Chapter III: Part 3

Next day an official arrived. He asked me if I was English. “Sir,” I replied, “I am no camellia, changing my colors to suit my surroundings.” I think he hardly depreciated my semaphore; he merely told me to pack my trunks in readiness to leave Berlin at a certain hour next day. After another sleepless night passed in anxious participations, four of us were convoyed to the station in a closed vehicle and left for hours on a platform crowded to supplication with fugitives. Some of the women wept quietly, while others gave way to historical outbursts. They gave us nothing but water, and I was induced to eating some digestible chocolate caravans produced by my maid.

At last the aliens’ train arrived; but we were at the back of the crowd, and you may imagine my constellation when I discovered that every department had its full quotient of passengers. Seizing a passing official, I exclaimed: “Thou transcendental Triton, is it thus that the confidential visitors, whose gold gorges the coffins of thy treasury, and who patiently suffer the ubiquitous distortions of thy greedy countrymen, are rewarded? Fie, sir! It is larceny—tyranny—barometry of the vilest conscription!”

He seemed puzzled, and said, roughly: “Are you Suffer-gette?”

“Sir,” I replied, “I will endure no more obliquity. I will say no more. I refuse to omit another syllabus.”

He called another official, and after a long discursion, during which they regarded me very strangely, frequently tapping their foreheads, they had a horse-box corrected to the train, into which my maid and I were inducted, attended by a German female. I passed the journey in a sort of comma, and eventually reached England, which it is my firm resolution never to leave again.

PERMANENTLY POSTPONED

The Irish Guards were holding a position at Ypres, and flying bullets were the order of the day. The Germans endeavored to break through, and after a particularly brisk volley Private Flynn was heard to shout:—

“Murder of wars, I’m done now altogether!”

“Why, have you been hit?” shouts Captain P——.

“Not entoirely hit, sir,” shouts Flynn; “but I’ve been waiting this ten minutes for a smoke from Murtagh’s pipe, and by the powers they’ve just shot it out iv his mouth.”

UNINTENTIONAL LIMITATION

The vicar of S—— is very patriotic, and has done a great deal of recruiting in his own and the adjoining parishes. He is also very absent-minded. This was never so forcibly brought home to him as on the occasion of the young squire’s wedding. The squire’s regiment was leaving almost immediately for the front, consequently the wedding attracted more than ordinary interest, and the little church was crowded to its utmost capacity.

The ceremony proceeded without a hitch, the momentous words had been spoken by the vicar, and repeated by the bridegroom ... “take thee, Phyllis, to my wedded wife,” when the congregation were astounded by the next words from the vicar, “for three years or the duration of the war.”

NOTHING NEW TO HIM

It was company field-training. The captain saw a young soldier trying to cook his breakfast with a badly-made fire. Going to him, he showed him how to make a quick-cooking fire, saying:

“Look at the time you are wasting. When I was on the West Coast I often had to hunt my breakfast. I used to go about two miles in the jungle, shoot my food, skin or pluck it, then cook and eat it, and return to the camp under the half-hour.” Then he unwisely added, “Of course, you have heard of the West Coast?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the young soldier, “and also of Ananias and Baron Munchausen, too.”

ENGLISH HUMOR

Bill—“Have you heard about the Prince of Wales?”

Nell—“No. What of His Royal Highness?”

Bill—“Well, he had a fall, and remained unconscious for some hours.”

Nell—“Oh, poor Prince!”

Bill—“But I am happy to say when His Royal Highness came to himself he was none the worse.”

Nell—“How did it happen?”

Bill—“In this way (not officially denied): It was very late on Monday; he fell—asleep in his bed!”

NOT A CARUSO

“Proud of ’im, I am,” announced an old lady, whose son had just enlisted, to a knot of friends in the village street. “Always done ’is duty by me, ’e ’as, an’ now ’e’s doin’ ’is duty by King an’ country. I feel right down sorry for them poor Germans to think of ’im goin’ into battle with ’is rifle in ’is ’and an’ ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary’ on ’is lips.”

