CHAPTER XX.

RED TAPE.

"What! back again so soon, Stanny," was Captain Faulks's greeting as McKay stepped on board the _Burlington Castle_. "I am right glad to see you. Is that a friend of yours?" pointing to Hyde. "He is welcome too. What brings you to Balaclava?"

McKay explained in a few words the errand on which they had come.

"Drift-wood--is that what you're after? All right, my hearties, I can help you to what you want. My crew is standing idle, and I will send the second officer out with them in the boats. They can land it for you, and load up your horses."

Before the afternoon Hyde started for the camp with a plentiful supply of fuel, intending to return next morning to take up any other supplies that could be secured. McKay tackled his uncle on this subject that same evening.

"Blankets? Yes, my boy, you shall have all we can spare, and I daresay we can fit you out with a few dozen jerseys, and perhaps some seamen's boots."

"We want all the warm clothing we can get," said McKay. "The men are being frozen to death."

"I tell you what: there were five cases of sheepskin-jackets I brought up--_greggos_, I think they call them--what those Tartar chaps wear in Bulgaria.'"

"The very thing! Let's have them, uncle."

"I wish you could, lad; but they are landed and gone into the store."

"The commissariat store? I'll go after them in the morning."

"It'll trouble you to get them. He is a hard nut, that commissariat officer, as you'll see."

Mr. Dawber, the gentleman in question, was a middle-aged officer of long standing, who had been brought up in the strictest notions of professional routine. He had regulations on the brain. He was a slave to red tape, and was prepared to die rather than diverge from the narrow grooves in which he had been trained.

The store over which he presided was in a state of indescribable chaos. It could not be arranged as he had seen stores all his life, so he did nothing to it at all.

When McKay arrived early next day, Mr. Dawber was being interviewed by a doctor from a hospital-ship. The discussion had already grown rather serious.

"I tell you my patients are dying of cold," said the doctor. "I must have the stoves."

"It is quite impossible," replied Mr. Dawber, "without a requisition properly signed."

"By whom?"

"It's not my place, sir, to teach you the regulations, but if you refer to page 347, paragraph 6, you will find that no demands can be complied with unless they have been through the commanding officer of the troops, the senior surgeon, the princ.i.p.al medical officer, the senior commissariat officer, the brigadier, and the general of division. Bring me a requisition duly completed, and you shall have the stoves."

"But it is monstrous: preposterous! There is not time. It would take a week to get these signatures, and I tell you my men are dying."

"I can't help that; you must proceed according to rule."

"It's little short of murder!" said the doctor, now furious.

"And what can I do for you?" said Mr. Dawber, ignoring this remark, and turning to another applicant, a quartermaster of the Guards.

"I have come for six bags of coffee."

"Where is your requisition?"

The quartermaster produced a large sheet of foolscap, covered with printing and ruled lines, a ma.s.s of figures, and intricate calculations.

Mr. Dawber seized it, and proceeded to verify the totals, which took him half-an-hour.

"This column is incorrectly cast; in fact, the form is very carelessly filled in. But you shall have the coffee--if we can find it."

Further long delay followed, during which Mr. Dawber and his a.s.sistant rummaged the heterogeneous contents of his overcrowded store, and at last he produced five bags, saying--

"You will have to do with this."

"But it is green coffee," said the quartermaster, protesting. "How are we to roast it?"

"That's not my business. The coffee is always issued in the green berry. You will find that it preserves its aroma better when roasted just before use."

"We should have to burn our tent-poles or musket-stocks to cook it,"

said the quartermaster. "That stuff's no use to me," and he went away grumbling, leaving the bags behind him.

McKay followed him out of the store.

"You won't take the coffee, then?"

"Certainly not. I wish I had the people here that sent out such stuff."

"May I have it?"

"If you like. It's all one to me."

"Give me the requisition, then."

Armed with this important doc.u.ment, he returned, and accosted Mr.

Dawber.

"He has changed his mind about the coffee. You can give it to me; I will see that he gets it. Here is the requisition."

The commissariat officer was only too pleased to get rid of the bags according to form.

McKay next attacked him about the _greggos_. Despairing, after all he had heard, of getting them by fair means, he resolved to try a stratagem.

"You received yesterday, I believe, a consignment from the _Burlington Castle_?"

"Quite so. There are the chests, still unpacked. I have not the least idea what's inside."

"You have the bill of lading, I suppose?"

"Certainly."

"May I look at it? I come from the _Burlington Castle_, and the captain thinks he was wrong to have sent you the cases without pa.s.sing the bill of lading through the commissariat officer at headquarters."