THE REGIMENTAL DURBAR. BY MAJOR-GENERAL SIR GEORGE YOUNGHUSBAND, K.C.M.G., K.C.I.E., C.B. IN a British regiment, as is well known to several millions of men who are now again civilians, but who have had the honour and glory of fighting in the Great War, there is, when the enemy permits, a daily ceremony known as Orderly Room. At the appointed hour and place, the Adjutant and the SergeantMajor produce before the Colonel such malefactors as require correction for their major or minor military offences, known in the service severally and collectively as "crimes." These vary from indulging in a little too much back chat to a corporal, or a slight effervescence of spirits at inopportune hours, to desertion in face of the enemy, or eloping with the company's cash-box. The procedure is, however, exactly the same: the Colonel either deals with the case himself, or relegates the culprit to various Courts-Martial of intensive degrees of severity. Orderly Room, in fact, is the daily Court of Justice of the regiment. In many, perhaps the majority of Indian regiments, this form of jurisdiction is replaced by another, which experience has shown is more in conformity with Indian ideas. For the formal British Orderly VOL. CCIX.-NO. MCCLXVII. I. To Room is substituted the Regimental Durbar, an assembly composed of all and sundry who may care to be present; and which is not only a judicial court where the Colonel deals out summary justice, but is also a formal but perfectly democratic assembly, whereat it is open to any one, whether the most senior officer present or the last joined trumpeter, to have his say on any broad point connected with the wellbeing of the regiment. emphasise the democratic nature of these durbars, it is open not only to officers, but also to the men to attend in mufti. It is not in the least impossible for the first case brought before the Colonel to be one of murder, rape, or sacrilege, in which event he would probably hand over the accused to the civil authorities; whilst the last may be connected with so ordinary a matter as the regimental sports, regarding which on some subtle point the boy trumpeter may have a few useful remarks to make. He in such case would be pushed forward by his bearded comrades to have his say before the Colonel and assembled Sahibs. There is, however, one golden rule in the conduct of Regi2 $ mental Durbars which wise manding officer. First, the squadron or company commanders hold their durbars, at which they examine the feet of newly-shod horses, inspect any men who have been supplied with new uniforms, allot remounts to those whose horses have been cast, hear complaints, grant short leave to the deserving, and inflict minor punishments on those who have earned them. The squadron accounts are also read out, so that the men may know how their money is being spent. When these minor durbars are completed, the squadron commander, followed by his flock, joins up at the main Durbar to be held by the com One of the first episodes at this is the periodical swearing in of recruits, which is made a formal and impressive ceremony in many regiments. Headed by the Regimental Colours, the recruits, in full dress, are marched forward and formed up in line facing the Colonel, whilst the Colours are so held that the recruit takes his oath of loyalty and discipline under their shadow. This oath each recruit proclaims in a loud voice in his own vernacular— and there are sometimes half a dozen different ones in a regiment-so that all may hear. He swears by all he holds most sacred, be it the Koran, or Guru Granth, or other strange god, that he will be loyal to the King his Emperor, that he will obey his superior officers in all things, that he will fight bravely against the King's enemies, and that he will go cheerfully and willingly wherever he is sent, whether by land or by sea. The recruit has usually been a year or so in the regiment before he is thus sworn in, and knows exactly what his obligations are. If he does not want to take this oath he may go, and there are plenty of others waiting for his place. Very great tact and a thorough knowledge of every class of Indian in the regiment is required by a commanding officer, as one incident amongst many may demonstrate. One day a Gurkha, greenish-yellow with rage, eame before the Colonel with his puggri off and holding in his hand what looked like a lock of hair. It was! Spluttering with rage, he told his story. He was having a slight difference of opinion with a Yusafzai Pathan (may he perish in hell) regarding some small matter, and as is customary both sides began to make scandalous aspersions regarding the virtue and perfect rectitude of each other's female relations, more especially with reference to their several mothers and sisters. The Pathan, as is not unusual, was 6 feet in height, whilst the Gurkha, as is usual, was under 5 ft. 2 in. Using his superior height, complainant said, the Pathan knocked off his cap, which left him with a closecropped head, on the crown of which was grown a thin long whisp for a special purpose. According to the religion of the Gurkha, he must always grow this whisp and keep it in good serviceable order, for by this alone can his god lift him up to heaven when he dies. The Pathan seized this whisp, probably merely to give it a tweak, though the Gurkha said of malice prepense; and it so happened that he was stronger than he thought, for the whole hope of salvation came away in his hand. "And here it is,' vociferated the Gurkha, handing up the lock of hair to the Colonel. As he proceeded to explain, not only had this treatment hurt him exceedingly, but also was it a studied insult from a Mahomedan to a Hindu; moreover, if he died or was killed in battle before he could grow a new whisp of hair, he would perforce have to go to hell, because there was nothing left wherewith he might be lifted up to heaven. Furthermore, and this was possibly nearest his heart, he had to pay Rs. 25 to his priest for having lost his sacred lock. The Colonel with difficulty kept his countenance, but called for the Pathan. The Pathan was very apologetic, said the Gurkha had spoken lies about his female relations, but truth about the unhappy affray; that he only meant a little rough horseplay, and had no intention of insulting the Gurkha or his religion. 