Chapter II: Part 2

NOTHING TO FUSS ABOUT

At a “certain place in France” where the British and German trenches are within shouting distance of each other, the German soldiers were loudly singing one of their favorite war songs, “Gott mit uns! Gott mit uns!”

These “vain repetitions” palled on the Britons after a time, and at last an exasperated Jock arose in wrath and shouted across to the enemy, “Hae dune wi’ yer bletherin’! Ilka yin o’ us has got mittens tae, tho’ we dinna mak’ sic a fash aboot them.”

FOES AS FRIENDS

Undoubtedly the most amazing feature of the present war was the manner in which foe fraternized with foe on Christmas Day—when English and German exchanged presents, had Christmas trees in the trenches, and gave concerts for one another’s benefit. Nevertheless, these incidents are no new feature of warfare. Wellington had to cope with what he regarded as a very serious similar state of affairs during the Peninsular war. He issued the strictest orders and took the severest measures to stop it, making it punishable with death for any man to be found holding any form of intercourse with the enemy.

When in Portugal the English lines were so close to those of the army of Massena that the horses had to water at the same river which separated them, the soldiers came to a mutual understanding not to fire on one another when drawing water. This led to an exchange of gifts and finally to the amazing spectacle of English and French soldiers sitting round the same camp fires, sharing rations and playing cards.

It seems to be a common phenomenon of war that, however bitter the struggle, a feeling of friendship will spring up after a time between the troops in the front ranks if they are close to one another for any length of time. It was so in the Russo-Japanese war, and it seems to arise from a growing respect for one’s adversary in sharing common hardships and danger. National feeling gives way before the fellow-feeling for the man opposite, who, after all, is not responsible for the war, but only obeying orders.

As one paper said at the time of the incident in this present war, “The little tales of the Christmas truce in the trenches prove that the gospel of brotherhood is more powerful than the gospel of hate.”

STRICTLY OBEDIENT

Colonel Kemyss, of the 40th Regiment, was remarkable for the studied pomposity of his diction. One day, observing that a careless man in the ranks had a particularly dirty face, which appeared not to have been washed for a twelvemonth, he was exceedingly indignant at so gross a violation of military propriety.

“Take him,” said he to the corporal, who was an Irishman, “take the man and lave him in the waters of the Guadiana.”

After some time the corporal returned.

“What have you done with the man I sent with you?” inquired the colonel. Up flew the corporal’s right hand across the peak of his cap.

“Sure an’t plaise y’r honor, and didn’t y’r honor tell me to lave him in the river? And sure enough I left him in the river, and there he is now, according to y’r honor’s orders.”

NOT LIKELY

A Barbados plantation negro is reported to have said to his overseer:

“Massa, is it true that before the war the Kaiser sent a bag of rice to King George and told him, ‘King George, I’se got as many soldiers as there is rice in this bag,’ and that King George sent to the Kaiser a bottle of the hottest peppers that grows and tell him, ‘I only got as many soldiers as peppers in this bottle, but you just bite one of them and you’ll see how your soldiers will like ’em’?”

THE KAISER’S INCOME

How His Money Is Invested

Thanks to the advice of financiers who, for obvious reasons, he admitted to his friendship, the Kaiser’s private fortune has increased to such an extent of late years that it was estimated a short time ago by the eminent German authority, Herr Rudolph Martin, that he is easily the richest man in Germany, having an annual income of five million dollars derived from possessions valued at approximately $100,000,000.

Apart from the Kaiser’s fortune, his son, the Crown Prince, has a separate income of $250,000, drawn from property valued at nearly $5,000,000, while the Kaiser’s brother, Prince Henry, enjoys some $150,000 a year on account of an estate worth two and a half million. Altogether the principal members of the Hohenzollern family own property valued at approximately $125,000,000.

The Kaiser’s fortune has been mainly built up by investments in many businesses. He has some very large holdings in the big German steamship lines, is extensively interested in the diamond-mine enterprises of German West Africa, owns forests and lands to the value of seventeen and a half millions, carries on a large lumber business, and has a horse-breeding establishment in Western Prussia which brings him in a handsome revenue. Furthermore, he has great financial interests in a municipal lager-beer brewery at Hanover, and founded an extensive pottery factory on his private estates at Cadinen.

Altogether the Kaiser owns about forty castles and country houses, valued at $10,000,000, and various property in Berlin, approximately worth $5,000,000. In seven different provinces he owns seventy-four estates, comprising close on half a million acres.

It is interesting to note that ever since Germany began to make preparations for a great war the Kaiser has been investing immense sums of money on the other side of the Atlantic. He is one of the largest landowners in the Western United States—not in his own name, of course—and owns a considerable section of property in the West of Canada. So notorious is the fact that it was at one time a standing joke at Vancouver that, although the Kaiser was a large owner of property in a certain district, he declined to join the local ratepayers’ association, which would have been materially assisted in its propaganda by the use of his name.

SOMETHING REPOSEFUL

Soldiers were called for, owing to the scarcity of civilians, to work the railway. The weary “Tommies” were lying in camp one night after a hard day’s work, when a sergeant called out:

“Any of you men want to put your names down as railway porters, drivers, stokers, half-boiled clerks, or for any other appointments connected with the railway?”

Silence, broken only by snores. Then one “Tommy” slowly raised his head and drowsily muttered:

“Put me down as a sleeper, sergeant.”

ENOUGH IS TOO MUCH

“Are you going to the Wallerby reception tonight?”

“No. The Twobbles will be there, so I declined my invitation.”

“Why do you object to the presence of the Twobbles?”

“I don’t object to their presence particularly, but I have already heard them tell the story of their escape from Berlin ten or twelve times, and I don’t feel equal to another recital.”

