diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5713-0.txt | 3176 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5713-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 61843 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5713-8.txt | 3176 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5713-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 61648 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5713-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 65621 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5713-h/5713-h.htm | 3720 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5713.txt | 3176 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5713.zip | bin | 0 -> 61619 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/2004-05-towld10.zip | bin | 0 -> 61154 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/2004-05-ttowld10h.htm | 3077 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/2004-05-ttowld10h.zip | bin | 0 -> 61924 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/5713-h.htm.2021-01-27 | 3719 |
15 files changed, 20060 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5713-0.txt b/5713-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e040d80 --- /dev/null +++ b/5713-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3176 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales of War + +Author: Lord Dunsany + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5713] +Last Updated: November 4, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WAR *** + + + + +Produced by William McClain + + + + + + +TALES OF WAR + +By Lord Dunsany + + +1918 + + + + +The Prayer of the Men of Daleswood + + +He said: “There were only twenty houses in Daleswood. A place you +would scarcely have heard of. A village up top of the hills. + +“When the war came there was no more than thirty men there between +sixteen and forty-five. They all went. + +“They all kept together; same battalion, same platoon. They was like +that in Daleswood. Used to call the hop pickers foreigners, the ones +that come from London. They used to go past Daleswood, some of them, +every year, on their way down to the hop fields. Foreigners they used +to call them. Kept very much to themselves, did the Daleswood people. +Big woods all round them. + +“Very lucky they was, the Daleswood men. They’d lost no more than +five killed and a good sprinkling of wounded. But all the wounded was +back again with the platoon. This was up to March when the big +offensive started. + +“It came very sudden. No bombardment to speak of. Just a burst of Tok +Emmas going off all together and lifting the front trench clean out of +it; then a barrage behind, and the Boche pouring over in thousands. +‘Our luck is holding good,’ the Daleswood men said, for their trench +wasn’t getting it at all. But the platoon on their right got it. And +it sounded bad too a long way beyond that. No one could be quite sure. +But the platoon on their right was getting it: that was sure enough. + +“And then the Boche got through them altogether. A message came to +say so. ‘How are things on the right?’ they said to the runner. ‘Bad,’ +said the runner, and he went back, though Lord knows what he went back +to. The Boche was through right enough. ‘We’ll have to make a +defensive flank,’ said the platoon commander. He was a Daleswood man +too. Came from the big farm. He slipped down a communication trench +with a few men, mostly bombers. And they reckoned they wouldn’t see +any of them any more, for the Boche was on the right, thick as +starlings. + +“The bullets were snapping over thick to keep them down while the +Boche went on, on the right: machine guns, of course. The barrage was +screaming well over and dropping far back, and their wire was still +all right just in front of them, when they put up a head to look. +There was the left platoon of the battalion. One doesn’t bother, +somehow, so much about another battalion as one’s own. One’s own gets +sort of homely. And there they were wondering how their own officer +was getting on, and the few fellows with them, on his defensive flank. +The bombs were going off thick. All the Daleswood men were firing half +right. It sounded from the noise as if it couldn’t last long, as if it +would soon be decisive, and the battle be won, or lost, just there on +the right, and perhaps the war ended. They didn’t notice the left. +Nothing to speak of. + +“Then a runner came from the left. ‘Hullo!’ they said, ‘How are +things over there?’ + +“‘The Boche is through,’ he said. ‘Where’s the officer?’ ‘Through!’ +they said. It didn’t seem possible. However did he do that? they +thought. And the runner went on to the right to look for the officer. + +“And then the barrage shifted further back. The shells still screamed +over them, but the bursts were further away. That is always a relief. +Probably they felt it. But it was bad for all that. Very bad. It meant +the Boche was well past them. They realized it after a while. + +“They and their bit of wire were somehow just between two waves of +attack. Like a bit of stone on the beach with the sea coming in. A +platoon was nothing to the Boche; nothing much perhaps just then to +anybody. But it was the whole of Daleswood for one long generation. + +“The youngest full-grown man they had left behind was fifty, and some +one had heard that he had died since the war. There was no one else in +Daleswood but women and children, and boys up to seventeen. + +“The bombing had stopped on their right; everything was quieter, and +the barrage further away. When they began to realize what that meant +they began to talk of Daleswood. And then they thought that when all +of them were gone there would be nobody who would remember Daleswood +just as it used to be. For places alter a little, woods grow, and +changes come, trees get cut down, old people die; new houses are built +now and then in place of a yew tree, or any old thing, that used to be +there before; and one way or another the old things go; and all the +time you have people thinking that the old times were best, and the +old ways when they were young. And the Daleswood men were beginning to +say, ‘Who would there be to remember it just as it was?’ + +“There was no gas, the wind being wrong for it, so they were able to +talk, that is if they shouted, for the bullets alone made as much +noise as breaking up an old shed, crisper like, more like new timber +breaking; and the shells of course was howling all the time, that is +the barrage that was bursting far back. The trench still stank of +them. + +“They said that one of them must go over and put his hands up, or run +away if he could, whichever he liked, and when the war was over he +would go to some writing fellow, one of those what makes a living by +it, and tell him all about Daleswood, just as it used to be, and he +would write it out proper and there it would be for always. They all +agreed to that. And then they talked a bit, as well as they could +above that awful screeching, to try and decide who it should be. The +eldest, they said, would know Daleswood best. But he said, and they +came to agree with him, that it would be a sort of waste to save the +life of a man what had had his good time, and they ought to send the +youngest, and they would tell him all they knew of Daleswood before +his time, and everything would be written down just the same and the +old time remembered. + +“They had the idea somehow that the women thought more of their own +man and their children and the washing and what-not; and that the deep +woods and the great hills beyond, and the plowing and the harvest and +snaring rabbits in winter and the sports in the village in summer, and +the hundred things that pass the time of one generation in an old, old +place like Daleswood, meant less to them than the men. Anyhow they did +not quite seem to trust them with the past. + +“The youngest of them was only just eighteen. That was Dick. They +told him to get out and put his hands up and be quick getting across, +as soon as they had told him one or two things about the old time in +Daleswood that a youngster like him wouldn’t know. + +“Well, Dick said he wasn’t going, and was making trouble about it, so +they told Fred to go. Back, they told him, was best, and come up +behind the Boche with his hands up; they would be less likely to shoot +when it was back towards their own supports. + +“Fred wouldn’t go, and so on with the rest. Well, they didn’t waste +time quarrelling, time being scarce, and they said what was to be +done? There was chalk where they were, low down in the trench, a +little brown clay on the top of it. There was a great block of it +loose near a shelter. They said they would carve with their knives on +the big bowlder of chalk all that they knew about Daleswood. They +would write where it was and just what it was like, and they would +write something of all those little things that pass with a +generation. They reckoned on having the time for it. It would take a +direct hit with something large, what they call big stuff, to do any +harm to that bowlder. They had no confidence in paper, it got so +messed up when you were hit; besides, the Boche had been using +thermite. Burns, that does. + +“They’d one or two men that were handy at carving chalk; used to do +the regimental crest and pictures of Hindenburg, and all that. They +decided they’d do it in reliefs. + +“They started smoothing the chalk. They had nothing more to do but +just to think what to write. It was a great big bowlder with plenty of +room on it. The Boche seemed not to know that they hadn’t killed the +Daleswood men, just as the sea mightn’t know that one stone stayed dry +at the coming in of the tide. A gap between two divisions probably. + +“Harry wanted to tell of the woods more than anything. He was afraid +they might cut them down because of the war, and no one would know of +the larks they had had there as boys. Wonderful old woods they were, +with a lot of Spanish chestnut growing low, and tall old oaks over it. +Harry wanted them to write down what the foxgloves were like in the +wood at the end of summer, standing there in the evening, ‘Great +solemn rows,’ he said, ‘all odd in the dusk. All odd in the evening, +going there after work; and makes you think of fairies.’ There was +lots of things about those woods, he said, that ought to be put down +if people were to remember Daleswood as it used to be when they knew +it. What were the good old days without those woods? he said. + +“But another wanted to tell of the time when they cut the hay with +scythes, working all those long days at the end of June; there would +be no more of that, he said, with machines come in and all. + +“There was room to tell of all that and the woods too, said the +others, so long as they put it short like. + +“And another wanted to tell of the valleys beyond the wood, far +afield where the men went working; the women would remember the hay. +The great valleys he’d tell of. It was they that made Daleswood. The +valleys beyond the wood and the twilight on them in summer. Slopes +covered with mint and thyme, all solemn at evening. A hare on them +perhaps, sitting as though they were his, then lolloping slowly away. +It didn’t seem from the way he told of those old valleys that he +thought they could ever be to other folk what they were to the +Daleswood men in the days he remembered. He spoke of them as though +there were something in them, besides the mint and the thyme and the +twilight and hares, that would not stay after these men were gone, +though he did not say what it was. Scarcely hinted it even. + +“And still the Boche did nothing to the Daleswood men. The bullets +had ceased altogether. That made it much quieter. The shells still +snarled over, bursting far, far away. + +“And Bob said tell of Daleswood itself, the old village, with queer +chimneys, of red brick, in the wood. There weren’t houses like that +nowadays. They’d be building new ones and spoiling it, likely, after +the war. And that was all he had to say. + +“And