Mr. Punch on the Warpath 14 – Anonymous · Verses Across
Literature · Humor
Mr. Punch on the Warpath 14Lastly, remember that the best motto for Yeomanry Troopers is "Point
18
Literature · Humor
Mr. Punch on the Warpath 14
Lastly, remember that the best motto for Yeomanry Troopers is "Point
AnonymousEnglish
de Zele."
OUR RIFLE VOLUNTEERS
A Peace Song (1859)
(Composed and volunteered by Mr. Punch)
Some talk of an invasion
As a thing whereat to sneeze,
And say we have no occasion
To guard our shores and seas:
Now, Punch is no alarmist,
Nor is moved by idle fears,
But he sees no harm that we all should arm
As Rifle Volunteers!
Let sudden foes assail us,
'Tis well we be prepared;
Our Fleet--who knows?--may fail us,
Nor serve our shores to guard.
For self-defence, then, purely,
Good reason there appears,
To have, on land, a force at hand
Of Rifle Volunteers!
To show no wish for fighting,
Our forces we'd increase;
But 'tis our foes by frighting
We best may keep at peace,
For who will dare molest us
When, to buzz about their ears,
All along our coast there swarms a host
Of Rifle Volunteers!
Abroad ill winds are blowing,
Abroad war's vermin swarm;
What may hap there's no knowing,
We may not 'scape the storm.
Athirst for blood, the Eagles
May draw our dove's nest near;
But we'll scare away all birds of prey
With our Rifle Volunteers!
No menace we're intending,
Offence to none we mean,
We arm but for defending
Our country and our Queen!
To British hearts 'tis loyalty
'Tis love her name endears:
Up! then, and form! shield her from harm
Ye Rifle Volunteers!
De Voeux. "My grandfather, you know, lived till he was ninety-eight."
Trevor Carthew. "Well, my grandmother died at the age of ninety-seven."
Brown. "In my family there are several who are not dead yet!"]
DIGNITY IN DISTRESS.
Small Boys (to Volunteer Major in temporary command). "I say, guv'nor--hi! Just wipe the blood off that 'ere sword!"
FORE AND----
Sergeant. "Back a little, number five!"
----AFT!
Sergeant. "Up a little, number five!"
OUR RESERVES!
Aide-de-Camp (at the review). "What are you doing here, sir? Where's your regiment?"
Party on the Grass. "Shure I don' know. Bu-r I don't rec'nise your 'thority, gov'nour!"
Aide-de-Camp (furious). "What the deuce d'you mean, sir? You're a Volunteer, aren't you?"
Party on the Grass. "(Hic!) Norabirofit!--Was jus' now--bu-r I've reshigned 'n cons'quence--temp'ry indishposition!"]
"SUMMING UP."
Captain. "What's the charge, sergeant?"
Sergeant. "This time it's drunkenness, sir. But this man is the most troublesome fellow in the regiment, sir. He goes out when he likes, and comes in when he likes, and gets drunk when he likes--in fact, he might be a horficer!!"]
CHAT A LA MODE.
Brown, Jones, and Robinson, discovered discussing the stats of the Navy in a first-class compartment.
Brown. My dear fellows, I can assure you we are in a terrible condition of unpreparedness. If France was to declare war to-morrow we should be nowhere--absolutely nowhere!
Jones. You mean, of course, with Russia.
Robinson. Or was it Italy?
Brown. It doesn't matter which. I fancy that France alone could tackle us. Why, a man was telling me the other day that if Gibraltar was seized--as it might be--we should not get a ship-load of wood for months--yes, for months!
Jones. But what has Gibraltar to do with it?
Robinson. Why, of course, it guards our approaches to the Suez Canal.
Brown. Oh, that's only a matter of detail. But what we want is a hundred millions to be spent at once. Cobden said so, and I agree with Cobden.
Jones. But upon what?
Robinson. Oh, in supporting the Sultan, and subsidising the Ameer.
Brown. I don't think that sort of thing is of much importance. But if we had a hundred millions (as Mr. Cobden suggested), we might increase our coaling stations, and build new ships, and double the navy, and do all sorts of things.
Jones. But I thought we were fairly well off for coaling stations, had lots of ships on the stocks, and, with the assistance of our merchant marine, an ample supply of good sailors.
