Part 6

“No, sorr; one man absent.”

“Well, then,” said the C. O.; “go and find him, and ask what he has to say for himself.”

A few minutes later Pat came running back, and shouted:

“Shure, sorr, and weren’t we a pair of duffers not to know it? It wor meself. Bedad, sorr, Oi forgot to call me own name, entoirely, sorr!”

ANOTHER ANXIETY

“I have some astonishing news for you, Maria,” said Brown. “In addition to the war, England is on the eve of a great strike, in which thousands upon thousands of hands will be involved.”

“What a dreadful thing!” ejaculated his unsuspecting victim. “When is it to take place?”

“This very night, my dear,” answered Brown, gravely. “At midnight thousands of clock hands will point to the hour, and it will strike twelve.”

ONE QUALIFICATION

Visitor (leaving inn, after sleepless night): “I suppose you don’t happen to be a German?”

Landlord: “Do I look like it?”

Visitor: “No; but I thought I’d just ask, because my room last night had a concrete bed in it.”

GREAT DEEDS I HAVE DONE IN THE GREAT WAR

Supposed to Be Written by an Old British Soldier After the Style of Baron Munchausen

I venture to set down some of my deeds in the great war, both as a proof of my courage and veracity, and in order to demonstrate the value of resourcefulness in the conduct of military adventures.

Our company—I being then a private—disembarked at ——, in France, and were at once sent to the front. I was immediately selected to go out for the purpose of obtaining information of the enemy’s movements, and I set out determined to perform that task at all costs. Unfortunately a Taube aeroplane scouting overhead espied me, despite my disguise—a small hayrick on my hat—and dropped a bomb, which, though failing to strike me, burst near with such force that it blew me into the air about twenty feet high, and the Taube swooping down, its pilot caught me by the breeches with a hook suspended on a rope. I hung beneath that aeroplane for three days, with a most exhausting backache, and it was not till the night of the third day that I succeeded in climbing up the rope and killing the pilot; but then, the petrol being all consumed, I was obliged to land in the German lines. There I was captured, and forced to remain in the firing-line. This, however, proved to be my good fortune, for, determined to perform my task, I had recourse to a most extraordinary ruse to escape. As soon as I was unobserved, I twined myself about a big shell, and was put into the gun at the next loading. The shot was a good one, and, rendered invisible by the dense smoke, I rode on the shell across the German and British lines, and landed safely at the feet of my general, whom I was able to supply with valuable information. For this deed I was awarded the D. S. O. (Distinguished Suspension Order).

The following day we were ordered to march to ——-, and hold it against the expected attack of the Germans. The village was fifty miles away, and we had but twelve hours for the journey. The pace proved too much for my brave comrades, and one after another they dropped out, till none was left save myself and the captain, whom I carried the last ten miles on my back, together with the rifles and ammunition of twelve of my comrades. Reaching the village, we requisitioned two houses, one at each end. In one I took my stand with six rifles, in the other the captain did likewise. Within an hour the Germans attacked both positions in overwhelming force. After two hours’ violent fighting those on my side drew off to re-form, and I immediately raced across to the captain’s house, just in time to repel a desperate charge. Then I returned to the encounter on my side, and these movements I repeated five times during the night, till at dawn the rest of the company came to our assistance. I had thirty-five bullet wounds, but none of them being in a vital part, I desired the doctors to remove the bullets at once, so that I might continue my duties. My great feet on this occasion gained me the Order of the B.O.O.T. (Best of Our Transports).

But on one more occasion I was able to serve my country in an exceptional manner. Our wireless operator, ordered to signal “Advance to Nancy,” his mind being filled with another name, sent “Advance to Lil,” to the French general. Discovering his mistake, he was unable to correct it, for a shell shattered his instrument. Quick as thought I flung off my coat and ran like the wind to the French headquarters, five miles away, arriving exactly one and a half seconds before the message, just in time to take off my hat and hold it in the way of the oncoming message, which hit it with such force as to knock me backwards. Thus I saved a ghastly mistake. At the conclusion of war I was for this exploit made a corporal, and decorated with the Order K. C. B. (Karnarftellem Cops the Bun).

WASTED SYMPATHY

Whilst making some purchases in a village shop in Scotland the other day, an excited inhabitant rushed in with the news:—

“Tam Henry’s gaun awa’ wi’ the sodgers!”

