Chapter 2

When the war broke out and Big Ben had boomed the hour which marked the rejection of the ultimatum, Bates was full of fire. He had bought a penny flag, and in a spirit of grim determination had walked the streets, processing with the processionists. There was no brag or bounce about him, no hideousness of noise or mafficking, no hatred of foreigners or cruelty of uncharity, but a grim steadfastness of determination which meant that, so far as he might, Bates would do or die.

He returned to his third-floor back in St. Pancras, and, lighting his lamp and a candle to ensure as much illumination as possible, looked with brooding earnestness at his reflection in the worn uncertain looking-glass.... He began to realise the truth of things. The flag was in his button-hole, his eye had a glint of lingering excitement, his brain was ruffled; he saw himself as he was. England must fight, Englishmen must help, for England could not fail. On her rested the truest and noblest concerns of humanity.

Bates removed his coat. He was five-foot two; his chest measurement was less than proportionate to his height. His muscles, so far as they existed, were flabby. He moved his arms to exercise their powers; then, realising his weariness, went slowly to bed. Bates was a little tiny man, but his heart was large.

He was restless throughout the night, rose but little refreshed, and breakfasted badly. He went forth to his labours--he was a ledger-clerk in some Stores--feeling greatly depressed. Gradually, however, that sense of oppression passed. The world was full of sunshine, and, though the faces of the passers-by were anxious and unsmiling, there was no despondency about them. Where no despondency is, there surely is hope. Bates began to feel hopeful. The sight of a Territorial with a kitbag completed his recovery. He strode out with an unusual vigour, squared his poor chest, swung his arms, and whistled softly to himself the chorus of some piece of music-hall patriotism--

"They can't build boys of the bull-dog breed!"

By the time he reached the office--well before the hour--he was a pugnacious and confident patriot for all his scarcity of feet and inches.

The days that followed were full of emotions and excitements. Three of Bates's colleagues went the Khaki way, and every hour brought some discussion of international problems. The counting-house thrilled with arguments of high strategy. What KITCHENER should do, and where CHARLIE BERESFORD should be sent, were questions confidently settled. Bates, whose want of stature made him too insignificant to speak with confidence in these discussions, held his peace, but listened with both ears. What was the good of this talk? It was incumbent on Englishmen to do.

That night he was one of a multitude who stood at the entrance of the local drill-hall hoping to become Territorials. He rather expected to be chaffed for his pains, but, though there was plenty of jollity among those waiting, there was no unkindness; and at last, thanks to squeezing and patience, he was able to get within the charmed gate. So far and no farther; not so far even as to the medical officer. A watchful sergeant grasped him by the shoulder, and, smiling with earnest eyes, said:

"It's no use wasting your time here, young fellow-my-lad! You'd better shave your upper lip and apply to the Boy Scouts."

Bates turned on his heel and, sick at heart, went out by a side door. He was angry with himself, at his inadequate inches. What could he do for England? He was deeply grieved at his uselessness. He crept up to his room and sat in the darkness, brooding.

His spirits were low for some days, and the sight of regiments marching, of soldiers with their friends, of placards telling the truth and the not-so-truthful, made him feel very futile. He spent hours of every evening wandering through the streets, watching the lighted windows of Buckingham Palace, gazing at the policemen who guarded Downing Street. He wanted to do so much for England, yet he must stand and wait. He had left the mimic flag in his pin-cushion at home; he was in no mood for wearing it now.

Then an idea came to him. His spirits rose, his eyes brightened; he walked again with something of a martial swing, and whistled to himself softly and inoffensively that even a neighbour might not have heard.

Bates had found his way. He too could serve England. He sacrificed all but his bare necessities, and grew actually thinner and even less obtrusive. His outer insignificance shrank, but inwardly he was as happy as a warrior. Every week a postal order went to this relief-fund or to that. It was regularly acknowledged to "One of the Bull-dog Breed."

Bates wears his flag boldly and is confident that we shall win.

* * * * *

Old Proverbs re-made in Germany.

I. "_Vedi Parigi e poi mori._"

* * * * *

KINGS FROM THE EAST.

Cities of wonderment, Pink as the morn, There, of the sunrise sent, Reigned the Sun-Born; From the high heaven's gate, Sprung from the flame, Ere Nineveh was great, Ere Thebes a name!