TELLING HIM ALL ABOUT IT

The recruits were going through their first course of musketry, and they were in charge of a full-blown second lieutenant, who was trying to show his authority, together with his great knowledge of musketry. Sauntering up to the latest recruit, he said:—

“See here, my man, this thing is a rifle; this is the barrel, this is the butt, and this is where you put the cartridge in.”

The recruit seemed to be taking it all in, so the officer, continuing, said:—

“You put the weapon to your shoulder; these little things on the barrel are called sights; then to fire you pull this little thing, which is called the trigger. Now smarten yourself up, and remember what I have told you, and, by the way, what trade did you follow before you enlisted?—a collier, I suppose.”

“No, sir,” came the reply. “I only worked as a gunsmith for the Government Small Arms Factory.”

THE ENGLISH LIKE THIS KIND

A little boy received a toy donkey as a birthday present.

“What are you going to call it?” asked his father.

“King George,” replied the boy.

“Oh, no,” said his father, “that would never do. That would be an insult to the King. Why not call it the Kaiser?”

“Because,” said the little boy, indignantly, “that would be an insult to my donkey.”

GAVE IT AWAY

A Scottish Territorial was having his first experience of night duty, and was feeling a little nervous. The password was “Discount.”

In the darkest of the small hours a black form suddenly stepped up to him.

“Wh-wh-who goes there?” he challenged.

“Friend,” was the reply.

“Advance, f-f-friend, and give the d-d-discount.”

A “SHIRT-SLEEVE GENERAL”

It was in South Africa that General French earned the title of the “shirt-sleeve General”—a sobriquet that conveys a subtle compliment from “Tommy’s” point of view. Actually French was often to be seen walking about in camp during his heavy marches in shirt-sleeves, writes Mr. Cecil Chisholm, in his biography of Sir John French.

One afternoon a correspondent rode up to the lines, and, seeing a soldier sitting on a bundle of hay, smoking a dilapidated-looking old briar pipe, asked where the General was.

“The old man is somewhere about,” coolly replied the soldier.

“Well, just hold my horse while I go and search for him.”

“Certainly, sir,” and the smoker rose and obediently took the bridle.

“Can you tell me where the General is?” inquired the correspondent of a staff-officer farther down the line.

“General French? Oh, he’s somewhere about. Why, there he is, holding that horse’s head!”

And the officer pointed directly to the smoker, still tranquilly pulling at his pipe and holding the horse. Needless to say, “Uncle French” and his men hugely enjoyed the correspondent’s awakening.

GRIN AND BEAR IT

“This war will go on and on,” said Mrs. Harry Payne Whitney, who has given a $250,000 field hospital to the belligerents.

“This war will go on and on,” she repeated, sadly, “and the side that is getting the worst of it will display the spirit of little Willie.

“Little Willie’s father, as he laid on the slipper, said:

“‘Willie, this hurts me more, far more, than it does you.’

“‘Then keep it up,’ said Willie, grinding his teeth. ‘Keep it up, dad. I can stand it.’”

CHANCE FOR A FREE RIDE

General Servant—“If you please, mum, may I have a ’oliday?”

Mistress—“Why, Jane, you have had a fortnight’s holiday these last twelve months already.”

Servant—“Yes, mum; but the baker tells me that the Government gents is sending generals out to France, their fares is paid by the taxes, and I thought the sea-trip would do me good, mum.”

KING ALBERT—CHAUFFEUR

The King of the Belgians, one of the most democratic of European monarchs, was spending some time in Switzerland in the summer when the following incident happened.

At Territet the King and Queen were motoring. His Majesty was driving, and there were no attendants. The Queen went into a shop to make some purchases. The King was standing by the car reading a newspaper, when an American woman came out of the shop, jumped into the car, which she mistook for a public conveyance, and bade the monarch to drive her quickly to her hotel.

“Certainly, madam,” said the King, and deposited the woman at the hotel.

Accounts vary as to whether the King accepted or did not accept any fare.

In the meantime the Queen had come out of the store and was surprised to find that her husband and the car were absent. However, they speedily returned, and their Majesties laughed over the story together.

TIRED AND CROSS

Two companies of the “Buffs” were marching along after a very tiring day, when a young staff officer galloped up to the captain in command of the party.

“Are you the West Riding?” he asked.

But before the captain had time to reply a gruff voice answered from the ranks, “No, we’re the Buffs—walking.”

TURKISH NAVAL EFFICIENCY

The acquisition of a brand-new Brazilian Dreadnaught by Turkey recalls the story of the Turkish admiral who had been newly appointed to the command of the Ægean squadron. He installed himself in the admiral’s quarters—which opened to the sternwalk—on board the new flagship one evening, and went to bed. Next morning he awoke and ordered full speed ahead. After a little delay the propeller began to revolve, but as it had not moved since the ship was sold to Turkey—at more than cost price by a power which had no use for it—it made a tremendous racket.

“Allah!” cried the admiral. “What in the name of the Prophet is this uproar?”

“That, Excellency, is the propeller,” replied the captain.

“Stop it, then!”

It was pointed out to the admiral that stopping the propeller resulted as a rule in the stopping of the ship likewise.

“Then take the thing off,” bellowed the naval autocrat, “and put it on the other end.”

ROUGH ON TOMMY

The mails from home had just been received by a certain regiment. Not only were there letters, but many parcels from relatives and friends at home for lucky soldiers. One of the Tommies received a large box addressed to himself, and with a triumphant yell he rushed off to his company’s lines and gathered them around him to share in the eagerly anticipated contents of his box.

“Smokes, lads!” he cried, as he undid the wrapping. “From the old man; I knows it. An’ there’s sure to be a bottle or two of Scotch.”

He opened the box, gave one look at the contents, and collapsed in a heap.

“What is it?” cried his comrades, pressing round.

