Chapter 14

As the centuries receded came a parting of the ways Till in time the separation went so far That a family was founded who were traders all their days, And another who were always men-of-war; But whene'er they dipped their colours, one in faith, they understood-- And the sea, who taught them both, could tell you why-- That the custom never altered, so the greeting still held good, "God speed you, we be sisters, thou and I."

Then in days of common sacrifice and peril was it strange That they ratified the union of the past? While their Masters, unsuspecting, greatly marvelled at the change, But they prayed with all their souls that it would last; And the ships, who know the secret, go rejoicing on their way, For whatever be the ensign that they fly, Such as keep the seas with honour are united when they pray, "God speed you, we be sisters, thou and I."

England deplores the death of Lord Rhondda, who achieved success in the most irksome and invidious of offices. He undertook the duties of Food Controller in broken health, never spared himself, and died in harness. It is to be hoped that he realised what was the truth--that he had won not only the confidence but the gratitude of the public.

Spain has rendered herself unpleasantly conspicuous by developing and exporting a new form of influenza, and a Spanish astrologer predicts the end of the world in a few months' time. But we are not going to allow those petty distractions to take our minds off the War. Here we may note that Baron Burian's recent message indicates that but for the War everything would be all right in Austria. Our artists are certainly determined not to let us forget it. But the most valuable pictures do not find their way into galleries, though they do not lack appreciative spectators.

No record of the month would be complete without notice of the unique way in which the Fourth of July has been celebrated by John Bull and Uncle Sam in France. Truly such a meeting as this does make amends.

_August, 1918_.

July was a glorious month for the Allies, and August is even better. It began with the recovery of Soissons; a week later it was the turn of the British, and Sir Douglas Haig struck hard on the Amiens front; since then the enemy have been steadily driven back by the unrelenting pressure of the Allies, Bapaume and Noyon have been recaptured, and with their faces set for home the Germans have learnt to recognise in a new and unpleasant sense the truth of the Kaiser's saying, "The worst is behind us." The 8th of August was a bad day for Germany, for it showed that the counter-offensive was not to be confined to one section; that henceforth no respite would be allowed from hammer-blows. The German High Command endeavours to tranquillise the German people by _communiqués_, the gist of which may thus be rendered in verse:

In those very identical regions That sunder the Marne from the Aisne We advanced to the rear with our legions Long ago and have done it again; Fools murmur of errors committed, But every intelligent man Has accepted the view that we flitted According to plan.

The French rivers have found their voice again:

'Twas the voice of the Marne That began it with "Garn! Full speed, Fritz, astarn!" Then the Ourcq and the Crise Sang "Move on, if you please." The Ardre and the Vesle Took up the glad tale, And cried to the Aisne "Wash out the Hun stain." So all the way back from the Marne the French rivers Have given the Boches in turn the cold shivers.

Hindenburg has confided to a newspaper correspondent that the German people need to develop the virtue of patience. According to the _Berliner Tageblatt_ he has declared that he was not in favour of the July offensive. Ludendorff, on the other hand, may fairly point out that it isn't his offensive any longer. Anyhow, Hindenburg is fairly entitled to give Ludendorff the credit of it since Ludendorff's friends have always said that he supplied the old Mud-Marshal with brains. The amenities of the High Command are growing lively, since the Navy is also concerned, and the failure of the U-boats to check the influx of American troops needs a lot of explaining away. The good news from the Front has been received at home with remarkable composure, when one considers the acute anxiety of the last four months. But it is the way of England to endure felicity with calmness and adversity with fortitude. In the House of Lords Lord Inchcape and Lord Emmott have been propitiating Nemesis by their warnings of the gloomy financial future that is in store for us, while in the Commons the Bolshevist group below the gangway are apparently much perturbed by the prospect that Russia may be helped on to her legs again by the Allies. Mr. Dillon's indictment of the Government for their treatment of Ireland has had, however, a welcome if unexpected result. Mr. Shortt, the new Chief Secretary, an avowed and unrepentant Home Ruler, has been telling Mr. Dillon's followers a few plain truths about themselves: that they have made no effort to turn the Home Rule Act into a practical measure; that instead of denouncing Sinn Fein they had followed its lead; that they had attacked the Irish executive when they ought to have supported it, and by their refusal to help recruiting had forfeited the sympathy of the British working classes. Mr. Lloyd George, in his review of the War, warned the peacemongers not to expect their efforts to succeed until the enemy knew he was beaten, but vouchsafed no information as to his alleged intention to go to the country in the political sense. In spite of the Premier's warning the Pacificists made another futile attempt on the very next day to convince the House that the Germans were ready to make an honest peace if only our Government would listen to it. They were well answered by Mr. Robertson, who was a Pacificist himself until this War converted him, and by Mr. Balfour, who declared that we were quite ready to talk to Germany as soon as she showed any sign of a change of heart. Up to the present there has been no sign of it.

