Mr. Punch's History of the Great War Part 22

And, having fed on little else but lies, Your people, with the hollow place grown larger Now that the truth has cut off these supplies, May want your head upon a charger.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

THE DEATH LORD

THE KAISER (on reading the appalling tale of German losses): "What matter, so we Hohenzollerns survive?"]

And what has England's answer been, apart from the stubborn and heroic resistance of her men on the Western Front? The answer is to be found in the immediate resolve to raise the age limit for service to 50, still more in the glorious exploit of Zeebrugge and Ostend, in the incredible valour of the men who volunteered for and carried through what is perhaps the most astonis.h.i.+ng and audacious enterprise in the annals of the Navy.

The pageantry of war has gone, but here at least is a magnificence of achievement and self-sacrifice on the epic scale which beggars description and transcends praise. The hornet's nest that has pestered us so long, if not rooted out, has been badly damaged; our sailors, dead and living, have once more proved themselves masters of the impossible.

At home Parliament, resuming business after the Easter recess, began by giving a second Reading to a Drainage Bill, and ended its first sitting in an Irish bog. Ireland throughout the month has dominated the proceedings, aloof and irreconcilable, brooding over past wrongs, blind to the issues of the War and turning her back on its realities. Mr. Lloyd George's plan of making Home Rule contingent on compulsory service has been described by Mr.

O'Brien as a declaration of war on Ireland. Another Nationalist Member, who at Question time urged on the War Office the necessity of according to its Irish employees exactly the same privileges and pay as were given to their British confreres, protested loudly a little later on against a Bill which _inter alia_ extends to Irishmen the privilege of joining in the fight for freedom. Mr. Asquith questioned the policy of embracing Ireland in the Bill unless you could get general consent. Mr. Bonar Law bluntly replied that if Ireland was not to be called upon to help in this time of stress there would be an end of Home Rule, and that if the House would not sanction Irish conscription it would have to get another Government. It remained for Lord Dunraven, before the pa.s.sing of the Bill in the House of Lords, to produce as "a very ardent Home Ruler" the most ingenious excuse for his countrymen's unwillingness to fight that has yet been heard.

Ireland, he tells us, has been contaminated by the British refugees who had fled to that country to escape military service.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

DRAKE'S WAY

Zeebrugge, St. George's Day, 1918

ADMIRAL DRAKE (to Admiral Keyes): "Bravo, sir. Tradition holds. My men singed a King's beard, and yours have singed a Kaiser's moustache."]

The Prime Minister, in reviewing the military situation, has attributed the success of the Germans to their possessing the initiative and to the weather. Members have found it a little difficult to understand why, if even at the beginning of March the Allies were equal in numbers to the enemy on the West and if, thanks to the foresight of the Versailles Council, they knew in advance the strength and direction of the impending blow, they ever allowed the initiative to pa.s.s to the Germans. It is known that hundreds of thousands of men have been rushed out of England since the last week of March. Why, if Sir Douglas Haig asked for reserves, were they not sent sooner? These mysteries will be resolved some day. Meanwhile General Trenchard, late chief of the Air Staff, and by general consent an exceptionally brilliant and energetic officer, has retired into the limbo that temporarily contains Lord Jellicoe and Sir William Robertson. But Lord Rothermere (Lord Northcliffe's brother), who still retains the confidence of Mr. Pemberton Billing. remains, and all is well. The enemy possibly thinks it even better. "At least we should keep our heads," declared Mr.

Pringle during the debate on the Man-Power Bill. We are not sure about this. It depends upon the heads.

It is a pity that the "New Oxford Dictionary" should have so nearly reached completion before the War and the emergence of hundreds of new words, now inevitably left out. The Air service has a new language of its own, witness the conversation faithfully reported by an expert:

SCENE: R.F.C. CLUB. TIME: EVERY TIME.

_First Pilot_. Why, it's Brown-Jones!

_Second Pilot_. Hullo, old thing! What are you doing now?

_First Pilot_. Oh, I'm down at Puddlemarsh teaching huns--monoavros, pups and dolphins.

_Second Pilot_. I'm on the same game, down at Mudbank--sop-two-seaters and camels. We've got an old tinside, too, for joy-riding.

_First Pilot_. You've given up the rumpety, then?

_Second Pilot_. Yes. I was getting ham-handed and mutton-fisted, flapping the old things every day; felt I wanted to stunt about a bit.

_First Pilot_. Have you ever b.u.t.ted up against Robinson-Smith at Mudbank? He was an ack-ee-o, but became a hun.