Robinson. That's what all you fellows say! But wait till we have a war, then you will see the fallacy of all your arguments. No, we should buy the entire fleet of the world. There should be no other competitor. Britannia should really rule the waves.
Brown. Yes, yes. Of course; but after all, that is not the important matter. What we want is a hundred millions available to be spent on anything and everything. And it's no use having further discussion because that was Cobden's view of it, and so it is mine.
Jones. Where is it to come from--out of the rates?
Brown and Robinson (together). Certainly not.
Jones. Or the taxes?
Brown and Robinson (as before). Don't be absurd.
Jones. Well, it must come from somewhere! Can you tell me where?
Robinson. Why should we?
Brown. Yes, why should we? Even Cobden didn't go so far as that, and----But, here we are at the station.
[Invasion of porters, and end of the conversation.
EASTER MANOEUVRES.
Extract from Private Letter.--April 1.
"I'm afraid Milly and I have put our respective feet in it this time. We thought we would test our capacities at hospital work, and attach ourselves to pa's regiment--of course, without telling pa--and were getting along quite nicely with a soldier who wasn't very well, when we met pa and the General and his regiment. They took away the patient, and judging from pa's looks, there's a warm time coming."]
SUGGESTED HELMET FOR ARMY MOTORISTS
The new helmet as ordinarily | The same, as worn on worn. | motor duty.
Directions:--Simply unhook the lower portion of the helmet; thereby extending the collapsible weather-and dust-proof mask. Admirable also as a disguise.]
FLAG WAGGING
Sergeant of Signallers. "What ai's Murphy to-day? He don't seem able to take in a thing!"
Private Mulvaney. "Shall I signal to 'im, 'Will ye 'ave a drink?'?"
TU QUOQUE.
Army Candidate. "And I only muffed one thing in the geography paper. Couldn't for the life of me think where the Straits of Macassar were!"
Fond Father. "Oh, I say, you ought to have known that. Fancy--the Straits of Macassar!"
Army Candidate. "Well, I didn't, anyhow. By the way, where are they, dad?"
Fond Father. "Oh--where are they? Oh--er--they're--well, they're---- but don't you think we'd better go to lunch?"]
A HORSE-MARINE
Club Wag. "Well, good-night, Admiral."
Warrior. "There's a stupid joke. Admiral! Can't you see my spurs?"
Wag. "Oh, I thought they were your twin screws."]
MILITARY DIALOGUES
II
ARMY REFORM
SCENE.--_The canteen of the Rutlandshire Regiment, at Downboro', an airy, plastered hall with high windows. A bar at one end is backed by a rampart of beer barrels. A double line of barrack tables and benches runs down the room. The hour is 5 p.m. At one of the tables sits Mr. W. Wilson, late Private in the regiment, in all his glory of a new check suit with an aggressive pattern, a crimson tie, a horseshoe pin, an aluminium watch-chain, a grey "bowler" and a buttonhole of violets. Privates W. and G. Smith, P. Brady, E. Dudd and other men of H. company are at the table, or standing near it._
Mr. Wilson (passing round a great tin measure containing beer, after taking a preliminary pull himself). Of course I do 'ear more, being in the smoke, than you 'ear down in this provincial 'ole; and there's generals and statesmen and such-like comes and stays at our place, and when they gets tied up in a knot over any military question, as often as not they says, "Let's ask Wilson, the under-gardener. 'E's a hex-military man; 'e's a 'ighly intellergent feller"; and I generally gets them out of their difficulty.
Pte. W. Smith. D'ye know anything about this army reform?
Mr. Wilson (with lofty scorn). Do I know anything about it?
Pte. G. Smith. D'ye think they're going to make a good job of it?
Mr. Wilson. Naaw. And why? Becos they're goin' the wrong wai to work. They're arskin the opinion of perfeshernal hexperts and other sich ignoramuses, and ain't goin' to the fountain 'ead. Oo's the backbone of the English service?
Pte. P. Brady. The Oirish private.
Mr. Wilson. Right you are, my 'Ibernian--always subsitooting British for Hirish--and the British compiny is the finest horganisation in the world. Give the private a free 'and and a rise of pay, and make the compiny the model of the army, and then yer can put all the hexperts and all the Ryle Commissions and their reports to bed.