Food is still the universal topic. Small green apples, says a contemporary, are proving popular. A boy correspondent, however, desires Mr. Punch to say that he has a little inside information to the contrary. Nottingham children, it is stated, are to be paid 3d. a pound for gathering blackberries, but they are not to use their own receptacles. Captain Amundsen is on his way to the Pole, but we fear that he will not find any cheese there. The vocabulary of food control has even made its way to the nursery. A small girl on being informed by her nurse that a new little baby brother had come to live with her promptly replied: "Well, he can't stay unless he's brought his coupons."

Yet one of Mr. Punch's poets, in prophetic and optimistic strain, has actually dared to speculate on the delights of life without "Dora"; Dickens, with the foresight of genius, wrote in "David Copperfield" how his hero "felt it would have been an act of perfidy to Dora to have a natural relish for my dinner."

The enterprise of _The Times_ in securing the reminiscences of the Kaiser's American dentist (or gum-architect, as he is called in his native land) has aroused mingled feelings. But the Kaiser is reported to have stated in no ambiguous terms that if, after the War, any Americans are to be given access to him, from Ambassadors downwards, they must be able neither to read nor write. _The Times_ is also responsible for the headline: "The Archangel Landing." There was a rumour of something of this kind after Mons, but this is apparently official.

One prominent effect of the War has been to make two Propagandist Departments flourish where none grew before, and it is to be feared that the reflection on the industry of our new officials implied in the picture on the previous page is not without foundation.

War has not only stimulated the composition, but the perusal of poetry, especially among women:

When the Armageddon diet Makes Priscilla feel unquiet, She prescribes herself (from Pope) An acidulated trope.

When the lard-hunt ruffles Rose Wordsworth lulls her to repose, While a snippet from the "Swan" Stops the jam-yearn of Yvonne.

When the man-slump makes her fretty Susie takes to D. Rossetti, Though her sister Arabella Rather fancies Wilcox (Ella).

When Evangelina swoons At the sound of the maroons, Mrs. Hemans comes in handy As a substitute for brandy.

And when Auntie heard by chance That the Curate was in France, Browning's enigmatic lyrics Helped to save her from hysterics.

_September, 1918_.

Since July 15th, when the Kaiser mounted a high observation post to watch the launching of the offensive which was to achieve his crowning victory, but proved the prelude of the German collapse, the conflict has raged continuously and with uninterrupted success for the Allied Armies. The Kaiser Battle has become the Battle of Liberation. The French bore the initial burden of the attack, but since August 8 "hundreds of thousands of unbeaten Tommies," to quote the phrase of a French military expert, have entered into action in a succession of attacks started one after the other all the way up to Flanders. Rawlinson, Home, and Byng have carried on the hammer work begun by Mangin, Gouraud, and Debeney. Péronne has been recovered, the famous Drocourt-Quéant switch-line has been breached, the Americans have flattened out the St. Mihiel salient. The perfect liaison of British and French and Americans has been a wonderful example of combined effort rendered possible by unity of command. "Marshal Foch strikes to-day at a new front," is becoming a standing headline. And this highly desirable "epidemic of strikes" is not confined to the Western Front. As Generalissimo of all the Allied Forces the great French Marshal has planned and carried out an _ensemble_ of operations designed to shatter and demoralise the enemy at every point. The long inaction on the Salonika Front has been ended by the rapid and triumphant advance of the British, French, Serbians, and Greeks under General Franchet d'Esperey. Eight days sufficed to smash the Bulgarians, and the armistice then granted was followed four days later by the surrender of Bulgaria. In less than a fortnight General Allenby pushed north from Jerusalem, annihilated the Turkish armies in Palestine, and captured Damascus. And by the end of the month the Hindenburg line had been breached and gone the way of the "Wotan" line. Wotan was not a happy choice:

But even super-Germans are wont at times to nod, And to borrow Wotan's aegis was indubitably odd; For dark decline o'erwhelmed his line: he saw his god-head wane, And his stately palace vanish in a red and ruinous vain.

Well may the Berlin _Tageblatt_ say that "the war stares us in the face and stares very hard." When a daily paper announces "Half Crown Prince's army turned over to another General," we are curious to know how much the Half Crown Prince thinks the German Sovereign worth. But the end is not yet. Our pride in the achievements of our Armies and Generals, in the heroism of our Allies and the strategy of Marshal Foch does not blind us to the skill and tenacity with which the Germans are conducting their retreat. Fritz is a tough fighter; if only he had fought a clean fight we could look forward to a thorough reconciliation. But that is a far cry for those who have been in the war, farthest of all for our sailormen, who can never forget certain acts of frightfulness.