“It’s from ole Auntie Mary,” groaned the disappointed warrior. “Bandages an’ ointment an’ embrocation an’ splints, an’ a book on ‘’Ow to be yer own Surgin’!”

NOT EXACTLY COMPLIMENTARY

The company marched so poorly and went through their drill so badly that the captain, who was of a somewhat excitable nature, shouted indignantly at the soldiers:—

“You knock-kneed, big-footed idiots, you are not worthy of being drilled by a captain. What you want is a rhinoceros to drill you, you wretched lot of donkeys.”

Then, sheathing his sword indignantly, he added, “Now, lieutenant, you take charge of them!”

THE QUEEN, LIEUTENANT

The sporty lieutenant, on being handed one of the mufflers so thoughtfully sent out to English soldiers at the Front by “Mary R.” representing the ladies of the Empire, murmured:—

“I thought I knew every single one of the Empire ladies, by sight at any rate; but dashed if I can remember ‘Mary R.’”

FINE WORK

The war bulletins, which used to announce the taking of provinces and army corps, announce now the taking of single trenches, or single farm-houses—they announce, like a football game, gains of a few yards.

It’s fine work, very fine work. It reminds one of the jockey who was a trifle overweight—only a trifle, mind; but this trifle was enough to disqualify him.

“James,” said his owner after the scales had told their tale, “is there nothing more you can do?”

“No, sir; nothin’.”

“Are you shaved and hair-cut?”

“Half an hour ago.”

“Nails?”

The jockey showed his nails. They were trimmed to the quick.

“You’d better get your tonsils cut, James.”

But this, too, had been done.

“Well, then, James,” said the owner, “there’s nothing for it but to have your appendix taken out. Hurry off to the hospital now, or you’ll be too late.”

NO CAUSE FOR FEAR

A company of Territorials were at the range. The usual marker had not turned up, but a deputy was soon found in the person of an old worthy well-known in the district who occasionally acted as substitute in such circumstances. The first round was about to be fired when the captain, looking towards the target, was almost stupefied to see the newly-engaged marker right in the line of fire.

“Stop firing!” he screeched, as he hastened to where the old man stood, calmly smoking. “You blithering idiot!” he yelled, as he approached. “Do you know you were within an ace of death just now?”

“Ich, aye,” was the reply. “Jist fire awa’. A’ve marked for your squad before.”

GIVE AND TAKE

A South African newspaper hears that much badinage by wireless passes between English officers at Luderitzbucht and the German officers at Windhuk. The other day, so the story runs, the O. C. German troops at Windhuk wirelessed down to a certain prominent officer:

“Stop your men playing football and teach them to drill instead; Kolmanskop will make a good parade ground.”

That night a reconnoitering party went out to Kolmanskop and killed four Germans and wounded another. Colonel Blank thereupon wirelessed to Windhuk:

“Took your advice; scored four goals and a try.”

FUN ON THE FIRING-LINE

The course of training for a recruit is not all drudgery. Hardly a day passes without some amusing incident happening. The following occurred a few weeks ago in a Territorial regiment.

The day’s programme included practice in passing messages from mouth to mouth all along the line. In the roar of a battle it is very necessary that each man should be able to pass on a message which could not be heard if the officer in charge called it out. The officer got the men in a firing position and whispered the following message to the man on the left flank:—

“Left half company commander to right half company commander—ammunition almost done; let us have more quickly,” and ordered the message to be passed to the right. In a few minutes he called up the right-flank man and asked for the message as he received it.

The reply was:—

“Ammunition all gone. God Save the King.”

There was very little order for a few minutes after that.

DOING HIS BIT

Recruiting Sergeant—“Whose are these strapping youths, and why aren’t they in the army?”

Farmer—“They be my sons, for sure.”

Recruiting Sergeant—“Good heavens, man! Aren’t you doing anything for your country?”

Farmer—“In coorse I am. I sends two eggs every week to the wounded soldiers at the horspital.”

WELCOME PRISONERS

A captain of Hussars gave a dinner to the men of his squadron the night before they left for the front.

“Now, my lads,” he said, “treat this dinner as you will the enemy.”

And they set to with a will.

After dinner he discovered one of the men stowing away bottles of champagne into a bag, and, highly indignant, he demanded to know what he meant by such conduct.

“I’m only obeying orders, sir,” said the man.

“Obeying orders!” roared the captain; “what do you mean, sir?”

“You told us to treat the dinner like the enemy, sir, and when we meet the enemy, sir, those we don’t kill we take prisoners.”

HE KNEW THE ANSWER

One of the best stories of regimental life told by General Sir Archibald Hunter, the commander of England’s third new army, concerns a certain “Tommy” who was more noted for his wit than his scholarship. The man’s grammar and spelling were simply awful, and Sir Archibald was trying to teach him the King’s English.

“I don’t believe you know what w-o-m-a-n spells,” said he to the uneducated soldier on one occasion.

“Trouble as a rule, sir,” replied “Tommy,” with a grin.

Hunter was so amused that he was quite unable to reprimand the man for his “cheek.”

A JOKE IN THE TRENCHES

“Can anny av yer tell me why the Scots are the most humane sojers at the front?” asked the Irish sergeant, as he set light to his pipe.

“We give it up,” came the ready response from the boys just returned from the trenches.

“Why, it’s bekase they always carry their kilt aff the field.”

HE KNEW WHERE IT WAS

The drill instructor passed his hand wearily across his forehead. He had been breaking in some raw recruits and instructing them in the elements of company drill.

The majority were intelligent fellows, and found no difficulty in obeying his instructions; but one, in particular, did not seem able to understand even a simple order.

At last, losing his temper, the drill instructor determined to bring him to his senses by holding him up to ridicule. Calling him to the front he proceeded to put him through his paces.

