Chapter VI

Our uniform--or, if that is too military a word, our academical costume--is officially announced to be "grey-green," the colour of the sea at 7.30 in the morning, when you decide that you have forgotten your towel and had better have a hot bath quietly at home. I don't know how invisible we shall be as soldiers, but anchored off the Maplin Sands we should deceive anybody. Where are the Buoys of the Old Brigade? Ah, where indeed! Even as marines we should have our value.

Luckily, we have been practising amphibious warfare for some time. The camp is mostly under water, and when the "Fall-in" is sounded we do it quite easily. The "Emerge" is not so easily obeyed. But there were drier days in December, and on one of these I made a curious discovery.

We were having a field-day, and my side of the battle was advancing in sections under shell-fire over fairly flat country. Every now and then, however, we came to a small hill or group of hills. There seemed to be no human reason for it, and I suggested to my section that we were on the track of some new kind of mole.

"No," said James, "those are bunkers."

We looked at each anxiously and tapped our foreheads.

"It's a golf-course," he persisted.

I could not allow dangerous talk of this kind to go on.

"Silence in the ranks," I said sternly.

A little later, when we were halted, an old, old man, the Nestor of the section, asked if he might speak to me.

"Certainly, my lad," I said.

"I think he du be right," he said, indicating James; "I've heerd tell on 'un. Great-great-grandfayther used to play."

Another man said that he had seen an old print of the game in a shop, but he thought it was called Ludo.

And then, in a most curious way, I had the sudden feeling that I myself had played the game in some previous existence--when I was a king in Babylon, perhaps, and James was a Christian caddie. It was most odd. When we got back to camp, I spoke to him about it.

"On Boxing Day, James," I whispered, "one might pursue one's researches in this matter. I should like to find out the truth about it. We might meet at----h'r'm! To the left, to two paces, ex-_tend!_" I added this loudly for the benefit of our platoon commander who was passing, and James (who in ordinary life extends two paces to the front) withdrew slowly into the darkness.

I won't refer to what happened on Boxing Day; one does not talk about these things. But I must tell you of its unfortunate sequel.

Last week, in the course of a route-march, we were suddenly turned on to distance-judging. I had never done this before, and a remote and lonely tree, half-hidden in the mist, conveyed nothing definite to me.

"What do you think?" I asked James.

"A drive and a mashie, about."

"S'sh," I said warningly. However, I determined to act on the suggestion. Remembering Boxing Day I allowed eighty yards for James's drive, and thirty-five for a mashie off the socket. Total, 115. It looked more, but the mist was deceptive. However, when the results were read out, the distance was given as 385 yards, and James, if you please, had said 350!

Let us leave this painful subject and turn to signalling. We are getting a little more proficient. Every message we send now starts properly with prefix, service instructions, code time, and so on, and the message itself gets in as many hyphens, horizontal lines, fractions and inverted commas as possible. Here, for instance, is the beginning of a thrilling message (sent to the Editor of _The Times_) which I was receiving last Sunday.

"Fore-warned being fore-armed Lieut. Z. SMITHSON, 21st Foot on the _Przemysl-Rzeszow-Olkusz_ road, with £3 9_s._ 7-1/2_d._ in his pocket (interest on 5-1/2% DEBENTURES at 97--brokerage 1/8th) proceeded at 9.25 P.M. to----"

At this point the "Fall-in" sounded and we had to stop. I never heard what happened to Lieut. Smithson. My own theory is that he murdered Emma and put the blame on Lt.-Col. St. George, D. S. O., who only had three-and-a-half per cents, and had never seen the girl before. Perhaps the matter will be cleared up when the War is over.

But it was a sad blow to us to be told in a lecture that same afternoon that despatch-riding has proved to be much more useful than signalling at the Front. It had an immediate effect on James, and the advertisement in _The Times_ beginning "WANTED TO EXCHANGE a pair of blue-and-white silk flags (new) for motor-bicycle," is generally supposed to be his.

"And all the time I've spent on signalling has been wasted," he said indignantly.

"Not wasted, James. Your silhouette as you signalled an 'i' has made many a wet day bright. Anyway, it's no excuse for not coming to bayonet drill. That won't be wasted."