Hans Dans an' me was shipmates once, an' if 'e'd fought us clean, Why shipmates still when war was done might Hans an' me 'ave been; The truest pals a man can have are them 'e's fought before, But--never no more, Hans Dans, my lad, so 'elp me, never no more!

Austria has issued a Peace Note, and the German Chancellor has declared that Germany is opposed to annexation in any form. The German Eagle, making a virtue of necessity, is ready to give the bird of Peace an innings.

The two Emmas, Ack and Pip, are naturally furious at the adoption of the twenty-four hours' system of reckoning time, which means that their occupation will be gone, and that like other old soldiers they will fade away. Amongst other innovations we have to note the spread of "bobbing," the further possibilities of which are alarming to contemplate.

Ferdinand, Tsar of Bulgaria, great grandson of Philippe Egalité, finding Sofia unhealthy, has been recuperating at Vienna. His future plans are vague, but it is thought he may join the ex-Kings' Club in Switzerland. Lenin, the Bolshevist Dictator, has recently experienced an attempt on his life, and retaliated in a fashion which would have done credit to a mediaeval despot. England still refuses to indulge in joy bells or bunting, but the London police have seized the occasion to strike on the home front. Their operations have been promptly if inconsistently rewarded by the removal of their chief and his elevation to the baronetcy.

Parliament is not sitting, and the voice of the Pro-Boche and the Pro-Bolsh is temporarily hushed. We have to note, however, a most welcome _rapprochement_ between Downing and Carmelite Streets--the _Daily Mail_ has praised the Foreign Office for an "excellent piece of work," and the scapegoat, unexpectedly caressed, is sitting up and taking nourishment.

The harvest has been a success, thanks to the energy of the new land-workers, the armies behind the army:

All the talent is here--all the great and the lesser, The proud and the humble, the stout and the slim, The second form boy and the aged professor, Grade three and the hero in want of a limb.

Four years of war have brought curious changes to "our village":

Our baker's in the Flying Corps, Our butcher's in the Buffs, Our one policeman cares no more For running in the roughs, But carves a pathway to the stars As trooper in the Tenth Hussars.

The Mayor's a Dublin Fusilier, The clerk's a Royal Scot, The bellman is a brigadier And something of a pot; The barber, though at large, is spurned; The Blue Boar's waiter is interned.

The postman, now in Egypt, wears A medal on his coat; The vet. is breeding Belgian hares, The vicar keeps a goat; The schoolma'am knits upon her stool; The village idiot gathers wool.

[Illustrations: FARMER AND THE FARM LABOURER

First week

Second week

Third week

Fourth week]

The husbandman and his new help have undergone mutual transformation. And our cadet battalions are making themselves very much at home at Oxford and Cambridge.

The Navy still remains the silent Service, but, as the need for reticence is being relaxed by the triumph of our arms, we are beginning to learn something, though unofficially as yet, of that "plaything of the Navy and nightmare of the Huns"--the Q-boat:

She can weave a web of magic for the unsuspecting foe, She can scent the breath of Kultur leagues away, She can hear a U-boat thinking in Atlantic depths below And disintegrate it with a Martian ray; She can feel her way by night Through the minefield of the Bight; She has all the tricks of science, grave and gay.

In the twinkle of a searchlight she can suffer a sea-change From a collier to a _Shamrock_ under sail, From a Hyper-super-Dreadnought, old Leviathan at range, To a lightship or a whaler or a whale; With some canvas and a spar She can mock the morning star As a haystack or the flotsam of a gale.

She's the derelict you chartered north of Flores outward-bound, She's the iceberg that you sighted coming back, She's the salt-rimed Biscay trawler heeling home to Plymouth Sound, She's the phantom-ship that crossed the moon-beams' track; She's the rock where none should be In the Adriatic Sea, She's the wisp of fog that haunts the Skagerrack.

Recognition of services faithfully done is an endless task; but Mr. Punch is glad to print the valedictory tribute of one of the boys in blue to a V.A.D.--a class that has come in for much undeserved criticism.

While willy-nilly I must go A-hunting of the Hun, You'll carry on--which now I know (Although I've helped to rag you so) Means great work greatly done.

Among the minor events of the month has been the christening of a baby by the names of Grierson Plumer Haig French Smith-Dorrien, as its father served under these generals. The idea is, no doubt, to prevent the child when older from asking: "What did you do in the Great War, Daddy?"

