Mr. Punch's History of the Great War Part 8

"Why do we torpedo pa.s.senger s.h.i.+ps? Because we are being starved by the infamous English."

FOR NATIVES

"Who says we are in distress? Look what our splendid organisation is doing."]

Small wonder that Lovelace in the trenches envies the Flying Man:

He rides aloof on G.o.d-like wings, Taking no thought of wire or mud, Saps, smells, or bugs--the mundane things That sour our lives and have our blood.

The roads we trudged with feet of lead, The shadows of his pinions skim; The river where we piled our dead Is but a silver thread to him.

Lovelace in the air might tell another story; but both are at one with their prototype in the spirit which made him say: "I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honour more," though neither of them would say it.

In this context one may add that the Flying Men are not alone in exciting envy. Bread is the staff of life, and in the view of certain officers in the trenches the life of the Staff is one long loaf.

The discussion on the withdrawal of Members' salaries has died down. The incident is now buried, and here is its epitaph:

Some three-score years or so ago six hundred gallant men Made a charge that cost old England dear; they lost four hundred then: To-day six hundred make a charge that costs the country dear, But now they take four hundred each--four hundred pounds a year.

Our journalists have been visiting the Fleet, and one of them, in a burst of candour tempered with caution, declares that "one would like to describe much more than one has seen, but that is impossible." Some other correspondents have found no such difficulty. But for admirable candour commend us to the _Daily Mail_ of December 24, where we read, "The _Daily Mail_ will not be published to-morrow, and for that reason we seize the occasion to-day of bidding our readers a Merry Christmas"--and a very good reason too. Mr. Punch is glad to reprint a ten-year-old girl's essay on "Patriotism": "Patriotism is composed of patriots, and they are people who live in Ireland and want Mr. Redmond or other people to be King of Ireland. They are very brave, some of them, and are so called after St.

Patrick, who is Ireland's private saint. The patriots who are brave make splendid soldiers. The patriots who are not brave go to America." And here is a topical extract from a letter written to a loved one from the Front:

"I received your dear little note in a sandbag. You say that you hope the sandbag stops a bullet. Well, to tell the truth, I hope it don't, as I have been patching my trousers with it."

[Ill.u.s.tration:

TOMMY (dictating letter to be sent to his wife): "The nurses here are a very plain lot--"

NURSE: "Oh, come! I say! That's not very polite to us."

TOMMY: "Never mind. Nurse, put it down. It'll please her!"]

Tommy is adding to his other great qualities that of diplomacy, to judge from the incident ill.u.s.trated above.

_February, 1916_.

The Epic of the Dardanelles is closed; that of Verdun has begun, and all eyes are focused on the tremendous struggle for the famous fortress. The Crown Prince has still his laurels to win, and it is clear that no sacrifice of German "cannon fodder" will be too great to deter him from pus.h.i.+ng the stroke home. Fort Douaumont has fallen, and the hill of the Mort Homme has already terribly justified its cadaverous name. The War-lords of Germany are sorely in need of a spectacular success even though they purchase it at a great price, for they are very far from having everything their own way. Another Colony has gone the way of Tsing-tau, New Guinea and South-West Africa. The German Kamerun has cried "Kamerad!"

General s.m.u.ts, like Botha, "Boer and Briton too," has gone off to take command in East Africa, and in the Caucasus Erzerum has fallen to the Russians. The Kaiser is reported to be bitterly disappointed with Allah.

Sir Edward Grey is not altogether satisfied with the conduct of the Neutral Powers. He has no desire to make things as irksome to them as some of his critics desire. But he has pointed out that in the matter of preventing supplies from reaching the enemy by circuitous routes Great Britain has her own work to do, and means to do it thoroughly.

The miraculous forbearance of President Wilson, in face of the activities of Count Bernstorff, is even more trying to a good many of his countrymen than it is to the belligerent Briton. Mr. Roosevelt, for instance, derives no satisfaction from being the fellow-countryman of a man who can "knock spots" off Job for patience. The _New York Life_ has long criticised the President with a freedom far eclipsing anything in the British Press.

