Another interesting gent was Captain Hardup. He was a professional Militiaman, and therefore a mystery. His pedigree was uncertain; his schooling vague; while his cheques were frequently marked "overdrawn." But he had the necessary qualifications to keep up appearances—that is to say, he had a knickerbocker suit, a club address, and a mess kit, which, by the way, had the appearance of having passed through the hands of grenadiers, fusiliers, light infantry, and other branches of the service. In the times of peace he collared a living, for about four and a half months of the year, [pg 120] by training with various militia corps. For this he received a captain's pay, which was supplemented by his winnings at bridge and an occasional cheque for taking a richer fellow's turn of duty. The county men tolerated him, regarding him as a necessary evil, and, at times, a useful friend. What Captain Hardup did when the Militia "broke down" was wrapped in a cloud. Some said he canvassed for insurance; others averred that he travelled for beer; while a few suggested that he ran baby incubators at country fairs. Nevertheless, Hardup was a man of experience. He knew his job, and could even tell when a Militiaman had no feet in his socks. To Colonel Corkleg he was invaluable, for he could twist a company outside in.
The subalterns, of course, were equally interesting; they always are. These youthful officers are the life of a regiment. Invariably they are splendid sportsmen. To the outside world they present a haughty air, which generally merits for them the title of snobs. But this is an unfair characterisation. The air of supreme importance which they adopt is really the result of old army training, which compels an officer to hide his virtues [pg 121] and his failings under a mask of chilling hauteur. Scrape that, and you will always find a generous heart and a kindly soul. It is in the mess that you realise this. There, they are all big bouncing boys, full of innocent fun and youthful candour. To them a spade is a spade. If a brother officer is really a prig and abuses his men, these youths will take it out of his skin. A broken bed and a broken head is the penalty of unpopularity. Tar and feathers is the punishment of the cad. Drinks all round is usually the verdict when a subaltern forgets his manners and commits a smaller sin. The mess is the school for courage, honour, and truth. In the British officers' anteroom you will find the foundations of that splendid chivalry which has given us fame. Isolated cases to the contrary usually mean that the colonel is an idiot, and the adjutant a fool. But these are rare, and when found the War Office has a blunt style of treatment. A German officer has shown us, in the pages of 'Life in a Garrison Town,' how things are in the Army of the Kaiser. You will not find these things in the Army of our King. This statement can also be applied to the Militia and Territorials.
[pg 122] And this was the type in Colonel Corkleg's corps. Jim Longlegs, the senior sub, was cox of the Cambridge boat. His nose had been flattened while learning the noble art of self-defence. He could tear a pack of cards with his hands, and crack an iron bar over his knee. He was clean-limbed and alert, good at a spree, and if he did like a whisky-and-soda, he could drink it as Luther did, in the manner of a gentleman.
Cocky Dan was an impish sprite from a public school. He was five feet of delightful impudence and daring. His nose was always stuck in the Maxim gun. This tricky machine was his hobby and his job. When he rode alongside of it on his piebald charger he resembled a beaming boy scout with the all-round cords. Cocky Dan was a name that suited him. And then there was Willie Winkie, the sausage merchant's son, who tried so hard to be a gentleman. He would have been a perfect gentleman if he hadn't worried too much about 'Etiquette for Officers,' and that other social handbook, 'Manners made Easy.' Billy Isaacs was hampered by his name. Not that he was a Jew, but, as he said himself, one of his female ancestors had got mixed up in a [pg 123] money-lending affair with a Hebrew, who was financing her fads in silks, port, and rouge. To save the family pewter and the old manorial brick bungalow, she married the man, and thus hampered a decent fellow with a hooked proboscis and an ikey name. Still, he was a devil at finance, and almost sent the colour-sergeant insane when he balanced a halfpenny out in his pay-sheet. Then there was Gerald Hay Du Patti Brown, who made the dickens of a row about some of his people coming over with William the Conqueror. This carried him far till Second Lieutenant Briefs discovered in the Doomsday Book that his ancestor was a pioneer-sergeant in the army which landed at Hastings in 1066. Still, he was a good fellow, and always willing to stand a port the day before the month's pay was due. Brown's boon companion was Giddy Greens, a husky youth intimate with the musical comedy stars. He had only a hundred a year, and was always dodging the Jews. His suits were easily the best, for the reason that he changed his tailor monthly and always burnt their bills. But there, one might rave for ever about the subalterns of this famous corps.