Emeralds, milky pearls Plucked from blue seas, Footfall of silken girls-- Such for their ease; Shimmer and silken sheen, Jewel and maid-- These but the damascene Chasing the blade!

For on a royal day Lost in the years Chose they the Happy Way-- The way of spears; Ere Rome's first bastionings Climbed from the sods In the old East were kings Warring with gods.

Lo, through the eastern sky Crimson is drawn, Kings in their panoply Ride with the dawn; Sprung from high heaven's gate, Sprung from the flame, Ere Nineveh was great, Ere Thebes a name!

* * * * *

THE HOHENZOLLERN STIGGINS.

"'Oh, my young friend,' said Mr. Stiggins, 'here's a sorrowful affliction.... It makes a vessel's heart bleed.'

Mr. Weller was overheard to murmur something about making a vessel's nose bleed."

_Pickwick Papers._

* * * * *

A NEW VERSION.

When French joined FRENCH Then was the tug of war.

* * * * *

MOTTO FOR THE WAR.

ENGLAND MEANS "BUSINESS--AS USUAL."

"'Who that England know who only England knows.' We are not certain of the precise verbality, but thus the poet sang."

_"Leader," B. E. Africa._

The "precise verbality" is merely a private trouble of the poets.

* * * * *

From an official notification in _The Shanghai Municipal Gazette_:--

"Where mosquitoes cannot be exterminated by abolishing stagnant water or by the use of kerosine oil, or by reporting their presence to the Health Officer, the mosquito net should be carefully used."

_Elderly bald Gentleman_ (_to mosquito_): "Now I've warned you once; and if you sting me again I shall report you to the Health Officer."

* * * * *

THE WAR DAY BY DAY.

We understand from our Special War Correspondent, who is counting the butter at Copenhagen, that great activity is manifesting itself among the officers and men of the German Slack-Water Fleet. This is owing to the fact that they are learning a new German National Anthem which has just been introduced into the Fleet, set to an old English tune. A rough translation of the chorus goes as follows:--

"Rule, Germania, Germania ever shall Ru--u--u-u-u-u-ule the Kiel Canal."

The order enforcing this new song is signed "WILHELM, Grand Admiral of the Canal."

* * * * *

The announcement that an indemnity of 100,000 cigars had been levied on Ghent created some little surprise. It is a fact, however, that before the campaign began a list of suitable indemnities for all the towns and villages through which the Germans hoped to pass had been drawn up by the ever-ready General Staff. A list of such war levies for various places in England has accidentally come into our possession, a dispatch-case containing this and other important documents having been dropped by a carrier-pigeon as it was flying over Bouverie Street on its way back to Berlin. We give a few examples, so that our readers may know what to expect:--

_London._--L100,000,000, the Albert Memorial and three-dozen special constables.

_Beaconsfield._--Mr. G. K. ---- (_suppressed by Censor_).

_Tonbridge._--100,000 cricket bats with splices, 10,000 pairs of leg-guards, and 1,000 wicket-keeping gauntlets.

_Greenwich._--200,000,000 bunches of whitebait, 200,000 lemons, and 750,000 slices of brown bread and butter.

_Steeple Bumpstead._--L5,000,000 and a mangold-wurzel. [Three weeks will be given the inhabitants in which to collect the money, but the wurzel must be handed over at once.]

* * * * *

By the way, the plan for this invasion of England is a remarkably subtle one. The invading army will be under the command of the CROWN PRINCE, who, according to the latest reports, is now fighting simultaneously on the eastern and western frontiers of Germany, and has volunteered for spare-time work. Waiting for the psychological moment when the British Fleet is looking the other way, the Grand High Canal Fleet will slip out with barges in tow, containing six army corps and His Royal Lowness. And, as VON MOLTKE said to the present writer's--the present KAISER'S grandfather. "Victory will be ours, Sire."

* * * * *

Illustration: A USE FOR ZEPPELINS.

_Belated Citizen_ (_who has been lamenting the loss of his latch-key all the way home_). "HELLO! HERE'S A BIT OF LUCK!"

* * * * *

Success continues to attend the Austrian arms, both in the East and in the South. It is announced on reliable authority that more than 200,000 Austrians have forced their way into Russia, and are now guarding the more important Russian prisons from within. In the South the chastisement of Servia, undertaken solely for Servia's own good, has triumphantly achieved its object.

