The Kangaroo Marines Part 8

"You're a good fellow spoiled, as Jack Gordon said."

"Thanks," said Mr. Jones, secretly pleased.

"You know, Mr. Jones, I know a most charming Englishman. He was our Jackaroo. A public school man, he landed at our door and asked for a job. He had a gla.s.s eye and insisted on wearing that and a white indiarubber collar when working round the show. They ragged him, but he stood it all. When they went too far he simply took off his jacket and punched them soft. No matter what dirty job he got, he did it and never whined. He had no airs, and never trumpeted his family lineage or his school. He was just a dear, lovable English gentleman, who'd been a bit foolish at home. He is here in the Australian contingent; in fact, he's coming to see me to-night. Ah! here he is," she gleefully exclaimed, as a tall, well-built soldier, with a monocle, casually stepped on to the veranda. "Come and be introduced?"

"What! To a Tommy," said the surprised subaltern.

"Yes--and a _gentleman_," Sybil emphasised.

"Hallo, dear boy!"

"Well, Sybil, what a surprise when I got your wire."

"Let me introduce Mr. Jones of the Yeomanry--Private Dufair."

Claud solemnly saluted. There was a twinkle in his eye as the surprised subaltern started back, exclaiming, "What--Claud Dufair? You were at Rugby with me!"

"The same, sir," said Claud, standing rigidly to attention, full of suppressed mirth.

"Well, shake, old boy! How the devil are you? And, Tommy or no Tommy, you must have a bottle of fizz with me to-morrow night. Now, I'm not going to spoil sport. I've had an awful wigging from Miss Graham."

"My fiancee," interjected Claud.

"Lucky dog--put me down as your next-of-kin when you make your will.

Good night."

"Good night," said the happy couple, pa.s.sing on to the shade of the palms, where they renewed that love which is mightier than the sword.

CHAPTER VI

THE WISDOM OF "K"

It was a sweltering heat--a day to drink squash and be on a cool veranda. But war has no respect for feelings or conditions, so the Australian, New Zealander, and Lancas.h.i.+re men had to hoof it across the sun-baked desert. The troops were divided into three columns, each striking for a different point. They were bent on a combined scheme in which the "General Idea," "Special Idea," and other vague military terms figured large.

"Ain't the heat h.e.l.lish? My nose is feeling like a banana, and my s.h.i.+rt's glued to my back! Wish I had joined the Camel Corps or Donkey Brigade. Gravel crus.h.i.+ng's no good to me," growled Bill, changing his rifle for the hundredth time.

"We're suffering for the sins of our predecessors," remarked Claud, s.h.i.+fting his eyegla.s.s to look at the Pyramids.

"How's that?"

"In South Africa the Australians went any old way. They fought well, but, as Roberts said, they lacked discipline. That's why you and I are here. They're going to grind the insubordination out of us. They'll march us and sweat us to death. 'Trouble maketh a strong man, Pain maketh a true man,' so some old wag has said."

"Wish ould Kitchener had me thirst, an' this ould pack on his back,"

growled Doolan.

"Ay, an' these d.a.m.nt moskeetes are ay chowin' ma face off," said Sandy.

"Couldn't we have been trained in Australia instead of this confounded hole?" added Bill, who was in a nasty mood that day.

"Too many pubs, too many ma's, and too many politicians about for that," Claud answered. "Besides, Kitchener's a smart fellow. He knows his job. We're here to keep these bally n.i.g.g.e.rs in order, and, at the same time, train for war. You can't push it on to 'K'; he's too mighty quick for you an' me."

"But when the blazes are we goin' to the war? I'm thirstin' to cut some fellow's throat, but all I gets is march and sweat--sweat and march--and fourteen days C.B. if I look sideways at these officer blokes. No good to me, boys. I'm here for killin', not for road punchin'. I've got a head like a barrel and feet like boiled tomatoes."

"Ye shouldna' drink beer," piped Sandy.

"Wot should I drink then?"

"Proosic acid," Doolan muttered, giving Claud a nudge.

"You've got a bad liver to-day, Bill. I think you've been drinking the Gippies' firewater. I thought the old parson had got you to sign the pledge."