James made some absurd excuse about wanting to improve his shooting first.

"One is more independent with the bayonet," I assured him. "The Government doesn't like us as it is, and it's not going to waste much ammunition on us. But once you've tied the carving-knife on to the end of your umbrella, there you are."

"Well, I'll think about it," said James.

But I have heard since that he had already attended one class; and that in the middle of it James the solicitor advised James the soldier not to proceed further with the matter.

"Your time," said James the solicitor, "will be better spent on the range--where you can lie down."

And James the soldier made it so.

A. A. M.

* * * * *

DIPLOMACY.

[_What would happen if we modelled our business affairs on the
Yellow Book, Blue Book, White Book, Orange Book and Grey Book_]

1. _From Alfred Midgely, Office Manager, to James Henry Bullivant
(Managing Director of Bullivants, Limited, Drysalters),
temporarily abroad._

I hear from an absolutely trustworthy source that our town traveller, Mr. Herbert Blenkins, is thinking of giving notice. I have the honour to suggest that this merits the immediate attention of Your Excellency.

2. _From J. H. B. to A. M._

Blenkins cannot be allowed to leave at this juncture. You should make a _démarche_ towards the Office Boy, endeavour to ascertain from him whether _pourparlers_ might not be opened with the Senior Typist in the direction of her using her influence with the Book-keeper to learn whether Blenkins' purpose is in the nature of an ultimatum or a _ballon d'essai_.

3. _From A. M. to J. H. B._

Mr. Blenkins has presented his note. I have the honour to enclose a copy. The Office Boy is absent for a few days attending the obsequies of his grandmother. I have telegraphed to his home in the sense of your despatch. No reply has come, and I have the honour to await Your Excellency's further orders.

4. _From J. H. B. to A. M._

It is imperative that there should be no delay in this matter. You should obtain the address of the office-boy's grandfather, and call upon him to learn whether he will agree to exert his grandparental influence in the direction already outlined.

5. _From J. H. B. to Uncle Edward, Brother Theodore and Cousin
Bob, co-Directors._

I enclose copies of correspondence relative to the Blenkins' crisis, which is rapidly assuming a gravity which I cannot affect to view with indifference. I beg you to proceed immediately to Midgely, and support his endeavours with the united weight of your diplomatic abilities.

6. _From A. M. to J. H. B._

I learn from a sure source that the Office-Boy's grandmother has already died three times. The grandfather is alleged to be _non compos mentis_. Mr. Blenkins is mobilising his office papers. This is highly significant.

7. _From A. M. to J. H. B._

Further to my despatch of this morning, I have the honour to report that Mr. Robert Bullivant suggests that we should offer Mr. Blenkins another twenty pounds a year and have done with it. Mr. Theodore Bullivant is firmly opposed to any diplomatic weakness at this juncture, in view of possible demands from the Book-keeper, whom we suspect of a secret _entente_ with Mr. Blenkins. Your Excellency's uncle demands peace at any price. Should I take the unprecedented step of making a direct approach to Mr. Blenkins?

8. _From J. H. B. to A. M._

No. The resources of Diplomacy must first be exhausted. In view of the urgency of the crisis, I authorise you to pass over the Office Boy and open _pourparlers_ with the Senior Typist with a view to obtaining a _mise en demeure_ from Blenkins.

9. _From A. M. to J. H. B._

The Senior Typist has met with a reverse from an experimental hair-dye, and will not be visible for a week.

10. _From J. H. B. to A. M._

Approach the Book-keeper.

11. _From A. M. to J. H. B._

I have the honour to surmise that no definite purpose will be achieved through the diplomatic channel of the Book-keeper. He states that he prefers to keep himself to himself. Mr. Blenkins has already asked for his office cuffs, and a final severance of relations is imminent. I have not yet handed him his cuffs, which I have ventured to sequestrate on the ground that they are spotted with our ink.

12. _From J. H. B. to A. M._

Retain the cuffs pending diplomatic action from Mr. Theodore.

