The Kangaroo Marines Part 3

"You'll make us laugh," said the man in a familiar way. The other Bushmen craned their necks. They were interested. They knew that Grouse had gone over the score, and they waited to see the stuff that the sergeant-major was made of. It was, in fact, the psychological moment which makes or mars the reputation of a sergeant-major in such a corps. The sergeant-major knew it.

"Look here, young man, I make great allowance for inexperience, for none of you have been soldiers before, but I make no allowance for insolence. Take off your coat."

"What!"

"Take off your coat," said the sergeant-major with emphasis, at the same time throwing off his own. The man followed suit.

"Now step out here, and we'll decide who's going to run this show."

Then the unexpected happened. The man shoved out his hand. "Shake, sir; you're a good fellow. I'm afeard of no man, but I won't fight you, for I'm in the wrong."

"Well, you're a man, anyway," said Jones, shaking him cordially by the hand, while the whole squad gave out a thrilling cheer.

Colonel Sam Killem had watched it all from the corner of the parade ground. For him it was an anxious moment. He was a broad-minded Australian who realised the need of experienced Britishers like Jones for the training of his men. But he was also aware of the national prejudice against the imported man. If Jones had adopted the usual way in the British regiment, that is, clapping the offender in the guard room and formally charging him with "insubordination in the ranks," Sam knew that his prestige as a sergeant-major would have dropped fifty per cent. However, he was well pleased to see him handle the man in the Australian manner.

"Made good that time, Jones," said the colonel with a dry grin as the sergeant-major came forward.

"That's the only way with these men, sir."

"Glad you know it. By the way, I know that man. He half killed one of the Mounted Police two years ago. He's three-quarters blackguard and one-quarter of a good fellow; but we'll make a man of him. Put him in orders to-night for the lance stripe. I always believe in making N.C.O.'s out of these rascals."

"Splendid idea, sir," said the sergeant-major, saluting and falling out.

Next day Lance-Corporal Grouse commenced a new career--that of a gallant soldier and an Australian gentleman.

Another interesting incident occurred during the training. Side by side with the Kangaroo Marines lay the Melbourne Nuts, a battalion of superior persons. You see, the Kangaroo Marines were nominally a Sydney crowd. Therefore the Melbourne boys showered on them all the envy which Melbourne has for Sydney. To understand this point thoroughly you must have lived in Australia. Between Melbourne and Sydney there exists a feud as fierce as an Italian vendetta. This animosity crystallises the more general hatred of the respective States--Victoria and New South Wales. Both sides think they are the Lord's Anointed. A Governor-General in any speech must be careful to whitewash both States with the same degree of eyewash. Friendships, fortunes, and reputations have been lost in this really amusing controversy. Indeed, they are like the farmers of Kerry--they go to law if a hen roosts for a second in the enemy's barnyard.

Picture the scene then--two corps side by side, and imagine the language. The first trouble arose through a pioneer of the Kangaroos dropping a shovelful of dirt in the lines of the Melbourne men. The offender was Bill Buster.

"Get out of this, ye Sydney rattlesnake," chirped a youth, looking out of his tent.

"Worm!" exclaimed Bill contemptuously.

"Ye dirty-necked beachcomber, I'll split yer pumpkin head."

"Take that," shouted Bill, throwing a shovelful of manure into the tent of his aggressor. Honour, of course, had to be satisfied after that.

The Melbourne man got a broken nose, and Bill had two lovely black eyes.

Both regiments decided to have revenge, and, for that purpose, secret meetings were called. The Melbourne boys decided to leave their affairs in the hands of Happy Harry, a local comedian. He was given liberty to spend anything up to twenty pounds on a scheme of revenge.

In the case of the Kangaroos it was decided by ballot that Bill would plan out something to stagger the Melbourne crowd. Meantime, armed neutrality reigned; yet the air seemed charged with the spirit of friction and the feeling of secret preparation. Remarkable to relate, both schemes panned out on the morning of the same day. The Melbourne Nuts woke up to see, in great, black, varnished letters, across their huge dining-tent, the following:

MELBOURNE IS A ONE-EYED TOWN FULL OF SNIVELLING Sn.o.bS, p.a.w.nSHOPS, AND GROG SALOONS.

This was a good stroke for the Sydney men, but the Melbourne men had, also, a neat revenge. That morning, an old broken-down donkey was found wandering in the Kangaroos' lines, with placards flapping at his sides, on which the Sydney men saw:

THIS IS THE FATHER OF SYDNEY AND THE KANGAROO MARINES.

The battle of wits was a drawn affair. But, that night, more trouble ensued. While the famous quartette were casually strolling through the town a Melbourne man jostled Sandy.

"Wha are ye pushin'?" he inquired.