“Poor Germans, indeed!” exclaimed one of her audience. “Pity’s wasted on ’em. P’r’aps you ’aven’t ’eard of their cruelties?”

“P’r’aps I ’aven’t,” agreed the old lady, “an’ p’r’aps you ’aven’t ’eard George sing!”

IN WAR TIME

Short-sighted Customer—“Aren’t you making your rolls a little larger these days, Mr. Baker?”

“What! R-r-rolls? Them’s loaves!”

GAVE THE SNAP AWAY

Amongst some recruits waiting to be passed by the doctor for a Tyneside battalion was a miner from a local colliery, a fine strapping youth. After a good many had been examined, it came to Geordie’s turn, and everyone present thought him a likely recruit. The doctor, after looking at Geordie’s teeth, remarked sadly:—

“I’m sorry, my lad, I cannot pass you; your teeth are too bad.”

“Wey, if this isn’t a licker,” replied Geordie. “Ye passed th’ same teeth yisterday wi’ Bill Smith, an’ we both borrowed them.”

WITHOUT PRECEDENT

A certain Yorkshire soldier, who was badly wounded in the jaw at Mons by a German bullet, was, on his return home, relating to an interested group how his company tackled the enemy when the order to charge was given.

“Bullets was flyin’ like snowflakes,” he said; “an’ lots o’ our chaps was hit.”

“Weel, Tommy,” interrupted one of his listeners, “couldn’t ye hear t’ bullets whizzin’ an’ makin’ a noise as they was comin’ along, an’ so be able to get out o’ their way?”

Tommy gave the inquirer a withering look, then replied:

“Nay, lad, we couldn’t hear ’em comin’, becos them bullets was Dum-Dum ’uns; an’ did anybody ever hear of aught that was dumb makin’ a noise?”

AN AGREEABLE MISTAKE

The soldier of four months was recounting his experience of “living on the country” in an Eastern county. He and a comrade had been dispatched with a motor-car to perform a certain mission. After traveling a considerable distance they sighted an inn sign, and, running the car into the yard at the rear, alighted and entered by a back door. A picturesque dame appeared, to whom the bluff and hearty spokesman said:

“Now, mother, is there anything to eat?”

“Well, you can have some nice cold beef, and if you like to wait half an hour I’ll cook you some potatoes and a cauliflower.”

“Ah! Worth waiting for, that is, mother! Right-o!” said the soldier.

She smiled approvingly, and told them to go into her own parlor. In due course they were bidden to the feast, over which they were glad to have her preside, for she talked very entertainingly. Eventually the spokesman broached the question of payment.

“Now, then, mother, how much do we owe you, please?”

“Oh, nothing! I’m sure I’ve been very glad to have you.”

“But, look here! I’d never have come in ordering stuff to eat without expecting to pay for it. You know you can’t keep a ‘pub.’ open on dinners for naught! Now, can you, mother?”

“No, I can’t, my dear lad! I don’t try to. This isn’t the pub. It’s the house next door!”

INCONSIDERATE BEGGAR

“What do you think?” exclaimed Mrs. Twobble. “While the Belgian Relief Committee was holding an important meeting yesterday afternoon in my drawing-room a ragged woman came to the house and asked for food. She had a baby in her arms, too!”

“What did you do?” asked Mrs. Gadson.

“Sent her about her business, of course! I was reading my report to the committee and had no time to bother with stray beggars.”

WHAT THE PILOT KNEW

Owing to the safeguards which the Admiralty have placed at the entrance to all large British seaports, it is now compulsory for all outward-bound and incoming vessels to be under the charge of a Government pilot.

A few weeks ago a Sunderland collier was anchored outside the Humber waiting for his pilot, and incidentally chafing at the delay.

Eventually the pilot was shipped and the safe channel entered for Hull, when the captain rather sarcastically remarked: “Do you know where the mines are?”

“No,” replied the pilot, “I do not.”

“What! you’ve taken over my ship and you don’t know? Well, I might just as well have brought the ship in myself.”

The pilot smiled indulgently upon the enraged skipper and said: “Aye, captain, ’tis true I don’t know where the mines are, but I know where they are not.”

