Mr. Punch's History of the Great War Part 2

Last month Lord Kitchener paid a high tribute to the growing efficiency of the "Terriers" and their readiness to go anywhere. _Punch's_ representative with the "Watch Dogs" fully bears out this praise. They have been inoculated and are ready to move on. Some suggest India, others Egypt.

"But what tempted the majority was the thought of a season's shooting without having to pay for so much as a gun licence, and so we decided for the Continent."

News from the front continues scanty, and Joffre's laconic _communiques_ might in sum be versified as follows:

On our left wing the state of things remains Unaltered on a general review, Our losses in the centre match our gains, And on our right wing there is nothing new.

Nor do we gain much enlightenment from the "Eyewitness" with G.H.Q., though his literary skill in elegantly describing the things that do not matter moves our admiration.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BULL-DOG BREED

OFFICER: "Now, my lad, do you know what you are placed here for?"

RECRUIT: "To prevent the henemy from landin', sir."

OFFICER: "And do you think you could prevent him landing all by yourself?"

RECRUIT: "Don't know, sir, I'm sure. But I'd have a d.a.m.n good try!"]

The Kaiser's sons continue to distinguish themselves as first-cla.s.s looters, and the ban laid on the English language, including very properly the word "gentleman," has been lifted in favour of Wilhelm Shakespeare.

The prophets are no longer so optimistic in predicting when the War will end. One of Mr. Punch's young men suggests Christmas, 1918. But 500 German prisoners have arrived at Templemore, co. Tipperary. It's a long, long way, but they've got there at last.

_November, 1914_.

The miracle of the Marne has been followed by another miracle--that of Ypres. Outgunned and outnumbered, our thin line has stemmed the rush to the sea.

The road to Calais has been blocked like that to Paris. Heartening news comes from afar of the fall of Tsing-tau before our redoubtable j.a.panese allies, and with it the crumbling of Germany's scheme of an Oriental Empire; of the British occupation of Basra; and of the sinking of the _Emden_, thanks to the "good hunting" of the _Sydney_--the first fruits of Australian aid. A new enemy has appeared in Turkey, but her defection has its consolations. It is something to be rid of an "unspeakable" incubus full of promises of reform never fulfilled, "sick"

but unrepentant, always turning European discord to b.l.o.o.d.y account at the expense of her subject nationalities: in all respects a fitting partner for her ally and master.

At sea our pain at the loss of the _Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_ off Coronel is less than our pride in the spirit of the heroic Cradock, true descendant of Grenville and Nelson, prompt to give battle against overwhelming odds. The soul of the "Navy Eternal" draws fresh strength from his example. So, too, does the Army from the death of Lord Roberts, the "happy warrior," who pa.s.sed away while visiting the Western front. The best homage we can pay him is not grief or

Vain regret for counsel given in vain, But service of our lives to keep her free The land he served: a pledge above his grave To give her even such a gift as he, The soul of loyalty, gave.

Even the Germans have paid reluctant tribute to one who, as Bonar Law said in the House, "was in real life all, and more than all, that Colonel Newcome was in fiction." He was the exemplar _in excelsis_ of those "bantams," "little and good," who, after being rejected for their diminutive stature, are now joining up under the new regulations:

Apparently he's just as small, But since his size no more impedes him In spirit he is six foot tall-- Because his country needs him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE EXCURSIONIST

TRIPPER WILHELM: "First Cla.s.s to Paris."

CLERK: "Line blocked."

WILHELM: "Then make it Warsaw."

CLERK: "Line blocked."

WILHELM: "Well, what about Calais?"

CLERK: "Line blocked."

WILHELM: "Hang it! I _must_ go _somewhere_! I promised my people I would."]

