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Brigadier-General F. Sanderman.

A well-built and energetic-looking man of about fifty years of age. Was promoted to the command of a brigade three months ago.

Lieutenant-Colonel Smith.

Commanding an Indian Infantry regiment. Inclined to be stout, and a little fussy. Very conscientious. This is his first inspection since taking over command.

He is a little nervous, and most anxious to secure a good report for himself and the regiment. He has a fixed idea that every General has some fad, and the only way to get a good report is to play up to that fad.

Major Brown.

Company Commander. Very smart and well-turned-out. A good soldier, but preferring any form of sport to regimental work.

An Adjutant.

Knows all about everything, and sometimes a little too much. Is inclined to regard the regiment as his private property.

A Quartermaster.

Does his best at his work, but makes no effort to disguise his dislike for stores, clothing, and sanitation.

Subedar-Major Wali Mahomed.

A fine old soldier with a noble war record and not much education. Like all Subedar-Majors, an ultra-conservative.

Time: A week before the inspection.

The General thinks to himself:

“I’ve got to inspect the Umpteenth Punjabis on Wednesday ... my first inspection.

I don’t like inspections and they don’t seem much use. I see the regiment every day, and I know pretty well what their standard of efficiency is. But it’s got to be done. Having been so often inspected myself I ought to know pretty well all about it; and there’s nothing I don’t know about the command of a battalion. But one has to display an intelligent interest by questions and comments, and I daresay I am not very good at that. Anyway, I pride myself on being a commonsense man with no fads. I have no desire to trip the C.O. up, so it ought to be pretty plain sailing.

But now I come to think of it, I’ve been deluged with letters from Army Headquarters since I took over command, on the subject of smartening up the barracks of Indian regiments. I’d better see to this, though I admit that it’s a subject that leaves me rather cold....”

Colonel Smith thinks to himself:

“There’s that beastly inspection next week. I wonder what sort of a fellow old Sanderman is. These Generals always have fads of some sort. I wish I knew what his ‘kink’ is. Is it musketry, I wonder? Or smart turn-out? Or sanitation? Or what? ...”

The Day of the Inspection

Brigadier-General Sanderman inspects the men on parade while the band plays ‘Meet me by moonlight alone’. As he looks at the men and notes their general appearance and turn-out he wonders why the band nearly always plays that silly old tune with such inappropriate words.

The inspection pursues its normal course. The General has only one idea in his mind, “To get on with the job, and make general notes on efficiency.”

The Colonel and his officers have only one thought in their minds, “What’s his line? How is he going to try to trip us up?”

Major Brown drills his company very well, but is a little ‘distrait’. He is wondering if he can ask for three days’ shooting leave as soon as the inspection is over.

The Adjutant shows his recruits and musketry appliances.

The Quartermaster displays his stores, about which he knows very little.

The General is not at all interested in stores but feels it is his duty to ask some questions.

G.O.C. (to Quartermaster):

“That greatcoat cloth looks good stuff. Where do you get it from?”

Q.M.:

“That cloth, sir?” (Pauses and looks helplessly at the Quartermaster Havildar. Then recklessly:) “We get that from Cawnpore, sir.”

G.O.C.(noting conspicuous label at the end of the bale—Messrs. J. Wilkinson, London):

“Excellent material for Cawnpore. Looks more like English make. What’s this label?”

Q.M.(taken aback):

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry, sir. This is another lot. The Cawnpore stuff is over there. This is from Wilkinson’s.”

Several more questions are put, and the Quartermaster flounders deeper and deeper.

The General passes on, reflecting that when he reluctantly held that thankless appointment in the days of his youth he had found it equally difficult to interest himself in the details of clothing.

Unfortunately, the Quartermaster cannot read the General’s thoughts, and he imagines that his career is ruined. He wishes that he had never come into the Indian Army. In the British service the Quartermastership is a life job held by a professional. He came into the Army to fight—not to count socks and issue bootlaces.

The inspection continues without anything further of special interest, and concludes with a visit to the lines.

Before dismissing Colonel Smith, the General suddenly remembers the note about ‘smartening up the lines’. He addresses the Colonel:

G.O.C.:

“By the way, Smith, I think you might try and improve the general appearance of your lines, they look rather dreary, don’t they?”

Colonel Smith:

“Yes, sir. Perhaps they do. What do you suggest?”

G.O.C.(rather nonplussed):

“Er—well, think for yourself. Anything to make the place look smarter—more lively. Aren’t your men fond of gardens? There’s spare ground at each end of the lines.... Anyway, just do what you think best.”