The shopkeeper remarked dolefully:—

“My, the auld wife’ll miss him sairly.”

When the visitor had left to carry her news elsewhere, a customer inquired sympathetically if “Tam Henry” was the old woman’s only son.

“Naw, naw,” the shopkeeper answered with a pitying smile, “Tam Henry’s her best hoarse!”

KNEW HIM OF OLD

A certain recruiting sergeant was sent by the military authorities to his native town, with a view to getting as many of his acquaintances to enlist as possible.

One morning, as he was walking down the street, he saw a group of his old pals standing at the corner.

Going up to the group, he said, “Now, lads, what do you say about joining the colors? You know, I didn’t get these stripes for standing at street corners.”

“Nowe,” replied one of his pals, “if they’d gi’n stripes for that tha’d ’a’ bin a bloomin’ zebra bi neaw.”

THIS ORIGINATED IN NEW YORK

In one of the French restaurants in Soho, where there had been a fight a few nights before, the following was at once posted in large type:—

“The war will be settled abroad. Please do not start anything here.”

An enterprising man has printed these placards in large quantities, and is selling them to the restaurants frequented by persons of various nationalities now at war abroad.

TWO POINTS OF VIEW

The Family Man—“The cost of everything is increasing at a terrible rate.”

The Military Expert—“Not everything. According to statistics in former wars it cost fifteen thousand dollars to kill a man, but now, with improved ordnance and ammunition, it can be done for one-third of that.”

SOME KIND OF A MARSHAL

Wife (proud of her military brother-in-law, to husband)—“Do you know Fred has been recently promoted to field-marshal?”

Husband—“To field-marshal! Impossible, dear.”

Wife (indignantly)—“Well, if it’s not a field-marshal he’s come to, it’s a court-martial.”

NOR ON THE SOCKS

An English colonel, at kit inspection, said to Private Flanigan:

“Ha! Yes, shirts, socks, flannels, all very good. Now, can you assure me that all the articles of your kit have buttons on them?”

“No, sir,” said Private Flanigan, hesitating.

“How’s that, sir?”

“Ain’t no buttons on the towels, sir!”

LESS WAR NEWS WANTED

A well-known London journalist never uses a notebook, but jots down such events as appeal to him, with suggestions for his subsequent articles, on his cuffs. At first his laundress was much puzzled by these hieroglyphics, but as time went on she became able to read them, and apparently derived much benefit and pleasure therefrom.

One day the journalist received, with his laundered garments, a slip of paper on which was written:—

“Your last washing was very interesting, but we should be glad if you would give us more about ‘Scandals in high life,’ and less about the war.”

TWENTY STRAIGHT

Sergeant (disgustedly, to Private Jones, who is not exactly an expert at shooting)—“Ugh! don’t waste your last bullet. Nineteen are quite enough to blaze away without hitting the target once. Go behind that wall and blow your brains out.”

Jones walked quietly away, and a few seconds later a shot rang out.

“Great sausages, the fool’s done what I told him!” howled the sergeant, running behind the wall. Great was his relief when he saw Private Jones coming towards him.

“Sorry, sergeant,” he said, apologetically; “another miss.”

RUSSIAN EXPECTATIONS

A retort that shows something of the attitude of Russian and Austrian officers before hostilities actually broke out is reported by a Petrograd correspondent.

In the course of his last interview with the Russian military authorities before the war, Prince Hohenlohe, the Austrian military attaché, expressed surprise that the Russians should be requisitioning so many automobiles, the extensive use of which since then may help to explain the rapid alternations of fortune of engagements that have so often proved confusing.

“Your roads are too bad,” the Austrian remarked. “Of what use are automobiles?”

“Ah!” replied the Russian, “but you must remember that your Austrian roads are very good!”

FREAKS OF BULLETS

Wonderful Escapes From Death

A sapper in the Royal Engineers tells the story of an extraordinary escape which one of his comrades experienced. A bullet took his cap off and cut a groove through his hair, without injuring the scalp, in such a manner that it looked as though he had carefully parted his hair down the center.