England, as we have already said, endures its triumphs with composure. But our printers are not altogether immune from excitement. An evening paper informs us that "the dwifficuplties of passing from rigid trench warfare to field warfare are gigantic and perhaps unsurmountable." And only our innate sense of comradeship deters us from naming the distinguished contemporary which recently published an article entitled: "The Importance of Bray."

_October, 1918_.

THE growing _crescendo_ of success has reached its climax in this, the most wonderful month of our _annus mirabilis._ Every day brings tidings of a new victory. St. Quentin, Cambrai, and Laon had all been recaptured in the first fortnight. On the 17th Ostend, Lille, and Douai were regained, Bruges was reoccupied on the 19th, and by the 20th the Belgian Army under King Albert, reinforced by the French and Americans, and with the Second British Army under General Plumer on the right, had compelled the Germans to evacuate the whole coast of Flanders. The Battle of Liberation, which began on the Marne in July, is now waged uninterruptedly from the Meuse to the sea. Only in Lorraine has the advance of the American Army been held up by the difficulties of the _terrain_ and the exceptionally stubborn resistance of the Germans.

Elsewhere the "war of movement" has gone on with unrelenting energy according to Foch's plan, which suggests a revision of Pope:

Great Foch's law is by this rule exprest, Prevent the coming, speed the parting pest.

The German, true to his character of the world's worst loser and winner, leaves behind him all manner of booby-traps, some puerile, many diabolical, which give our sappers plenty of work, cause a good many casualties, and only confirm the resolve of the victors.

According to a German paper--the _Rhenish Westphalian Gazette_--ex-criminals are being drafted into the German Army. But the Allies propose to treat them without invidious distinction. The Crown Prince recently observed that he had "many friends in the Entente countries"; as a matter of fact, we seem to be getting them at the rate of about twenty-five thousand a week. The criminals in the German Navy have again been busy, adding to their previous exploits the sinking of the passenger steamer _Leinster_, in the Irish Channel, with heavy loss of life, the worst disaster of the kind since the torpedoing of the _Lusitania_. Yet it is Germany that is the sinking ship. Ferdinand of Bulgaria has joined the League of Abdication, and according to a Sofia telegram, will devote himself to scientific pursuits. His only regret is that the Allies thought of it first. Prince Friedrich Karl of Hesse says that his accession to the throne of Finland will not take place for two years, and for the first time since his emergence into publicity we find ourselves in agreement with this monarch-elect. Ludendorff has resigned. Austria is suing for peace; Count Tisza asks: "Why not admit frankly that we have lost the War?" The Italians have crossed the Piave, and the Serbians have reached the Danube. Turkey has been granted an armistice, and with the daily victories of the Allies comes the daily report that the Kaiser has abdicated.

Prince Max of Baden, the successor of Hertling in the Chancellorship, whose appointment hardly bears out the promise of popular government, has issued a pacific Manifesto which inspires an "Epitaph in anticipation":

In memory of poor Prince Max, Who, posing as the friend of Pax, Yet was not noticeably lax In the true Teuton faith which hacks Its way along; forbidden tracks, Marks bloody dates on almanacs And holds all promises as wax; Breeding, where once we knew Hans Sachs, A race of monomaniacs.... But now illusion's mirror cracks, The radiant vision fades, the axe Lies at the root. So farewell, Max!

Certain people have proclaimed their opinion that the German nation ought not to be humiliated. When all is said, Mr. Punch saves his pity for our murdered dead.

Parliament has met again, not that there is any very urgent need for their labours just now. With a caution that seemed excessive Mr. Bonar Law has thought it premature to discuss a military situation changing every hour--though happily always for the better--or even to propose a formal Vote of Thanks to men who are daily adding to their harvest of laurels. On better grounds discussion of Mr. Wilson's famous "fourteen points" and of demobilisation has been deprecated. The suggestion--made opportunely on Trafalgar Day--for securing marks of distinction for our merchant seamen gained a sympathetic hearing, and the proposal to make women eligible for Parliament has been carried after a serious debate by an overwhelming majority in which the _ci-devant_ anti-suffragists were as prominent as the others. Five years ago such a motion would have furnished an orgy of alleged humour, and been laughed out of the House. Mr. Dillon and his colleagues have put a great many questions about the torpedoing of the _Leinster_ and the lack of an escort. But it is unfortunate that their tone suggested more indignation with the alleged laches of the Admiralty than horror at the German crime. Irish indignation over the outrage, according to a Nationalist M.P., is intense; but not to the point of expressing itself in khaki.