The General takes his departure. He is quite satisfied with what he has seen and two days later has forgotten all about the gardens and the smartening up of lines.

Colonel Smith, however, is a careful man, and enters in his pocket-book, among other items—“Notes for next inspection. G.O.C. is keen about gardens. Have this seen to.”

He also speaks to the Subedar-Major about it. The S.-M. is not encouraging.

“It is an order,” he says in reply to the Colonel’s remarks, “and it shall be carried out. In the old days we used to teach the men to fix bayonets and charge. Now they shall learn to make gardens. It is the will of God.”

A Year Passes By

General Sanderman is reminded by his Staff that he is to inspect the Umpteenth Punjabis on Tuesday next.

During the past year he has been deluged from Army Headquarters with treatises on sanitation, prevalence of flies and mosquitoes, and kindred subjects.

He has had so many letters on the subject that the study of the Art of War has been thrust into the background. The letters contain dire threats as to what will happen if things are not improved in this way, and the General’s dreams are disturbed by nightmares connected with patent sanitary appliances and traps for catching flies.

The inspection proceeds on much the same lines as in the previous year. The band plays ‘May blossom’ instead of ‘Meet me by moonlight alone’.

The Quartermaster spends several weeks prior to the inspection learning up the prices and general details of his stores, but this time the General entirely ignores them.

Colonel Smith feels less anxious than he did last year and looks forward to exhibiting his neat little gardens in front and rear of the lines.

He awaits a reference to this subject, but so far the General has not mentioned it, but, on the other hand, wants to know all about sanitary appliances and fly-traps.

G.O.C.:

“Show me some of your glazed earthenware receptacles.”

Colonel Smith:

“Yes, sir.” (To the Quartermaster): “Get some of those things, please.”

After a pause the Q.M. reappears with two men carrying earthenware receptacles.

G.O.C.:

“Ah, those look all right. Where do you get them from? And how are they paid for? Are they local supply?”

Q.M. (making a shot):

“Yes, sir. Local supply. We pay for them out of the Regimental Fund, and recover the money on a Contingent Bill.”

G.O.C.(turning over one of the pans with his stick):

“I see they’re stamped R.P. That looks like Rawal Pindi. Hardly local supply, what?”

Q.M. (guiltily):

“No, sir. I was thinking of the lot we had before. These are from Rawal Pindi.”

G.O.C.(to Colonel Smith):

“Now let’s see your fly-traps.”

Colonel Smith (to Q.M.):

“Get a fly-trap to show the General.”

Q.M.(saluting and withdrawing):

“Yes, sir.”

The Q.M. summons his native assistants in despair, and ascertains that there are no fly-traps. He returns unhappily to report.

G.O.C.:

“No fly-traps. Why the devil have you not carried out the instructions of those recent memos. from Army Headquarters?”

Colonel Smith:

“I’m sorry, sir. The matter must have been overlooked. I’ll have it seen to at once. I can’t call to mind the instructions you refer to.”

G.O.C.:

“Oh, well you must get on to it at once. My Staff will give you notes of the correspondence. There is some sort of patent fly-trap you have to get made up in the regiment according to a design issued with the memo. A sort of wooden erection with a tray at the bottom and an open space of about an inch all round. You put some bait—bits of meat or something of that sort—on the tray. The flies get in by crawling, then they buzz around inside and can’t get out again. Sort of lobster-pot idea.”

Q.M.(rapidly reviving):

“I had forgotten for the moment, sir. We did have one of those made up as a pattern.”

G.O.C.:

“Let’s have a look at it then.”

The Q.M. orders his native assistant to get the article referred to. A heated conversation in Hindustani takes place.

G.O.C.(impatiently):

“Well, what does he say?”

Q.M.:

“He says it was put in B Company’s lines, and the first day it caught three flies. During the night it got knocked over and smashed and the flies escaped. He thinks that probably wild cats or dogs were attracted by the bait.”

G.O.C.(to himself):

“This seems to be rather a rotten waste of time, but we’ve got to try and be serious about it.” (Aloud to Colonel Smith): “All right, Smith, let’s get on now. But you must pay more attention to these H.Q. memos. Have those traps made up at once and let me have a report on them next month.”

The inspecting party move on through the lines. Colonel Smith’s heart beats fast as they turn the corner at the end and the General is confronted with the results of regimental horticultural operations. He awaits commendation, but the General’s look conveys condemnation.

G.O.C.:

“What the devil’s this? I don’t remember all this greenery last year.”

