The Amateur Army | Page 9

than a little lucky in getting away at all. I
was very unlucky when I applied--"
But his story was a long one, and I have forgotten it.

CHAPTER IV
OFFICERS AND RIFLES
As I have said, I have learned among other things to obey my officers
and depend upon my rifle. At first the junior officers appeared to me
only as immaculate young men in tailor-made tunics and well-creased
trousers, wearing swords and wrist-watches, and full of a healthy belief
in their own importance. My mates are apt to consider them as being
somewhat vain, and no Tommy dares fail to salute the young
commissioned officers when he meets them out with their young ladies
on the public streets. For myself, I have a great respect for them and
their work; day and night they are at their toil; when parade comes to
an end, and the battalion is dismissed for the day, the officers, who
have done ten or twelve hours' of field exercise, turn to their desks and
company accounts, and time and again the Last Post sees them busy
over ledgers, pamphlets, and plans.

Accurate and precise in every detail, they know the outs and ins of
platoon and company drill, and can handle scores and hundreds of men
with the ease and despatch of artists born to their work. Where have
these officers, fresh youngsters with budding moustaches and white,
delicate hands, learned all about frontage, file, flank, and formation,
alignment, echelon, incline, and interval? Words of direction and
command come so readily from their lips that I was almost tempted to
believe that they had learned as easily as they taught, that their skill in
giving orders could only be equalled by the ease with which I supposed
they had mastered the details of their work. Later I came to know of the
difficulty that confronts the young men, raw from the Officers' Training
Corps, when they take up their preliminary duties as commanders of
trained soldiers. No "rooky" fresh to the ranks is the butt of so many
jokes and such biting sarcasm as the young officer is subjected to when
he takes his place as a leader of men.
Soon after my arrival in our town a score of young lieutenants came to
our parade ground, accompanied by two commanders, a keen-eyed
adjutant, brisk as a bell, and a white-haired colonel with very thin legs,
and putties which seemed to have been glued on to his shins. The
young gentlemen were destined for various regiments, and most of
them were fresh and spotless in their new uniforms. Some wore
Glengarry bonnets, kilts, and sporrans, some the black ribbons of
Wales; one, whose hat-badge proclaimed the Dublin Fusilier, was
conspicuous by the eyeglass he wore, and others were still arrayed in
civilian garb, the uniform of city and office life. Several units of my
battalion were taken off to drill in company with the strange officers. I
was one of the chosen.
The young men took us in hand, acting in turn as corporals, platoon
sergeants, and company commanders. The gentleman with the eyeglass
had charge of my platoon, and from the start he cast surreptitious
glances at a little red brochure which he held in his hand, and mumbled
words as if trying to commit something to memory.
"Get to your places," the adjutant yelled to the officers. "Hurry up!
Don't stand there gaping as if you're going to snap at flies. We've got to

do some work. There's no hay for those who don't work. Come on,
Weary, and drill your men; you with the eyeglass, I mean! I want you
to put the company through some close column movements."
The man with the eyeglass took up his position, and issued some order,
but his voice was so low that the men nearest him could not hear the
command.
"Shout!" yelled the adjutant. "Don't mumble like a flapper who has just
got her first kiss. It's not allowed on parade."
The order was repeated, and the voice raised a little.
"Louder, louder!" yelled the adjutant. Then with fine irony: "These men
are very interested in what you've got to tell them.... I don't think."
Eyeglass essayed another attempt, but stopped in the midst of his words,
frozen into mute helplessness by the look of the adjutant.
"For heaven's sake, try and speak up," the adjutant said. "If you don't
talk like a man, these fellows won't salute you when they meet you in
the street with your young lady. On second thoughts, you had better go
back and take up the job of platoon sergeant. Come on, Glengarry, and
try and trumpet an order."
Glengarry, so-called from his bonnet, a sturdy youth with sloping
shoulders, took up his post nervously.
"A close