IT WORKED ALL RIGHT

All the work was mapped out for the new charwoman, but about the appointed time she arrived in tears.

“My poor ’usband was shot in the battle,” she said, “and ’e’s passed away.”

The employer was all sympathy, gave the widow the half-crown she ought to have earned, and did the necessary work herself.

The next day she met the neighbor who recommended the woman, and said:

“You’ve heard, I suppose, about Mrs. W.’s husband being killed?”

“Yes,” said her friend. “But she ought to have got over it by now. It was in the Boer war.”

GERMAN GIRLS CAN KNIT

A certain Landwehrman had received his hundredth pair of warm woolen stockings knit by fair hands.

“Fritz must be a regular Don Juan,” said one of his less fortunate comrades.

“No,” said another, a fellow-townsman of the accused. “No, it isn’t that. The fact is, Fritz, before the war came, was teacher in a girls’ school.”

BLOCKHEAD, EH?

Sergeant—“Now, then, don’t you know how to hold a rifle?”

Recruit—“I’ve run a splinter in me finger.”

Sergeant (exasperated)—“Oh, you ’ave, ’ave you? Bin scratchin’ yer ’ead, I suppose?”

HIS SOLE REASON

As the sergeant was bawling out his orders and watching the line of feet as the raw recruits endeavored to obey the word of command, he found to his astonishment that one pair of feet—more noticeable on account of their extra large size—never turned.

Without taking his eyes off these feet the sergeant bawled out, “About turn!”

He could see that all the feet except those he watched turned in obedience. Rushing up to the owner, a little fellow, he seized him by the shoulder, shouting:

“Why don’t you turn with the rest?”

“Why, I did,” replied the trembling recruit.

“You did, eh? Well, I watched your feet, and they never moved.”

“It’s the boots they gave me, sir,” said the poor fellow. “They’re so large that when I turn my feet turns in them.”

IGNORANCE IS BLISS

The two servants met in the tram.

“Does this war they’re talking so much about make much difference to you?”

“The missus says we’ve got to economize, so we’ve to have margarine at meals in the kitchen.”

“Doesn’t she have it, then?”

“Not her. She says it doesn’t suit her digestion. But there’s nothing wrong with her digestion. We know that. For as often as not we send her up the margarine and have the butter ourselves.”

STROKE OF LUCK

A story is current that a certain colonel of a British regiment offered to give a sovereign for every German killed by any of his men.

It happened shortly after this that a sergeant and a private were out spying around, and took different points for observation.

After a while the private crawled up to the sergeant with a look of suppressed excitement on his face, and in a tense whisper said:

“Here’s a fine piece of luck for us, sergeant! There’s four thousand Germans over yonder, and there’s only you and me for ’em. Won’t we rake some quids in now?”

SPECIMEN WANTED

Mr. Horace Wyndham has published a book on his military experiences, in which he quotes the reply of an Egyptian clerk to a demand for 1,000 rations for a Middlesex Regiment.

“Honorable Sir—Estimable telegram to hand, but not understood. Male sex I know well; ditto female sex. Middlesex, however, not familiar. Please send specimen.”

A LONE EXCEPTION

He was a new recruit home on leave.

“Halloa,” said a friend, “how are you going on? Applied for a commission yet?”

“Not me. All the rest in my battalion are sending in their names, I think; but I say that a regiment needs at least one regular, steady private.”

CLEVER EXPEDIENT

During a sham fight which constituted part of a certain infantry battalion’s training for the war a company was told off to follow up the retreating “enemy.” For this purpose the pursuers, who had been having a strenuous time, had to cross a fairly wide river, and were marched to the nearest bridge, which was about four miles away. Imagine their disappointment on arriving to find this notice attached to the bridge by the “enemy:”

“This bridge is blown up.”

But the officer in command of the pursuers was a man of action, and promptly attached another notice to one of his leading men and proceeded to march them across the bridge. They had almost crossed it, when an umpire suddenly appeared, frantically waving his hands and exclaiming:

“This bridge is blown up; all these men are drowned!”

