles away, and we had only rations for three days. Pretty tight, I tell you. So the officers and sergeants had a pow-wow. The colonel put it straight to us when he said, 'It's fight and get out, or stand still and get butchered to death.' We voted to fight. 'Very well—we'll burn our camp baggage, spare rifles, and everything we can't carry on our backs. Then we shall sally out at night. 'A' Company will make a feint at the enemy, while the remaining companies slip round their rear. 'A' must fight its way through or perish, while the remainder must also take pot-luck. Do you agree?' We all said 'Yes,' and went back to get ready.
"Everything was burned. And as I was in 'A' I got my boys ready for their job. The old colonel shook hands with every man of 'A,' and wished us luck. He never expected to see us again. Then out we crawled to the foot of the hills. It was as dark as the devil's waistcoat. And now and then we fell into dongas and holes. [pg 31] No one spoke, and all tried to keep behind the captain, who had an illuminated compass. For over an hour we stumbled along, when the captain whispered 'Halt!'
"'Sergeant,' said he, 'I can smell niggers. Come with me for a minute.' We went forward. 'Steady!' says he; 'there's one asleep.' And before I could say Jack Robinson his sword was in the nigger's stomach. The beggar roared like a donkey, and that started the bother. In a minute the hills were ablaze with bullet flashes. The captain was shot dead; so was the subaltern. My helmet was riddled, and I got pinned in the leg. Just then the dawn broke, and I saw one chance for us all—through a little valley. ''A' Company, fix bayonets—charge,' I roared. And didn't the boys come on. All Glasgow lads—and plucky ones. We shot, bayoneted, kicked, battered, and cursed through a thousand dirty-smelling Dacoits. They made mincemeat of twenty of us in five minutes. I was bleeding like a pig, for they were cutting me up for sandwiches. But on I went with the remainder of the company. The shots, the whistling knives, the wild yells and curses made it just like hell. Yes; that's [pg 32] the word. Once I looked back and saw the enemy disembowelling some of our boys. Just then our silly bugler, who got in a funk, sounded the 'Retire.'"
"And did you, sergint?" asked Tamson.
"No—I shot him dead. The battlefield's no place for fools. Well, we cut, cursed, and blundered through till we got on to a hill. There were only ten of us left. You see, we had tackled the main body, so that I knew the regiment had got safely through. It was hopeless for us to follow. We were cut off. It was to be a last stand for us all. The enemy had shied clear for a while. They knew they could get us any old time. So I got the boys to build a sangar, and we lay down. There was no water, and we had only a few biscuits to last us out. Our throats were parched, our tongues hanging out, and nearly every man had some kind of wound. We tied them up with rags. But oh, my God, the sun! It burnt the sinews of our legs, and sent one fellow raving mad. He rushed down the hill like a mad priest, and in five minutes he was shot dead and disembowelled by the outposts of the enemy. All through the night the Dacoits chanted their death songs, for they [pg 33] were biding their time. For three days we lived like that. Four more died. And on the fourth day the enemy drew near for the final murder of us all. We were weak, but frenzy made us strong. I fired as if I was at Bisley, and potted ten of them dead. All the others did the same. That stopped their rush. But only for an hour. Then they crept on again. Nearer they came. I could smell them—their dirty, evil eyes were mocking us. But every head that popped up from behind a stone got bashed with a bullet. Then our ammunition went done. I had one round left. I heard them come on. I felt it was domino for us all. My brain was going; blood was trickling down my shoulder; but just as my memory snapped I heard the echo of a bugle and cheer. The relief column had got through. When I came to I was in hospital. I was a lunatic for six months, and the only one left out of a hundred men. That's what we call Esprit-de-Corps. Do you understand what I mean now?" he asked in a quiet voice.
"Ay, sergint," was the humble response from all.
"Squad—Dismiss," and off they trooped [pg 34] to the barrack-room with the spirit of duty and honour in their souls. That's how Sergeant Cursem drilled the Glesca Mileeshy. And that is how he earned his Victoria Cross.