Chapter 2

We progress. The days when the whole art of war consisted of "On the left, form platoons.... On the _left_, blanket," are over. Skirmishing, signalling, musketry, Swedish drill--a variety of entertainment is now open to us; there is even a class for buglers. To give you an idea of the Corps at work, I offer you a picture of James and myself semaphoring to each other.

James is in the middle distance, a couple of flags draped over his person. I am going to send him a message. I signal to him that I am about to begin; he waves back that he is ready. Now then....

My mind becomes a complete blank. I find that I have absolutely nothing to say to James.

"Go on," says my instructor.

"Yes, but what?" I ask. All desire to interchange thought with James has left me.

"Anything. Ask him, if a herring and a half costs three ha'pence, how much----"

"Yes, but that's too long. It would take me at least a week, and by that time the herring would be censored. No, I've got it."

It has occurred to me suddenly that it would annoy James if I reminded him of his professional life. He looks so military in his puttees and khaki shirt.

"_Do--you--want--a--nice--mortgage?_" I signal.

James takes it up to "nice," and then breaks down. The "m-o" he reads as "s-w" (an easy mistake to make), and he imagines that I am offering him a nice sword--a fitting offer to one of his martial appearance. When the third letter turns out to be not the "o" which he expected, he loses his head and signals "Repeat."

I give it him again slowly. He reads the first five letters as s-w-r-t-g and assumes this time that I am offering him a nice town in Poland. It is five minutes before we get the mortgage properly established, and by then James is utterly disgusted.

He is now going to send a message to me. There is nothing half-hearted about James when he has his khaki shirt on.

"_Why the devil don't you send up those guns?_" he signals.

General James is hard pressed. The enemy is advancing in echelon against his left wing; cavalry beat themselves against the hollow square on his right; his centre has formed platoon after platoon unavailingly. Still the enemy comes on. Where the devil are those guns?

I signalled back:

"_Sorry, but B Company is using the bullet._"

It was a blow to James. Reluctantly he came to his decision.

"_Must fall back,_" he said, and he caught a flag between his legs and did so....

Well, there you have us signalling. To show you us skirmishing I cannot do better than describe the fierce engagement between A and C Companies, which resulted in the entire annihilation of A. But perhaps that would not be fair. I am a prejudiced recorder; let one of A Company speak.

He was annoyed.

"We worked round their flank," he said, "and we'd got quite close up to them under cover of a wood when we came on one of them smoking a pipe. He said he was an outpost, and that he'd decimated us all long ago."

"What did you do?" asked his friend.

"We scragged him."

Personally I had a safer position among the supports. A decimated enemy in the first flush of annoyance can be dangerous. I merely lay in a ditch and counted ants.... But I was very glad to hear we'd won.

Rifle exercises go on apace. We have a curious collection of weapons ("weapons of precision" as they are called by those who have never seen my targets), an order for six hundred of one family having fallen through, owing to a clerical error. "We can offer you 600 rifles, 1900 pattern," the firm wrote; but an inspection of them showed that the "6" and the "9" had got mixed up.

But even with more modern weapons than these we are not very formidable as yet, and for some weeks we must rely on other methods of striking terror into the hearts of the enemy. Luckily we are acquiring an excellent substitute for lead. As an example of "frightfulness" nothing can exceed the appearance of one of our really mixed platoons lying on its backs and waving its legs in the air. This is one of the Swedish drill movements ... and, as I think I have mentioned before, we are all ages and shapes....

Let me conclude with a little story to show the dangers to which we are subject and the fearlessness with which we face them. I cite the case of Reginald Arbuthnot Wilkins.

R. A. Wilkins is just as keen as they make them, and it is his great sorrow that, being in an important Government office, he is not allowed to enlist. For my liking he is too smart; when he does a "right-turn" he does it with a jerk that you can almost hear. The click of the heels is all very well, but Reginald Arbuthnot makes his neck click too. An "eyes-right" nearly takes his head off.

A dozen of them, including Reginald, were being taught saluting the other day. There was an imaginary Field-Marshal or somebody on the left, and they were told to turn the head smartly to the left, at the same time bringing the right hand up to the salute.... "Sa-_lute!_" Reginald Arbuthnot Wilkins whizzed his head round to the left, but accidentally brought the wrong hand up. There was a crash as his left thumb met his left eye-ball, and Reginald was in hospital for a week.

