Soldiers Three

CAPT. M. (Aside) Nerves gone to fiddle-strings. What a day we’re having! (Tenderly putting his hand on G’s. shoulder) My David, how long have you known this Jonathan? Would I come up here to make a fool of you-after all these years?

CAPT. G. (Penitently.) I know, I know, Jack – but I’m as upset as I can be. Don’t mind what I say. Just hear me run through the drill and see if I’ve got it all right: —

‘To have and to hold for better or worse, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, so help me God. Amen.’

CAPT. M. (Suffocating with suppressed laughter) Yes. That’s about the gist of it. I’ll prompt if you get into a hat.

CAPT. G. (Earnestly) Yes, you’ll stick by me, Jack, won’t you? I’m awf’ly happy, but I don’t mind telling YOU that I’m in a blue funk!

CAPT. M. (Gravely) Are you? I should never have noticed it. You don’t LOOK like it.

CAPT. G. Don’t I? That’s all right. (Spinning round.) On my soul and honour, Jack, She’s the sweetest little angel that ever came down from the sky. There isn’t a woman on earth fit to speak to Her.

CAPT. M. (Aside.) And this is old Gaddy! (Aloud.) Go on if it relieves you.

CAPT. G. You can laugh! That’s all you wild asses of bachelors are fit for.

CAPT. M. (Drawling.) You never WOULD wait for the troop to come up. You aren’t quite married yet, y’ know.

CAPT. G. Ugh! That reminds me. I don’t believe I shall be able to get into my boots. Let’s go home and try ‘em on! (Hurries forward.)

CAPT. M. ‘Wouldn’t be in your shoes for anything that Asia has to offer.

CAPT. G. (Spinning round.) That just shows your hideous blackness of soul-your dense stupidity-your brutal narrow-mindedness. There’s only one fault about you. You’re the best of good fellows, and I don’t know what I should have done without you, but-you aren’t married. (Wags his head gravely.) Take a wife, Jack.

CAPT. M. (With a face like a wall.) Ya-as. Whose for choice?

CAPT. G. If you’re going to be a blackguard, I’m going on – What’s the time?

CAPT. M. (Hums.) —

‘An’ since ‘twas very clear we drank only ginger-beer,
Faith, there must ha’been some stingo in the ginger.’

Come back, you maniac. I’m going to take you home, and you’re going to lie down.

CAPT. G. What on earth do I want to lie down for?

CAPT. M. Give me a light from your cheroot and see.

CAPT. G. (Watching cheroot-butt quiver like a tuning-fork.) Sweet state I’m in!

CAPT. M. You are. I’ll get you a peg and you’ll go to sleep.

They return and M. compounds a four-finger peg.

CAPT. G. O bus! bus! It’ll make me as drunk as an owl.

CAPT. M. Curious thing, ‘twon’t have the slightest effect on you. Drink it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye.

CAPT. G. It’s absurd. I shan’t sleep. I know I shan’t!

Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes. CAPT. M.

watches him tenderly.

CAPT. M. Poor old Gaddy! I’ve seen a few turned off before, but never one who went to the gallows in this condition. ‘Can’t tell how it affects ‘em, though. It’s the thoroughbreds that sweat when they’re backed into double-harness. – And that’s the man who went through the guns at Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. (Leans over G.) But this is worse than the guns, old pal – worse than the guns, isn’t it? (G. turns in his sleep, and M. touches him clumsily on the forehead.) Poor, dear old Gaddy! Going like the rest of ‘em-going like the rest of ‘em – Friend that sticketh closer than a brother – eight years. Dashed bit of a slip of a girl-eight weeks! And-where’s your friend? (Smokes disconsolately till church clock strikes three.)

CAPT. M. Up with you! Get into your kit.

CAPT. G. Already? Isn’t it too soon? Hadn’t I better have a shave?

CAPT. M. NO! You’re all right. (Aside.) He’d chip his chin to pieces.

CAPT. G. What’s the hurry?

CAPT. M. You’ve got to be there first.

CAPT. G. To be stared at?

CAPT. M. Exactly. You’re part of the show. Where’s the burnisher? Your spurs are in a shameful state.

CAPT. G. (Gruffly) Jack, I be damned if you shall do that for me.

CAPT. M. (More gruffly.) Dry up and get dressed! If I choose to clean your spurs, you’re under my orders.

CAPT. G. dresses. M. follows suit.

CAPT. M. (Critically, walking round.) M’yes, you’ll do. Only don’t look so like a criminal. Ring, gloves, fees – that’s all right for me. Let your moustache alone. Now, if the ponies are ready, we’ll go.

CAPT. G. (Nervously.) It’s much too soon. Let’s light up! Let’s have a peg! Let’s —

CAPT. M. Let’s make bally asses of ourselves!

BELLS. (Without.) —

‘Good – peo – ple – all
To prayers – we call.”

CAPT. M. There go the bells! Come on – unless you’d rather not. (They ride off.)

BELLS. —

‘We honour the King
And Brides joy do bring —
Good tidings we tell,
And ring the Dead’s knell.’