Pte. Dudd. As how?
Mr. Wilson. As 'ow, yer old thick head? It's as plain as a pike-staff. Taike this question of responsibility. When some one comes a bloomer, and the paipers all rise 'ell, the civilian toff, 'oos a sort of a commander-in-chief in a Sunday coat and a chimney-pot 'at, 'e says, "It ain't me. Arsk the real commander-in-chief," and the feeld-marshal 'e says, "Arsk the hadjutant-general," and the hadjutant-general, 'e says, "Arsk the hordnance bloke." Now in the compiny there ain't none of that. If the colonel goin' round at kit inspection finds the beds badly made up, or jags and sight-protectors deficient, or 'oles in the men's socks, 'e goes fierce for the captin' and threatens to stop 'is leave; and the captin' don't say, "Oh, it's the hadjutant, or the quarter-master, or the chaplain what's to blame," no, 'e gives the subalterns and the coloured-sergeant beans, and they slip it in to the sergeants and corprils in charge of squads, and the beds is set up straight, and the men put down for jags and sight-protectors, and the 'oles in the socks is mended.
Pte. W. Smith. That's so, old pal. What else would you recermend?
Mr. Wilson (reaching out for the measure). Thank yer. This 'ere army-reforming's a dry job. Now as to the metherd of attack. When the regiment goes out field-firing the henemy's a line of hearthenware pots, touched up on the sly by the markers with a dash of white; the captains count the telergraph posts up the range and give the exact distance; and the men goes 'opping along in line like crows on a ploughed field, the sergeantes a-naggin' 'em about the 'Ithe position and the coprils calling them back to pick up empty cartridge cases. Is that the wai, that you, George Smith, and you, Bill, and you, Pat, used ter creep up to the rabbit warrens when we used ter go out in the herly morning to assist the farmers to keep down the ground gime--poaching the colonel called it? No, we hexecuted wide turning movements and never showed no more than the tip of a nose. Let drill of attack alone, I say, and develop the sporting hinstinct of the private.
Omnes. 'Ear, 'ear.
Mr. Wilson. And this matter of mobility. Why, if you or me or any of us was on furlough at 'Ampstead or Margit, we was never off a 'orse's or a moke's back as long as the dibs lasted. Give us the brass, and we'll find the mobility.
Pte. W. Smith. Why don't yer write to the Prime Minister, and give him your ideas?
Mr. Wilson. I shall. A few hintelligent ex-privates in the Cabinet, a rise of pay for privates and two days' rabitting, and a trip to Margit every week would sive the British Army.
TRAMPS
["In spite of the demand for recruits, the number of tramps remain, undiminished."--Daily Paper.]
Why does not patriotic fire
My all too torpid heart inspire
With irresistible desire
To seek the tented camp, sir,
Where Glory, with her bronze V.C.,
Waits for the brave, perhaps for me?
Because I much prefer to be
A lazy, idle tramp, sir.
I toil not, neither do I spin.
For me, the laggard days begin
Hours after all my kith and kin
Are weary with their labours;
The heat and burden of the day
They bear, poor fools, as best they may,
While I serenely smoke my clay
And pity my poor neighbours.
When Afric burns the trooper brown,
By leafy lanes I loiter down
Through Haslemere to Dorking town,
Each Surrey nook exploring;
Or 'neath a Berkshire hay-rick I
At listless length do love to lie,
And watch the river stealing by
Between the hills of Goring.
Why should I change these dear delights
For toilsome days and sleepless nights,
And red Bellona's bloody rites
That bear the devil's stamp, sir?
Let others hear the people cry
"A hero he!"--I care not, I,
So I may only live and die,
A lazy, idle tramp, sir.
AT A COUNTRY HOUSE.
"Well, my dear Admiral, and how did you sleep?"
"Not at all, General. Confounded butterfly flew in at the window, and was flopping around all night--couldn't get a wink of sleep."
"Ah, dashed dangerous things, butterflies!"]
"PRIVATES, BUT NOT FULL" (1875)
First Driver (after a long day). "The 'orse 'rtillery's a-getting quite aristercratic. It don't dine till eight o'clock!!"