13. _From J. H. B. to Brother Theodore._

I enclose copies of correspondence relative to Blenkins' attempt to claim possession of our ink-spots. If in your opinion this constitutes a _casus belli_, I beg you to approach him with such menaces as are not inconsistent with the continuance of diplomatic relations.

14. _From T. B. to J. H. B._

In view of the gravity of the crisis, I have taken legal opinion. If the cuffs were not only spotted with our ink, but were also clipped with our scissors, then they are _ipso facto_ and _ad hoc_ to be considered as neutral territory within the meaning of the Statutes of International Office Law.

15. _From J. H. B. to A. M._

You should immediately ascertain, through the proper channels, if and (or) when and (or) how Blenkins clipped the cuffs. In the meantime you will convey to him that we should not be disposed to view with indifference any attempt on his part to violate the frontiers of neutral territory.

16. _From A. M. to J. H. B._

Blenkins has gone!

17. _Chorus of the Diplomats._

The resources of Diplomacy were strained to the uttermost.

* * * * *

_Sergeant._ "NOW, THEN, TURN OUT! SHOW A LEG, YOU BLANKETY LANDLUBBERS!"]

* * * * *

LETTERS TO HAUPTMANN.

[_GERHART HAUPTMANN, the German dramatist and poet, has nominated
Lord CURZON as Viceroy of England when it becomes a German
province._]

If you'd trample on the Briton
And secure his just abasement,
Well, I think you might have written
First to me.
(Signed) ROGER CASEMENT.

If only as a recompense
For my expenditure of jaw
And anti-British "common-sense,"
Why not yours truly,
BERNARD SHAW?

Would you avoid a bad rebellion?
The man for you is
CHARLES TREVELYAN.

Since all the Dublin Corporation
Protest against my resignation,
My long experience vice-regal
Might mollify the German eagle
If he should nest on College Green.
Yours amicably,
ABERDEEN.

Believe me, CURZON'S haughty hand
Would lie too heavy on the land;
No, to appease the British Isles
Appoint yours truly,
WILLIAM BYLES.

I fear the freedom-loving British
Under Lord CURZON might grow skittish;
Far better knit the nations twain
Under a more pacific reign:
For instance, BRUNNER'S; he's beyond
Reproach. Yours ever,
ALFRED MOND.

CURZON, I own, is not a noodle,
But his demeanour is too feudal;
Try ALFRED MOND: he is a stunner,
Affectionately yours,
JOHN BRUNNER.

As I am still without a seat,
I'm not unwilling to compete
For any post in which there's scope
To preach humanitarian hope.
You might, of course, secure elsewhere
A smarter or a "faster" man,
But none in "uplift" could compare
With truly yours,
CHARLES MASTERMAN.

* * * * *

ALONZO.

It was a bright Monday morning in September, and I was doing my usual patter dance in the dressing-room, striving to defeat the time-table--ten minutes for breakfast and five minutes to get to the station.

I dipped hurriedly into the collar-drawer, drew one forth, inverted it, cast a tie (Wadham Wanderers, E. team) into the parting and proceeded to secure the arrangement. The back stud operated without comment, but when I came to the front there seemed to be an inch or two of collar missing. At first I looked at it with mild surprise, then the horrible truth flashed through me.

I dashed into Joe's room.

"Look here," I exclaimed, "just look at my neck!"

Joe looked at it carefully for quite a minute.

"Yes," she remarked, "I think there is a tiny spot under the left ear. You've been drilling too much. You've been dressing too much to the left."

"No! No!" I shouted, tugging at the collar, "can't you see how swollen it is? It's that complaint you get from drinking chalky water. It's all your fault! I've told you hundreds of times to put a marble in the kettle."

Joe unfastened the collar, looked at it and laughed.

I snatched it back.

Inside there was a brief summary: "Alonzo. Fourfold. 14-1/2."

I take 16.

"That," said Joe, pointing to Alonzo, "must be the extra collar they sent from the laundry last week."

It was. Alonzo was a gift--a donation. Sleek, youthful and unsullied, he came to us, bringing an air of tragedy into the home.

Three times during that week I tried to soil his glossy coat, and each time a golden minute was shorn from my breakfast. After that I put him in the sock drawer.