The remarkable thing is that the other eleven, quite undismayed, went on practising the salute. That gives you some idea of our spirit.

A. A. M.

* * * * *

STRATEGIC DISEASE.

[Some of the German military authorities having explained that their retreat from Paris was due to the spread of cholera in that city, we may perhaps expect to have something like the following further "explanations" elsewhere.]

Our recent rather smart retreat From Warsaw need not cause disquiet; Our army met with no defeat Nor suffered from defective diet; We marched away because we knew Warsaw was reeking with the 'Flu.

Our move from Calais was, of course, A great strategic retrogression, We were compelled, though not by force, To leave another in possession; But that's no ground for doleful dumps, Calais was chucked because of Mumps.

Soon we shall see, though scarce as yet, Huns and howitzers hustled over Yon nauseous streak of heaving wet Which still divides our arms from Dover; And should "high failure" then occur Lay the whole blame on Mal-de-mer.

* * * * *

LE MOT JUSTE.

"Reports of military movements behind the Germans' front in Belgium are contradictory and too bragmentary to be worth much."

--_Western Mail._

* * * * *

"Mr. Churchill: Six, nine, twelve months hence you will begin to see results that will spell the domm of Germany."

--_Daily Mail._

We could spell it better than that in three months.

* * * * *

"The smallness of the members present was due in large measure to the war."

_Edinburgh Evening Despatch._

The shortage of food, due to the German blockade, is at last making itself felt.--[_Wireless from Berlin._]

* * * * *

Illustration: THE HISTORY OF A PAIR OF MITTENS.

* * * * *

Illustration: "WAAL, IT'S THIS WAY. WE AMURRICANS DON'T TAKE NO SIDES--WE'RE AB-SO-LOOTLY NOOTRAL. WE DON' GIVE A ROW O' BEANS WHICH OF YOU KNOCKS THE KAISER OUT."

* * * * *

SAFEGUARDS.

It was the special terms to Special Constables that tempted me--and I fell.

I don't just remember how many times I fell, but it was pretty nearly as often as the "Professor" of the wily art took hold of me. Before the first lesson was over, falling became more than a mere pastime with me, it grew into a serious occupation.

So I left the jiu-jitsu school at the end of the second lesson with a nodding acquaintance with some very pretty holds and a very firm determination to practise them on Alfred when he got back to the office next day from Birmingham.

* * *

I suppose I ought to have persevered with my lessons a little longer, but I was losing my self-respect, and felt that nothing would help me to gain it better than to cause somebody else to do the falling for a bit.

Alfred is six-foot-two, but a trifle weedy-looking, and so good-tempered that I knew he wouldn't resent being practised on.

As he came in I advanced with outstretched hand to meet him.

"How goes it?" he said cheerily, holding out his hand.

"Like this," I said, as I gripped his right wrist instead of his fingers, turned to the left till I was abreast of him, inserted my left arm under his right, gripped the lapel of his coat with my left hand and turning his wrist downward with my right, pressed his arm back. To attack unexpectedly is the great thing.

"Don't be a funny ass," said Alfred, as I lifted myself out of the waste-paper basket.

How I got there I wasn't quite sure, but concluded that I had muffed the business with my left arm by not inserting it well above his elbow for the leverage.

"Sorry," I said; "the new handshake. Everybody's doing it."

"Are they?" said Alfred. "Well, I've been having some lessons in etiquette myself the last few days from a naval man I met down at Hythe. Seen the new embrace?"

"Er--no," I said, putting a chair between us, "I don't think I have; but I'm not feeling affectionate this morning. I'm going to lunch."

Thank goodness, if I do meet a spy, I've got a truncheon and a whistle.

* * * * *

MAKING THE BEST OF IT.

"Now that supplies of German chemicals and drugs are not procurable, sufferers from nervous dyspepsia, etc., should give a trial to nervous dispepsia, etc."

_Bristol Evening Times._

_Sufferer (after trial)._ "No, it's just as painful spelt with an 'i'."

* * * * *

"Other Petrograd despatches state that an increase in taxation by one-half is expected.... It is believed the increase will produce a milliard of troubles."--_The Mirror (Trinidad)._

We think better of Russian patriotism.

* * * * *

"Four or five had been landed at Ramsgate. It was a comparatively fine, peaceful morning. People were resting on the promenade enjoying the sea, and the fresh air anglers of both sexes were calmly fishing from the pier."

