To give you an idea of what it was like to be in the British
Army in the nineteenth century, here's a prayer by Sergeant Corson:
Frae a' lang marches on rainy days,
And frae a' stoppages out o' our pays,
And frae the washerwoman' bill, on the d----d claise,
Gude Lord deliver us.
Frae mountin' guard whan the snaw rides deep,
And frae standin' sentry whan ithers sleep,
And frae barrack beds, whar lice and bugs do creep,
Gude Lord deliver us.
Frae a' bridewell cages and blackholes,
And officers' canes wi' their halbert poles,
And frae the nine-tailed cat that opposes our souls,
Gude Lord deliver us.
May a' officers wha make poor men stand,
Tie up to the halbert, foot, thigh and hand,
Die rotten in the p-x, and afterwards be d----d,
Gude Lord deliver us.
