The History of Lumsden's Horse. Various
Читать онлайн книгу.
sections. Naturally party feeling runs high on these occasions, and everybody in the ship, from the Colonel and the Captain down to Carpenter Chinaman John, takes up a place outside the ring, watching the fray with bated breath. The end is usually a black eye or blood drawn, neither of which temporary inconveniences prevents furious and friendly handshakings at the finish. Singlestick has supporters, but none so many as the gentle art of boxing. Cockfighting has many votaries, and wrestling a few, for both of these elegant diversions may be partaken of in the comparative dark. Duty and pleasure are combined in tubbing. A sail bath four feet deep and some six square is slung and filled with sea water. The bather, dressed ‘altogether,’ stands well back and runs at the bath, rolling in head over heels. Number one is followed quickly by more, one on top of the other, until the bath is nothing but a struggling mass of arms and legs. Then the hose is turned on, and every man must take his turn or pay the penalty of being thrust underneath.
On our first Saturday night at sea the skipper—Captain Steuart—was kind enough to permit a smoking-concert to be held on the quarter-deck, where the saloon piano had been comfortably ensconced on a raised stage ornamented with flags. Corporal Blair took the public fancy tremendously with some of the comic songs that soldiers delight in. Corporal Skelton’s recitation about the Volunteer Instructor who complains of his squad that ‘They Largifies,’ fairly brought the house down. Among others who gave us pleasure were the brothers Wright and Private Woods, who, à trois, drew much melody from the banjo. The following morning (Sunday) we had service on deck, the Colonel and the Captain reading the Lessons. The little book so thoughtfully presented to every man by Mrs. Pugh was used.
Crossing the line was a most unexciting experience, for no Father Neptune came on board, nor did any of the other time-honoured things befall us. Alas! for the merchant navy! We did not see Ceylon at all, but during the night we passed, in the distance, a light which shone out from somewhere on its coast. That was our last sight of the outside world until we had crossed the great Indian Ocean.
On the whole, the horses have had a good time, very different from that endured by shiploads coming over from Australia. Most of them get a grooming of sorts every day, and many get an hour’s walking exercise round a small circle once or twice in the week. It is wonderful to behold an animal with legs puffed out like tea cosies begin his little tour and finish up with extremities clean cut as those of a racehorse.
Still, there is a good deal of sickness among them in various forms of fever and colic. First, Private Case, from Behar, lost a very clever little horse. Since then two more have died, one a valuable mare, the property of Lieutenant Crane, of Behar, and the other the charger of Private Atkinson, from Mussoorie.
The fifth officer of the ship, a braw lad frae Glescae, finds it very trying to hear us miscall the different parts—‘pairts,’ he says—of his beloved she. ‘A ship’s no like a house, wi’ upstairs an’ doonstairs,’ he plaintively remonstrates. And when any of us join him in a cigar and throw the stump out of the ‘window’ instead of the ‘scuttle,’ the poor man almost cries. One continually finds him gravely pointing out to little knots of men the absurdity of referring to the back or the front of a ship. He explains how it ought to be ‘forrard’ and ‘aft,’ and ‘above’ and ‘below.’ Then someone will mildly query where ‘astarn’ comes in, and how it is possible to distinguish between port and starboard. And he tells. But, all the same, we continue to search for each other upstairs and down; we lie on the floor, forgetting it is deck, and it still passes our comprehension how ‘loo’ard’ can be at one side of the ship one day and the opposite to-morrow. This fifth officer is a bit of a humourist, too, and, finding an appreciative audience, plays off a rich fund of nautical yarns that have gathered raciness in the course of long centuries since they were translated from the Portuguese of Vasco da Gama. The narrator evidently thinks that Lumsden’s Horse are as credulous as ‘the Marines.’ Perhaps he takes them to be a mounted variety of that species, and, being a naturalist among other things, he has a scientific motive for studying their peculiarities.