"I'll push yer face for you--you bag of haggis," replied the cool Melbourne lad.

"Ye daur meddle wi' me," said Sandy, leering at him, for he had tasted deep of the national fluid. "Hit me!" he roared, baring his chest towards his aggressor. "Ma fit is on ma native heath, an' ma name's M'Greegor," continued the fierce, red-whiskered Scot.

"Here's one for you, M'Greegor!" And the Melbourne man let fly. Poor Sandy, he buckled up and fell gasping to the ground. Bill now set to, but in a minute he, Claud, and Paddy were surrounded by a gang of Melbourne hands.

"Ye miserable spalpeens," said Paddy, laying to with a great big stick, and between times whipping the treasures from the pockets of fallen men. Claud had his monocle smashed and his nose burst, while poor old Bill was severely winded just as reinforcements arrived from the Kangaroos. It was a b.l.o.o.d.y combat. Indeed, it might have been a serious riot had Sam Killem not doubled up a company with buckets of water to throw over the antagonists.

Then the bugle call to a.s.sembly ended the first and last fight between these two corps. Afterwards they were loyal friends, and, in action, died n.o.bly side by side.

CHAPTER III

THE LAND OF SIN

Egypt is the land of heroes and engineers--also the land of mystery, the abode of intrigue, the c.o.c.kpit of puerile nationalism, and the soul of all things topsy-turvy and contrary. It is a land for a brave soldier, a skilful engineer, or the tourist in search of Rameses'

shin-bones.

It is a country wet with British blood and paved with British gold.

The n.o.blest things in Egypt are British; the vilest are the products of aliens who have dodged justice and cleanness through the vagaries of "The Capitulations" (an international treaty which makes John Bull pay for the privilege of entertaining alien murderers, white slavers, forgers, a.s.sa.s.sins, corrupt financiers, and legal twisters). But it is a land worth holding, not so much for any riches it may possess, but for the Suez Ca.n.a.l, which links us to our Indian Empire.

The Egyptians, on the whole, are an industrious and harmless people.

For centuries they have been slaves to Greeks, Romans, Persians, Turks, and Crusaders from every land. They have been doomed to serve because of their inability to lead and control. They are content to serve so long as justice reigns. Egypt to-day is better governed, more prosperous, happier than it has ever been in its history. Cromer, Kitchener, the Tommy, the Engineer, and the men of the "Egyptian Civil"

have given their n.o.blest efforts to crush corruption, to kill decay, to make the native full-fed and serene.

Discontent in Egypt is the work of a few who have cast off their native garments, donned the clothes of the Westerner, and acquired a smattering of things. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. These young _effendis_ are the fools who would step where angels fear to tread. These malcontents spurred and led Arabi Pasha (a true patriot) to his doom. The self-same type have recently sent a Khedive into shame and exile. These so-called "Nationalists" were the willing tools of German and Austrian agents who aimed at capturing Egypt and dominating the route to India. Before the war there was a German spy in every town from Alexandria to Khartoum. These spies even supped at the table of the late Khedive. While they went their way they smiled and called us fools. Eagerly they lived for the day when Enver Pasha (the well-paid Moslem adventurer) would lead his deluded Turks against the British host.

The great dream of the Khedive, his Nationalists and German agents failed because of the courage and shrewdness of "K" and his men. While the world waited for the Holy War and the fall of Egypt, the great Australian host was quietly landing on Egypt's sh.o.r.es. In this army were such men as the Kangaroo Marines--fearless, tireless, and ready for adventure. The tramp, tramp of their feet made traitors shiver and flee; their physique, their chins, their corded arms spread over the Delta and the desert a sense of might and courage.

"There can be no rebellion. The Australians are too big, too strong.

Allah is against us," said the wise men in the little hamlets by the Nile.

"These are white men--not black," muttered an _effendi_ to his friend, as the Australians marched through intriguing Cairo. Like many Egyptians, he had imagined Australians to be of a n.i.g.g.e.r mould.

"Yes, infidels and sons of dogs," growled a priestly fanatic.

"What men--what guns--Allah preserve us!" said many more who had talked revolution for a while. This, truly, was a bloodless climax to the schemes of Germany, Turkey, and the Khedive.

Along the sun-baked road to Mena marched the Australians. They were treading a road made by a great Khedive for the Empress Eugenie to see the Pyramids in comfort. When they halted they were beneath the shade of the historic piles of stones. Napoleon's soldiers had been there, so had Gordon's and Kitchener's heroes. Now these sons of the Motherland found themselves at the beginning of another historic mission.

"There's been a lot of overtime on that job," said Bill Buster to his pals when nearing the Pyramids.

"Wha built them?" inquired Sandy of Claud.