DRILL AND DISCIPLINE. "T HE exact squareness of the shoulders and
body to the front is the first principle of the position of a soldier. The heels must be in line and closed ; the knees straight ; the toes turned out, so that the feet may form an angle of 4.3 degrees. The arms should hang easily from the shoulder, elbows to the rear, slightly bent, the hand partially closed, the backs of the fingers touching the thigh lightly, thumb close to forefinger, the hips rather drawn back, and the breast advanced, but without con- straint. The body should be straight and inclining for- ward, so that the weight of it may bear principally on the fore part of the feet ; the head erect, but not thrown back, the chin slightly drawn in, and the eyes looking straight to the front."
That is the picture, not of a man, but of an ugly automaton,—if not indeed of a trussed fowl. Yet these are the words in which the official Drill Book describes the "position of the soldier." In order to pro- duce this monster thousands of able, devoted, and ener- getic men are daily toiling, and in the process the privates are being turned into thoughtless machines, while the minds of the officers who are responsible that the thumb shall be "close to the forefinger" and the "chin slightly drawn in" are being wholly petrified. No doubt the system does not work nearly as badly as might be expected, and by a gracious miracle both men and officers are enabled to a, great extent to resist the numbing forces at work, and to become the splendid fellows that are fighting our battles in South Africa and putting to shame the critic at home even when he has most right on his side. Still, this ideal of the trussed fowl, though modified by many better influences, is responsible for much that is evil in the Army during peace,—for in war, of course, all this business of the toes turned out at an angle of 45 degrees soon goes to the wall. But even though the trussed-fowl ideal is for- gotten in war, its baleful influence (as was pointed out to the present writer by an ex-officer of great experience and ability, a born leader and trainer of soldiers, and also a man of keen and sympathetic intellect) hangs over the Army, for a wrong ideal has been set up--the ideal of so- called smartness against that of true discipline, i.e., the quickness to understand and the readiness to obey an order with intelligence. It is human nature to move along the line of least resistance, and to do the easy mechanical thing rather than the thing which requires thought and individuality. Hence if once the trussed fowl is put up like a golden calf to be worshipped by an Army, the energy of the Army will go in that worship rather than in other channels. We start with the production of a trussed fowl as the object to be aimed at, and the influence of this endeavour is everywhere. In our belief we shall not get a really satisfactory Army and a really well-trained soldier till we substitute another and perfectly different standard of soldierly excellence.
But it will be said ;--` How is it possible that these criticisms can be true? This ideal of the so-called trussed fowl would not have been insisted on unless there was some good reason for it. British officers, as the Spectator has always insisted, are not fools, but quite as intelligent as the rest of the community, and they would never have insisted so strongly on their particular form of smartness unless it were essential. Depend upon it, it is necessary to keep up the system of drill typified in the "position of the soldier" in the interest of disci- pline. Discipline is essential to an army, and drill is an essential part of discipline.' In other words, drill of the kind that is based on the "position of the soldier" must be kept up because without it there would be no true discipline. That is the argument upon which in the last resort the ideal of the trussed fowl rests, and that is why the description of the "position of the soldier" stands at the head of the Drill Book, and why its spirit runs right through the soldier's training. The best energies of the Army are so devotedly spent in getting "the exact square- ness of the shoulders and body to the front" because the Army as a whole believes that without it there would be no discipline.
Now in our opinion that is a pure superstition. It is, we hold, impossible to place too high a value upon true discipline,—the discipline that causes a ready obedience to run like a chain through all ranks, from Commander- in-Chief to private, and makes the order of the superior at once and intelligently executive. But that discipline does not depend upon teaching men to be physically and mentally automata. Look at the discipline of the Navy, or even of a well manned and officered trading vessel. No discipline could be better, but the bluejacket is not a trussed fowl,—even though in imitation of the Army a certain amount of veneration is paid to the idol of the "position of the soldier." Take, again the police of London or any of our great towns. The discipline is admirable, but it does not depend upon the men being drilled into walk- ing machines. The smartness—and there is plenty of it in both cases—consists not in rigidity and a mechanical exact- ness of action, but in alertness in receiving and quickness in executing intelligent and individual directions rather than conventional orders. We admit, of course, that it is easier to obtain elasticity of action when dealing with small numbers than with great, but we maintain that the rigidity in the Army system comes in the main from the ideal of the trussed fowl which is set on high in the first page of the Drill Book for all men to worship. We shall perhaps be asked whether we mean to suggest that our soldiers should have no drill, but should be a mob of untrained men with rifles in their hands. Heaven forbid. We want to see the soldier not less but very much more trained than he is at present,-7—only we want to see the ideal governing that training s, very different one. We are not among those who think that the age of the professional soldier is gone by, but we want his profession to be regu- lated on sound lines. To begin with, we would make the physical awl gymnastic training exceedingly full and careful. The recruit should, of course, be put through a very thorough course of physical training, in order not only to strengthen and develop his body, but to accustom him to obey with rapidity any order he receives. He must be taught to make his body obey his brain instantly and exactly, in order that when the