At the end of the first week I said to Joe, "Alonzo is bored, the society of half-hose does not interest him. Send him home."

He was sent, and my wardrobe settled itself peacefully.

On the following Monday I dipped into the collar drawer, went through the usual rites, and----No, it didn't really startle me. He had returned.

I put him in the sock drawer again.

Evidently he had plans of his own. One week at the laundry and one week at "Sunnyside," alternating, as it were, between taking the waters and a rest cure.

I began to respect Alonzo, but at the same time I felt he must be shown that there is such a thing as authority. I put him in a cardboard box, addressed it myself, posted it myself, and wrote to the manager myself. You think that settled him? You do not know Alonzo. He is made of sterner stuff than that.

At the end of the week he was back again, well and cheerful. Coming of a resourceful and determined race we tried other means--I forget how many--of outing him. Once the manager took him away in a taxi and once our Ann consigned him to the ash-pit.

It was no good. We had to give it up. We adopted him. As I write, Alonzo rests in _his_ sock drawer, slightly fatigued but indomitable.

* * * * *

JOHN SMITH TO JOHANN SCHMIDT.

We thought you fellows over there,
Before this all begun,
Was queer in talk, but acted fair,
And paid your way, and did your share
Of things as should be done.

You made a lot of trashy stuff,
And ate some. All the same,
You beat us some ways sure enough,
And seemed like pals, though brought up rough,
For which you weren't to blame.

We reckoned when the trouble bust,
Remem'bring what you'd been,
You'd march to heel as you were cussed,
And so you'd fight because you must,
But still you'd fight us clean.

But now you've worked us murder-hot
With filthy tricks you've played;
And whether you were bid or not
Is nought to us; we hate the lot
What ordered or obeyed.

And so you're not the pals we thought,
But foes, these rougher days;
We're out against you till you're brought
To book, your Chief and you, and taught
To drop your bullying ways.

Now hear the truth. Your lives is poured
For reasons one and two:
HE draws his bright and shiny sword
To make him one and only Lord
Of all the world--and You.

And when your roofs is tumbling in,
Your heads is cracked and cooled,
You'll think the glory middling thin
And hate the lying cheats like sin
To see how you've been fooled.

By then it's odds you feel inclined
To state the view you take
In words that's not so sweet and kind
But what they'll let them War-Lords find
You're suddenly awake.

Till then you're heathen swine! Get fit
To start and grow like men.
Turn round and do your level bit
Till brag and grab are past and quit,
And then we'll pal again.

* * * * *

Motto for the Turkish Army in the Caucasus:--"There ain't going to be no Corps."

* * * * *

PATRIOTIC AIMS.

Peter's birthday is soon after Xmas, too soon after for Peter's taste--and mine.

"I want one or two good War Games," I said to the attendant at the toymonger's. "What have you got?"

"Several, Sir," she said. "Here is one, 'The North Sea Battle.' Made in London."

She opened a box containing realistic wooden models, in silhouette, of two battleships, two cruisers and two destroyers correctly coloured; a grey and grim-looking breech-loading gun with wooden projectiles, a gun embrasure and a small rule labelled "one mile." Every ship carried the White Ensign and my heart warmed to them at sight.

"Tell me the worst at once," I said, pulling out some loose silver.

"Two-and-eleven," she said.

"Sold in two places," I said; "I mean I'll have two of them without reading the rules."

"Here," she said, fingering another box, "is the 'Siege of Berlin.'"

"Intelligent anticipation," I said, "at any rate."

"Quite so," she said, "Made in London, too, by the same people."

I liked the idea of besieging Berlin, and when the open box disclosed a Rathhaus, churches, houses and other buildings, and a breach-loading gun similar to the one last before mentioned, to demolish the buildings with, I forked out another five-and-tenpence, and became the possessor of two "Sieges of Berlin."

I despatched one "Siege" and one "North Sea Battle" to some Belgian refugee children I know, and took the others home to Peter.