* * * * *

The Japanese army corps, which passed through Llanfairfechan, Inverness and Bushey last Saturday, on its way to outflank the German left wing at Metz, has arrived safely at Scutari, and is now marching on Vienna. [The Press Bureau has no notion whether this is true or not, and cannot think of any way of finding out. But it consents to its publication in the hope that it will frighten the KAISER.]

* * * * *

We learn that the Russians have won a pronounced victory (but not by us) at Przemysl.

* * * * *

Shakspeare on the Situation.

"List! list! oh list."--_Hamlet, Act I., Scene 4._

* * * * *

Illustration: _Old Lady._ "I'VE BROUGHT BACK THIS WAR MAP YOU SOLD ME YESTERDAY, MR. BROWN. IT'S NOT UP TO DATE. I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL THE MORNING FOR ARMAGEDDON, AND CAN'T FIND IT MARKED ANYWHERE."

* * * * *

ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF WIRELESS VICTORY.

(_An attempt, suggested by certain Marconigrams, to shed still further light on the nature of the principal Teutonic deity._)

What to thee are marching legions, Cannon smoke and sabre thrust, Goddess of the cloud-rimmed regions In whose might the Germans trust? Though, however high and regal, Kingly pomp may break and bend Soiled with murder (labelled legal), Thou, more active than the eagle, Thou endurest to the end.

Thou wast not behind their banners When they scoured the Belgian plain, When they taught their Teuton manners By the wreck of farm and fane; Clear of battle's mire and fury On those sightless feet and hid, Thou wast wafted with the story Saying this was German glory To Chicago and Madrid.

Long e'er Paris heard the thunder, Herald of the Uhlan's lance, Thou wast making Stockholm wonder At the dying flame of France: Not on wires, with no word written, Thou hadst trod thine airy track, Faster than the mailed mitten, And behold our fleet was smitten Somewhere near the Skager Rack.

So. And when their lines are broken, When their shrapnel falls less fast, Shalt thou fail to send a token Undefeated to the last? Surely not. Red devastation Still shall urge by land and sea Every proud advancing nation While Marconi's installation Rules the skies of Germany.

Still when pagan peoples sever Railway line and telegraph Thou shalt keep thy staunch endeavour, Thou shalt scatter us like chaff. Still, O goddess of the Prussians, Thou shalt sound thy trump of tin Undeterred by rude concussions While the Frenchmen hail the Russians On the flagstones of Berlin.

EVOE.

* * * * *

A German Motto:--"Gott mit Huns."

* * * * *

Illustration: THE GREAT ILLUSION.

KAISER. "MY POOR BIRD, WHAT _HAS_ HAPPENED TO YOUR TAIL-FEATHERS?"

GERMAN EAGLE. "CAN YOU BEAR THE TRUTH, SIRE?"

KAISER. "IF IT'S NOT FOR PUBLICATION."

GERMAN EAGLE. "IT'S LIKE THIS, THEN. YOU TOLD ME THE BRITISH LION WAS CONTEMPTIBLE. WELL--HE WASN'T!"

* * * * *

Illustration: FROM OUR SPECIALLY CREDULOUS CORRESPONDENT.

_Stoker._ "I SEE THE TORPEDO APPROACHIN' US; SO, WITHOUT WAITIN' FER ANY ORDERS, I DIVES OVERBOARD, JUST GIVES 'IM A FLICK ON 'IS LITTLE RUDDER, AN' OFF 'E GOES TO STARB'D AN' PASSES US 'ARMLESSLY BY."

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

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

_House of Commons, Monday, Sept. 14._--House met to-day with proud feeling of altered circumstance. A fortnight ago things looked bad in France. Allied Armies were continuing prolonged retreat not made more acceptable by being officially named "Retirement." A detailed narrative compiled in neighbourhood of the Army had described the little British Force, long fighting at odds of four to one, as "broken to pieces."

Seemed as if Paris were on verge of another triumphal entry by German forces: France on eve of a second Sedan.

To-day a more hurried retreat is daily accumulating speed. This time it is the invader who, in order to avoid final disaster, is racing back to the comparative safety of his own country, whilst French and British, elate with repeated victory, hang with uncomfortable closeness on his heels.

