THE LOAFER IN THE STREET.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1912, 10 April 1880, Page 4

THE LOAFER IN THE STREET.

The great Volunteer Review of 18S0 has passed away. When I come to look at this performance from a retrospective aspect, as it ■were, I begin to think that it’s perhaps as well it did not last longer. I apeak from my point of view as one of your war correspondents. You have requested me to give my impression of the tented field, and I am about to endeavor so to do. It may be as well to state at the outset that, according to your instructions, I attached myself to the Canterbury Yeomanry ■Cavalry. It is a very nice, soldierly corps, nearly every gentleman among them, like the sweep in “Punch," riding their own “hanimals.” Our headquarters were ac the Hibernian Hotel, and you can bet the street in front was crowded with “ cohorts gleaming with scarlet and gold.” On their first appearance on the tented field, a stout jolly captain of Infantry, busting, us a person might say, with accoutrements and signs of warfare, remarked to mo, “Ab. if To Whiti could see these fellows now, the Native difficulty would be at once solved." I said I thought so too, and we proceeded to take the oath of allegiance to our country and corps in British beer. We were served by the Quarter-master-Sergeant of the corps,'who during the Review quartermastered and landlorded simultaneously. He was clad in gorgeous gold , scarlet and cartouch boxes with sabretaches and other appendages. It seemed to make the beer go bettor being served by such a being. There was a sort of barbaric splendour about the libation. The officers had a room to themselves where, during the evening when not otherwise engaged on professional duties, they planned the following day’s proceedings, and occasionally drank a few stimulants in a military manner, that is to say they took their drinks en ecltellon. That was the word they used. The Captain’s orderly deserves mention. He is a veteran in the corps. Connected with the cavalry from its b’rtb, he has in past years swept the enemy off tho face of the Ashburton tussocks, and again ho was prominent in rallying his comrades in tho ever memorable internecine conflict at Hillsborough. From peculiarities in his stylo I fancy he should be called “ the lengthened trooper.” A more worthy soldier never evaded parade, and I trust soon to hear of his getting a lot