* * *

We tried the sea-fight first, Peter electing to play the part of Sir JOHN JELLICOE. I took the gun behind the embrasure and tried to prevent the ships from reaching my cardboard fastness by knocking them over _en route_. I found that, every time I missed, the whole Fleet was entitled to advance one mile--in reality about six inches--nearer my fort. The ships were provided with rockers and came up smiling if not squarely hit.

Long before my allowance of shot was expended, the British Fleet was upon me, and I metaphorically hoisted the white flag.

"Come," I said, as Peter set up the Rathhaus and other buildings of Berlin, "my heart is in this. How do we play?"

"Three shots each," said Peter, "and you score what's marked on the back of each building you knock down. I'll go first."

Peter's first shot was a miss. With his second he brought down a house which fell against a fort, knocking it over too. His third shot sailed harmlessly over the town and landed in the fender.

"How many?" I said.

"Twenty," said Peter. "Not bad."

"Keep your eye on father," I said, training the gun on the Rathhaus. I managed to conceal my surprise when the building fell at the first attempt.

"I shall knock you endways," I said.

The second shot hit the fallen Rathhaus, so I shifted the muzzle of the gun a little to the left. The buildings seemed well bunched together at this point.

It was a magnificent shot; the projectile skimmed past the church steeple as well-regulated shells should do, without damaging it, and swept away two buildings immediately behind it.

"That's some shooting," I said. "How many am I?"

"Nothing," said Peter.

"Look here, young man," I said, "explain yourself. First the Rathhaus."

"That's five," said Peter, "because it's so big and easy to hit."

I hadn't thought of that.

"Then there's this house--ten," said Peter.

"Come, we're getting on," I said. "That's fifteen; and now--this bigger house."

"Minus fifteen," said Peter. "That's the Red Cross Hospital. Oh, Daddy, you Hun!"

* * * * *

"I KNOW YOU'LL HATE TALKING ABOUT IT, BUT _DO_ TELL ME HOW YOU GOT YOUR WOUND."

"CHOPPING WOOD FOR THE OLD GIRL AT MY BILLET, MISS!"]

* * * * *

HORROR OF GERMAN GENERAL STAFF ON READING THE FOLLOWING EXTRACT FROM NOTES OF SPY WHO, DISGUISED AS A HIGHLANDER, HAS BEEN LISTENING NEAR BRITISH LINES:--"WE GAVE 'EM WOT 4 NOT 1/2."]

* * * * *

"THE IMAGE OF WAR."

(_It is reported that a pack of hounds has been sent out to our Army in France, and in this connection it is recalled that the Duke of WELLINGTON had also a pack sent to him from England for the amusement of his officers in the Peninsula._)

So _Jorrocks_ has said, and the captains shall ride,
And a host of good fellows shall follow the fun,
With War, in its realness, a space put aside--
There's a fox in the spinney that once held a Hun;
There's a southerly wind and a wet sky and soft;
There's a respite to snatch, death and ruin amid;
Do not tongues in the woodland fling echoes aloft?
Sounds the horn not as sweetly as ever it did?

When the DUKE and his armies, a hundred years back,
Went Southward a courtlier foeman to seek,
High Leicestershire lent him a galloping pack,
And his stiff-stocked brigades hunted two days a week;
Oh, Portugal's foxes ran stoutly and fast,
And our grandfathers pounded in scarlet and blue,
And they hunted each rogue to his finish at last,
And they hunted old BONEY to famed Waterloo!

When the soldier once more hears the horn's silver note
In hail of War's trumpets, the brazen and bold,
Will the heart of him turn, 'neath to-day's khaki coat,
To dreams of past glories and battles of old?
Torres Vedras's lines and brave SOULT'S grenadiers,
Badajos and the rest of that great long ago?
Will he follow the fifes of those wonderful years?
Will he think of his fathers? I really don't know.

Nay, I fancy he won't; but may-happen he'll see
In his mind's eye the Midlands go rolling away
In fair ridge and furrow, when steeple and tree
Are blurred in the mists of a mild winter's day;
He'll mark the gnarled pollards by Whissendine's brook,
The far meads of Ashwell, dim, peaceful and still,
Where the big grazing bullocks lift heads up to look
When the Cottesmore come streaming from Ranksborough Hill.