Second Driver. "Stroikes me to-morrow the 'orse 'rtillery'll be too aristercratic to dine at all!!"]
THE ENEMY.
Horrid Boy to newly-appointed Volunteer Major, (who finds the military seat very awkward). "Sit further back, General! You'll make his 'ead ache!"
AUTUMN MANOEUVRES.
No, this is not heroism; this is simply discretion. Little Plumpleigh has just given "Charge!" and taken one look behind to see if his men are "backing him up, don't you know," and he is now making for safety!
War-office Genius. "Now this is another of my brilliant ideas, the shelter trench exercise. Of course, I know the trench is the wrong way about, and that, when they have finished it, they have to fire into the wood they are defending, and then turn about and charge away from the wood, but, THEN! we get a capital bank and ditch made round our plantations, with practically no expense!"
Mr. Punch. "And this is what you call instructing the Volunteers?"
First Bluejacket. "Well, matey, wot 'appened?"
Second Bluejacket. "Lieutenant, 'e reports as 'ow I were dirty, an' my 'ammick weren't clean, an' captin, 'e ses, 'Wash 'is bloomin' neck, scrub 'is bloomin' face, an' cut 'is bloomin' 'air, every ten minnits!'"
Volunteer Captain (acting Major first time). "Now then! What are you boys staring at? Did you never see a war-horse before?"
Boys (who had followed expecting a "spill.") "Aye--we've whiles seen a waur horse, but never a waur rider!"
AD VALOREM.
(Energetic Sub has been pursuing runaway mule). "Well done, old chap! You deserve the D.S.O. at least. What is it? Ammunition?" "Ammunition! D.S.O.!! V.C., you mean!!!! Why, it's bottled beer!!!!"
MONEY "TIGHT."
British Subaltern. "By-the-by, Smith, can you lend me that sovereign I gave you this morning for a Christmas-box?!"
OUR RESERVES.
Captain of Rural Corps (calling over the roll). "George Hodge!" (No answer.) "George Hodge!--Where on earth's George Hodge?"
Voice from the ranks. "Please, sir, he's turned dissenter, and says fighting's wicked."]
THE BUSY BISLEY
SCENE--Within measurable distance of Woking. Enter lounger and marksman R. and L.
Lounger (heartily). Why, I am glad to see you! And how are things going on?
Marksman (cordially, but abruptly). Capitally! Good-bye!
Loung. But I say, what a hurry you are in! Can't you stop a minute for a chat?
Marks. Another time, but just now moments are precious.
Loung. But I say, you see I have found myself here--it doesn't take much longer than getting down to Wimbledon.
Marks. Of course it doesn't--whoever said it did? But there, old chap, I must be off!
Loung. You are in a hurry! Ah, we used to have pleasant days in the old place?
Marks. Did we? I daresay we did.
Loung. Why, of course! Grand old days! Don't you remember what fun it used to be decorating your tent; and then, when the ladies came down--which they did nearly all the day long--what larks it was getting them tea and claret-cup?
Marks. Very likely. But we don't have many ladies now, and a good job, too--they are a bore.
Loung. Well, you are a chap! Why, how can there be any fun without your sisters, and your cousins, and your maiden aunts?
Marks. We don't want fun. But there, good-bye!
Loung. But I say, I have come all this way to look you up.
Marks. (unbending). Very kind of you, my dear fellow, you have chosen rather an unfortunate time.
Loung. Why, at Wimbledon you had nothing to do!
Marks. Very likely. But then Bisley isn't Wimbledon.
Loung. (dryly). So it seems. Everyone said that when they moved the camp further away from home, they would ruin the meeting.
Marks. Then everyone was wrong. Why, we are going on swimmingly.
Loung. It must be beastly dull.
Marks. Not at all. Lovely country, good range, and, after it rains, two minutes later it is dry as bone.
Loung. Yes, but it stands to reason that it can't be as popular as Wimbledon.
Marks. My dear fellow, figures are the best test of that. In all the history of the Association we never had more entries than this year.
Loung. That may be, but you don't have half the fun you had nearer town.
Marks. (laughing). Don't want to! Business, my dear fellow, not pleasure! And now, old man, I really must be off. Ta! ta! See you later.
[Exit.