“Eyes front!” he roared.

To everybody’s astonishment the recruit gazed absent-mindedly about him.

“Do you mean to say,” bellowed the instructor, “that you do not know where your front is?”

“Yes, I know, sir,” he replied.

“Well, then, where is it?” demanded the instructor.

“Please, sir,” he faltered, “it’s gone to the laundry.”

SUPERIOR MARKSMANSHIP

Pat was a witty young recruit, who was taking instruction in marksmanship. The squad had finished firing. Pat was brought to task for his poor shooting, and told that he must do better at the next distance; there were to be seven rounds of quick firing.

“Now, Pat,” the sergeant told him, “fire at target number five.”

Pat banged away, and hit target number four seven times in succession.

“What target did you aim at?” asked the irate officer.

“Number five sor,” answered Pat.

“And you have hit number four every time.”

“Bedad, sor,” retorted Pat, “that would be a grand thing in war. Sure, I might aim at a private and hit a gin’ral!”

NOT A THIRST IN THE LOT

A soldier, charged with being drunk and disorderly, mentioned, in extenuation of his offense, the fact that he had been compelled to travel up from camp in very bad company.

“What sort of company?” asked the magistrate.

“A lot of teetotallers!” was the startling response.

“Do you mean to say teetotallers are bad company?” thundered the magistrate. “I think they are the best company for such as you!”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sor,” answered the prisoner, “ye’re wrong, for I had a bottle of whisky and I had to drink it all mesel’.”

HIS SKIRTS CLEAR

A sturdy little Lancashire lad went to a recruiting station to enlist.

He was much disappointed when the officer told him he was too small and too young.

“Can’t you find me some job in th’ army what I am big enough for?” anxiously asked the lad.

“No, I can’t, I’m sorry to say,” replied the officer.

As the lad turned sorrowfully away he said:

“Well, don’t blame me if th’ bloomin’ Germans lick o’ t’ lot on yo’; that’s all!”

SHEEP AND GOATS

Life in the new Army teaches a man to look after himself. This is especially true of the larger camps, and the rule appears to be that “they shall take who have the power and they shall keep who can.”

A story illustrative of this is told of one of the Yorkshire regiments now in training. The cold weather had led some of the men to forage for extra blankets one night, and when next morning they were warned that the colonel was coming round for kit inspection they were too busy cleaning and preparing to put matters right again. The result was that when the men paraded some of them had three or four blankets while others had no blanket at all.

The colonel noticed this in his inspection, but said no word until he had been wholly round. Then, drawing himself up in front of the men, he thundered:—

“Ahem, major, one-half the regiment are simple fools, and the other half are bloomin’ thieves.”

JOGGING HIS MEMORY

Readers of the War news who have some difficulty in remembering where the Falkland Islands are may be helped by the recollection of one of Ian Maclaren’s stories. After a disaster to an emigrant ship many years ago, some of the survivors reached those islands. When the news came home the minister of a Scottish church to which some of the emigrants had belonged prayed thus:—

“Oh, Lord, we pray Thee to be with our brethren, stranded in the Falkland Islands, which, as Thou knowest, are situated in the South Atlantic Ocean.”

WILLING TO COMPROMISE

“Well, Tom, what d’ye think o’ this prohibition business?”

“We ought to do like France and Russia.”

“You’re givin’ it all up, then?”

“No; France is givin’ up absent and Russia’s givin’ up vodka. So I’m not goin’ to touch absent or vodka till peace comes. Give me beer.”

BRINGING IN THE NEW YEAR

Seaforth Highlanders’ Quaint Ceremony

The Seaforth Highlanders, now at the front, have one of the most peculiar New Year’s Eve customs of the whole British Army. The ceremony is picturesque and imposing.

On the night of Hogmanay, at about half-past ten, the regiment assembles in the barrack square. A few minutes later the oldest soldier in the battalion, dressed up as a druid, makes his appearance, to the accompaniment of a flourish of trumpets, and ascending the improvised throne, he calls on the ancient veterans to show their uniforms and achievements of bygone times. To the music of the pipes and brass band, veteran after veteran, arrayed in the uniforms worn by the regiment at different periods, marches past, and salutes the druid. The druid then toasts “The Seaforth Highlanders.”

After a display of Highland dancing, the alarm is sounded, and the second oldest soldier, arrayed as Father Time, approaches. The veterans now retreat, leaving their honors to be guarded by their successors, and Father Time expels the druid.

At the last stroke of midnight a loud knock is heard at the gate, and out rings the sentry’s challenge, “Halt! Who goes there?”

“The New Year!” comes back the answer.

“Advance, New Year, and give the countersign!” is the next command.

“Cabar feidth gu brath!” (the clan cry of the Mackenzies, i. e., the Seaforths).

“Pass, New Year; all’s well!”

The gate is then opened, and the youngest boy of the battalion enters, dressed as the high chief of ancient Ross, to represent the New Year. The colonel shakes hands with the boy, while the band strikes up “A Guid New Year to Ane and A’.”

After the colonel’s greeting to the battalion the National Anthem is played, and the men fall out.

A WOMAN’S WORRY

Mrs. Barron was paying a visit to Mrs. Atkins, whose husband was away fighting at the front. The visitor found the soldier’s wife in a paroxysm of grief.

“Whatever is the matter?” exclaimed Mrs. Barron.

“Aint yer heard?” was the sobbing reply. “Bill’s in ’orspital with both ’is arms off.”

Mrs. Barron was obviously shocked. With a view to easing the grief, however, she said:

“But the Government will be sure to provide for you.”

“That ain’t it,” was the tearful response. “Who’s a-goin’ to turn the mangle for me on washin’ days now, I’d like ter know?”