Well, dreamer or no, may his fortune be good;
May he find him delight in a hound and a horse
Kin to what he has found in a Leicestershire wood,
Like the best he has known in a Lincolnshire gorse!
May the Fates keep him safe, and show sport to his pack
Till he starts the great run that shall end at Berlin!
And when cubbing is o'er may the Shires see him back,
For the Lord send a Peace ere November comes in!

* * * * *

"Several houses are inundated in Brocas Street, including a
public-house, where drink can only be obtained at the back door
from punts."--_Edinburgh Evening Dispatch._

Come where the drink is cheaper; come where the punts hold more.

* * * * *

KAISER. "I SAY, HOW ARE YOU GOING TO EXPLAIN AWAY THE SURRENDER OF YOUR ARMY CORPS IN THE CAUCASUS?"

SULTAN OF TURKEY. "NOTHING SIMPLER. I SHALL SAY, 'OUR GALLANT TROOPS DETERMINED TO EMBARRASS THE ENEMY'S COMMISSARIAT, AND CARRIED OUT THEIR OBJECT WITH OVERWHELMING SUCCESS.'"

KAISER. "SPLENDID! COULDN'T HAVE PUT IT BETTER MYSELF."

SULTAN. "MY DEAR BOY, WE WERE IN THE BUSINESS AGES AND AGES BEFORE YOU WERE THOUGHT OF."]

* * * * *

"THERE! WHAT DID I TELL YOU? NORTHDOWN LAMBS BEATEN--TWO TO NOTHING."]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

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

_House of Lords, Wednesday, January 6th._--Judging from public form, few would imagine that Lord KITCHENER OF KHARTOUM is a wag. Versatility in this direction triumphantly vindicated this afternoon. On approach to Christmas, House of Commons, after exceptionally long and arduous Session, adjourned till first week in February. That all very well for a frivolous miscellaneous assemblage. Under vigorous leadership of dominant opposition by Lord CURZON, Peers resolved to set example of higher devotion to public interest. Regardless of private convenience, arranged special sitting opening to-day.

Procedure unprecedented. Not unusual for Commons to sit while Lords make holiday. In long course of Parliamentary history contrary course unknown.

Some embarrassment at first in face of persistent questioning as to Why and Wherefore. Last week official explanation forthcoming. Announcement made that House was summoned primarily with intention of providing SECRETARY OF STATE FOR WAR with opportunity of making important statement as to actual situation and immediate prospects of the war.

This quite reasonable, indeed very desirable. Country growing increasingly impatient at being kept in the dark as to the progress of affairs in Flanders on the plea of military necessity for secretiveness. Now KITCHENER, provided with exceptional opportunity, would sweep away all clouds of doubt and ignorance. Of course with due reticence in hearing of the enemy, would take into his confidence the common people who provide blood and money for carrying on the gigantic struggle.

In anticipation of this lifting of the veil House crowded in measure reached only at great political crises. As usual on such occasions, side galleries flecked with Peeresses. But what ominous change in their appearance! The gay colours of other times are changed for monotony of deepest mourning. Black is the only wear.

K. of K. rose promptly on the stroke of half-past four, when public business is entered upon. Producing a bundle of MS. he bent his head over it and proceeded at the double to get through it. Noble Lords behind him and on back benches opposite found it difficult to follow the story.

Gradually point of little joke dawned upon them. Here were the benches thronged with expectant Peers, and all the world listening at the door for a message. That all very natural. But it was not an affair of K.'s initiative or arrangement. He was expected to make a speech, and it is a soldier's duty to obey orders. But if any supposed he was going to be more communicative than is the fashion established under the rule of the Censor they would find themselves sharply undeceived.

Turning to survey the Western theatre of the War, he remarked, "During the month of December the Allied Forces have made progress at various points." Chilling silence following upon enunciation of this familiar generality, he added, "The tide of battle has ebbed and flowed with varying success to either side." Facing about to view the situation Eastward, he informed noble Lords that "in East Prussia the situation has undergone but little change.... In the Caucasus, the end of November [six weeks ago] the Turkish Army was being pushed back towards Erzerum." Later, the House heard with startled amazement that "On our own coasts, on the morning of December 16, German battle cruisers bombarded for half-an-hour Hartlepool, Scarborough, and Whitby."