We have begun to think in millions. The war is costing a million a day. The Chancellor of the Exchequer has launched a war loan of 230 millions and doubled our income tax. The Prime Minister asks for an addition of a million men to the Regular Army. But the country has not yet fully awakened to the realities of war. Football clubs are concerned with the "jostling of the ordinary patrons" by men in uniform. "Business as usual" is interpreted as "pleasure as usual" in some quarters. Rumour is busy with stories of mysterious prisoners in the Tower, with tales of huge guns which are to sh.e.l.l us from Calais when the Germans get there; with reports (from neutral sources) of the speedy advent of scores of Zeppelins and hundreds of aeroplanes over London. But though

Old England's dark o' nights and short Of 'buses: still she's much the sort Of place we always used to know.

[Ill.u.s.tration: T.B.D.

OFFICER'S STEWARD: "Will you take your bath, sir, before or after haction?"]

It is otherwise with Belgium, with its shattered homes and wrecked towns.

The great Russian legend is still going strong, in spite of the statements of the Under-Secretary for War, and, after all, why should the Germans do all the story telling? By the way, a "German Truth Society" has been founded. It is pleasant to know that it is realised over there at last that there is a difference between Truth and German Truth. The British Navy, we learn from the _Kolnische Zeitung_, "is in hiding." But our fragrant contemporary need not worry. In due course the Germans shall have the hiding.

In some ways the unchanged spirit of our people is rather disconcerting.

One of Mr. Punch's young men, happening to meet a music-hall acquaintance, asked him how he thought the war was going, and met with the answer: "Oh, I think the managers will have to give in." And the proposal to change the name of Berlin Road at Lewisham has been rejected by the residents.

_December, 1914_.

In less than six weeks Coronel has been avenged at the battle of the Falkland Islands:

Hardened steel are our s.h.i.+ps; Gallant tars are our men; We never are wordy (St.u.r.dEE, boys, St.u.r.dEE!), But quietly conquer again and again.

Here at least we can salute the vanquished. Admiral von Spee, who went down with his doomed squadron, was a gallant and chivalrous antagonist, like Captain Muller, of the _Emden_. Germany's retort, eight days later, by bombarding Scarborough and Whitby, reveals the normal Hun: Come where you will--the seas are wide; And choose your Day--they're all alike; You'll find us ready when we ride In calm or storm and wait to strike; But--if of shame your shameless Huns Can yet retrieve some casual traces-- Please fight our men and s.h.i.+ps and guns, Not womenfolk and watering places.

Austria's "punitive expedition" has ended in disaster for the Austrians.

They entered Belgrade on the 2nd, and were driven out twelve days later by the Serbs. King George has paid his first visit to the front, and made General Foch a G.C.B. We know that the General is a great authority on strategy, and that his name, correctly p.r.o.nounced, rhymes with Boche, as hero with Nero. He is evidently a man likely to be heard of again. Another hitherto unfamiliar name that has cropped up is that of Herr Lissauer, who, for writing a "Hymn of Hate" against England, has been decorated by the Kaiser. This shows true magnanimity on the part of the Kaiser, in his capacity of King of Prussia, since the "Hymn of Hate" turns out to be a close adaptation of a poem composed by a Saxon patriot, in which Prussia, not England, was held up to execration.

Kitchener's great improvisation is already bearing fruit, and the New Armies are flocking to the support of the old. Indian troops are fighting gallantly in three continents. King Albert "the unconquerable," in the narrow strip of his country that still belongs to him, waits in unshaken faith for the coming of the dawn. And as Christmas draws on the thoughts of officers and men in the waterlogged trenches turn fondly homeward to mothers, wives and sweethearts:

Cheer up! I'm calling far away; And wireless you can hear.

Cheer up! You know you'd have me stay And keep on trying day by day; We're winning, never fear.

Christmas at least brings the children's truce, and that is something to be thankful for, but it is not the Christmas that we knew and long for:

ON EARTH--PEACE

No stir of wings sweeps softly by; No angel comes with blinding light; Beneath the wild and wintry sky No shepherds watch their flocks to-night.

In the dull thunder of the wind We hear the cruel guns afar, But in the glowering heavens we find No guiding, solitary star.

But lo! on this our Lord's birthday, Lit by the glory whence she came, Peace, like a warrior, stands at bay, A swift, defiant, living flame!