It has now crowned its "interventionist" campaign by a "John Bull number,"

the most generous and graceful tribute ever paid to England by the American Press.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CHALLENGE

"Halt! Who comes there?" "Neutral." "Prove it!"

"What I would say to Neutrals is this: Do they admit our right to apply the principles which were applied by the American Government in the war between North and South--to apply those principles to modern conditions and to do our best to prevent trade with the enemy through neutral countries? If the answer is that we are not ent.i.tled to do that, then I must say definitely it is a departure from neutrality."--SIR EDWARD GREY.]

[Ill.u.s.tration:

GRANNIE (dragged out of bed at 1.30 a.m., and being hurriedly dressed as the bombs begin to fall): "Nancy, these stockings are not a pair."]

The Military Service Bill has pa.s.sed through both Houses, and may be trusted to hasten still further the amazing growth of our once "contemptible little" Army. The pleasantest incident during the month at Westminster has been the tribute paid to the gallantry and self-sacrifice of the officers and men of our mercantile marine. The least satisfactory aspect of Parliamentary activity has been the ventilation of silly rumours at Question time, in which Mr. Ginnell has been so well to the fore as to suggest some subtle connection between cattle-driving and hunting for mares' nests.

Steps have already been taken to restrict the imports of luxuries, and Ministers are believed to be unanimous in regarding "ginger" as an article whose importation might be profitably curtailed. It has been calculated that the annual expenses saved by the closing of the London Museums and Galleries amount to about one-fifth of the public money spent on the salaries of Members of Parliament. In other words:

Let Art and Science die, But give us still our old Loquacity.

Intellectual retrenchment, of course, is desirable,

But let us still keep open one collection Of curiosities and quaint antiques, Under immediate Cabinet direction-- The finest specimens of talking freaks, Who const.i.tute our most superb museum, Judged by the salaries with which we fee 'em.

Lord Sumner, however, seems to have no illusions on this score. He is reported to have said that "if the House of Lords and the House of Commons could be taken and thrown into a volcano every day the loss represented would be less than the daily loss of the campaign." It sounds a drastic remedy, but might be worth trying.

Field-Marshal Lord French has taken over the responsibility for home defence against enemy aircraft, with Sir Percy Scott as his expert adviser.

But the status of Sir Percy, who, as officially announced, "has not quite left the Admiralty and has not quite joined the War Office," seems to suggest "a kind of giddy harumfrodite--soldier an' sailor too."

The War fosters the study of natural and unnatural history.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIRST LADY: "That's one of them Australian soldiers."

SECOND LADY: "How do you know?"

FIRST LADY: "Why, can't you see the Kangaroo feathers in his hat?"]

Many early nestings are recorded as the result of mild weather, and at least one occasional visitor _(Polonius bombifer_) has laid eggs in various parts of the country.

_March_, 1916.

The month of the War G.o.d has again justified its name and its traditions.

Both entry and exit have been leonine. The new submarine "frightfulness"

began on the 1st, and the battle round Verdun, in which the fate of Paris, to say the least, is involved, has raged with unabated fury throughout the entire month.

Germany's junior partners, Turkey and Bulgaria, are for the moment more concerned with bleeding Germany than with shedding their blood for her; Enver Pasha is reported to have gone to pay a visit to the tomb of the Prophet at Medina; Portugal, our oldest ally, is now officially at war with Germany, and the dogs of frightfulness are already toasting "_der Tagus_."

On our share of the Western front there is still what is nominally described as a "lull." But, as a young Officer writes, "you must not imagine that life here is all honey. Even here we do a bit for our eight-and-sixpence." Once upon a time billets were billets. They now very often admit of being sh.e.l.led with equal exact.i.tude from due in front and due in rear, and water is laid on throughout. "It is a fact well known to all our most widely circulated photographic dailies that the German gunners waste a power of ammunition. The only criticism I have to make is that I wish they would waste it more carefully. The way they go strewing the stuff about around us is such that they're bound to hit someone or something before long. Still, we have only two more days in these trenches, and they seldom give us more than ten thousand sh.e.l.ls a day."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Verdun, February--March, 1916]