This is but another illustration of the tricks that bullets play at times. It is doubtful, however, if any soldier in the present campaign has had such marvelous escapes as Lieutenant A. C. Johnston, the Hants County cricketer, who relates how, shortly before he was slightly wounded, a shell hit the wall six inches above his head, while shortly afterwards a bullet hit the ground half a yard in front of him, bounded up, and hit him on the body, bruising his ribs. Then a bullet hit him over the heart, but was spent before reaching him, and when in the hospital he picked it out of his left-hand breast-pocket and sent it home to his wife.

A charmed life, too, seems to be borne by a private of the Manchester Regiment, who relates how, while smoking a cigarette in the trenches, a bullet took the “fag” out of his mouth, while another cut the crown off his hat, leaving the peak still sticking on his head. And it is characteristic of the humor of “Tommy,” even when the fire is hottest, that when a bullet took off the top of a tin of bully beef which another private had in his hand, he looked at it, coolly turned round, made a bow in the direction of the enemy, and thanked them for saving him the trouble of finding a can-opener.

A curious escape from what might have been a mortal wound was that of a Royal Scots Fusilier. During a severe fight he suddenly felt the shock of a bullet. “I am hit,” he said to his chum. Looking down, however, he saw that the bullet had struck a clip of cartridges in his top left-hand pouch, but had done no other damage. The first cartridge must have been a little loose, and as it twisted round when it was struck, the bullet was turned off instead of going straight through the soldier’s body, as it would have done had all the cartridges been firm.

Mr. Frank Scudamore relates an extraordinary incident which occurred during the Soudan campaign, when he saw an officer, a friend of his, go down apparently shot through the head. “To my surprise,” he says, “I met him walking about after the battle, apparently none the worse, save that his head was bandaged. Then he showed me how the bullet, striking and deflected by one of the hooks of his helmet chain, had run right round his forehead, cutting a groove under the skin, and had then glanced off the helmet hook at the other side.”

FINDING AN EXCUSE

Private Atkins—“Jones just stood me a drink.”

His Best Girl—“And did you stand him one back?”

Private Atkins—“No; a true British soldier never re-treats.”

ONLY A MATTER OF TIME

The general was busily inspecting a regiment the colonel of which was a very bad horseman, and this was well known to his men. The battalion was formed up in quarter column, and as the commanding officer gave the order “Advance in column,” the band struck up the regimental march past, with the result that his horse plunged and kicked furiously, and he was very nearly unseated.

As the leading company was nearing the saluting-base the captain glanced round to see if his men were marching well, and was horrified to see the whole of the front two ranks bunched up in the middle and every man watching the commanding officer’s efforts to retain his seat.

“Ease off, there!” he shouted, angrily.

“No ’ee ain’t,” said a young recruit, “but ’ee soon will be!”

SOUNDS LOGICAL

Pat, who had joined the new army, was given his uniform by the quartermaster. Everything fitted all right till he came to put on the trousers, which he said were far too tight.

“No, no,” said the quartermaster; “they’re fine.”

“I tell you they are too tight,” said Pat. “They are tighter than me skin.”

“Nonsense, Pat; how can they be tighter than your skin?”

“Begorra!” exclaimed Pat. “I can sit down in my skin, but I can’t sit down in the trousers.”

UNWILLING MARTYR

Some time ago little Willie rambled into the house, threw his soldier suit in the corner, and began looking over a book. This was unusual for the youngster, and mother began to investigate.

“What did you come into the house for, Willie?” she asked. “You haven’t quarrelled with Georgie Brown, have you?”

“No, mother,” answered Willie; “but I’m not going to play war with him any more.”

“Why not?” queried mother. “What has he been doing?”

“It’s just this way,” explained Willie. “When we play war I’m Germany and he’s England, and if I don’t let him lick me every time he says that I’m not patriotic.”

THE TAR AND THE TARTAR

Pat has always been celebrated the world over for his repartee, and he did not belie his reputation for smart retorts quite recently.

It happened that a warship touched at a military port on the coast of Ireland, and a “Tommy,” meeting a full-bearded Irish “tar” in the street, accosted him with:—

“Here, I say, Pat, when are you goin’ to put those whiskers of yours on the reserve list?”

Pat turned and eyed his questioner thoughtfully for the space of half a second, then:—

“Begorra, just as soon as ever you place your tongue on the civil list,” was his reply.