Colonel Smith:

“No, sir. This is D Company’s garden. We only started it after last inspection.”

G.O.C.:

“But what a mad idea! What the deuce are you thinking of? Setting up breeding grounds for mosquitoes in face of all those recent memos. about destruction of larvae. Get rid of them at once, please.”

Colonel Smith:

“Certainly, sir. But it was your own suggestion. You told me at your last inspection to do something of this sort.”

G.O.C.:

“Oh, did I? Yes, I seem to remember something about it. They were keen then about beautifying the lines. Now they’re on to sanitation. So just switch off horticulture, and see to those earthenware pans, and fly-traps and things, or there’ll be the deuce to pay.”

The General completes his inspection and rides off with his Staff. He is of the opinion that Colonel Smith is a keen soldier although a little careless in carrying out suggestions from higher authorities. A month later he has forgotten the fly-traps.

Not so, however, Colonel Smith, who has entered up in his notebook under the heading, “Notes for next inspection”: “G.O.C. is very keen about earthenware pans, fly-traps, etc. Must have this seen to.”

He talks to the Subedar-Major about it. Wali Mahomed is delighted to hear that the gardens are to be abolished, but dismayed to hear about the sanitary schemes.

He says, “If it is the General’s order that we are to catch flies we shall try to do so. But the more you catch the more will come. We didn’t worry about these things in the old days. As for those earthenware pans, that will be interesting for the regimental sweepers. Times change, and all these things are doubtless decreed by Fate.”

A Year Passes By

Colonel Smith has spent the last twelve months conscientiously carrying out the terms of his instructions contained in many notifications with specifications from Headquarters. The lines are full of fly-traps and other ingenious sanitary devices, and there is nothing the Quartermaster does not now know about glazed earthenware pans, Mark I and II and Mark I*.

The gardens have been allowed to dry up. During the past year Brigadier-General Sanderman has been kept busy with correspondence from Army Headquarters dealing with the subject of musketry appliances.

The Annual Inspection of the Umpteenth Punjabis takes place as usual.

Drill and manœuvre pass off satisfactorily. The General inspects the recruits.

G.O.C.:

“Fine-looking lads, Smith. Your adjutant should be proud of them. Let him show me a junior squad at musketry, with a few men at aiming drill.”

Colonel Smith (to Adjutant):

“Let the General see a squad at musketry instruction.”

Adjutant:

“Very good, sir.”

He proceeds with the instruction, and details six recruits for aiming drill.

They arrange their rifles in the usual way on tripods and sandbags.

G.O.C.:

“Is that all you have in the way of aiming apparatus?”

Adjutant:

“Yes, sir.”

G.O.C.(to Colonel Smith):

“What about those aiming dodges suggested in memos. from Headquarters?”

Colonel Smith:

“Do you mean the patent iron tripods issued from the arsenal for checking aim?”

G.O.C.:

“Of course not. Those are as old as the hills and I don’t think much of them. No, I mean a whole lot of new jims. I can’t call them all to mind at the moment. But they laid great stress on the abolition of the sandbag and tripod. The idea, I think, was to have a box filled with sand and a large wooden ball with a spring clip to catch the rifle. You put the rifle in the clip and press the ball into the sand so that in adjusting his aim the recruit can easily move the rifle, and the ball moves with it and retains its position. Surely you haven’t entirely ignored these instructions?”

Colonel Smith (feeling even more dazed after the General’s description than before):

“No, sir. I haven’t ignored them, but we haven’t yet been able to have all the things made up. It shall be seen to without delay.”

More discussion ensues on the same subject, and the General moves off to inspect the lines.

Here Colonel Smith feels quite at home. So far from feeling anxious, he is only too eager to win the General’s praises by a display of his sanitary appliances.

The General enters A Company’s lines.

G.O.C.(to Colonel Smith):

“The lines look very neat and clean, but you oughtn’t to leave those wooden crates standing about. I should make it a rule not to have anything that is not in accordance with regulations.

I see dozens of these things everywhere. What the devil are they for?”

Colonel Smith:

“Those are the patent fly-traps, sir.”

G.O.C.:

“Fly-traps? What a crazy idea. Are they a patent invention of your own?”

Colonel Smith:

“Oh no, sir. Those are the ones you ordered us to have made up last year.”

G.O.C.(aghast):

“I ordered you to have made up? You must be dreaming, Smith. I never invented a fly-trap in my life and am never likely to.”

Colonel Smith:

“I didn’t mean that they were your invention, sir, but you certainly did give me the order to have them made up in accordance with some instructions from Army Headquarters.”

