A SWEEP OF THE PEN. BY ROBERT AUGUSTIN. THE great are proverbially careless of the consequence of their actions; even so, it will be seen, was the case in this story. That great prop and mainstay of the comic journalist, the almighty War Office, issued forth an order-not an unusual proceeding. The date matters not, nor the exact purport of the publication. It merely inaugurated a new régime, and upset many firmly established and much cherished institutions. In their place was set up a new thing with a new name totally different in constitution, excellent no doubt in theory, but lacking vitality. This new system had a distinct effect upon the life of James Brady, labourer, of Irish origin. James Brady was in the Militia, the Garrison Artillery Militia, in which he had served seven years as a soldier. He had also been out to South Africa in a military capacity. He was a man of forty-five, small but heavily built, and of no mean weight. His military record was good and his conduct-sheet clear. It was true that as a militiaman his duties had not been of an exclusively military nature-in fact, he had always been employed as assistant regimental cook. Officially, however, he was a soldier, and as such there were many interesting details regarding his personality which were kept pigeon-holed in an obscure office-the office of his militia unit: such details as his height, the size of his feet, his next of kin, and religion (if any). These various facts were contained in a dossier known succinctly as the man's "documents." When he became a special reservist the documents were transferred to a new office, the office of his special reserve unit. In consequence, the word "Garrison" in his documents had to be erased and the word "Field" inserted; but this was not the only change. When he was in the Garrison he was a gunner, but in the Field he might become either a gunBy the kindly dispensation ner or a driver. However, a of the Government of his thoughtful Government had country he was converted from foreseen this, and provided a a militiaman into a special regulation. The Government reservist of the Royal Field fixed a height - those below Artillery. This remarkable that height were drivers, those metamorphosis was accom- above, gunners. Thus by plished by means of that reason of his stature James redoubtable implement the Brady was driver. pen. a heaven born All these portentous events happened in an office, and never really affected Brady. It is doubtful if he ever realised the remarkable change that had come over him. precision of movement. A too liberal lubrication with alcohol gave an uncertainty of gait to the majority. All this-that is, on such a scale-was unusual to the new authority. The methods of repression seemed likely to be severe. The training had begun and camp life was in full swing. There had been a somewhat unpleasant crop of "crimes" at the start, but Brady had escaped with admonition. a There was in Brady's unit a permanent establishment of regulars. Cock-a-hoop youngsters most of them, with hardly any service. Great was the flow of badinage between these boys and the aged militiamen. In the ordinary course of events notice of his annual training came to him. He went to the place appointed fairly well up to time-punctuality was not a virtue he had cultivated with very great assiduity in the Militia. James Brady's system received severe shock-he learned that he had to begin to live again. The preliminaries of going out to training seemed much the same, only the officers and sergeants were strange. They seemed to be rather in a hurry, not to say impatient. It appeared that they were regulars. A smart little man with a very confident manner inquired his name. This was Brady's Battery Sergeant-Major. Politely Brady answered his question. "Well, my man," said the Sergeant-Major, "I warn you for office. You are late coming up for training." This was a shock. However, the SergeantMajor had gone before Brady could expostulate. The men fell in to march off to the station. "Advance in fours from the right" was the order. Not a move. The very drill was new and strange to them. "Blimme," said the next to Brady, "that's cavalry drill. We'll have to begin again like bloomin' recruits." The scene at the station did in no way suggest military "And when did you join the service?" said a lad to Brady. "Well, I don't rightly remember," says Brady with slow emphasis, "but the last entry in my Company Crime-sheet was for having a dirty bow and arrow." Much laughter greeted this answer. Jimmy Brady became an established favourite among them all. "Driver Brady, go and groom that horse," had been one of the first orders he received. Brady had never touched a horse before. In his early youth he had driven a donkey once; that was his only experience. Brady approached the horse. The horse looked at him, snapped at the rope which attached his head-collar to the picket line. The horse was in no way vicious, but Brady's method of approach was uncertain, and the animal did not care for shilly-shallying. The horse pretended to bite Brady, and then Brady refused to groom him. Needless to say, this meant considerable trouble for Brady. Again Brady went to office; the rigour of the law was applied, but not the extreme rigour. In fact, he got off rather lightly with a sentence of ten days C.B. The mind of Brady began to see things in a new light. There were others, however, among his comrades who were not so adaptable. They began to grumble. What was worse, they were showing their dis content. The average day in camp was one continual struggle against Fate-unpleasant Fate, with nasty new methods. The morning began with Swedish drill. A squad of beerladen old men hopping about, jumping over forms, bending and stretching their knees, and going through many other contortions, was the cheering sight which greeted the subalterns at 