DON’T SAY “ROVER”

The inhabitants of a Sussex village recently received somewhat short notice of the visit of a regiment of soldiers, and local butchers’ shops were absolutely cleared out in the endeavor to treat the visitors well at their various one-night billets.

One motherly old dear, who was cute enough to foresee the possible shortage, was early on the market and managed to secure a nice piece of steak weighing two-and-a-half pounds.

Her three men arrived, very tired and very hungry, and by the time their ablutions were through the meat was done to a turn.

“There,” she said, proudly, as she placed it on the table, “I thought you’d like somethin’ substantial. If you manage to eat that you won’t be wanting much more till the morning. You’re lucky to get it, I can tell you, for there isn’t another scrap o’ meat to be had in the place for love or money. Just shout out if you’re wantin’ any more tea made.”

The soldiers decided to have a joke with the old lady. They transferred the steak to a spare plate, popped it under the table, and called for her attendance.

“Are the other two steaks ready yet?” came the question.

The old lady eyed the empty dish and held up her hands in astonishment. “Other two!” she exclaimed. “Why, I thought that one was enough for the three of you. Well, well, I’m done altogether. I can’t beg, borrow, or steal a bit, and I’m right down sorry for you, that I am.”

“It’s all right, mother,” laughed the soldiers. “It’s too bad of us—we were only having a joke. The steak’s under the table.”

“Good gracious!” screamed the lady. “So is Rover!”

Instantly the men dived underneath the table to secure their meat. They saw a big black retriever dog, looking on very good terms with himself, beside an empty dish. The steak was gone.

And three very tired and very hungry men made a meal off bread and cheese. It is dangerous to say “Rover” in their hearing nowadays.

SCARS OF BATTLE

“Yes, John received his trunk this morning. It’s been somewhere over there in Germany for eleven weeks.”

“Where is John?”

“Why, he’s out in the garage shooting bullets through the trunk. He thinks they’ll make it look so much more interesting, don’t you know.”

SUITED TO HIS POSITION

The Irish adjutant’s wife was telling Bridget about her husband.

“My husband, Bridget,” she said, proudly, “is at the head of the Tipperary militia.”

“Oi t’ought as much, ma’am,” said Bridget, cheerfully. “Ain’t he got th’ foine malicious look?”

KAISER WILHELM II

“I don’t know that there is much use in keeping my school open more than a month or two each year,” said the German pedagogue.

“Why is that?”

“Our Emperor has simplified matters to such an extent that when you ask the name of the world’s greatest poet, painter, musician, general, traveller, or monarch, there is only one answer to all the questions.”

AS SEEN IN FRANCE

Two French soldiers took their places in the trenches—the one middle-aged, who had long since received his baptism of fire, the other a mere youth, whose chattering teeth and blanched face proved it was his first experience of real war.

The older soldier tried to reassure his frightened companion. “Be brave, my lad; remember you fight for France.”

A shell screeched through the air close overhead, and the young man’s terror increased.

More soothing words, but more shells, and the upset nerves still on edge. An hour passed, punctuated by many kindly encouragements, but the new soldier’s fear had not abated.

The patience of the other was at last exhausted.

“Why do you shiver and shake like that, you vain young fool?” said he. “You don’t suppose the Germans are firing all these expensive shells at you, do you? You are not a cathedral or a work of art!”

ANYTHING TO QUALIFY

A lot of old-timers of the Army and Navy Club in Piccadilly were swapping stories.

“One Sam Haskins,” says a retired brigadier-general, “decided to enlist. He burned with a desire to serve his country. So he applied at a recruiting office, and was duly punched and prodded, trotted up and down, jumped over chairs and tables, and so forth.

“Then came the questions. All manner of them were fired at him, and he answered most of them satisfactorily. Then came the stern inquiry:

“‘Have you ever served a term of imprisonment?’

“‘No, sir,’ stammered Sam; ‘but,’ he added, hastily, ‘I’d be willing to serve a short one, if it’s necessary.’”

TAKING THE JOY OUT OF LIFE

Wife—“The heavy explosions of a battle always cause rain. It rained after Waterloo. It rained after Fontenoy. It rained after Marathon.”

Husband—“But Marathon was fought with spears and arrows, my dear.”

Wife—“There you go again! Always throwing cold water on everything I have to say.”