nobody was for not putting down anything any one said. It was +all to go in on the chalk, as much as would go in the time. For they +all sort of understood that the Daleswood of what they called the good +old time was just the memories that those few men had of the days they +had spent there together. And that was the Daleswood they loved, and +wanted folks to remember. They were all agreed as to that. And then +they said how was they to write it down. And when it came to writing +there was so much to be said, not spread over a lot of paper I don’t +mean, but going down so deep like, that it seemed to them how their +own talk wouldn’t be good enough to say it. And they knew no other, +and didn’t know what to do. I reckon they’d been reading magazines and +thought that writing had to be like that muck. Anyway, they didn’t +know what to do. I reckon their talk would be good enough for +Daleswood when they loved Daleswood like that. But they didn’t, and +they were puzzled. + +“The Boche was miles away behind them now, and his barrage with him. +Still in front he did nothing. + +“They talked it all over and over, did the Daleswood men. They tried +everything. But somehow or other they couldn’t get near what they +wanted to say about old summer evenings. Time wore on. The bowlder was +smooth and ready, and that whole generation of Daleswood men could +find no words to say what was in their hearts about Daleswood. There +wasn’t time to waste. And the only thing they thought of in the end +was ‘Please, God, remember Daleswood just like it used to be.’ And +Bill and Harry carved that on the chalk between them. + +“What happened to the Daleswood men? Why, nothing. There come one of +them counter-attacks, a regular bastard for Jerry. The French made it +and did the Boche in proper. I got the story from a man with a hell of +a great big hammer, long afterwards when that trench was well behind +our line. He was smashing up a huge great chunk of chalk because he +said they all felt it was so damn silly.” + + + + +The Road + + +The battery Sergeant-Major was practically asleep. He was all worn out +by the continuous roar of bombardments that had been shaking the +dugouts and dazing his brains for weeks. He was pretty well fed up. + +The officer commanding the battery, a young man in a very neat uniform +and of particularly high birth, came up and spat in his face. The +Sergeant-Major sprang to attention, received an order, and took a +stick at once and beat up the tired men. For a message had come to the +battery that some English (God punish them!) were making a road at X. + +The gun was fired. It was one of those unlucky shots that come on days +when our luck is out. The shell, a 5.9, lit in the midst of the British +working party. It did the Germans little good. It did not stop the +deluge of shells that was breaking up their guns and was driving +misery down like a wedge into their spirits. It did not improve the +temper of the officer commanding the battery, so that the men suffered +as acutely as ever under the Sergeant-Major. But it stopped the road +for that day. + +I seemed to see that road going on in a dream. + +Another working party came along next day, with clay pipes and got to +work; and next day and the day after. Shells came, but went short or +over; the shell holes were neatly patched up; the road went on. Here +and there a tree had to be cut, but not often, not many of them were +left; it was mostly digging and grubbing up roots, and pushing +wheelbarrows along planks and duck-boards, and filling up with stones. +Sometimes the engineers would come: that was when streams were +crossed. The engineers made their bridges, and the infantry working +party went on with the digging and laying down stones. It was +monotonous work. Contours altered, soil altered, even the rock beneath +it, but the desolation never; they always worked in desolation and +thunder. And so the road went on. + +They came to a wide river. They went through a great forest. They +passed the ruins of what must have been quite fine towns, big +prosperous towns with universities in them. I saw the infantry working +party with their stumpy clay pipes, in my dream, a long way on from +where that shell had lit, which stopped the road for a day. And behind +them curious changes came over the road at X. You saw the infantry +going up to the trenches, and going back along it into reserve. They +marched at first, but in a few days they were going up in motors, grey +busses with shuttered windows. And then the guns came along it, miles +and miles of guns, following after the thunder which was further off +over the hills. And then one day the cavalry came by. Then stores in +wagons, the thunder muttering further and further away. I saw +farm-carts going down the road at X. And then one day all manner of +horses and traps and laughing people, farmers and women and boys all +going by to X. There was going to be a fair. + +And far away the road was growing longer and longer amidst, as always, +desolation and thunder. And one day far away from X the road grew very +fine indeed. It was going proudly through a mighty city, sweeping in +like a river; you would not think that it ever remembered duck-boards. +There were great palaces there, with huge armorial eagles blazoned in +stone, and all along each side of the road was a row of statues of +kings. And going down the road towards the palace, past the statues of +the kings, a tired procession was riding, full of the flags of the +Allies. And I looked at the flags in my dream, out of national pride +to see whether we led, or whether France or America. America went +before us, but I could not see the Union Jack in the van nor the +Tricolour either, nor the Stars and Stripes: Belgium led and then +Serbia, they that had suffered most. + +And before the flags, and before the generals, I saw marching along on +foot the ghosts of the working party that were killed at X, gazing +about them in admiration as they went, at the great city and at the +palaces. And one