Lady. "No—home defence."
A TERRITORIAL IN INDIA.
II.
My dear Mr. Punch,—I think I see now the reason for the wholesale transference of our Battalion to clerical duties as described in my last letter. We are being "trained for the Front in the shortest possible time." That much is certain, because it is in the official documents. Clearly, then, we are to form a new arm. Each man will be posted in a tree with a type-*writer before him. The enemy, approaching, will hear from all sides a continuous tap-tapping and will fly in disorder, imagining that he is being assailed by a new kind of machine-gun.
Did I tell you that we are living in a tent? Four of us occupy one tent; that is to say, we occupy that portion of it which is not required by some five hundred millions of ants. I arrived at this figure in the same way that other scientists count microbes—by multiplying the number on a square inch by the superficial area in inches of the tent. Ants are voracious brutes. In five minutes they can eat a loaf of bread, two pounds of treacle, a tin of oatmeal (unopened), eight bananas, a shaving brush and a magazine. So at least we were assured by our colleagues in the office, some of whom have been in India for many years and therefore ought to know.
When we leave the tent to step across into the office some of the more friendly of the ants accompany us and indulge in playful little pranks. Only this morning one of them, while my back was turned, upset a bottle of ink over a document I had just completed.
We keep alive our military ardour in our spare time by waging war upon this enemy. Their strategy resembles that of the Germans. They rely upon masses, and every day their losses are appalling. But, unlike the Germans, they seem to have unlimited reserves to draw upon. I foresee the day when we shall be driven out and they will be left masters of the field.
But enough of ants, which are becoming a bore. I have verified the theory that human nature is the same all the world over. When I was at home for that last forty-eight hours' leave before we sailed for India, five of us returned to the camp on Salisbury Plain by motor, and on our way we stopped at a country inn. Doubtless our big khaki overcoats and sunburnt faces gave us a more soldierly appearance than the length of our military training warranted, and an elderly countryman seated on a bench inside, regarding us with interest, asked me if we were off to the front. "Well," I said, "we're going to India first, and after a few months we are to return to the Front." Plainly our friend was in a difficulty. He was a patriot. One could see that he longed intensely, ardently, to express his appreciation of our action in volunteering, but he could not find the appropriate words. There was a long pause. Then a light of inspiration shone on his countenance. He had found it. His hand dived into his pocket. "Here," he said, "have some nuts."
So in India. We have another patriot here in our "boy" Mahadoo, who for two rupees a week acts as our valet, footman, housemaid, kitchenmaid, chambermaid, boots, errand boy and washerwoman. "And the sahib will fight the Germans?" he asked me the other day. "I hope so," I replied; "in a few months." One could see that he too experienced the difficulty of adequate expression. Then his hand went to his turban and he produced a small slab of English chocolate. "For you, rajah," he said, and, standing to attention, he saluted like a soldier. And I believe there was a lump in his honest dusky throat.