As to progress of recruiting, with respect to which information was looked forward to with exceptional interest, he went so far as to say, "Recruiting has proceeded on normal lines."

"The noble lord," said the LEADER OF THE OPPOSITION, amid a murmur of assent from the dumbfounded Peers, "has been very economical in his information," a really delicate way of stating the fact.

_Business done._--None.

_Friday._--Lords adjourned.

* * * * *

CULTURED TEUTON TRAINING CARRIER PIGEON, WHEN OFF DUTY, TO POSE AS A PARROT.]

* * * * *

INDIAN INTELLIGENCE.

_Viâ_ BERLIN.

The following extracts from official despatches exchanged between General von Funkinstein and the German Great General Staff have been communicated to us by a wholly impeachable authority, and are published with no reserve whatever:--

(1) From the General Officer Commanding, &c.:--

"... with regard to various recent regrettable incidents in which sections of the Imperial trenches have been captured by native troops from British India (which, according to the German official programme, ought to have been in revolt long since) some light has now been cast upon the probable reason for this. Used as we now are to the contempt for every rule of civilized warfare displayed by our detestable and cowardly adversary, this new revelation of his cunning and brutality will nevertheless come as a shock.

"Aircraft observation has now made it clear that the force immediately opposed to my command is not the ---- Horse, as was believed, but a picked body of the First Indian Jugglers, specially recruited for this campaign. On the occasion of the last attack we were startled about 5.30 A.M. by a prodigious and ear-splitting noise proceeding from the trenches occupied by these troops--or troupes. Perhaps no soldiers in the world save our own incomparable warriors, trained to withstand modern German music, could have endured this ghastly din without flinching. Before long we observed a confused and stealthy movement on our front; but what was our emotion to see advancing out of the mist not the expected native charge, but a double line of trained cobras. Despite the inevitable shock produced by this discovery, energetic steps were at once taken to deal with the attack, and a brisk fire was opened with hand grenades. The results were however negligible, from the fact that the reptiles, apparently mistaking the hissing of the fuses for a challenge from others of their own species, instantly and savagely bit them off, thus rendering the grenades ineffective. Under these circumstances I had no alternative but to evacuate my position, a movement that was accomplished in fair order and very creditable time, myself leading..."

(2) Extract from copy of reply by Chief of Great General Staff, Berlin:--

"I am commanded by H.I.M. to inform you that you must retake trenches at once, regardless of loss. Reports of scandalous breach of all civilised laws forwarded to Presidents Geneva Convention and Hague Tribunal. Two reserve battalions of Guards leave Potsdam to-night. Hope that an accentuated mongoose-step movement may crush the new enemy. Please report at once."

(3) From Same as No. 1:--

"Regret to convey further unfavourable development with regard to our operations against the Jugglers' Corps. Having tempted a large body of these into open country some distance to the rear of our original lines, I ordered an attack in what should have been overwhelming force. The enemy was at this stage entirely exposed to our fire, being without any possibility of cover. Unfortunately, just as we had them at our mercy, a concerted movement by their entire strength, known (I believe) as the Mango Trick, resulted in the appearance of a dense grove of these trees, behind which the enemy is at present effectually screened."

(4) From the same:--

"Our treacherous foe has again escaped us. An heroic attack by the bayonet upon the Mango Grove mentioned in previous despatch was successful in capturing the position, but only in time to see the last unit of the defending force vanishing up a rope, which with a large number of others was dangling without visible attachment. The effect of this renewed failure upon the _moral_ of the Imperial army has unfortunately been considerable. I learn from my agents that the enemy is now bringing up a number of heavy hypnotists for use against me personally. Please wire instructions."

(5) From the same as (2):--

"Your resignation on the ground of ill-health regretfully accepted. Return at once."

* * * * *

"THE SEED OF THE WAR

IN UNIVERSITIES & SCHOOLS
DAN GERSOFFALSEE DUCATION."

_Freeman's Journal._

But why suddenly break into Flemish?