NOT SUPPLIES ENOUGH FOR TWO

When a talk about the German invasion of England was going on, an Irish militiaman, stationed in Carrickfergus, was heard to remark that immediately the enemy landed in England he would certainly bolt, taking a good stock of provisions, and hide in a convenient cave he knew of.

The colonel, hearing of his unpatriotic resolve, called him out next day on parade, and lectured him severely on his cowardice.

“You’re a disgrace to the regiment and the Service at large,” he cried. “Fancy you threatening to run away; but I’d be after you in quick time, my man, never fear.”

“Sure, an’ you’d be welcome, your honor; but, bring yer own praties an’ things, won’t yer, colonel?”

LOVE-LETTER TO A RED CROSS NURSE

Somewhere in Europe,
Some Day in December, 1915.

My Dearest Nursie: I suppose I am the same chap who got drilled through the wing rib by a German bullet about a century since? That I haven’t been in heaven, and, not being up to sample, have been shunted to hades? Don’t mistake me, nursie. I’m jolly glad to have another go at the dog that bit me. But last time I left for the front I took my heart with me, and this time I have left it behind in old England.

I owe the Germans a grudge, but I owe them a vote of thanks, too. They introduced us, nursie. I didn’t know what living meant until I was wounded and met you. Wounded! Why, my dearest nursie, the wound you dressed so tenderly was a mere flea-bite to the one the first sight of you, a Red Cross angel, hovering about my bed, made bang through my heart.

As you know, heart wounds are generally fatal—kill a chap as dead as pork; but, as I have already said, I have found it just the other way about. My heart wound has given me new life, new hope, new courage, a new and better manhood.

I have always foolishly regarded women as the weaker sex, but great Kitchener! the Man Killers the Germans can produce and use are nothing to yours, either in range, number, or effectiveness. You take a man prisoner with one glance of your eyes, you put him hopelessly out of action with a quiver of your lip, you leave him dead to everything in earth or sky but your own sweet self with one touch of your dear hand, and you make him your eternal vassal and slave with the flicker of a smile.

Melinite is a fool to the galvanic thrill the mere sound of your fairy footstep approaching my bed or my chair used to give me every morning. The German “Black Marias” are mere popguns to the batteries of your sweet eyes, masked at times by their fringed lashes. The German bayonets even at their best cannot begin to compete with the wounds your gentle tongue can inflict by a sharp rebuke, and a charge of Uhlans is nothing to the overwhelming charge of love which sweeps through the ranks of my heart when I think of you.

But though I laid siege to your heart, and brought up all the guns and reinforcements I could muster, and although I pride myself on having, by your own confession, captured a few of the outer ring of forts, such as Friendship, Regard, Good Wishes, and Interest, yet I’m horridly afraid that your heart’s real affections are still unconquered.

Oh, nursie, I cannot believe that your heart is solid concrete. There’s surely a soft core if I could only get at it. But you can’t prevent me writing. It’s raining in torrents, but rain cannot damp my ardor. The enemy is firing all his big guns at once, but they cannot drive your image from the deep trenches of my soul. There is an aeroplane overhead, but the chap in it does not feel half so uplifted as I do when I think of our last handshake—shall it be a kiss when We meet?—and he would not feel half so cast down, even if he were crashing to earth with a broken wing, as I shall if you do not reply soon.

Nursie, say “Yes” for Christmas, there’s a love!

With my life’s devotion,

Your late patient and grateful convalescent,
THOMAS ATKINS.

P. S.—I think you are sufficiently interested in my welfare to be glad to hear that I received my commission yesterday, and that our colonel put me to shame before all the chaps by saying all sorts of bosh about a little job I did last week.

P. P. S.—Nursie, a little word of three letters—three, mind—by return will make me prouder and happier than if I had been made a field-marshal.

HOW HEROES ARE MADE

The Germans came down in force upon a patrol of Lancers, who were obliged to retire. One man, however, fell wounded in the thigh, and would have been captured had not a comrade turned back and brought him in under a heavy fire.

“Well done, Mac,” said his captain at the close of the fray; “that was a plucky action of yours in bringing Private Johnson in under fire.”

“Weel, sir,” replied Mac, “ye see, he’s the only box o’ matches in the whole bloomin’ troop, an’ what’d we do without oor wee bit smoke?”

ANNOUNCED HIS ARRIVAL

The proud father had come up from the country to see his sailor son on board his ship. He had never seen a battleship before, and accordingly marvelled thereat.

Just as he caught hold of the two ropes which hung over the side to assist sailors to the deck, he was somewhat surprised to hear a clanging of bells—the eight bells of seamen’s time.

As he stepped on deck he met the officer of the watch. He saluted him and said, timidly:

“I beg your pardon, sir, I’ve come to see my son Jack, but, ’pon my word, I didn’t mean to ring so loud.”

STEPPED ON IT

A certain Staffordshire regiment had a very small band; but the commanding officer’s feet were—well, rather broad. One day the regiment was to march out on parade, but the music was not forthcoming.

“Where on earth is the band?” queried the adjutant.

For some time there was no reply; but when the question was repeated, a gruff voice from the rear rank said:

“I believe, sor, the colonel trod on it be accident!”

KING ALBERT’S CHIVALRY

Calls Husband to His Wife from Trenches

A young Parisian lady, newly married to a French artillery officer who had fought through the battles of the Marne and the Aisne and is now at the Front in Flanders, determined to see her husband at all costs.

She left Paris for Dunkirk and tried vainly at the French headquarters to secure a pass. She was, however, not beaten. She travelled in a peasant’s country cart and with many delays to the Belgian headquarters.

Taking her courage in both hands, she explained her mission, gained access to the officers of the headquarters staff, and put forward her request.

The officers received her with great politeness, listened to her story sympathetically, and told her gently that what she asked was impossible.