Colonel Lumsden confirmed the following non-commissioned appointments in A Company, some of which were provisionally made before leaving Calcutta:
Regimental Sergeant-Major: C.M. Marsham (Behar L.H.); Company Sergeant-Major E.N. Mansfield (Punjaub L.H.); Sergeants: H. Fox (Behar L.H.), E.M.S. McNamara (Behar L.H.), R.S. Stowell (Poona V.R.), and W. Walker (Assam V.L.H.); Lance-Sergeants: F.L. Elliott (Assam V.L.H.), D.S. Fraser (Oudh L.H.), J. Lee Stewart (Coorg and Mysore R.), and R.E. Dale (E.I.R.V.C.); Corporals: Percy Jones (Behar L.H.), G. Lawrie (Oudh L.H.), E. Llewhellin (Behar L.H.), and H. Marsham (Behar L.H.); Lance-Corporals: A.M. Firth (Behar L.H.), A.C. Walker (Assam Valley L.H.), E.J. Ballard (Punjaub L.H.), H.F. Blair (Behar L.H.), D.J. Keating (Calcutta Port Defence), W.S. Lemon (Calcutta V.R.), A. Macgillivray (Behar L.H.), and J.W.A. Skelton (Assam V.L.H.).
Transport Establishment: Lance-Corporals R.P. Estabrook, C.T. Power, J. Charles, S.W. Cullen, and G.W. Palmer.
It could not be expected that 150 men would be together on board ship for three weeks without a certain proportion going sick. Lance-Sergeant Lee Stewart, of the Coorg and Mysore Rifles, was struck down with pneumonia. Shortly afterwards Private H.H.J. Hickley, of the Behar Light Horse, was attacked by the same illness aggravated by pleurisy. About this time a large number were bowled over. Blame was laid on the tinned provisions, but, probably, if men had worn the mufflers, so tenderly knitted for us by Calcutta ladies, about their waists instead of round their necks much pain and trouble would have been avoided. The decks at night were covered with sleeping figures, clad and unclad in every degree. At turning in, a gentle zephyr that wouldn’t disturb the ringlets on a fair lady’s neck might be blowing, and in an hour a sharp breeze laden with heavy rain would sweep down and drench the unconscious sleepers. Then one of the immediate results of an order for men to go about barefooted was that Private Clayton-Daubney, of the Behar Light Horse, took a fall when turning a slippery corner and broke his collar-bone.
Photo: Bourne & Shepherd. THE REGIMENT IN CALCUTTA Part of A Company
To Sir Patrick Playfair Colonel Lumsden wrote while at sea a letter that is interesting as a proof of his interest in and care for the men under his command. They paid many glowing tributes to him afterwards, but none that gives a better key to the hold he had on their respect than his own simple words as they appear in the following extract:
I regret to say Hickley, from Behar, is in a very bad way. He had fever and pneumonia to start with, and has now gone clean ‘pāgāl,’[2] and, though quite quiet and harmless, has to have two men in close attendance day and night. I had him taken into the saloon yesterday, in a cabin near my own. I am intensely sorry for the poor chap, as, unless a sudden recovery takes place, we shall have to make arrangement for the authorities to look after him when we land. We have one more case on board, which I was in hopes it might not be necessary to mention. Stewart, the planter from Mysore, had an attack of pneumonia which has taken a chronic form, and I fear there is small chance of immediate recovery. He may have to go into hospital at Durban—whether we land there or not—and I much doubt his ever being able to join us again. You will remember my telling you about him, a man of independent means (married, with a family), who came for the love of the game. He was a most useful man, knowing a lot about horses, and was made an acting sergeant almost as soon as he arrived, and put on to help Veterinary-Captain Stevenson. He did excellent work on board until he got ill, and I shall miss him much. It is his own wish to land if he is not better.
Beyond this we have had a most delightful voyage, simply perfect weather, and a sea like glass. The men act up to our corps motto ‘Play the game’ like the good chaps they are. You should see them at stable work in the morning, with nothing on but trousers rolled up to their thighs, or pyjamas ditto, and later in the day, washing their kit or making up puddings and cakes of sorts—some of the latter are works of art! We have a lot of musical talent on board, and have had a couple of excellent concerts. Captain Steuart added to the enjoyment of the last by giving a magic-lantern show. He is a very good sort, and has done everything in his power to ensure the comfort of the men. After finishing our daily inspection to-day he confided to me that he had never seen a troopship better kept,