* * * * *

Routine order issued by the Q.M.G.'s department:--

"Fuel for general and other headquarter offices and signalling
offices with the troops, is authorised at the scale of sixteen
kilometres of coal per fireplace per day.

Dec. 20th.
B. E. F."

Theirs not to reason why. If the order is "Ten miles of coal per fireplace" then ten miles it is.

* * * * *

[Transcriber Note: Written in the illustration:] HELP RED CROSS

"OH, MUMMY, WHAT A LOT OF PENNIES IT WILL TAKE TO FILL THAT DOG!"]

* * * * *

OXYGEN EXERCISE.

_SCENE.--A mud puddle in ----shire, in which are discovered forty
yeomen in khaki lying on their backs and flapping their legs like
seals. They are not really seals, but men whom their KING and
country needs, doing breathing exercises. The reason they do not
get up out of the puddle and walk away is that they would probably
be killed by the enormous troop sergeant who is instructing them._

_Troop Sergeant_ (_fiercely_). Now then. Work at it. I'm 'ere to do you a bit of good, I am. Finest thing in the world, this is. Some of you fellows don't know a good thing when you see it. What is it that causes tuberckylosis? Why, want of hoxygen. That's what it is. Look at Sam Stevens--middle-weight champion of the world he was. And what did he die of? Why, drink. And what made him take to drink? Why, want of hoxygen. That's what it was. If a man can't breathe hoxygen he'll drink it. How many cells do you suppose you 'ave in your lungs, Number Three?

_Number Three_ (_inhaling through the mouth_). Don't know, Sergeant.

_Troop Sergeant._ Why, fifty million. Fifty million cells in your lungs you've got.

[_Number Three, appalled at this revelation, inhales briskly
through the nose in the hope of filling some of them._

_Troop Sergeant._ And how many do you suppose you generally use? Why, not half of them. Twenty-five million cells you've got doing nothing.

[_Number Three exhales despondently through the mouth, realising
the vanity of all human endeavour. The Troop Sergeant, satisfied
that he has disposed of Number Three, glares contentedly at the
troop in silence._

_Troop_ (_exhaling through the mouth_). F-s-s-s-s-h.

_Troop Sergeant_ (_with sudden emotion_). Look at your neck, Number Ten. I ask you, look at the back of your neck.

[_Number Ten, feeling that this is a difficult feat to perform at
any time and quite impossible when lying on his back, continues to
gaze upwards, conscious of insubordination._

_Troop Sergeant._ Why is it twisted like that? A bone out of place, the doctors will tell you. But (_solemnly_) WHY is it out of place, I ask you? Tell me that. Want of hoxygen--that's what it is. It's as plain as day.

[_Enter Troop Officer._

_Troop Officer_ (_explosively_). A-tssh! Code id by head, Sergeadt.

_Troop Sergeant._ Ah, Sir, if you was to do these breathing exercises you wouldn't 'ave no colds, Sir. If everyone was to do these exercises there wouldn't be no doctors, Sir. It's only want of hoxygen that makes people ill. There isn't a man in this troop's 'ad a cold since we began, Sir.

_Numbers Five, Seven and Nine_ (_surreptitiously_). A-tissh!

[_The Troop Sergeant is about to ignore this breach of
discipline when Number Three, who has been trying to repress a
sneeze while inhaling through the nose and at the same time
carrying the legs to a vertical position above the body,
explodes violently._

_Troop Sergeant_ (_ominously_). Number Three!

_Number Three_ (_weakly_). Yes, Sergeant.

_Troop Sergeant._ Have you got a cold?

_Number Three_ (_ingratiatingly_). Only a very little one, Sergeant.

_Troop Sergeant_ (_appealing to Officer_). Isn't it enough to break one's 'eart, Sir? 'Ere am I trying to do them a bit o' good and 'ere's this man lies there with his 'ead tucked into 'is chest, and doesn't even try to breathe. There's only one thing that causes a cold. Want of hox----A-tissh! A-tissh!

* * *

[_A painful silence ensues. The Officer walks away, leaving the
Sergeant to his grief. The forty seals continue to flap in the mud
puddle in ----shire._

* * * * *

THE WATCH DOGS.