Just at that moment a tall young officer who had been intently studying a map turned to the lady. “Madame,” he said, “you shall see your husband.” Then he spoke for a few moments through the telephone, and, turning again to the young wife, said, “If you will wait a little while, your husband will come to you.”

With tears streaming down her cheeks she seized his hands and thanked him warmly for his kindness.

Two hours later there was a joyous meeting between the lady and her husband, who had been bewildered by his sudden recall from the trenches in the midst of a battle.

His wife explained how it had all come about, and described the officer through whose kindness the meeting had been made possible.

“That was King Albert,” said her husband.

FULLY QUALIFIED

Quite recently a man appeared at the recruiting offices in Newcastle and stated to the officer in charge that he wished to enlist into His Majesty’s Army.

“Well, my man, what regiment do you prefer to join?” asked the officer.

“Well,” replied the recruit, “I should like to join the cavalry.”

“Cavalry,” repeated the head of the recruiting department. “All right, my man, do you know anything about horses?”

“Do I know anything about horses?” replied the would-be recruit, seriously. “Why, I backed a winner and two seconds yesterday!”

A FINE SIGHT FOR THE HUNGRY

The men of a certain regiment had made some complaints respecting the scarcity of food, but the colonel, a strong believer in the go-away-from-the-table-hungry maxim, saw no grounds for increasing the supply.

At last, however, the climax came.

The gunnery instructor had one day been explaining to a squad of men the advantages of different sights, when the colonel appeared on the scene and began to ask questions on the subject.

“Can any of you men tell me what a fine sight is?”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply from a private.

“Well, what is it?”

The private saluted. “Two dinners, sir, on one plate,” he cried.

SERVIAN WOMEN

There is no country in the world where women occupy a more dignified or honored position in the home than Servia. The Servian idea is quite different from that of the Turk, who keeps his women behind shut doors, or the German, whose ideal woman is a good _hausfrau_. In Servia the woman is the companion of the man.

A man is responsible for his unmarried sisters, and throughout the Balkan States it is considered rather a breach of etiquette for him to marry before his older sister.

No Servian girl would feel she could hold up her head in society unless she could speak four languages. There is hardly a Servian woman who cannot play some musical instrument. Embroidery, painting, drawing and sculpture are all studied.

Servian women are very domesticated, and the highest ladies pay personal attention to trivial matters of housekeeping.

There are two women doctors practicing in Belgrade, and women teachers galore. But public opinion on the whole is rather against women entering the labor market.

SECOND THOUGHT BEST

“Every time I see grandfather’s sword and medals,” said Bill, “I long to take part in a universal war.” Then, as an afterthought, Bill said, “But every time I look at grandfather’s wooden leg I long for the advent of universal peace.”

PUNISHED FOR HIS NAME

It was the drilling of a squad of recruits. The officer was calling the names, and prompt replies came from Jones and Smith and Robinson.

The next name was Montaig—that was how the officer pronounced it.

There was no reply.

“Montaig,” repeated the officer with emphasis.

“Here, sir,” came the half-hearted reply from the rear rank.

“Why didn’t you answer at once?” said the man in charge.

“My name is Montague,” said the recruit.

“Is it?” replied the officer. “Well, you do seven days’ fatigew.”

THEIR OWN PRIVATE WARFARE

One day recently a colonel in a newly-recruited North-country battalion had occasion to reprimand severely one of his men. Next day, passing this same recruit, who was doing sentry duty, the colonel observed he did not receive the usual salute. After intentionally passing him a second and third time with the same omission each time on the part of the sentry, the following conversation took place:—

Colonel—“Do you know who I am?”

Recruit—“Yes.”

Colonel—“Do you not know you ought to salute me, or any other officer when he passes you?”

Recruit—“Aye; but then thee and me fell out yesterday.”

A BIT OF RUSSIAN WIT

Aide-de-Camp to Grand Duke Nicholas—“We have just captured a motor-car containing a German of very high rank. We think it is the Kaiser.”

Grand Duke—“For heaven’s sake release him at once. He is our best asset in the field. He always gives the wrong instructions and interferes at the wrong moment.”

ARMORED CANADIAN SOLDIERS

Like knights of old, the Canadian troops for the front are equipped with armor. It is in the form of a spade, to be carried on the back when not in use, to be used for digging trenches when not wanted for protective purposes, and to act as a shield and rifle-rest when the fighting begins.

There is an oval hole in the middle of the blade of the spade. Through this hole the soldier pokes his rifle, just as the archers in the old days used narrow niches in the walls of a castle.

Although the spade weighs only four pounds, and can be carried on marches with ease, it is practically bullet-proof. For hours at Valcartier Camp Sergeant Hawkins, the King’s prize-winner, potted at the spades with his rifle, but it was not until he shot at 200 yards with Mark 7 ammunition that the spades were damaged at all. Then they were only cracked.

Bullets just shattered against the shields and fell back, shapeless. A company of the 1st Royal Montreal Regiment fired volleys at the spades, without piercing them.

TRYING HARD TO GET BY

A recruit, well known for his “strategy” when seeking a holiday, went to the doctor and asked for a note, as he said he was ill. The doctor could not find anything wrong with him, but gave him a note, and just marked a stroke where the nature of complaint should be. He went to the chief officer with the note and asked for leave. The officer took the note, looked at it, and then said (for he looked puzzled):

“What is this you are suffering from? I can’t tell.”

Then our friend took the note, looked at it, and confidently replied:

“Can’t you see, sir, that it’s a stroke I’m suffering from?”

ONLY ONE ROCK

At a certain British club the other day the possibility of providing soldiers with some form of bullet-proof protection was being discussed.