_Second Pilot_. Yes, he crashed a few days ago--on his first solo flip, taking off--tried to zoom, engine konked, bus stalled--sideslip--nose-dive. Not hurt, though. What's become of Smith-Jones? Do you know?

_First Pilot_. Oh, yes. He's on quirks and ack-ws. He tried spads, but got wind up. Have you seen the new-----?

_Second Pilot_. Yes, it's a dud bus--only does seventy-five on the ceiling. Too much stagger, and prop stops on a spin. Besides, I never did care for rotaries. Full of gadgets too.

_First Pilot_. Well, I must tootle off now. I'm flapping from Northbolt at dawn if my old airs.h.i.+p's ready--came down there with a konking engine--plug trouble.

_Second Pilot_. Well, cheerio, old thing--weather looks dud--you're going to have it b.u.mpy in the morning, if you're on a pup.

_First Pilot_, Bye-bye, you cheery old bean.

_[Exeunt._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE POLITICIAN WHO ADDRESSED THE TROOPS]

The Emperor Karl of Austria, by his recent indiscretions, is winning for himself the new t.i.tle of "His Epistolic Majesty." His suggestion that France ought to have Alsace-Lorraine has grated on the susceptibilities of his brother Wilhelm. But a new fastidiousness is to be noted in the Teuton character. "Polygamy," says an article in a German review, "is essential to the future of the German race, but a decent form must be found for it."

_May, 1918_.

With the coming of May the Vision of Victory which had nerved Germany to her greatest effort seemed fading from her sight. With its last days we see them making a second desperate effort to secure the prize, capturing Soissons and the Chemin des Dames and pus.h.i.+ng on to the Marne. This time the French have borne the burden of the onslaught, but Rheims is still held, the Americans are pouring in to France at the rate of 250,000 a month, and have proved their mettle at Cantigny, a small fight of great importance, as it "showed their fighting qualities under extreme battle conditions," in General Pers.h.i.+ng's words, and earned the praise of General Debeney for the "offensive valour" of our Allies.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Threatened Peace Offensive

GERMAN EAGLE (to British Lion): "I warn you--a little more of this obstinacy and you'll rouse the dove in me!"]

The British troops have met Sir Douglas Haig's appeal as we knew they would:

Their _will_ to _win_ let Boches bawl As loudly as they choose, When once our back's against the wall 'Tis not our _wont to lose_.

Those who have gone back at the seventh wave are waiting for the tide to turn. To the fainthearted or shaken souls who contend that no victory is worth gaining at the cost of such carnage and suffering, these lines addressed "To Any Soldier" may serve as a solvent of their doubts and an explanation of the mystery of sacrifice:

If you have come through h.e.l.l stricken or maimed, Vistas of pain confronting you on earth; If the long road of life holds naught of worth And from your hands the last toil has been claimed; If memories of horrors none has named Haunt with their shadows your courageous mirth And joys you hoped to harvest turn to dearth, And the high goal is lost at which you aimed;

Think this--and may your heart's pain thus be healed-- Because of me some flower to fruitage blew, Some harvest ripened on a death-dewed field, And in a shattered village some child grew To womanhood inviolate, safe and pure.

For these great things know your reward is sure.

The Germans have reached Sevastopol, but the Kaiser's Junior Partner in the South is only progressing in the wrong direction. While Wilhelm is laboriously struggling to get nearer the sea, Mehmed is getting farther and farther away from it. The att.i.tude of Russia remains obscure. Mr. Balfour tells us that it is not the intention of the Government to appoint an Amba.s.sador to Russia. But there is talk of sending out an exploration party to find out just where Russia has got to. Russia, however, is not the only country whose att.i.tude is obscure. The Leader of the Irish Nationalist Party is reported to have said to a New York interviewer: "We believe that the cause of the Allies is the cause of Freedom throughout the world." At the same time, while repudiating the policy of the Sinn Feiners, he admitted that he had co-operated with them in their resistance to the demand that Ireland should defend the cause of Freedom. The creed of Sinn Fein--"Ourselves Alone"--is at least more logical than that of these neutral Nationalists:

And is not ours a n.o.ble creed With Self uplifted on the throne?

Why should we bleed for others' need?

Our motto is "Ourselves Alone."

Why prate of ruined lands out there, Of churches shattered stone by stone?

We need not care how others fare, We care but for "Ourselves Alone."

Though mothers weep with anguished eyes And tortured children make their moan, Let others rise when Pity cries; We rise but for "Ourselves Alone."

Let Justice be suppressed by Might, And Mercy's seat be overthrown; For Truth and Right the fools may fight, We fight but for "Ourselves Alone."