of stripes. The cavalry Have an excellent band, but as the bandits do not usually play their heavenly tunes on their soft bassoons when mounted, it was necessary to have a rehearsal. They rehearsed. That is to say, the bandits mounted steeds of various dispositions and sizes and they let the music play. The kettledrummist’s steed, as well as one or two others, much moved by this concord of sweet sounds, hove their backs into heaps and their heels i to infinite space, also their riders and kettledrums. The noble war horses, however, got used to it after a bit, just the same as I got used to the piano next door, and by feeding some of them with such unaccustomed luxuries as carrots out of the trombone and oats on the drum, their souls revive! within them, and they pawed and smelt the battle from afar. Anyone who thinks soldiering is light work had hotter have a turn at it. Stables at 6 (a drinh), breakfast at 8 (a drink), foot parade at 9 (ro drink), dinner at 1 p.m. (3 drinks), horse parade from 2 to 5 (not 2' drink), dinner at 6 (several drinks, number not distinctly defined), 8 p.m. stables; return to recruit exhausted and wearied frames at one of those establishments where the poet Shenstono assures his readers he ever found his warmest welcome. (More drinks.) I was not present at the Sports, but I understand they were most successful. During the evening I am sorry to say the lengthened orderly had for some reason to be courtmartially cautioned. The next day, being Sunday, church parade was held, and martial music was around. lam like Jessica, never merry when I hear sweet music, and when the music is in the plural I am still less merry. One can have too much even of martial music. The sergeant-quartermaster and the lengthened orderly were told off to guard tho outside of St. Church. The orderly, who was suffering agonies from the prevailing thirst, requested fivo minutes leave of absence for a drink. His tongue, he said, was hanging out. “Let it hang,” said the quartermaster with much haughty style. “Not a drink till wo return from service.” “And a hard service too,” said the choking orderly, emptying a sodawater bottle ho had found by accident in his boot. Such is the force of discipline. I like to chronicle such instances of self-sacrifice as these. X told the genial captain of the corps on our return, and he told me, with pardonable pride, such cases are anything but rare in his troop. Another instance of good soldiering. I went, according to your instructions, to report on the officers’ mess. On arrival at Coker’s, where the messing was going on, a martial-looking Naval Brigadier stopped me and asked me who went there. X said I hoped to, and Mr Coker, seeing I didn’t understand the allusions of tho sentry, said I could pass in to mess, adding something X could not take about my being the best messer ho ever knew. He gave me, seeing my nervous state, a scintillation of Amontillado, and I entered. Coker is a good sort. He can recognise merit in a man who, in the execution of his messing duty, hears the deadly dirk of tho martial marine. When I say the commissariat was good, you may believe me, for in the old man’s time he has, at the feasts of the nobility and gentry of this country, frequently assisted—in clearing away the dishes and things. And why you don’t send him to report a dinner now and then I can’t quite make out. But this is foreign, not military matter. After mess, still following your instructions, I interviewed Dr. Diver, whose apartments wore one blaze of Oriental splendour. What with the glitter of steel, the sheen of silver, and the polished courtesy of the glass, I was that rolled into a heap that I scarcely got through my inquiries as well as I could wish, I received an appointment on the medical staff for the Review, and I trust this honor will bo duly appreciated when tho old man calls around for his little settlement for Review expenses. Some of tho officers present, notably I remember a stalwart and genial officer of the Southern Artillery, suggested we should visit “ The Grand Bounds.” I didn’t know who the Grand Round was. I don’t to this minute if I must confess tho truth, but its only real foolishment to exhibit your ignorance, so I said, with that modesty which has ever been the characteristic of all “ Press ” men, that if not putting them out, I should like to see Mr JGrand Rounds too. It might look a little pushing, I added, but in the interests of the journal I had the honor to represent, I felt I should fall short of my duty if I neglected seeing Rounds. So we left, and, entering an uuentrenohed camp close by, placed ourselves under tho care of an officer, who seamed to know the ropes. The expression is not, I believe, military, but as the camp was mainly composed of naval parties, it is, perhaps, appropriate. Our party was large and select, there being only one civilian besides myself—a gentleman not wholly unconnected with our railway system, and who is so appreciated that— But this is not martial copy. I said to Dr. Chapman, of “Ours,” in a stealthy, scoutlike whisper, “Is this officer Grand Rounds?” “ No, you fool,” said the doctor, “that’s Capt. Muir.” A sentry here challenged us asfollows : “ Who goes there ?” Stranger, quickly tell ? “A friend.” “What friend?” “Grand Rounds.” “ Pass, Rounds, all’s well.” The guard here turned out with really commendable celerity. It was one of the smartest pieces of work in turning out I ever witnessed. It is a subject I can speak of with some amount of decision, as I have frequently been turned out myself. We now entered the officers’ tent, where more allusions were made to Grand Rounds, and apropos they hospitably gave us a round. (N.B. The latter is a phrase expressive of the ruby glass circling round the festive board). I was beginning to think from the respect to our party that Grand Rounds must bo of our party, and on emerging . from the tent into the Cimmerian darkness, I said to the tall artillery authority, “Which is Rounds?” He smiled in an audible tone, and said, “If you’re not quiet we’ll put you in the guard tent.” Sentries were challenging us all over the place, but Grand Rounds, whoever ho was, pulled us through. I should like to have met that fellow. Dr. McClure, of Invercargill, who was of the party, said he would endeavor to point him out to me as soon as he saw him, but he never did. The review itself has been so fully described by abler martial pens than mine that I shall say nothing of it. lieutenants Bruce and Wilkin of “Ours ” did endeavor to explain the evolutions to me in the evening, but, owing to a court martial being held at the same time on the lengthened orderly my notes appear to me on re-perusal a little unreliable. I was during the review attached to the medical comfort staff, and I now hold a certificate from Dr. Deamer, testifying to the unremitting zeal with which I attended to the surgical bottling department. “I have never,” says the doctor’s testimonial, “ seen this man’s equal among medical comforts.” It’s countersigned by all the rest of the medical staff, and was written on the settles where the dear innocent jockey boys sit on race days. I was so engaged in my chirurgical duties that I had not time to mix with the giddy throngs who were dropping glass bottles on the course, but a good story comes to mo from one who was there. Scene—Front of Grand Stand. Police, public, kids, dogs, apples, bad cigars, in their respective positions. Ist Citizen —“ Who’s that covo with the cocked hat and feathers ?” 2nd Oitizsn—“ Why, that’s Colonel Packe. He’s boss of the crowd.” Ist Citizen—“ Who’s tho covo on tho grey horse alongside him ?” 2nd Citizen—“ Why, that’s Tom Millett, you fool, the ade camp. Everybody knows him.” Ist Citizen —“And who’s the bloke in the plain clothes behind, with the leggins on ?” 2nd Citizen—“ Why, that’s his groom, of course.” N.B. —Tho “ groom ” was a captain in the Royal Artillery on a visit to the colony. My impressions of the review are many, but easily summed up. To hero bound for deadly strife, or bard for martial lay, T’wero worth ton years of peaceful life, one glance at their array. There was a slight confusion at our quarters during the night owing to a veteran southern trooper mistaking his couch. Worn out with the day’s exertions, ho sought the repose he so much needed in the bed of a comrade who had already retired. The veteran still wore his spurs, and during the still hours of the night ho fought his battles o’er again on tho bare shins of his brave comrade. It was indeed a scene of carnage. They both reposed in a gory bed indeed. But this was after the review was over. If I wished to improve the occasion, not tho spur incident, I should say that such exhibitions as the one just over if only on a small scale and local, would do a great deal towards increasing the success of Volunteering. Such are my sentiments. If you would like a few more remarks about tho review I can write you another article on the , subject, treating tho question from other and interesting points «■£ view.