"Who could sign the pledge in an 'ole like this? It's sand and flies, flies and sand, C.B., bully beef, jam, and No. 9 pills. Wot a life!"

concluded Bill, relapsing into silence. They left him alone. It was Bill's "off day." He would come round again.

Bill's att.i.tude at that period of the war represented the feelings of many a Tommy in the Australian and New Zealand forces. These men, accustomed to the life of freedom, action, and the daily use of initiative, cursed the seemingly endless days of drill, shooting, marching, manoeuvring, with the firm discipline and immediate punishment when rules were ignored. Eight long months of this was their lot, and during that time there seemed little prospect of their seeing war. It was a hard test.

To them it seemed a cruel test. The younger and more inexperienced thought it useless and a waste of time, but the officers understood the reason why. It was Kitchener's way. "K" knew that these men were the finest fighters in the world. But to get the fullest value for their courage he realised that training and discipline, discipline, discipline was absolutely essential. Every officer of the General Staff expected them to curse and kick. The Staff also a.s.sumed that, in the end, the Australians' true sense of justice would compel them to admit that all this "suffering" would make them infinitely superior to any Australian units which had hitherto shared in fighting for the Motherland. This is exactly what did occur. Kitchener was, therefore, right! Kitchener is always right.

The Australian column had reached its rendezvous. While the men were resting, General Fearless, the Australian G.O.C., was issuing his orders to the Brigade Commanders.

"Gentlemen," he said, "the General Idea is that the Red Force, composed of the Lancas.h.i.+re Division, holds the ridge of sand hills which dominate the road to Cairo. We, who represent the Blue Force, have orders to make a reconnaissance in force. That means that we must so manoeuvre our units as to draw the enemy's fire, and, if possible, reveal his position, his strength, and the weakest point in his line.

This, let me tell you, is not exactly an offensive movement. It is a drawing game. That must be distinctly understood. Of course, in such a reconnaissance, if a G.O.C. saw something which _would_ justify his a.s.suming a vigorous offensive, then the game might develop into a general action. That, however, is a matter for me, not for an individual brigadier. Now, to-day, I want the Bushmen's Brigade to cover our advance, the remaining brigades will act as in my operation orders. Remember, too, gentlemen, that units must keep up communication. Don't let the show develop into a sort of Donnybrook, where each little unit is fighting for its own band. That is all--fall out, please."

The Brigadiers saluted, and returned to their units. The scheme was again explained. Ten minutes afterwards the brigades moved into position. The Bushmen's Brigade took post away in front; in the centre of this front line was the Kangaroo Marines. Covering the whole advance was a screen of men, and in front of the screen, little patrols with scouts ahead. When all were in the position the G.O.C. signalled "Advance." An army on the move is a fascinating sight. It is like an octopus--the main body with a thousand tendrils, or arms, thrown out.

These recoil as they touch the enemy, telling the brain that danger is near.

In selecting the Bushmen's Brigade for the advanced guard, the G.O.C.

was right. They were born scouts, especially the Kangaroo Marines.

These valiants wriggled, crawled, and occasionally doubled across the burning sands. It was hard work--mighty hard work--but they didn't mind. They were doing something useful, and as long as a Bushman is doing that he is all alive and interested.

Bang! went a rifle ahead of them. Bang! Bang! Bang! went the reply.

The fight had commenced. Bill, who was in command of Doolan and Sandy, was right ahead. Claud was away on his right with another little squad. But it was Bill's keen eyes which had first seen little groups of the enemy ahead. One little group, grown tired of waiting, was snoozing peacefully on a sandy hollow. Bill and his cronies crept on their stomachs towards them. Nearer they drew, then, with a yell, leaped down on them.

"Hands up, boys; we've got you."

"Who are ye kiddin'?" said a Lancas.h.i.+re lad, jumping up with his pals.

"There's no kiddin' about this business," said Bill. "Chuck them rifles over here."

"All right, lad; thou can 'ave 'em--give us a f.a.g," said the leader, glad to be out of the hurly-burly.

They were sent to the rear.