“Rather. The I.G. must, the Line can, the
Militia may, and the Volunteers do put in sea-time.
The Coast Volunteers began it, and the fashion is
spreading inland. Under certain circumstances,
as Verschoyle told you, a Volunteer or Militia regiment
can vote whether it ‘heefs’ wet or dry.
If it votes wet and has influence (like some F.S.
corps), it can sneak into the Channel or the Home
Fleet and do a cruise round England or to Madeira
or the North Sea. The regiment, of course, is
distributed among the ships, and the Fleet dry nurse
’em. It rather breaks up shore discipline,
but it gives the inland men a bit of experience, and,
of course, it gives us a fairish supply of men behind
the gun, in event of any strain on the Fleet.
Some coast corps make a specialty of it, and compete
for embarking and disembarking records. I believe
some of the Tyneside engineerin’ corps put ten
per cent of their men through the Fleet engine rooms.
But there’s no need to stay talking here all
the afternoon. Come and see the I.G. in his lair—the
miserable conscript driven up to the colours at the
point of the bayonet.”
PART II
The great hall was emptying apace as the clocks struck
two, and we passed out through double doors into a
huge reading and smoking room, blue with tobacco and
buzzing with voices.
“We’re quieter as a rule,” said
the Boy. “But we’re filling up vacancies
to-day. Hence the anxious faces of the Line and
Militia. Look!” There were four tables
against the walls, and at each stood a crowd of uniforms.
The centres of disturbance were noncommissioned officers
who, seated, growled and wrote down names.
“Come to my table,” said Burgard.
“Well, Purvis, have you ear-marked our little
lot?”
“I’ve been tellin’ ’em for
the last hour we’ve only twenty-three vacancies,”
was the sergeant’s answer. “I’ve
taken nearly fifty for Trials, and this is what’s
left.” Burgard smiled.
“I’m very sorry,” he said to the
crowd, “but C Company’s full.”
“Excuse me, Sir,” said a man, “but
wouldn’t sea-time count in my favour? I’ve
put in three months with the Fleet. Small quick-firers,
Sir? Company guns? Any sort of light machinery?”
“Come away,” said a voice behind.
“They’ve chucked the best farrier between
Hull and Dewsbury. Think they’ll take you
an’ your potty quick-firers?”
The speaker turned on his heel and swore.
“Oh, damn the Guard, by all means!” said
Sergeant Purvis, collecting his papers. “D’you
suppose it’s any pleasure to me to reject
chaps of your build and make? Vote us a second
Guard battalion and we’ll accommodate you.
Now, you can come into Schools and watch Trials if
you like.”
Most of the men accepted his invitation, but a few
walked away angrily. I followed from the smoking-room
across a wide corridor into a riding-school, under
whose roof the voices of the few hundred assembled
wandered in lost echoes.