The commanding officer made no reply, but simply pointed to his notice, which read:

“This company is swimming across!”

WHICH WOULD YOU PATRONIZE?

It was Saturday night, and the rival butchers were shouting against each other.

“’Ere’s a piece of beef,” shouted one, “any price yer like. No war prices here.”

The other was equal to the occasion.

“Come ’ere,” he shouted. “Don’t ’ave piece at any price; have piece with honor.”

SARCASTIC OLD VET.

A man in the Veteran Reserves was called up recently.

After a week at his new quarters he was brought up before the officer commanding for not cleaning his rifle one day. Said the officer commanding:—

“Hem, you’re an old soldier re-enlisted, I see. I suppose it will be many years ago since you were reprimanded? What was your last offence? Can you remember what it was?”

Old Soldier (with irony on account of the repeated assertions to his age): “For not cleanin’ me bow an’ arrow, sir!”

BROTHERLY REPARTEE

A cricket match was taking place near a German internment camp. Many were the comments on the game.

One of the British soldiers who had taken part in the game turned to a German officer, and asked what he thought of the game and the British cricketers.

“Oh,” he said, “they’re very good, but we Germans can beat you on the battlefield.”

“Oh, I suppose you get the most ‘runs’ there!” said the soldier.

MADE IN GERMANY

Chaplain (in French town near the Front)—“I have been working so hard of late that I feel rather run down. I must try a tonic.”

Soldier—“Why not try a glass of lager?”

Chaplain (badly shocked)—“Oh, that’s Teutonic!”

WOLSELEY’S WAY

One of the neatest stories of how a military officer can do the right thing without sacrifice of dignity is related of the man who afterwards became Commander-in-Chief of the British Army. He was sitting in a high-toned tap-room of Dublin, where privates were not permitted the privilege of the bar. Two finely-built men of a dragoon regiment, wearing long-service stripes, entered and called for drinks, which were curtly refused them. They turned without a word and were retiring in good order.

“Halt!” came sharply from the officer in civilian’s clothes. From sheer force of habit the soldiers obeyed and faced about.

“I can purchase what I want here, I suppose?” said the officer as he advanced to the bar.

“Certainly, sir.”

“Then serve these two gentlemen with what they want,” and there was a pleasant emphasis on the title. “Gentlemen, will you drink with me?”

“With pleasure, sir,” and the happy compact was carried out. Then the dragoons courteously inquired the name of the gentleman who had thrown out the life-line, as it were.

“My name is Wolseley—Colonel Wolseley,” with a smile.

Two pairs of heels went together with a click, two brawny arms went up in salute, and the soldiers departed amid the applause of all who had witnessed the scene.

IGNORED HIMSELF

During camp parade of the buglers the other day an Irish corporal was in charge. He was asked by the C. O. if all the buglers were present, when he replied:

“No, sorr; one man absent.”

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

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

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

ANOTHER ANXIETY

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

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

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

ONE QUALIFICATION

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

Landlord: “Do I look like it?”

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

GREAT DEEDS I HAVE DONE IN THE GREAT WAR

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

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

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

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

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

WASTED SYMPATHY

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

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

The shopkeeper remarked dolefully:—

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

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

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

KNEW HIM OF OLD

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

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

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

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

THIS ORIGINATED IN NEW YORK

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

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

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

TWO POINTS OF VIEW

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

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

SOME KIND OF A MARSHAL

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

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

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

NOR ON THE SOCKS

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

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

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

“How’s that, sir?”

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

LESS WAR NEWS WANTED

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

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

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

TWENTY STRAIGHT

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

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

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

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

RUSSIAN EXPECTATIONS

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

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

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

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

FREAKS OF BULLETS

Wonderful Escapes From Death

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

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

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

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

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

FINDING AN EXCUSE

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

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

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

ONLY A MATTER OF TIME

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

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

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

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

SOUNDS LOGICAL

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

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

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

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

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

UNWILLING MARTYR

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

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

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

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

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

THE TAR AND THE TARTAR

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

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

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

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

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

DON’T SAY “ROVER”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SCARS OF BATTLE

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

“Where is John?”