5.30 A.M. after fatiguing guest nights. The particular exercise which was always productive of the greatest mirth was that of lying on their backs and raising their legs towards heaven. This strengthens the stomach muscles, but it also displaces the beer. Brady enjoyed his pint of beer, and consequently greatly disliked this (for him) acrobatic feat. Then there was what was felicitously termed "ridingdrill." The same old men climbed laboriously on to old horses and meandered round in circles on an open plain. Never was there a body of men who more thoroughly disliked the motion of the trot of the ancient hairy horses. Of course, for the rough-rider instructors these riding-lessons were the occasion of a lifetime. The opportunities for airing their native wit were innumerable. The youngest acting bombardier felt himself capable of coping with the situation in the matter of linguistic expression. The vocabulary of the riding-school was greatly enriched, for the good old stock soon failed. At times the horses displayed their character. Brady indeed was the first who fell a victim to equine caprice. The horse he was riding, an uncomfortable brute, suddenly turned out of the riding manège and went straight back to the horse lines. Brady could do nothing. The horse entirely disregarded his exhortations, but gathered speed as it neared its goal, going at a canter. Brady then, much to his surprise, made the discovery that the canter is the easiest pace at which to stay on a team hairy. The horse slowed up suddenly and Brady dismounted, not of his own free will. The whole incident caused considerable amusement, and soured Brady's mind against equitation. A kind of Greek chorus to the whole day, unpleasantly recurring at intervals, were "stables." The horses seemed to have an insatiable desire to be groomed. Not that they appreciated the operation in any way, when performed by the aged militia amateurs. It was extraordinary what a dislike the horses conceived for the poor old men, many of whom experienced considerable difficulty with animals which were quite quiet with others. Brady disliked stables more than anything else. Like any other body of men, this contained a great variety of characters. Every type, from the good soldier down to the worthless corner-man, was there. Not a few had been in the regular army, some indeed were regular reservists at the time, a thing which transpired on quarter day, for several men deserted just before that date. They deserted for the purpose of drawing their reservist payin fact, they served the Government in a dual capacity, both as regular and special reservists. Interesting to speculate what would happen to such a man in the case of complete mobilisation. It was certainly an ingenious method of defrauding the public. For an enterprising man might possibly belong to several Militia units as well. All these incidents, together with an accumulation of petty crimes, rather hardened the hearts of commanding officers. The bonds of discipline became somewhat tighter. Brady so far had not fared badly, considering Nature had intended him to be a cook and not a horseman. Indeed, on the few occasions when the sergeant-major had put him on potato peeling fatigues, his work had been very creditable. After one of such occasions, which had happened to coincide with a pay-day, he had celebrated the evening in VOL. CLXXXIX.-NO. MCXLVI. a slight over-indulgence of his favourite drink. During the night, however, he did not cause comment, and all was well. In the morning-a bad, wet morning-Brady felt justifiably irritable. The training was nearly over. He had been at it a long time. The camp had not been a dry one. The day before his clothes had been soaked, and they were not yet dry. It was raining, raining hard. He was damned if he was going to get up. His absence from parade was noticed. A junior non-commissioned officer was sent to order him to get up. Brady's reply was couched in picturesque language which conveyed an emphatic negative. The bombardier-in the way of kindly advice-suggested that it would be wiser for him to come on parade. Brady grew more coloured in phrase and got up. Then, with the aid of a judiciously placed kick, he ushered the bombardier out of the tent, and relapsed with blasphemy to sleep. An escort took Brady to the guard tent to await the disposal of his case. Very little has been said of Brady's civilian existence. He was married, and a labourer employed on a job which was kept open for him during his period of training. In no sense was he a heroic figure. A common working man, of a common type. It is doubtful if he ever had realised the principles of military discipline. A day before the training ended the court-martial took place. Nothing sensational in 2 N character happened. The proceedings-in a draughty and damp tent-took about threequarters of an hour. Brady was sentenced to a period of detention, euphonious name for military imprisonment without stigma. The sentence had been duly confirmed, and was promulgated on parade. Instead of going home to his wife and work, Brady went to a military gaol. Brady came out. The spell of incarceration seemed to have aroused all the vice which had been latent in his easy goodnature. His job was no longer waiting for him, and he soon sank into evil ways. On Mrs Brady fell the whole brunt of the misfortune. Now Brady has said good-bye, and she is left to shift for herself. Should the traveller who arrives at Euston Station be so prehistoric as to take a four-wheeler for the sake of his luggage, he will inevitably be pursued by two men. These men follow the cab in the hope of a few coppers for helping with the luggage on arriving at its destination. One of these men is a short man with medals on his waistcoat. This is Brady, no longer plump and a humorist, but a soured victim of a great practical joke on the part of destiny. |