66 Very well, Ahmed Shah ; you will pay the fine of Rs. 25 which Singh Bir has to pay (Ahmed Shah's face fell four holes, for it would take five months to pay off this fine), "and if ever I catch you at that sort of horseplay again, out of the regiment you go ek dum" (at a moment's notice). Ahmed Shah saluted and retired. "As for you, Singh Bir, I heartily condole with you, and shall send word to your priest that your top-knot was lost, so to speak, on active service. And I shall ask him, in the event of your premature decease, that this accident may be made known to your deity, so that he may seize you by some other part of your person, and thus carry you to heaven.' Singh Bir, now with a broad and satisfied grin, remarked, "Your Honour is Lord! and saluting, departed. Unskilfully handled, the incident might have resulted in a bloody battle between 100 well spoken," exclaimed the Gurkhas and 100 Pathans armed to the teeth. Various reports and many subjects would be brought up at the Regimental Durbar and discussed at length; but in old days, when soldiering was more free and easy than it became later, the natural tedium of too much business might be agreeably interrupted by more interesting diversions. In a popular regiment, or one with a great fighting name, there are often a large number of men waiting to enlist for whom there is no vacancy. On one such an occasion the Colonel suddenly thought of a novel method of selection. There was one vacancy, and many applicants were brought forward at Durbar by their friends in and out of the regiment in the hope of obtaining it. A good many of these the Colonel at once told to stand back, as manifestly not up to standard; then he made the rest strip, and carefully selected the best six. To these he said, "You are all fine young men and of good stamp, but I am unable to select one of you who is better than the rest. These, then, are my orders. We will after Durbar all proceed to the rifle-range, which is close by, and you shall each fire five shots at the target at 200 yards, and five shots at the target at 500 yards, and he who hitteth the bull's-eye most often shall receive the vacant place and be enlisted in 'The Guides.' I have spoken." men. When the Durbar was over the candidates, accompanied by their friends and relations, trooped off to the rifle-range, and the greatest excitement prevailed. As each shot was signalled, the friends of the shooter either loudly congratulated him or equally loudly condoled with him, and condemned the marker to perdition. Rival candidates and their friends, on the contrary, were unanimously of opinion that the bull's-eye when made was a fluke which would never be repeated, and when a miss was signalled, considered that the marker was a righteous person worthy of every commendation. Finally, two men tied, and whilst each was firmly convinced and affirmed that the scorer was a man of inferior birth and blemished morals who had undoubtedly cheated him, they decided to toss up for the vacancy. One of our Colonels was a remarkably good shot, both with the gun and with the rifle, and it was his habit to keep his eye in for the latter weapon by practising at crows with a rook rifle. As is well known, the Indian crow is a most pushing and impertinent fellow, as well as being an expert and audacious thief, and if too much tolerated collects in his hundreds and makes a garden, for instance, an unpleasant place to walk in. At the same time, he is a very observant bird, almost uncanShahbash! Bravo! It is nily so, and knows as well as you or I the difference between a walking-stick and a rook rifle. To pretend that a walkingstick is a rifle, bringing it smartly to the shoulder as if about to shoot, merely lays one open to the most studied disregard. On the other hand, if the most guileless-looking person with a nonchalant air, carefully concealing a rook rifle behind his back, approaches, every crow within view instantly departs, making the rudest remarks in a raucous voice. By way of combining business, sport of sorts, and instruction in the art of shooting, the Colonel used very often to hold his Durbar under a lofty cottontree in the mess garden, which was the favourite rendezvous of all the crows in the district. After the squadron commanders had settled the smaller affairs at the squadron durbars, they would wend their way to the Colonel, and a fairly safe draw was the cotton-tree. Here the Colonel might pretty surely be found with his back against the trunk, his rifle carefully concealed, keeping a silent but exceedingly alert vigil. As often as not, the arrival of these parties of men, far from discouraging the return of the crows, gave them confidence. They doubtless said amongst themselves, "The old man will now be too busy talking to these soldiers to notice, so let us take advantage of this to steal a few more things." The Durbar opens. "This man, Ram Pershad," says "A" squadron commander, "wants seven days' leave to visit his home to bury his mother." "But he has already on three previous occasions obtained seven days' leave to bury his mother," remarks the Colonel, who knows every one in the regiment and all their affairs to the fifth generation. "Yes, sir, but he says that his mother on the other occasions, though very ill, did not die. But she really has died this time," replies with great solemnity "A" squadron commander. "Wait a second," mutters the Colonel, and very quietly producing his rifle, draws a bee-line on a marauding crow perched high on the cottontree. Crack goes the rifle and down comes the crow. The men say gravely, " Wah! Wah! The Colonel Sahib sights his shots very well." The Colonel reloads his rifle, returns to business, and gives his verdict. "Well, let Ram Pershad go this time. But enter in his sheet-roll" (soldier's pocketbook) "that his mother is dead and buried. I shall also view with some suspicion the declining health of other members of his family for some time." Ram Pershad grins, salutes, and hastily departs. Curiously enough, on his arrival home he is met by an elderly but quite robust lady, whom he embraces affectionately and calls "Ma." Nor do there appear to be any visible signs and portents that a funeral is about to take place. Nevertheless Ram Pershad sighs deeply, for his very best wheeze is dead. |