A Staff Officer (intervening):

“Yes, sir. There was a lot of correspondence about them last year, and a Brigade Order was issued.”

G.O.C.(apologetically):

“Sorry, Smith. The matter had gone out of my mind. I remember all about them now. Do you find them satisfactory?”

Colonel Smith:

“No, sir. Not at all. They catch a few flies, but they are very much in the way, and there don’t seem to be any fewer flies in the lines.”

G.O.C.:

“What does your Medical Officer think?”

Medical Officer:

“They are quite an ingenious invention, sir, and catch quite a lot of flies. But all the same, they tend if anything to increase the number of flies in the lines. Flies seem to have some way of passing on the news when food is plentiful, and the bait in these traps causes quite a large influx of flies that would otherwise never have entered the lines.”

G.O.C.(fretfully):

“Well, let’s get on.”

The party moves on.

A visit is paid to the Quartermaster’s Stores, outside which stands the Quartermaster proudly displaying several rows of glazed earthenware pans. He is prepared to answer any question as to place of origin, method of manufacture, and price per dozen. The General, however, refuses to be drawn, and contents himself with glaring at the Quartermaster. He has a sort of suspicion that his leg is being pulled.

The inspection is concluded.

Colonel Smith talks things over with the Subedar-Major.

Wali Mahomed thinks that if they are to have all these new inventions it is doubtless the will of God. “I’ve been a marksman all my life,” he adds, “and I learnt to aim well enough off a sandbag and tripod. But I daresay the recruits of the present day need something different. Things are always changing.” He then gives the Colonel half an hour’s talk on the subject of the ‘good old days’ and the deterioration of everything in the present days. But he piously reiterates that after all it must be God’s will.

A Year Passes By

As the date of the inspection draws near, Colonel Smith wonders to himself, “What will he be at this time? We’ve had regimental gardens, sanitary insanities, and musketry appliances. This year I suppose will be precision of drill, bayonet fighting, or the new attack formation. I wish I knew.”

The inspection takes place. Everything is quite satisfactory. In spite of the shortcomings in the matter of smartening up the lines, the entrapping of flies, provision of glazed earthenware pans, and the latest fad of the School of Musketry there is no doubt that the battalion is thoroughly smart and efficient.

This year the General seems to take a languid and enforced interest in the regimental accounts. The books are produced for examination. Among others an account of the Regimental Fund. This seems to interest the General.

G.O.C.(to Colonel Smith):

“Where does this fund get its income from?”

Colonel Smith:

“It’s mostly derived from odds and ends. Sums that are acquired in various ways that do not render them liable to re-credit to Government. Such, for instance, as fines from regimental followers, interest on sums lent out to men of the regiment under certain guarantees, interest on regimental money deposited during periods of active service, and so on.”

G.O.C.:

“And how do you use the fund?”

Colonel Smith:

“It is spent on anything for the good of the men. The provision of night lanterns in the lines, things of that sort.”

G.O.C.:

“A very good and useful fund. I wonder you don’t take more care of it, Smith. You oughtn’t to let a fund like that run down. Yet I see the balance credit to-day is about a thousand rupees less than it was four years ago. What have you been doing with it?”

Colonel Smith:

“Well, sir, among other items, we lost about two hundred over the regimental gardens. A little more than that over those fly-traps—you remember? Part of the cost of their construction was disallowed by the Pay people, under some footnote to some correction to some regulation. The same thing applies to the glazed earthenware pans which you may call to mind? And then we had a lot of musketry appliances made up, the cost of which was non-accountable owing to our not having noticed some correction to some footnote to some other regulation. So all these expenses had to be met out of the Regimental Fund.”

G.O.C.(feeling a little guilty):

“Well, don’t look at me as if I were the man responsible. You can’t run an army without discipline, and discipline entails obedience to orders, and orders are orders. You may have lost a thousand rupees out of the Regimental Fund, but you’ve obeyed orders, and that’s all that matters. I shall make a note of it in the inspection report.”

The inspection is concluded.

Colonel Smith talks over things with Subedar-Major, who says:

“Well, Sahib, I shall soon be going on pension. I can’t keep pace with these new ideas.”

For the first time in his life he omits the formula of every pious Mahomedan, ‘It is God’s will.’

Perhaps the gardens and the fly-traps and all the other innovations have sown the seeds of doubt in his mind.

Perhaps he is trying how it sounds if the pronoun and the verb are transposed:

‘Is it God’s will?’