“Those bullet-proof shields are an insult to Tommy’s’ dignity, gentlemen,” inveighed a retired military man, whose oft-boasted achievements no living person had ever seen recorded.

“What do they want with such feminine accessories? When I was out in India my force faced a galling fire for two hours, and there was no shelter but a little rock for miles; yet though hundreds fell on every side of me, I came off without a scratch.”

“That’s an argument in favor of shields,” quietly commented a fellow-clubman. “If there had been more rocks some of the men might have escaped too.”

SOUNDS LIKE A TOWN

Fogarty (a moderate drinker): “I’ll bet ye th’ Rooshians are beginnin’ t’ feel th’ loss iv vodka.”

Flaherty (warmly): “Don’t ye lose any slape over it. Mar-rk me wur-ruds, they’ll retake it agin before long!”

THE BISHOP’S PRISONER

The Bishop of London discharges his duties in camp as the chaplain of the London Rifle Brigade very thoroughly. One morning a number of men were out scouting, and a recruit, very well up in his drill, took advantage of passing through a wood to loiter behind and have a surreptitious “smoke” behind a clump of trees. He was discovered by the bishop, who, as chaplain, is, of course, an officer of the regiment.

The bishop gave the rifleman a good wigging as to his dereliction of duty, and reminded him that he ought really to be the bishop’s prisoner. The rifleman stood at the salute, and, expressing his penitence, the offense was overlooked.

The rifleman, who stands well over six feet, in telling the story, says, “That’s the second time I have been personally addressed by the bishop. The first time was some ten years ago, when I was top boy in our parish church choir, and after a service the bishop patted me on the shoulder and commended me for my solo singing! I little thought then that the day would come when I should be his Lordship’s prisoner for my solo _smoking_.”

NECESSARY PRECAUTION

He was a very raw recruit, and was paying his first visit to the riding school. He was allotted a horse; but it was obvious, from the nervous way he handled the animal, that he had never been on horseback before. When the instructor came up the recruit pointed to the girth.

“What’s it got that strap round it for?” he asked.

“Ah!” exclaimed the instructor, with mock admiration, “Fancy you noticing that. You see, that horse has a terrible keen sense of humor, an’ he’s subject to sudden bursts of laughter at some of the recruits he gets; so we puts that band round him to keep him from bursting his sides.”

STOPPING THE DONKEY

He was instructing some recruits in the mysteries of marching movements. After explaining and illustrating his remarks several times he approached one recruit, looked at him silently for a couple of seconds, then demanded his name.

“Fitzgerald, sorr,” was the answer.

“Did you ever drive a donkey, Fitzgerald?” was his next inquiry.

“Yes, sorr,” was the man’s reply.

“What did you say when you wanted him to stop?”

“Whoa.”

The sergeant turned away and immediately put his squad in motion again. The men advanced a dozen yards or so, when he rasped out:

“Squad, halt! Whoa, Fitzgerald!”

ONE ON SCOTTY

Some friends were in a restaurant the other day discussing the war, when a Scotsman at the next table remarked:

“The Alleys are doing verra weel, ar-ren’t they?”

One, thinking to be smart, said:

“The Alleys! Whom do you mean?”

“Why,” said the Scotsman, “the French and the Scotch, of course.”

At this the friends roared with laughter.

“Aye, you can laugh!” said the Scot. “But I saw my mistake as soon as I spoke. I should have said the Scotch and the French.”

DEFYING THE KAISER

In a fit of impatience because the speed of his yacht was slowed down on entering a certain harbor, the German Emperor on one occasion tried to assert his authority, and rang the bell for “Full speed ahead.” To his great surprise, the pilot, an old Norwegian named Nordhuns, who knew the dangerous character of the channel, placed himself in the way, and, leaning over the wheel, called down the tube to the engine-room, “Half-speed ahead. Never mind the bell!”

“What! You dare to countermand my orders?” cried the Kaiser, again ringing the bell.

“Disregard the bell,” calmly repeated Nordhuns through the tube.

For a moment the Kaiser glared at the intrepid pilot, and then, drawing himself up to his full height, said, majestically, “Go below, sir, and report yourself under arrest.”

“Leave the bridge!” thundered the Norwegian, grimly, as he grasped the wheel more firmly. “This ship is in my charge, and I’ll have no interference with my orders from Kaiser or seaman!”

The officers on deck hurried silently aft, wishing luck to the sturdy old sea-dog, who, knowing that he had the law as well as common sense on his side, stood at his post unshaken by threats, unheeding commands, and steered the _Hohenzollern_ safely into port.

The next day the Kaiser came to his senses, and decorated the pilot—the king at the wheel—with one grade of the Order of the Black Eagle, and also appointed him his life pilot in Norwegian waters.

TEMPERATURE 120°

Private Tommy Sims had had pneumonia, and had been for some time in hospital, where they treated him so well that he was much averse to the prospect of being discharged as “cured.” One day the doctor was taking his temperature, and while Tommy had the thermometer in his mouth the doctor moved on, and happened to turn his back. Tommy saw his chance. He pulled the thermometer out of his mouth and popped it into a cup of hot tea, replacing it at the first sign of the medico’s turning. When that worthy examined the thermometer he looked first at Tommy and then back at the thermometer and gasped:

“Well, my man, you’re not dead, but you ought to be!”

BUT PERHAPS HE CAN DIG TRENCHES

The subaltern was being put through an examination in geography, wherein he proved himself astonishingly ignorant. At last, after a failure on his part of unusual flagrance, the examiner scowled at him and thundered:—

“Idiot, you want to defend your country, and you don’t know where it is!”

LATEST SCOUTING STORY

One of the most dangerous duties a scout is called upon to perform in war-time is that of ascertaining whether some particular position is or is not occupied by the enemy’s forces. Every scout has his own methods of working, but the first thing each does is generally to attempt to trap the hidden men into betraying their position.