_Glasgow Herald._

A hardy race, these South Coast fresh-air anglers. Our idea of November sport with the rod is sniggling for goldfish in the conservatory.

* * * * *

Illustration: THE EAGLE COMIQUE.

KAISER (_reviving old Music-hall refrain_). "HAS ANYBODY HERE SEEN _CALAIS_?"

* * * * *

Illustration: THE RULING PASSION.

"'TEN-_SHUN_! FORM _FOURS_!"

* * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

(EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.)

_House of Commons, Wednesday, 11th November._--Both Houses met for what will be last Session of ever-memorable Parliament. Usual ceremony at State Opening by KING, but atmosphere distinctly different from that familiar on such occasions. No crowd talking and gesticulating in Lobby before SPEAKER takes the Chair. That done, Benches seemed strangely empty. In Commons, as in Lords, most men wore mourning, the gloom a little lightened here and there by khaki uniform. Whilst LEADER OF OPPOSITION and PRIME MINISTER spoke Members sat silently attentive. Only now and then subdued cheer indicated approval of a statement or a sentiment. There was sign neither of depression nor elation. The country, fitly represented within these four walls, has undertaken a great task, its performance making heavy demand of blood and money. At whatever cost mean to see it through. Meanwhile are grimly silent.

In course of brief proceedings curious instance forthcoming of prevalence of martial spirit even in unexpected quarters. Did not witness it myself, being at the moment engaged in showing a constituent the House of Lords at historic moment when, in absence of LEADER OF CONSERVATIVE PARTY, GEORGE CURZON rose temporarily to assume functions he will surely inherit. Story told me by the MEMBER FOR SARK, whom I find a (more or less) trustworthy recorder.

Seems that two new Members were in attendance prepared to take oath and their seat. In accordance with custom they were ranged at the Bar awaiting SPEAKER'S summons. Observing one of them between his introducers, SPEAKER stiffly drew himself up to full height, and called out in ringing tones--

"'Ten-_shun_! Form _Fours_!"

House stared in amazement. Nothing disconcerts Mr. LOWTHER. Recognizing slip, he quietly ignored it; made fresh start.

"Order! Order! Members desiring to take their seats will please come to the Table."

Thereupon PRESIDENT OF BOARD OF AGRICULTURE, assisted by Mr. BURT, the revered Father of the House, affably conducted towards the Table his parent, Sir WALTER RUNCIMAN, newly elected Member for Hartlepool. Having seen him duly sign roll of Parliament he stood him tea on the Terrace, made him free of the smoking-room, and invited him to partake to-morrow night of famous House shilling dinner.

These filial amenities pleasantly vary the austerity of Parliamentary life.

_Business done._--Parliament reassembled. Address in reply to Speech from the Throne moved in both Houses.

_House of Lords, Thursday._--A new-comer to Ministerial Bench. It is LORD FISHER OF KILVERSTONE, commonly and affectionately known as "Jack." Three years ago, fatal age limit being reached, Admiralty regretfully but compulsorily dropped the Pilot. Now, three years older as the almanack counts, actually as young as ever, the Pilot is picked up again. His appearance at the helm greeted with hearty cheer resounding from shore to shore.

* * *

Illustration: "THE PILOT IS PICKED UP AGAIN."

[LORD FISHER COMES ABOARD.]

* * *

Everyone knows that present condition of Navy, making it dominant on all seas, is mainly due to him. Recognized as fitting thing that he should be placed in charge of weapon that with patient endeavour, supreme skill, unerring foresight he had forged. Never yet in time of war have these Islands been in such safe keeping. With K. K. at the War Office and JACK FISHER at the Admiralty British householder may sleep in his bed o' nights unafraid.

By another happy concatenation of circumstance Admiralty is represented in both Houses. With WINSOME WINSTON in the Commons and JACK FISHER in the Lords, the Navy will have a good show. Only doubt is whether FIRST SEA LORD will think it worth while to devote to Parliamentary duties the measure of time exacted from FIRST LORD OF ADMIRALTY. Essentially a man of action, he has little patience with custom of talking round a matter. Nevertheless well to know that, if occasion serve, he can make a speech far beyond average in respect of power and originality. Discovery made when, six or seven years ago, he fluttered the decorous dovecotes of the Royal Academy by delivering at its annual banquet a memorable speech on condition and prospects of Navy.

