That is what we are known as--we are the orphans they blame For beggin’ the loan of an ’ead-stall an’ makin’ a mount to the same: ‘Can’t even look at an ’orselines but some one goes bellerin’ ‘Hi! ‘’Ere comes a burglin’ Ikona!’ Footsack you ---- M. I.! We’re trekkin’ our twenty miles a day an’ bein’ loved by the Dutch, But we don’t hold on by the mane no more, nor lose our stirrups--much; An’ we scout with a senior man in charge where the ’oly white flags fly. We used to think they were friendly once, Didn’t take any precautions once (Once, my ducky, an’ only once!) But now we are M. I. That is what we are known as--we are the beggars that got Three days ‘to learn equitation,’ an’ six months o’ bloomin’ well trot! Cow-guns, an’ cattle, an’ convoys--an’ Mister De Wet on the fly-- We are the rollin’ Ikonas! We are the ---- M. I.! The new fat regiments come from home, imaginin’ vain V.C.’s (The same as our talky-fighty men which are often Number Threes[2]), But our words o’ command are ‘Scatter’ an’ ‘Close’ an’ ‘Let your wounded lie.’ We used to rescue ’em noble once,-- Givin’ the range as we raised ’em once, Gettin’ ’em killed as we saved ’em once-- But now we are M. I. That is what we are known as--we are the lanterns you view After a fight round the kopjes, lookin’ for men that we knew; Whistlin’ an’ callin’ together, ’altin’ to catch the reply:-- ‘’Elp me! O ’elp me, Ikonas!’ This way, the ---- M. I.! I wish my mother could see me now, a-gatherin’ news on my own, When I ride like a General up to the scrub and ride back like Tod Sloan, Remarkable close to my ’orse’s neck to let the shots go by. We used to fancy it risky once (Called it a reconnaissance once), Under the charge of an orf’cer once, But now we are M. I. That is what we are known as--that is the song you must say When you want men to be Mausered at one and a penny a day; We are no five-bob colonials--we are the ’omemade supply, Ask for the London Ikonas! Ring up the ---- M. I.! I wish myself could talk to myself as I left ’im a year ago; I could tell ’im a lot that would save ’im a lot on the things that ’e ought to know! When I think o’ that ignorant barrack-bird, it almost makes me cry. I used to belong in an Army once (Gawd! what a rum little Army once), Red little, dead little Army once! But now I am M. I.! That is what we are known as--we are the men that have been Over a year at the business, smelt it an’ felt it an’ seen. We ’ave got ’old of the needful--_you_ will be told by and by; Wait till you’ve ’eard the Ikonas, spoke to the old M. I.!