The other day a British scout, who, previous to the outbreak of war, had been a well-known man about town, was told to examine a little wood on the right bank of the ——. He went forward and tried all the usual artifices, including the somewhat threadbare one of pretending to gallop away in alarm, but in vain. Not a German showed himself. Yet the scout was not satisfied, and suddenly a bright thought struck him. He advanced a few paces and, jingling some loose silver in his pocket, roared out:

“Waiter! Get me a taxi!”

“Yessir! Cert’n’y, sir!” came the reply from some twenty or thirty German soldiers. Force of habit had proved too much for bonds of discipline.

CHINESE SYMPATHY

The other day a British reservist living in Montreal with his wife and family received the call to join the colors immediately. He decided to take his wife and children to England to stay during his absence. He found the most convenient arrangement would mean leaving Montreal the following day. But it was midweek, and the family wash was at the Chinaman’s. The lady went over to the laundry. The “boys” shook their heads—the wash would not be sorted out before Saturday. But just then the boss laundry-man came in.

“Your husband going to the war? Velly brave man. Me work all night to get your laundry.”

Next morning it was brought home by the “boss” himself.

“How much?”

“Nothing. Your husband go to the war. If you stay here all winter me wash all the clothes for the family. Not a cent.”

GIVING HIM A SEND-OFF

A curious incident was witnessed in a tram-car in a Yorkshire town a day or two back. Two women were seated side by side in earnest conversation.

“So tha’s been to see him off?” said one.

“Aye,” replied the other. “Ah’ve been to see him off. Eh, dear, but I didna know what to say to him. So I says, ‘Well, good-bye, old lad,’ I says, ’an if tha thoomps t’ Kaiser as tha’s thoomped me he’ll be sorry he went to war!’”

SHE KNEW BY EXPERIENCE

“Some of our cannon are disappearing,” remarked the lieutenant.

“Well, things will disappear when you have careless help,” responded the lady who was going over the fort. “I find that a great trouble about keeping house.”

WHERE WAR IS NOT HELL

Chatty Neighbor—“I suppose you don’t stand for any war arguments among your boarders?”

Boarding House Mistress—“O, yes. You see, our biggest eater gets so interested that he forgets to eat and our next biggest eater gets so mad that he leaves before the meal is half over.”

FEROCITY EXPLAINED

Bill—“I read as ’ow that ’ere ’Indenburg ’as got an English wife.”

Alf—“Ah, that accounts for ’is fightin’ like ’e does.”

COULDN’T BE SCOTCH

Barman—“Strikes me, there’s one o’ these blooming German spies in the smoke-room, sir. ’E’s bragging about bein’ a Scotsman, and the whisky I took ’im a quarter of an hour ago ’e ain’t even touched yet.”

HARDLY HIS FAULT

Officer (severely)—“Is this rifle supposed to have been cleaned?”

Recent Recruit—“Well, sir—yes. But you know what these servant gals are!”

THE GERMANS ABASHED

A British naval officer, home on short leave, told a North Sea story. “We had taken some prisoners aboard, three of them officers; one of their torpedoes had missed us by nearly ten feet.

“We made the officers as comfortable as we could, gave them food and drink, and talked about ordinary general matters; hardly a word was said about the fight.

“The Germans seemed ill at ease, suspicious. At last one of them said, ‘We don’t understand you treating us like this. We tried to torpedo you.’

“‘Oh, that’s all right; that’s over now,’ said a navigating lieutenant, handing him a cigarette.

“‘We’d like to show you that we appreciate your goodness,’ went on the German.

“There was a long pause. Then the lieutenant burst in with great cheerfulness, ‘Well, sing us the “Hymn of Hate.”’

“That was one of the rare moments when I have seen German officers look abashed.”

LOCATING PROGRESS

As a young man was walking along reading the evening newspaper he was accosted by an old lady who seemed interested in the war.

“Any news from the front, young man?” she exclaimed.

“Not much,” he replied. “Big battle in progress.”

“Well, thank heaven,” she said, “that it’s not in Belgium, where my poor Johnnie is gone.”

HOW I ESCAPED FROM BERLIN

Supposed to Be Written by Mrs. Malaprop

’Tis very easy to ask me for an account of my escape from Berlin, but when one has been hustled and fluted and prosecuted as I have, it is a wonder that one’s brain is not totally disinterred. However, in spite of my adventitious experiments, I am still, thank heaven! _compote mentis_, and can give a strictly voracious prescription of my sufferings. Like Othello, I will “nothing exterminate, nor set up aught in malice.”

You may require what I was doing in the great Prussian necropolis. The fact is that after the fatigues of the season I found myself somewhat interposed. I am the last person to give way to a fit of the vapors, but my enemy, the gout, had made such invidious advances and become so chromatic that I was advised to go and reciprocate under the care of a prominent Berlin physician. Despite the diversion which I naturally feel for all Germans, I must admit that his treatment and regiment proved beneficent—though his fees were exuberant—and I was rapidly recovering when the declaration of war burst upon us like a cataplasm.

Berlin was at once in a state of convolution. The streets were crowded with people in a very succulent humor, waving flags, singing typical songs, and shouting remarks which deluded recognition, as my knowledge of the language is merely superfluous. Any attempt at leaving the house was not only fertile but periculous, as Englishmen were subjugated to various forms of contumacy, either because the police were useless or with their secret contrivance.

I protest I never saw such a panharmonium! Foreign residents had their windows stoned, and abstained many cuts and confusions from the missals. The proprietor of our boarding-house was not actually indolent, but treated me in a very caviare manner, advising me to speak no English. Even neuters, he told me, were being distrained to stimulate a factious enthusiasm for the Kaiser.