"In the matter of carefully planned advance and sudden withdrawal, we have," said the MEMBER FOR SARK, "a parallel episode in our own military history. You remember how 'the gallant Duke of YORK' on an expedition to Flanders had 'twice ten thousand men,' how he 'marched them up to the top of the hill And marched them down again'? The simple verse lends itself with easy adaptability to present circumstances of our old friend the EMPEROR WILLIAM:--

"The gallant plumed WILHELM Had twice a million men; He marched them up to Paris town And marched them back again."

As in depressing circumstances of a fortnight ago the House betrayed no sign of dejection or variation from resolve to see the fight out to a finish, so to-day it does not present itself in mafficking mood. It is nevertheless more than ever resolved, at whatever cost of blood or treasure, to make an end of the throned KAISER and his system of militarism, the curse of Europe these more than twenty years. Wherein it is truly representative of the nation.

_Business done._--PREMIER announces that Prorogation will be accomplished before end of week, with incidental consequence of addition to Statute Book under Parliament Act of Bills establishing Home Rule in Ireland and disestablishing Church in Wales.

_Tuesday._--A sitting of alarums and excursions, especially excursions.

PREMIER introduced Bill suspending for twelve months, or longer if War lasts, operation of Home Rule Bill and Welsh Church Bill, which, in accordance with Parliament Act, will on Prorogation be automatically added to Statute Book. In speech which BONAR LAW described as "temperate and moderate," he defended himself from charges of broken pledges brought against him by gentlemen opposite.

"I shall endeavour to imitate him," said LEADER OF OPPOSITION.

Got along moderately well till, "resuming the offensive," as despatches from the Seat of War have it, he lapsed into comparison between conduct of PREMIER and the action of the KAISER in his "infamous proposal" that this country should connive in breach of common pledge to preserve neutrality of Belgium.

Here broke forth shouts of angry protest from Ministerialists. WINSTON, who can't abear strong language, rose from Treasury Bench and stalked forth behind the SPEAKER'S chair, example numerously followed above and below Gangway.

This excursion number one. Number two, more exhaustive of audience, followed when BONAR LAW, having concluded his speech, shook from off his feet the dust of the House and walked out, accompanied by entire body of Opposition.

Mr. FLAVIN, not liking to see Front Opposition Bench desolate, moved down from accustomed seat in Irish quarter and temporarily assumed place and attitude of LEADER OF OPPOSITION.

BYLES of Bradford proposed to offer a few words of counsel and farewell. His interposition received with such shout of contumely from friends and neighbours that he incontinently dropped back into his seat.

PREMIER observed walking towards glass door under the Gallery. Surely he too was not going to leave us? No. Was merely acting in accordance with immemorial custom that when Minister or Member "brings in" a Bill he must start on his journey at the Bar. As he walked to the Table, a sheet of foolscap paper in right hand, Liberals and Nationalists leapt to their feet waving hats and handkerchiefs, cheering like madmen.

_Business done._--Bill postponing operation of Home Rule and Welsh Church Acts till close of War carried through all its stages.

_House of Lords, Thursday._--SECRETARY OF STATE FOR WAR takes kindly to new position. His statement to-day, explanatory of general military situation, a model of lucidity and brevity. Had much of the charm of FRENCH'S historic despatch, the modesty and simplicity of which delighted everybody. One omission in the document KITCHENER generously supplied. FRENCH said nothing of his own share in accomplishment of feat of arms rarely paralleled. Amid cheers unusually warm for this Chamber, KITCHENER paid tribute to "the consummate skill and calm courage of the Commander-in-Chief."

Tribute also paid in another quarter, the more valuable as it came from a man of few words and no disposition towards flattery. "The Territorial Force is making great strides in efficiency," the WAR LORD said, "and will before many months be ready to take a share in the campaign. This force is proving its military value to the Empire by the willing subordination of personal feelings to the public good in the acceptance of whatever duty may be assigned to it in any portion of the Empire."

_Business done._--Suspensory Bill agreed to without insistence on ST. ALDWYN'S Amendment to Welsh Church Disestablishment Bill.

_House of Commons, Friday._--Circulation of Official Report of Commission of Inquiry into Atrocities in Belgium creates profound sensation.