Loung. Well, whatever he may say, I prefer Wimbledon. And as there doesn't seem much for me to do down here, I shall return to town.
[Does so. Curtain.
Irascible Lieutenant (down engine-room tube). "Is there a blithering idiot at the end of this tube?"
Voice from Engine-room. "Not at this end, sir!"
VOLO EPISCOPARI.
Festive Middy. "I say, guv'nor! I think you must rather like being Bishop here!"
His Lordship. "Well, my boy, I hope I do! But why do you ask?"
Festive Middy. "Oh, I've just been taking a walk through the city,--and I say!--there is an uncommonly good-looking lot o' girls about, and no mistake!"]
A NASTY ONE.
Colonel Smithson (of the Poonah Marines). "By the way, my boy at Sandhurst hopes to get into your regiment some day."
Little Simpson (of the Royal Hussars Green). "Aw--I--aw hope your son is up to our form!"
Colonel Smithson. "Your form! Dash it, he's over four feet high, anyhow!"]
A CAUTION.
Old Gent (with difficulty). "Now really--Oh! this dis--graceful crowding--I'm--I'm positive my gun will go off!"
CHEEK.
(The regiment is about to "march out" with twenty rounds of "blank cartridge.")
Sub-Lieutenant (of twenty-four hours' service). "Whereabouts is this pyrotechnic display of yours coming off, Colonel!!?"]
OVERHEARD AT PORTSMOUTH.
Jack. "Well, Polly lass, if it's true as 'ow you're going to get spliced to Bill, all I 'opes is that he'll stick to you through thick and thin!"
Polly. "Well, 'e ought to, Jack. 'E works in a glue factory."]
ARMS OF PRECISION
Volunteer Subaltern (as the enemy's scout continues to advance in spite of expenditure of much "blank" ammunition). "If that infernal yeoman comes any nearer, shy stones at him, some of you!"
A FORLORN HOPE
Captain O'Dowd (of the firm of O'Dowd and Jones, stock-jobbers). "What'll I do now? It's beyond me jumpin' powers, an' if I wade I'll be wet to the waist." (To Private Halloran, who in civil life is a stockbroker's clerk). "Here, Halloran, I want a carry over. You do it for me, an' I'll not forget it to you, me lad."
Private Halloran. "Sorry I can't, Captain. You know carryin'-over day is not till the sixteenth, an' this is only the seventh!"]
A LAY OF THE UNION JACK
(By a patriotic Cockney)
Though I feel less at home on the bounding wave
Than I do on the firm dry land,
I can spin you a yarn of a right good craft
That is true-British owned and manned.
The winds may blow, and the storms may beat,
And the hurricanes rage and roar,
But "the ship I love" on her course will hold
With the Union Jack at the fore.
Fair weather or foul, she ploughs along,
Leaving far astern the strand,
And many a towering sister bark
We pass on the starboard hand,
And, Westward ho! as we bear away!
I can count stout ships galore,
Abeam, in our wake, and ahead, that fly
The Union Jack at the fore.
And the sight of the flag that has swept the seas,
Nor ever has known disgrace,
Makes even a landlubber's bosom swell
With the pride of his English race.
At that gallant sight in my landsman's heart
I rejoice--and rejoice still more
That I'm only aboard of a road-car 'bus,
With the Union Jack at the fore!
DO'S AND DONT'S FOR VOLUNTEERS
1. DON'T go to camp. But if you do,
2. Don't get up when revally sounds. You'll find adjutant's parade in the early morning, the very early morning, such a beastly bore, and so bad for the liver that it is far wiser to stay in the "palliasse"--(besides, hasn't your doctor often told you that it is madness to suppose you can play such tricks at your time of life?)--they can only give you a few years' imprisonment for repeated mutinous conduct, and you could doubtless petition the Home Secretary for an aggravation of your sentence.
3. Don't submit to harsh or cursory remarks from the adjutant. Do answer him back. You know quite well that in private life you would not put up with his hasty, ill-considered and offensive language, nor permit him to hector you because your collar was not clean, and if you have come on parade without cleaning your belt or rifle, what right has he to say that it makes him furious? Do point out to him how absurd it is to expect such minute attention to discipline on the part of so intelligent a volunteer as yourself.