ON HIS WAY

Still another recruiting story. A new cavalry trooper was being initiated into the mysteries of riding when his horse bolted. “Where the deuce are you going?” thundered the instructor. The reply came back in gasps: “Don’t know—but the ’orse’s ’ome is at ’Ammersmith.”

MORTIFIED THE FRENCHMAN

“Of course, doctor, German measles are seldom serious?”

“I never met but one fatal case.”

“Fatal!”

“Yes; it was a Frenchman, and when he discovered it was German measles that he had, mortification set in.”

CHECKS FOR TWO

When the young officer, ordered to the Front, called on his tailor to get a fresh outfit, the tailor could not forget that there was already an old and unsettled account.

But he felt nervous about broaching the subject.

“I see the Germans,” said the young officer, casually, “have had a check.”

“Lucky Germans!” said the tailor, wistfully.

The young man looked puzzled for a moment, and then took the gentle hint. Next day the bill was settled.

SYMPATHETIC SOUL

Scene—Soldiers’ concert at which no alcoholic liquors are being supplied, the men being served with mineral waters by young lady helpers.

Soldier (to young lady helper)—“Do you see that the man who is singing has got his eyes half-shut?”

Young Lady—“So he has. What’s he doing that for?”

Soldier—“He can’t bear to look at us. He knows wot we’re sufferin’.”

A QUESTION OF DIET

During a particularly nasty dust-storm at one of the camps a recruit ventured to seek shelter in the sacred precincts of the cook’s domain.

After a time he broke an awkward silence by saying to the cook:

“If you put the lid on that camp kettle you would not get so much of the dust in your soup.”

The irate cook glared at the intruder, and then broke out:

“See here, me lad. Your business is to serve your country.”

“Yes,” interrupted the recruit, “but not to eat it.”

A GENTLE HINT

The British soldier is never at a loss when sarcasm is needed, and an example of his readiness was seen only the other day.

A long route march had been in progress and the officer had been none too patient. Several times he had had occasion to speak strongly to the men. At last, on the march home, the order came, “March easy”—the time when songs are indulged in. There was no call for “Tipperary” this time, but unanimously they started singing, “Kind Words Can Never Die.”

A MATTER OF PUNCTUATION

Bix—“I see there’s a report from Holland that concrete bases for German cannon have been found there.”

Dix—“Don’t believe a word you hear from Holland. The geography says it is a low, lying country.”

AND THERE ARE OTHERS

First Lady—“I see the master cutting a dash this morning. Nobody would think he was hard-up.”

Second Lady—“Lor’ bless yer, no! Since this ’ere Merrytorium come in he walks down the High Street in front of all the shops as though he didn’t owe ’em a penny.”

SOME BONEHEAD

The value of army remounts was exemplified the other day by the cavalry sergeant who lost patience with an awkward recruit.

“Never approach the horses from behind without speaking,” he exclaimed. “If you do they’ll kick you in that thick head of yours, and the end of it will be that we shall have nothing but lame horses in the squadron.”

PROUD OF IT

A train loaded with wounded soldiers drew up at a certain station. Among these was one whose face could not be discerned for bandages.

“You poor, poor boy,” sympathized an English lady, who approached him timidly.

“Madam,” replied the soldier, with as much pride as springing to attention would convey, “don’t pity me. Pity my chums in the train there, who got hit where it won’t show.”

“Why, why,” she stammered. “I thought you would not like to be disfigured.”

“Disfigured!” the soldier replied, scornfully; “I am not disfigured, I am decorated!”

DIPLOMACY

A well-known English politician was much annoyed by reporters. One day he was enjoying a chat at a London hotel, when a strange young man came up who seemed to have something of importance to communicate, and led him across the room. Arrived in a corner, the stranger whispered, “I am on the staff of an evening paper, and I should like you to tell me what you think of the Government’s foreign policy.” Mr. Dash looked a little puzzled; then he said, “Follow me.” Leading the way, he walked through the reading-room, down some steps into the drawing-room, through a long passage into the dining-room, and drawing his visitor into the corner behind the hat-rack, he whispered, “I really don’t know anything about it.”

AN OVER-DOSE

A well-known physician was examining a class of nurses. He described the condition of a patient, and asked one nurse how much morphine, in her opinion, should be administered to the sufferer.

“Eight grains,” promptly replied the nurse.