M. I.

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume III, Issue 137, 5 December 1901, Page 4

M. I.

' By HU DYARD KIPLING. (la the Windsor Magazine.) I wish my mother could see me now, with a fence-post under my ami, And a knife and a spoon in my putties, that 1 found on a Boer farm ; Atop of a sore-backed Argentine with a thirst that you couldn’t boy— I used to be in the Hampshires onoe, (Gloiters. Lincolns, and R fL-s onot), Sussex, Scottish, and Yorkshires once J But now £ am M. I.! That is what we are known as—that is the name you must call If you want officers’ servants, pickets an’ ’orse-guards an’ all— Details for buryin’.parties, companycooks or supplyTurn out the chronic Ikonas ! Roll up the M.I.

My ’ands are spotty with veldt-sores—-my shirt is a button an’ frill — An’ the things I’ve use 1 m? b ly’nit for would mike a tinker ill 1 An’ I don’t know whose da «’ colum i I’m in, nor where we’re treking, nor why ; I’ve trekked from the vaal to the Orange onca From the Vaal to the greasy Pongolo l once— else it was cillei the Zambesi once) For now I am M. I. ? That is what we are k 10-va a.—’that is the crowd you require For outposts all night under froezin’, an* rear-guard all day under fire. Anything ’ot or unwh deaoma ? Anything dusty or dry ? Borrow a bunch of Ikonas ! Trot out the M. I. Our Sergeant-Major’s a subaltern; our Captain’s a FusilFr; Our Adjuvant’s “ late of Somebody’s ’Orse,” and a Melbourne auctioneer ; But you couldn’t spot us at ’arf a mile f i... . crackest caval-ry— They used to talk about Lancers once, Hussars, Dragoon*, an’ Lancers once, ’Elmets, pistols, an’ carbines once, But now we are M. I. That is what we a-e known as—we are the orphans they bltnie For beggm’ the loan of an ’eadstall an’ fitting a mount to 1 ho same : 'Can’t ever look at their ’orse-lines but someone s:.ai".s boherin’ ,l H> ; Hook ic, you barg in’ Ikons,! Fjotsaok, you r-M I. 1”

We’re trekkin’ our twenty mie a Jay; an’ ’■ bain’ lov,-d by ’h D itch, ,Bub we don’t hold on by the mine no j more, nor lose our stirrup i uu.-.h. ] An, we scout wit i a senior man in charg) j where the ’oly white flags flew— We uaei to think they were friendly once. Didn’t taka any precautions once (Once, my ducky, an’ only once!), Bub now we are M. I, ! That is what we are known as —we are the beggars that gob * Three days “to learn equitation,” an’’ six months o’ bloomin’ well trot 1 Cow-guns, an’ cattle, an’ convoys—an’ Mister da Wat on tbs fly— Wo are the rollin’ Ikonas, wo are the M. 1.1 The new fat regimen is coma from ’omc imaginin’ vaiu V - o’s (The some as our talky-fight.y men which are always Number Threes) ; But our words o’ command are “ Scatter” an’ “ Close” an’ “ Let your wounded lie.” We used to rescue ’em noble once Givin’ the range as wo raised ’em once, Gettin ’em killed as we saved ’em once, But now we are M. I. ? That is what we are known as— ours are the lanterns you view After a fight round the kopjes, looking for men that we know, Whistlin’ and callin’ togothe- —’aliiu' to catch the reply Elp me! G ’elp me I Ikonas 1 This way the M. I.”

I wish my mother could sea me now, agatherin’ news on my own, When I ride like a General up to the scrub an’ ride back like Tod Sloan— Remarkably small on my ’orse’s neck to let the shots go by. We used to fancy it risky once' (called it a reconnaissance once), Under the charge of an officer once. But now we are M. 1.1 That is what we are known as—that is the word you must say When yon want men to be Mausered fot one and a penny a day. We are no dollar Colonials— We are the ’omo-made supply; Write to the London Ikonas ? Ask fot the M. I.

I wish my myself coaid talk to myself aa Llefb ’im a year ago. I could tell ’im a lot that Would safe ’im a lot on the things'that ’e ought to know ? ' When I think o’that ignorant barrackbipd, it almost makes me cry, I need to belong in an Army- onea (Gawd ! what a ram little Army once), Red little, dead little Army once ? But now liinM.l.! ' That W what wa are known aa—we are the men that have been Over a year at the business—smelt it au* felt it an’ seen. We ’ave got ’old of the needful—you will be told by and by': ' Wait till you’ve ’eard the spoke to the old M. 1.1

Mount—march, Ikonas ! Stand to yoor ’oxssa again 1 Mop off the frost on the saddles—mop up the miles on the plain. ? Out go the stars in the dawnin’—up goes our dost'to the sky, Walk—trot, Ikonas! Trekjou, the . old M. 1.1