Sahib: The British Soldier in India 1750–1914. Richard Holmes

I saw the first shot fired in anger). Arrived at Peshawur on the 8th January 1852.⁸⁵

      The regimental bheesties – water-carriers, like Kipling’s Gunga Din – tried to ensure that there was always water to drink on the line of march. Gunga Din was drawn from life, because, as William Forbes-Mitchell observed, bheesties and doolie-bearers ‘were the only camp followers who did not desert us when we crossed into Oudh … The bheesties … have been noted for fidelity and bravery in every Indian campaign.’⁸⁶ Many old hands, however, maintained that a man could damage his health by drinking too much water, and Private Robert Waterfield, marching from Umballa to Ferozepore in May 1848 in sultry weather, observed that:

      The remaining bheesties kept well up with the column, with a good supply of water. The water is warm and has a sickly taste with it. A great many men bring sickness on themselves by overloading the stomach with water on the line of march. I always refrain from smoking my pipe as much as I possibly can, and generally carry a small pebble in my mouth which keeps it moist. I refrain from talking as much as I can, and find myself less fatigued when I arrived in camp than most men. I always draw my two drams of ration rum which I find does one good.⁸⁷

      Private Richards marched from Meerut to the hill station of Chakrata, about 160 miles away, in March 1903. First the battalion struck camp, and its large tents were sent on ahead to Chakrata, with smaller ‘mountain tents’ taking their place for the march. Large bags called sleetahs held the kit and blankets of four men and were carried on pack animals, bullocks in this instance:

      The dairy, bakery, cooks and camp followers moved off each evening twelve hours in advance of the Battalion, so that rations could be drawn and breakfast ready by the time the Battalion arrived. There was no breakfast before we started our march, which on some days was stiffer than on others, but any man who chose to could give his name to the Colour-Sergeant who would put it down on the list of men who would daily be supplied with a good meat-sandwich and a pint of tea at the coffee-halt, for which two annas a day was deducted from their pay … We always knew we were approaching the coffee-halt, where we had an hour’s rest, by the drums striking up the tune of ‘Polly put the kettle on and we’ll all have tea’.

      We started each day’s march at dawn and the only parade we did after arriving at camp was rifle-and-foot inspection. Unless a man was on guard he had the rest of the day to spend how he liked … Most of the men passed the day away by playing House, which was the most popular of the games played … The majority of the men were inveterate gamblers and those who were stony broke would collect in schools of five and play Kitty-nap ‘for noses’ as it was called. When a player called Nap and he made it, he would bunch his five cards together and give each of the others twelve smacks on the nose with them; if he failed to make his contract he received six smacks on the nose from each of the others.⁸⁸

      John Fraser remembered ‘jolly and convivial’ campfire concerts on the line of march in the 1880s, evenings when discipline was almost wholly absent and officers and senior NCOs might oblige with their signature tunes, like ‘the Sergeant-Major with “Robin Tamson’s Smiddy” or Sergeant Foley with “Paddy Heagerty’s Ould Leather Breeches”’.⁸⁹

      Even on the march itself not all soldiers preferred to step it out in silence. Major Bayley of HM’s 52nd remembered the march from Allahabad to Umballa in 1853–54:

      As soon as the sun was up, and the pipes finished, the men usually began to sing, by companies generally, one man taking the solo and the rest the chorus; but this was not always possible, unless there was a side wind, the dust rose in thick clouds and hung over the column. Of course it was worse in the rear than in the front; so, in order that everyone should have a fair chance, the order of march was changed daily, the company marching in rear today, going to the front tomorrow.⁹⁰

      Ensign Reginald Wilberforce, also of the 52nd, this time on the move from Sialcot to Delhi, remembered that:

      Half way along the line of march we always halted for half an hour; the men had rum served out to them, and the officers used to have coffee as well as other things [this was generally known as ‘coffee-stop’]. One of the favourite songs was of a most revolutionary character; it had about thirty verses and a long chorus. I forget the song, but I recall that ‘Confound our Officers!’ held a place in the chorus, and used to be lustily shouted. At first the men would not sing this song – they thought it would hurt our feelings, but it had such a good tune that nearly every night one of our captains would call for it.⁹¹

      The level of banter accepted on the march varied from unit to unit. Gunner Bancroft marched from the Bengal Artillery depot at Dum Dum for the Upper Provinces in February 1842. With the column were 400 recruits of the 1st Bengal European Regiment (popularly known as the 1st Yeos) marching to join their unit without their own officers or senior NCOs. Bancroft remembered:

      jolly times they were on that blessed march, wiling away the tedium of the marches by whistling, singing, cracking jokes, playing practical tricks, and all sorts of what is commonly called ‘divilment’! There was a very large contingent of Irishmen among the number, and the well-known tendency of the Hibernian to mind everything humorous was very fully developed. There was little or no restraint imposed upon them. If a dispute arose between any two of the number which could not be amicably settled, they turned off the road and had a set to, discovered who was the best man, and manfully resumed their march, after having afforded no small gratification to a crowd of admiring lookers-on and settled their dispute to their own satisfaction. There was no officer in charge of the recruits; usually two mounted non-commissioned officer of the [horse artillery] troop were told off to keep them together if possible, a task as difficult as that of Sisyphus.⁹²