Unlikely, too, that JACK FISHER will take part in perfunctory performances, as when the House, meeting at 4.15, sits twiddling its noble thumbs till 4.30, the hour on stroke of which public business commences. There being none, or not any that occupies more than five minutes, they straight-way adjourn. But, if serious debate on Naval affairs arises, FIRST SEA LORD may be counted upon to be at his post.

_Business done_:--Address agreed to. House adjourned till Monday.

* * * * *

Illustration: A PROMISING SLEUTH-PUP.

_Nurse._ "I WONDER IF THAT MAN'S A GERMAN SPY?"

_Young Briton._ "OH, NO, NURSE! HE CAN'T BE. HE HASN'T GOT A GUN!"

* * * * * A DEBT OF HONOUR.

[The author would be very proud if his lines might bring in any subscriptions to the Belgian Relief Fund. Cheques, payable to "Belgian Relief Fund," should be sent to the Belgian Minister, 15 West Halkin Street, S. W.]

Old England's dark o' nights and short Of 'buses; still she's much the sort Of place we always used to know. There's women lonely--hid away, But mills at work and kids at play, And docks alive with come and go.

But Belgium's homes is blasted down; Her shops is ash-heaps, town by town; There's harvests soaked and full of dead; There's Prussians prowling after loot And choosing who they'd better shoot; There's kids gone lost; there's fights for bread.

It's thanks to that there strip of sea, And what floats on it, you and me And things we love aren't going shares In German culture. They'd 'a' tried To spare us some, but we're this side. It's so arranged--no fault of theirs.

Them Belgians had the chance to shirk, And watch, instead of do, the work; But no! They chose a bigger thing And blocked the bully; gave us breath To get our coats off. Sure as death They're Men--a King of Men for King.

Don't think they're beat with what they've got, And begging pennies, 'cos they're not. It's this--their job is good and done; They're fighting-pals; they're hungry, cold; We owe for blood that's more than gold-- A debt of honour, or we've none.

They've stood for us; for them we'll stand Right through; and so we'll lend a hand Until the foe's account is quit. That happy day is working through; But, meanwhiles, it's for me and you-- Well, dash it, pass along your bit.

* * * * *

Illustration: "WHY, JACOB, WE THOUGHT A STURDY CHAP LIKE YOU WOULD HAVE ENLISTED. THERE'S NOT A SOUL GONE FROM THE VILLAGE."

"BAIN'T THERE, THEN? THEY'VE GOT VOWER O' MAISTER'S 'ORSES!"

* * * * *

A TRAGIC MISTAKE AT POTSDAM.

(_In the manner of the Spy Books._)

At about half-past ten this morning I took my little black bag and walked to the Palace. Presenting my pass, I was about to enter by the side door reserved for civilians when I felt a heavy blow on my shoulder and, turning, beheld an officer. Forbidding me to apologise he led me into the palace by another door, and, placing me in a small room and enjoining strict silence upon me, he left me alone. This was so different from the procedure adopted on former occasions that I took stock of my surroundings. The room was obviously a waiting-room, containing as it did a pianola, a gramophone and a photograph album of German generals. I was aroused from my slumbers about two and a-half hours later and beheld before me an elderly bespectacled officer. I knew him at once from the picture postcards as Bluteisen, head of the secret service. He examined me minutely, omitting, however, to look into my little black bag, which clearly escaped his notice. I began to explain, but he ordered silence and beckoned me to follow. He led me up three flights of stairs, along a corridor, down four flights, and so on for about three-quarters of an hour, his idea, I suppose, being completely to mystify me. At length we arrived at a door deep under-ground, upon which Bluteisen knocked mysteriously. Receiving no answer he turned to me and said, "Push." I leaned hard upon the door, fell suddenly forward and stepped briskly into the room.

We were in total darkness save for a circle of green light at the further end of the apartment. In this circle was a desk, at which was seated a man writing. One glance at him and I trembled with excitement. _I was in the Presence._

For fully thirty minutes he kept me standing. Nothing was heard but an occasional graunch, graunch, as he devoured the end of his pen. At last he spoke. "Number?" he said.

I was about to stammer an explanation, but Bluteisen cut me short with a warning look, saluted and said, "Three nine double nine."

"How long have you been here?" the Personage asked.

"About three hours," I replied.