officer's brain has communicated an order to the soldier's brain there shall be no loss of time or exactness in transforming that order from thought into physical action. Drill that makes orders to charge, to lie down, to extend, and so on instantly executed is, no doubt, of the highest utility. So, of course, is the drill that enables large bodies of men to march and turn without friction in narrow places, or surmount obstacles, or take up positions without confusion. But for such drill it is not necessary to observe the standard set up in the "position of the soldier." When the soldier by physical drill and gymnastics is made not only strong, but the master of his own body, his time should be spent, not in perfecting himself in mili- tary carriage—i.e., the trussed-fowl attitude—but in the essential duties of a soldier. [We are not oblivioue, of course, of the fact that the British soldier goes through a course of excellent physical training already, and we note with satisfaction the sound remark which introduces this portion of the Drill Book : 'The object of the following exercises is not display, but the setting up of the soldier."] The essential training of a soldier should consist, we hold, in learning to shoot so well with the rifle that he has the confidence born of the comfortable feeling that on equal terms he will be able to hit his enemy before his enemy hits him. Next, the soldier must be taught how to take cover, and to make cover under every variety of circumstance. After that, he must be taught how to act individually, and yet how to keep in touch with his own body of men even when the force is spread out over the maximum extent of ground. In other words, the field training must be worked so thoroughly that the soldier, though acting to some extent in isolation, shall always be on the alert to obey a superior command. Again, we would have every infantry soldier at some time in his career taught to ride, or rather to use a horse as a means of conveyance, for that is what is necessary, and also to ride a bicycle, so that if a foot regiment is placed in possession of such rapid means of movement it will be able to avail itself of them. Again, the soldier should be taught not merely how to make a rough shelter trench, but should be trained to make works on a large scale with the ease and rapidity that only come from practice.
No doubt we shall be told that the soldier is already trained to do all these things, and that, therefore, there is no need to interfere with the Drill Book. Our reply would be that his training in most of these respects is absurdly superficial, and that we want it to be made real. And why is it superficial ? Because in a very large measure the time and energy required for rifle-shooting and an elaborate and intelligent field training are taken up with producing the most finished and perfect specimen of the trussed fowl. That is the ideal. What time and zeal can be spared from it are devoted, no doubt, to the duties we have enumerated, but smartness is the idol to which the gaze of the Army (the chin slightly drawn in and the eyes looking straight to the front) is directed. What we want to see is the reversal of this process. We want to see such things as rifle-shooting, field training, and field entrenching the ideals striven for, and only such time as is left over from them devoted to keeping the toes exactly at an angle of 45 degrees. In order to get this change in the ideal we want to see the dress of the Army changed. Let the saldiers not only cease to be trained as trussed fowls, but let them also cease to be dressed as becomes the "position of the soldier." Let us shut our ears to the talk about the nursemaids, and insist that our soldiers shall be as sensibly and appropriately dressed as our sailors,—in a dress that is loose enough not to make "physical exertion a difficulty, and so little ornamented that men's lives will not be made a burden by ridiculous polishings. If a plain and un- ornamented dress is good enough for the bluejacket, it should be good enough for the soldier, for though we would never prefer the sailor to the soldier, it must be admitted that as a fighting man the sailor is oertaialy his We have but one word more to say. Do not let it be supposed that we blame the regimental officers of the British Army because of the cult of the trussed fowl. Those gallant and able men are not responsible, and we will never allow ourselves to join, or even to appear to join, in the unfair and parrot outcry that has arisen against them because of their supposed stupidity. They are naturally no stupider than the civilians of the professions, and we very greatly doubt if any of the professions can show the same high average of general intelligence, not to mention of disinterestedness, of straightforwardness, and of general soundness of life and character. There is no Bounder or better type of manhood in existence than that afforded by the British regimental officer. No, the blame for the cult of the trussed fowl lies not with the regimental officer, but with the military mandarins who issued them the Drill Book, and who have maintained it and hold it up as the ideaL The regimental officer must obey like any other soldier. He is given the Drill Book, with its Chinese fatuity and mechanical ideals, and he is bound to carry them out loyally even though he suffers in mind in the process. The regimental officer cannot change the Drill Book if he would, and by the law of his profes- sional being he comes to admire it, and to believe in it as part of his duty. The nation must not blame him, but his masters. But it must deal with those masters, and must make them realise that the day of the trussed fowl in scarlet is over, and that we want a sensibly dressed and sensibly trained human being for a soldier instead of an automaton,—and also that we mean to have him with- out sacrificing one jot or tittle of that true and strict discipline and loyal obedience without which an army is the greatest curse that a nation can endure. It has been wittily suggested that the epitaph of the British Empire may be "Lost by a cavalry subaltern with £1,000 a year." We think it, more appropriate that this hypothetical grave should be adorned with the figure of a red-coated private standing in the "position of the soldier." But we do not believe that it will be adorned so, for we hold that the cult of that false god, the trussed fowl, will soon cease from the land and give place to a saner and wiser worship.
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