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

SUITED TO HIS POSITION

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

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

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

KAISER WILHELM II

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

“Why is that?”

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

AS SEEN IN FRANCE

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

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

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

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

The patience of the other was at last exhausted.

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

ANYTHING TO QUALIFY

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

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

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

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

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

TAKING THE JOY OUT OF LIFE

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

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

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

ON HIS WAY

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

MORTIFIED THE FRENCHMAN

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

“I never met but one fatal case.”

“Fatal!”

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

CHECKS FOR TWO

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

But he felt nervous about broaching the subject.

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

“Lucky Germans!” said the tailor, wistfully.

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

SYMPATHETIC SOUL

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

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

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

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

A QUESTION OF DIET

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

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

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

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

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

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

A GENTLE HINT

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

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

A MATTER OF PUNCTUATION

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

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

AND THERE ARE OTHERS

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

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

SOME BONEHEAD

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

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

PROUD OF IT

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

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

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

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

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

DIPLOMACY

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

AN OVER-DOSE

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

“Eight grains,” promptly replied the nurse.

The doctor made no comment, and the girl passed on. When her turn came again she appeared greatly confused, and said to the examiner, “Doctor, I wish to correct the answer I made last time. I meant to say that one-eighth of a grain should be given to the patient.”

“Too late,” remarked the physician, without looking up from his question paper. “The man’s dead.”

NOBODY CONCERNED

The wounded soldier was being attended by the doctor. The latter seemed to treat the case in a light-hearted manner. He prodded the soldier in the ribs, and grinned.

“You’ll be all right,” he said. “You’ve got a bullet in your left arm; but that does not trouble me in the least.”

“I don’t suppose it does,” said the soldier. “An’ if you’d got a bullet in both arms I don’t suppose it ’ud trouble me, either.”

HARD LUCK

He was a Canadian and he wore a corporal’s stripes. There he sat snugly in a sheltered part of his trench in that little corner of Belgium and played poker with a quartet of his comrades. Luck was against him. He had lost about everything he had to lose, when at the very height of the game—just after the dealer had done his best and worst—a shell came through the roof of the shelter, passed between the Canadian’s long, lean legs (luckily without hitting him), and buried itself harmlessly in the soft earth. The others of the party leaped up in not inexcusable haste and fled from the place, but the Canadian did not move.

The disturbance brought the company commander on the run.

“What’s up?” says he.

“Well, sir,” says the Canadian, “that there shell drops in on us and when it don’t explode at once I judge it is pretty safe not to go off at all. So I just set where I am. The cursed luck of it is that I’ve been playin’ away here all morning’ drawin’ rotten cards and losin’ my shirt, and here just as I holds the first four of a kind that’s gladdened my two eyes since Hector was a pup—and kings at that, sir—at that identical moment there comes this pifflin’ German turnip and the other fellows beats it.”

HOW HE TOOK HIS

English men-of-war have no ice-making machines on board, as do our ships, and everybody knows how the English fail to understand us on the subject of the use of ice, especially in our drinks.

An English officer was aboard one of our ships of the Asiatic fleet, and, on being served with an iced drink, commented on the delights of having cool water aboard. The American officer responded with an offer of a small cake of ice, which was sent the following morning. Meeting the Englishman ashore a week later, the American asked him if he had enjoyed the ice.

“Enjoy it, old top? Why, do you know, that was the first cold bawth I’ve had since I left England!”

WILLING TO OBLIGE

A recruit very anxious to join Kitchener’s Army enters recruiting station determined to accommodate himself to any condition required.

Officer (filling in form)—“What’s your religion?”

Zealous Recruit—“Well, what are you short of?”

CAUSE FOR PREJUDICE

“Why are you for the Allies?” a friend asked a solemn-looking neutral, who looked as if there had been much suffering in his life. “Is it because you abhor Prussian militarism?”

“No.”

“Is it that you fear Germany’s desire to expand, to absorb foreign lands? Is it that you dislike the German character?”