[pg 124] Now, the billets in which they were lodged at Mudtown was hardly in keeping with their tastes. It was a musty manor, with a touch of age and a scent of dead cats. Dirt was rampant and barrenness profound. Where the pictures once hung they found great holes, while through the windows came sparrows, bats, and rain. The floor was rotten, indeed Colonel Corkleg lost his artificial stump in a mouldy corner of his room. There wasn't a bath. All had to wash themselves in biscuit tins, and wipe their faces on a greasy roller towel. As to the kitchen, only a single fire remained to cook soup, fish, entrees, and sweets. These had to be served up on one old kitchen table.
"This is——" muttered the colonel.
"Yes, sir," replied the adjutant.
Still, it was war time, so things had to be devised. Tables were made out of floor boarding and salmon boxes; beds were created out of blankets, ancient and modern. These were sewn together in the form of sleeping bags. Candles were used for illumination; while other necessaries were begged, borrowed, or stolen from patrons and friends. But all the worry or discomfort did not upset the usual cheerfulness of the [pg 125] subs. Life to them was one continual round of joy. They danced till their legs burst through the floors, and sang so loud that the senior major vigorously protested. Guest-nights were occasionally held, when fellow-officers in other corps arrived to sample their good things. Tinned sardines, ration beef, Irish stew, slippery jellies, and musty macaroni were served on the one plate, liquid refreshments were gladly drunk out of bowls and collapsible mugs. After these sumptuous repasts the senior sub, Jim Longlegs, put his juniors through the "Modulator." This is a performance which the priggish youth hates like prussic acid, but one much enjoyed by all true sportsmen. In the course of this ceremony, a sub may be ordered to stand on his head, sing "Annie Laurie" in that position, and afterwards endeavour to swallow a Scotch. A somewhat ignoble performance to the uninitiated, but underneath all these foolish pranks there is a deep reasoning, and that is the teaching of youth a respect for authority and a prompt obedience to orders. Anteroom court martials were also held in the billets of Mudtown. At these tribunals all delinquents were bluntly catechised for their sins. For [pg 126] instance, Cocky Dan was charged with "irregular conduct, unable to control his horse, riding through a ham merchant's window and sitting in a basket of rotten eggs." This conduct was deemed unbecoming to an officer and a gentleman, so Cocky Dan received a formal sentence of "drinks all round, and to sleep three nights without his pyjamas." Being winter, this sentence will be well understood. Du Patti Brown was also arraigned on a charge of "unauthorised swank—blowing his horn about his Norman pedigree, having a double-barrelled and plebian name, and attempting to enter his name in Burke's Peerage." This was deemed a fraud. His sentence was "a cold tub in full regimentals, and afterwards drinking two quarts of ice-cold water." Billy Isaacs was charged with "Jewish tendencies, in that he in the billets of Mudtown did order a fatigue party from his company to search for the sum of one penny which he had lost on parade." Sentence of death was passed, but this was remitted on the understanding that Billy Isaacs would lend every subaltern a "fiver" till next pay-day.
There were nights when the wine was rich and merriment strong. On these occasions [pg 127] the spirit of mischief and devilry became rampant. One of these famous nights was the celebration of Captain Coronet's receiving what he described as another "beastly legacy of fifty thousand from an old aunt, who had cheated her heirs for ninety-five years." The flowing bowl went round. Colonel Corkleg, with "The Dandy Major" and Major Tartan, like true sportsmen, helped to consume a few quarts of champagne vintage. Their red faces and beaming eyes told all that they had reached that stage which demands, for a senior, immediate retirement from the scene of action, so as not to prejudice good order and military discipline. In the privacy of their rooms they supped more wine, damned the Kaiser and the Radicals, and figured out their actual part in the triumphal march through the Unter der Linden. Meantime, the gay young bloods danced and hooched to their hearts' delight. Choruses, of course, were popular, and many of those songs so dear to all of our public schools echoed out into the still Mudtown night. And then the Tempter came into Jim Longlegs' brain.
"Let's rag the captains," he whispered round.