Alas!
Then, if we think of the lot of those who fight for us and slaughter our
hapless enemies by deputy as it were, their luck seems very hard. When
the steady lines moved up the Alma slope and the men were dropping so
fast, the soldiers knew that they were performing their parts as in a
vast theatre; their country would learn the story of their deed, and the
feats of individuals would be amply recorded. But, when a man spends
months in a far-off rocky country, fighting day after day, watching
night after night, and knowing that at any moment the bullet of a
prowling Ghilzai or Afridi may strike him, he has very little
consolation indeed. When one comes to think of the matter from the
humorous point of view--though there is more grim fact than fun in
it--it does seem odd that we should be compelled to spend two thousand
pounds on an officer's education, and then send him where he may be
wiped out of the world in an instant by a savage little above the level
of the Bushman. I pity the poor savages, but I certainly pity the
refined and highly-trained English soldier more. The latest and most
delightful of our Anglo-Indians has put the matter admirably in verse
which carries a sting even amidst its pathos.
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