He seemed pleased. Then he gave me a paper. "Read that," he said.

I read it. My hair, usually complacent, rose with fear and astonishment. What I read was this:--"You will blow up the British Albert Memorial at your earliest convenience. Telegraph when completed, if still alive."

"Have you got it?" he asked. I could only nod. He then held the paper in the flame of a candle till he scorched his finger and thumb.

"You will never see that again," he said. And I never did. Then he thrust his face at me. "You will succeed?" he snapped. "Sire," I ventured, my head swimming with apprehension, "I--I humbly apologise, but I--I have never yet blown up anything."

"What!" he shrieked, giving to his moustaches an upward direction, "what! you are Number three nine double nine, from the Ammunition section, are you not?"

"No, Sire," I replied, "I'm sorry, but I'm not in any section at all."

There was a terrible silence. With one eye he annihilated me, with the other he detained Bluteisen, who was sneaking off into the darkness. Then in a fury he hissed, "What are you? What are you doing here?"

With choking voice I blurted out the simple truth. "Sire," I said, "I have the honour to inform you that I am here to tune the Imperial piano."

I understand that I am to be shot at dawn to-morrow. So, thank heaven, is Bluteisen.

* * * * *

THE DOCTHOR'S WAR SPEECH.

Martin Cassidy told it to me. He was there, and he saw the boys form fours when they marched to the station the next day. There were seventeen of them, and he said he'd never forget it.

"'Twas the Docthor's war speech that did ut," said Martin. "He had thim all in Micky's shebeen--sure they'd have been there annyhow--and the Docthor had volunteeerd himself; why not?

"Yes, the women and childer were admitted. Wouldn't they be wantin' to know the way of it? Av coorse.

"You'd not keep them out annyway. 'Tis the whole of Ballymurky that was there that night.

"'Twas an o-ration the Docthor gave thim. Ye could have heard a pin drop. Isn't it mesilf that would be away there now, if they'd let me? Didn't Patsy Doolan have to sit on me head to keep me from gettin' into the thrain with thim?

"'Sure the KING knows ye've been drawin' the ould-age pension this two years,' sez he. 'Won't he have it down in his note-book?' sez he; 'and you wanten to pass for thirty. Gwan,' sez he."

Old Martin applied a piece of glowing turf to his pipe and sucked audibly before continuing.

"Don't I remimber ivery wurrd the Docthor shpoke," said Martin slowly--"och, the way he had with him.

"'The KAISER is it?' sez he. 'What would ye be askin' for betther?' sez he. ''Tis this way and that way wid the KAISER,' sez he, 'and he'll not be aisy till he's wiped Ballymurky off the map, so he would. And the GERMAN EMPEROR is as bad,' sez he. 'It's Bairrlin or Ballymurky, boys, so it is,' sez he; 'just that.

"'Is ut have the Germans over here in Ballymurky ye would?' sez he. 'Sure 'tis not butthermilk and praties they'd be contint with, Doolan, me boy,' sez he; 'faith 'tis your pig they'd be afther atin. And 'tis not you the KAISER would be decoratin' with an iron cross; 'tis more like a lick of his shtick ye'd be afther gettin, Doolan--and the thrubble ye've taken with the rarin' of the crayther. Och, ye could nivver look the pig in the face again if ye shtayed.'"

Martin subsided a while to show me Doolan's pig, which was taking the air outside. "And that," he remarked, "is corrosive ividence of what I'm tellin' ye." The pig grunted his compliments, and Martin continued.

"'Wait till I tell ye what they did at Louvain,' sez the Doc. 'Whist now, till ye hear this,' sez he.

"'Och, 'twas black murther they did there, the villians! The currse of CRUMMLE seize thim,' sez he. 'Arrah! hould yoursilf in, you there, Conlan,' sez he; 'go aisy, now,' sez he; 'sure they'll do worse here. 'Tis not satisfied with Louvain they'll be, Shamus; 'tis knockin' your cabin about your ears ye'll have them--and what will hersilf say to that?' sez he; 'sure, 'twill be the best vintilated cabin in Ireland, so it will.'

"'Is ut the GERMAN EMPEROR ye would have sittin' shmokin' his pipe in your cabin and fryin' sausages in your best pan, without so much as by your lave, and you waitin' on him, Mrs. Murphy?'

"'Sure, ye know it is not, Docthor dear,' sez she.