When the Manager of the Itinerant Theatrical Company of which _Nicholas Nickleby_ and _Smike_ were for a time Members caused the insertion in a local paper of a paragraph stating "Mr. Crummles is not a Prussian," there was some obscurity about his object. It is now clear that his instinct was sure, his prevision acute. After experience of last seven weeks all decent-minded men would like it to be known that they are not Prussians.

_Business done._--Parliament prorogued.

* * * * *

Illustration: _Admiral of the Atlantic_ (_to himself_). "IT IS MY IMPERIAL PLEASURE TO PRESENT YOU WITH THE ORDER OF THE MASTHEAD BROOM (FIRST CLASS) IN RECOGNITION OF YOUR CONSPICUOUS SUCCESS IN SWEEPING THE SEAS."

* * * * *

Illustration: _The Wolff._ "GOOD MORNING, MY DEAR LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. WOULDN'T YOU LIKE ME TO TELL YOU ONE OF MY PRETTY TALES?"

_Little Miss Holland._ "THANKS; BUT I'M _NOT_ LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD, AND I DON'T WANT ANY OF YOUR FAIRY STORIES."

* * * * *

TO A NAVAL CADET

IN THE GRAND FLEET.

[_There are over 500 naval cadets, aged 15 to 17, at present in the Fleet, serving as midshipmen._]

Young man, a little year ago At Osborne (where the admirals grow) I saw you fall on a mimic foe With tackle and shove and thrust. There by the jolly trim canteen, Where the figure-head flaunts her golden sheen, You fought, or cheered, for your Term fifteen, As a fellow of mettle must ... Yet now those deeds seem mighty small You dared in the chase for a leather ball-- Now that you trip On His Majesty's Ship Playing the finest game of all!

A year ago, a naval fight Was a tantalising dim delight That fed your dreams on a Wednesday night, When History prep. was through. Yet yours was a Destiny strong and clear That ever, unknown, was stalking near; And now in a flash, it's here, it's here-- Now are your dreams come true!... There are grey old admirals in our land Who never have stood where now you stand, Here on your feet In His Majesty's Fleet-- _With a real live enemy hard at hand!_

* * * * *

Britannia to the French Generalissimo:--

"A l'honore do nos deux nations J'offre--cent mille felicitations!"

* * * * *

Illustration: THE EGOIST.

_Warlike Mistress._ "DON'T YOU THINK, JAMES, YOU WOULD LIKE TO JOIN LORD KITCHENER'S ARMY?"

_Peaceful Footman._ "THANK YOU, MUM, BUT I DON'T SEE AS 'OW I'D BE BETTERING MYSELF. WAR'S FOR THEM AS LIKES IT, WHICH I NEVER DID."

* * * * *

DOUBT.

The War has caused one thing (among others). It has filled me with an infinite distrust of human testimony. Were I on a jury I should find every one "Not guilty" now--unless, of course, the prisoner were foolish enough to bring evidence on his own behalf. It is not the German Press Bureau that has done this. It has maintained its customary high standard with magnificent consistency.

My faith in human testimony has been shattered by Mactavish's uncle, Bloomer's maiden aunt, and Wiggins' brother-in-law. I put on one side the statement of Mirfin's grandmother because her allegation that 193 trains passed her house one night might have been based on the shunting of a single goods train. One knows the fiendish persistency of the shunted goods train at night.

But let me take the bald statement of Mactavish's uncle. He is a baillie, an elder and a drysalter. He wrote to Mactavish:--"I regret that the attendance at the Kirk on Sunday was most unsatisfactory. The younger members of the congregation were all watching the disembarcation of the Cossacks. I understand that the Established Kirk held no services at all. I did not feel it consistent with a proper observance of the Sabbath to go and watch them myself, so I only saw by chance, and not intentionally, the six regiments which marched past my house."

What could be more conclusive than that?

The very next day Bloomer met me and produced a much-crossed letter from his pocket. "Just read the last few lines," he said triumphantly.

I read with zest.

"Damsons are very cheap this year. I am jamming an extra quantity. Do you think pots of jam could be safely sent to the chaplains at the front? Kiss the dear baby for me. Excuse a longer letter, but I am quite worn out with handing hot meat pies to the Russian troops passing through here.

Ever your affectionate Aunt,

MILLICENT BLOOMER."

Not "meat pies," mark you, but "hot meat pies." Somehow that little touch won my absolute belief.