But of all the world's great heroes There's none that can compare, With a tow-row-row-row-row-row To the British Grenadier! On one side you can pick up the style of the era, very British, empirical, the glories of the British Empire and Britain over the local natives and savages. And he was aware of two small boys charging down upon him. The drink was working on his brain as it was on Jakin's. It was not every day that an Afghan force would take ground in the open, and the Brigadier was resolved to make the most of it. The Band which was to accompany the Regiment had been cut down to the regulation twenty men, the surplus returning to the ranks.
Stewarrt, man, you're firing into the eye of the sun, and he'll not take any harm for Government ammuneetion. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. The Brigadier on the heights far above was speechless with rage. As it is, I'm afraid we can only cut them up as they run. Hope you will like it and give your comments and suggestions. It will know too much and it will do too little.
Ghastly was the ruin that escaped, and awful was the wrath of the Bazar-Sergeant. Somewheres up to the Front to kill Paythans--hairy big beggars that turn you inside out if they get 'old o' you. Jakin and Lew were attached to the Band as supernumeraries, though they would much have preferred being company buglers. Later still, when all men are at the mental level of the officer of to-day, it will sweep the earth. These were the casualties, and they were not soothing to hear or see. He wants to drink, he wants to enjoy himself--in India he wants to save money--and he does not in the least like getting hurt. The Gurkhas' stall at the bazar was the noisiest, for the men were engaged--to a nasty noise as of beef being cut on the block--with the kukri, which they preferred to the bayonet; well knowing how the Afghan hates the half-moon blade.
He should be shot or hanged afterward--pour encourager les autres; but he should not be vilified in newspapers, for that is want of tact and waste of space. Then the foe began to shout with a great shouting, and a mass - a black mass - detached itself from the main body, and rolled over the ground at horrid speed. Which homily brings me directly to a brace of the most finished little fiends that ever banged drum or tootled fife in the Band of a British Regiment. He should be shot or hanged afterwards - to encourage the others; but he should not be vilified in newspapers, for that is want of tact and waste of space. Reprinted in 2018 with the help of original edition published long back. Like Jakin he feared not God neither regarded he Man, but there are limits even to the audacity of drummer-boy, and to speak to a Colonel was.
Yet for the past hour the Fore and Aft had been doing all that mortal commander could expect. The narrowness of the pass forced the mob into solid formation, and the rear-rank delivered some sort of a wavering volley. The British soldier is not altogether to be blamed for occasional lapses; but this verdict he should not know. I found Kipling's thoughts on war fascinating and would have loved to hear his thoughts on all with regards to the military and wars since his death to modern times. Beautifully written and exceptionally descriptive.
We expect that you will understand our compulsion in these books. I had read from it many years after the class ended and enjoyed it still. By doing this and with a modern eye and historical perspective you can see why Kipling is an out of favour author. Good old beggar is the Colonel. Jakin and Lew would have fled also, but their short legs left them fifty yards in the rear, and by the time the Band had mixed with the Regiment, they were painfully aware that they would have to close in alone and unsupported. Nor does his happiness increase when he watches the whites of the eyes of three hundred six-foot fiends upon whose beards the foam is lying, upon whose tongues is a roar of wrath, and in whose hands are yard-long knives.
They don't understand thrustin', but they're devils to slice. The red lances dipped by twos and threes, and, with a shriek, uprose the lance- butt, like a spar on a stormy sea, as the trooper cantering forward cleared his point. This is a battle honor earned when the regiment faced off two forces of enemy troops by standing its companies back-to-back. All would have gone well and this story, as the books say, would never have been written, had not his evil fate prompted the Bazar-Sergeant's son, a long, employless man of five and twenty, to put in an appearance after the first round. So that squadron swung round the right of the Highlanders with a wicked whistling of wind in the pennons of its lances, and fell upon the remnant just when, according to all the rules of war, it should have waited for the foe to show more signs of wavering. Three days later the Brigadier arranged a battle according to the rules of war and the peculiarity of the Afghan temperament.
Thus it will be seen that three sides of the valley practically belonged to the English, while the fourth was strictly Afghan property. Very early in the dawn the bugles began to blow, and the Fore and Aft, filled with a misguided enthusiasm, turned out without waiting for a cup of coffee and a biscuit; and were rewarded by being kept under arms in the cold while the other regiments leisurely prepared for the fray. And as a sponge is chased round the bath-tub by the hand of the bather, so were the Afghans chased till they broke into little detachments much more difficult to dispose of than large masses. A young and sprightly Color-Sergeant, who had begun to imagine himself a hero, offered his water-bottle to a Highlander, whose tongue was black with thirst. These are unpleasant stories to listen to, and the Messes tell them under their breath, sitting by the big wood fires, and the young officer bows his head and thinks to himself, please God, his men shall never behave unhandily, The British soldier is not altogether to be blamed for occasional lapses; but this verdict he should not know. Stewarrt, man, you're firing into the eye of the sun, and he'll not take any harm for Government ammuneetion. We expect that you will understand our compulsion in these books.
The boys halted at twenty yards, walked to the regulation four paces, and saluted together, each as well set-up as a ramrod and little taller. The Fore and Aft continued to go forward, but with shortened stride. Five volleys plunged the files in banked smoke impenetrable to the eye, and the bullets began to take ground twenty or thirty yards in front of the firers, as the weight of the bayonet dragged down and to the right arms wearied with holding the kick of the leaping Martini. Their officers are as good as good can be, because their training begins early, and God has arranged that a clean-run youth of the British middle classes shall, in the matter of backbone, brains, and bowels, surpass all other youths. A man dragged from his blankets half awake and unfed is never in a pleasant frame of mind. Armed with imperfect knowledge, cursed with the rudiments of an imagination, hampered by the intense selfishness of the lower classes, and unsupported, by any regimental associations, this young man is suddenly introduced to an enemy who in eastern lands is always ugly, generally tall and hairy, and frequently noisy.