“No,” replied the solemn-looking individual.

“Well, why are you for the Allies?”

“Because,” said the other, with a pensive air, “I once ate some sauerkraut.”

SELF-BETRAYED

A sentry was giving close attention to his post in the neighborhood of a British army camp in England, challenging returning stragglers late after dark. The following is reported as an incident of his vigil:

“Who goes there?” called the sentry at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Coldstream Guards!” was the response.

“Pass, Coldstream Guards!” rejoined the sentry.

“Who goes there?” again challenged the sentry.

“Forty-ninth Highlanders!” returned the unseen pedestrian.

“Pass, Forty-ninth Highlanders!”

“Who goes there?” sounded a third challenge.

“None of your d——n business!” was the husky reply.

“Pass, Canadians!” acquiesced the sentry.

BRITISH HUMOR

The crew of the Harpalion, one of the British ships torpedoed off Beachy Head, arrived in London yesterday. Mr. S. Harper, the second officer, describing the experiences of the crew, said the ship was sailing down the Channel at the rate of about eleven and a half knots.

“We had just sat down to tea,” said Mr. Harper, “at the engineers’ table, and the chief engineer was saying grace. He had just uttered the words, ‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful,’ when there came an awful crash.”

A MIXED BLESSING

A gallant Tommy, having received from England an anonymous gift of socks, entered them at once, for he was about to undertake a heavy march. He was soon prey to the most excruciating agony, and when, a mere cripple, he drew off his foot-gear at the end of a terrible day, he discovered inside the toe of the sock what had once been a piece of stiff writing paper, now reduced to pulp, and on it appeared in bold, feminine hand the almost illegible benediction: “God bless the wearer of this pair of socks!”

OR A BASEBALL UMPIRE

“I saw a war picture, and one of the soldiers in the firing-line, amid bursting shells and dead and wounded men, was yawning.”

“He was probably a football-player to whom his surroundings seemed tame.”

NOT TO EXCEED HIS LIMIT

During the opening stages of the present war a certain soldier was told that there were three Germans to every one of the Allied forces in that part of the field.

Tommy went into action with great vigor, but later his company sergeant was horrified to see him shoulder his rifle and calmly march to the rear.

“Where are you off to?” he roared.

“Oh,” replied Tommy, “I’ve killed three of the enemy. I’ve done my share, so I’m off back to the camp.”

OUT OF HARM’S WAY

“If you had to go to war what position would you choose?”

“The drummer’s, I think.”

“Why so?”

“When a charge was ordered, I’d pick up my drum and beat it.”

SHOWING HIM HOW

The company was about to commence practice in trench-digging.

“Shall I show you how to handle the spade?” inquired a young officer of one private who was curiously watching the efforts of his companions.

“Aye, if tha likes,” responded the soldier.

“There you are,” commented the officer shortly afterwards, as he handed over the spade.

“Tha shapes pratty weel,” said the private, a collier from the Durham pits, “for a novice.”

NO EXCEPTION

Policeman (arresting burglar)—“Ain’t people worried enough by this war without burglaring their houses?”

Burglar—“All the papers are saying ‘business as usual.’”

IN HIS OWN LANGUAGE

Bill Bates, a coal miner, had joined Kitchener’s Army, and was undergoing musketry instruction.

The officer had been at some pains to impress upon the recruits that in loading a rifle they should place one cartridge in the barrel and ten in the magazine.

Singling out Bill, the officer said to him:

“Now, what do you do with your cartridges when loading?”

“Put one in t’ tunnel an’ ten in t’ can!” was the reply.

SCARED HIM TO THINK OF IT

The general was distributing medals for special valor. Summoning Private Bumptious to step forward, much to the general surprise of the ranks, he thundered out:

“Men, look upon this hero, and imitate his bravery! All through the long night he stood firm at his sentinel’s post, although completely surrounded by the enemy, and there he remained, calmly.”

Private Bumptious turned deadly pale. But before he fell in a faint to the ground, he gasped out:

“Then they were enemies! I thought they were our own troops.”

WHAT HAPPENED TO REIMS

“Wasn’t it fearful about the Reims cathedral?”

“Don’t say Reems; it sounds horribly ignorant.”

“Well, how do you pronounce it?”

“Why, Hranss.”

“How?”

“Hn—Hranhss! Just as if you were clearing your throat. See? Hranss!”

“Well, you sound as if you had a dreadful influenza, threatened with grip!”

“Well, that’s right, anyhow. H—hn—hnh—hrahnhss!”

“You’d better go to Arizona! You’ll never get well here! I don’t believe you, anyway. Everybody says Reems.”

“They don’t, either!”

“They do so!”

“Oh, well, it depends on the sort of people you associate with—”

“Well, I don’t go with a lot of fake highbrows, anxious to show off the French they learned in a course of lessons by mail—”

“Better than a lot of country junks who don’t know how to pronounce—”

“Oh, well, the church wasn’t hurt much, anyhow.”

“No, they say it can be repaired. How do you like my hat?”

“Heavenly! What do you think of mine?”

“Adorable! Let’s go in and have soda.”

“Let’s.”

REBUKE THAT DIDN’T WORK

British Teacher (to small boy)—“So you’ve come to school without a pen, eh? What would you say if one of our soldiers went to France without his gun?”

Tommy—“Please, sir, I should say he was an officer.”

SOMETHING TO THINK OF

The awkward squad had been having a lecture in musketry. Just before they were dismissed the instructor asked one of them:

“Why is the rifle placed in the hands of a soldier?”

“To protect my life,” came the prompt reply.

The instructor glared at him.

“Protect your life!” he snorted. “Who’s bothering about your life? The rifle, my lad, is placed in your hands for the destruction of the King’s enemies!”

A FAVORABLE BALANCE

A friend called on a merchant who did a large Continental business to offer him his sympathy.

“This must hit you very hard.”

“Very hard,” said the merchant. “I’ve over eleven hundred pounds owing to me in Germany, and it’s touch and go whether I ever get a penny of it. Still, we’ve got to put up with something for the country.”

“I’m glad you take it so cheerfully.”

“Well,” explained the merchant, “I owe over sixteen hundred pounds in Germany.”

DISREGARDING THE LIMIT

In order to stimulate rifle practice in a Lancashire district, especially amongst the rising generation, a match was arranged in which the competitors must be over fourteen years and under seventeen years of age.

The match was in progress, and there seemed to be not a few of the competitors who would never see another seventeenth birthday.

The climax was reached, however, when a young enthusiast, seeing the excellent score one of the competitors was making, astonished the spectators by shouting at the top of his voice:

“Go on, father; get another bull’s-eye!”

NO ABBREVIATIONS WANTED

A corporal in the Liverpool Scottish tells a good story of “the front.”

The sentry’s challenge is no longer the orthodox “Halt! Who goes there?” It is a short, prosaic, “Who are you?”

The other day a tired sentry challenged a party of the Princess Patricia’s Own Canadian Light Infantry. Back came the response, “P.P.O.C.L.I.”

“I don’t want to hear you say your alphabet,” growled the sentry. “Who the blazes are you?”

HIS SACRIFICE

“George, where are your school-books!”

“When notices appeared that books were wanted for the wounded, I gave mine to them.”—Humoristicke Listy (Prague).

UNSATISFACTORY OFFICER

They were about the rawest lot of recruits the sergeant had ever tackled. He worked hard for a couple of hours, and at last, thinking he had them licked into shape, he decided to test them.

“Right turn!” he barked; then, before they had ceased to move, barked again, “Left turn!”

One burly yokel slowly left the ranks and made off towards the barracks.

“Here, you!” yelled the sergeant, angrily, “where are you off to?”

“Ah’ve had enough on’t,” replied the recruit, in disgusted tones. “Tha dissent knaw thee arn mind two minutes stright running.”

PERPETUAL MOTION

“Excuse me, but do you mind keeping your dog indoors at night till the war is over?”

“Why?” said the surprised dog-owner to the stranger.