man, wondering at the Sièges Allée, turned round to +the Lance Corporal in charge of the party: “That is a fine road that +we made, Frank,” he said. + + + + +An Imperial Monument + + +It is an early summer’s morning: the dew is all over France: the train +is going eastwards. They are quite slow, those troop trains, and there +are few embankments or cuttings in those flat plains, so that you seem +to be meandering along through the very life of the people. The roads +come right down to the railways, and the sun is shining brightly over +the farms and the people going to work along the roads, so that you +can see their faces clearly as the slow train passes them by. + +They are all women and boys that work on the farms; sometimes perhaps +you see a very old man, but nearly always women and boys; they are out +working early. They straighten up from their work as we go by and lift +their hands to bless us. + +We pass by long rows of the tall French poplars, their branches cut +away all up the trunk, leaving only an odd round tuft at the top of +the tree; but little branches are growing all up the trunk now, and +the poplars are looking unkempt. It would be the young men who would +cut the branches of the poplars. They would cut them for some useful +thrifty purpose that I do not know; and then they would cut them +because they were always cut that way, as long ago as the times of the +old men’s tales about France; but chiefly, I expect, because youth +likes to climb difficult trees; that is why they are clipped so very +high. And the trunks are all unkempt now. + +We go on by many farms with their shapely red-roofed houses; they +stand there, having the air of the homes of an ancient people; they +would not be out of keeping with any romance that might come, or any +romance that has come in the long story of France, and the girls of +those red-roofed houses work all alone in the fields. + +We pass by many willows and come to a great marsh. In a punt on some +open water an old man is angling. We come to fields again, and then to +a deep wood. France smiles about us in the open sunlight. + +But towards evening we pass over the border of this pleasant country +into a tragical land of destruction and gloom. It is not only that +murder has walked here to and fro for years, until all the fields are +ominous with it, but the very fields themselves have been mutilated +until they are unlike fields, the woods have been shattered right down +to the anemones, and the houses have been piled in heaps of rubbish, +and the heaps of rubbish have been scattered by shells. We see no more +trees, no more houses, no more women, no cattle even now. We have come +to the abomination of desolation. And over it broods, and will +probably brood for ever, accursed by men and accursed by the very +fields, the hyena-like memory of the Kaiser, who has whitened so many +bones. + +It may be some satisfaction to his selfishness to know that the +monument to it cannot pass away, to know that the shell holes go too +deep to be washed away by the healing rains of years, to know that the +wasted German generations will not in centuries gather up what has +been spilt on the Somme, or France recover in the sunshine of many +summers from all the misery that his devilish folly has caused. It is +likely to be to such as him a source of satisfaction, for the truly +vain care only to be talked of in many mouths; they hysterically love +to be thought of, and the notice of mankind is to them a mirror which +reflects their futile postures. The admiration of fools they love, and +the praise of a slavelike people, but they would sooner be hated by +mankind than be ignored and forgotten as is their due. And the truly +selfish care only for their imperial selves. + +Let us leave him to pass in thought from ruin to ruin, from wasted +field to field, from crater to crater; let us leave his fancy haunting +cemeteries in the stricken lands of the world, to find what glee he +can in this huge manifestation of his imperial will. + +We neither know to what punishment he moves nor can even guess what +fitting one is decreed. But the time is surely appointed and the +place. Poor trifler with Destiny, who ever had so much to dread? + + + + +A Walk to the Trenches + + +To stand at the beginning of a road is always wonderful; for on all +roads before they end experience lies, sometimes adventure. And a +trench, even as a road, has its beginnings somewhere. In the heart of +a very strange country you find them suddenly. A trench may begin in +the ruins of a house, may run up out of a ditch; may be cut into a +rise of ground sheltered under a hill, and is built in many ways by +many men. As to who is the best builder of trenches there can be +little doubt, and any British soldier would probably admit that for +painstaking work and excellence of construction there are few to rival +Von Hindenburg. His Hindenburg line is a model of neatness and +comfort, and it would be only a very ungrateful British soldier who +would deny it. + +You come to the trenches out of strangely wasted lands, you come +perhaps to a wood in an agony of contortions, black, branchless, +sepulchral trees, and then no more trees at all. The country after +that is still called Picardy or Belgium, still has its old name on the +map as though it smiled there yet, sheltering cities and hamlet and +radiant with orchards and gardens, but the country named Belgium--or +whatever it be--is all gone away, and there stretches for miles +instead one of the world’s great deserts, a thing to take its place no +longer with smiling lands, but with Sahara, Gobi, Kalahari, and the +Karoo; not to be thought of as Picardy, but more suitably to be named +the Desert of Wilhelm. Through these sad lands one goes to come to the +trenches. Overhead floats until it is chased away an aëroplane with +little black crosses, that you can scarcely see at his respectful +height, peering to see what more harm may be done in the desolation +and ruin. Little flashes sparkle near him, white puffs spread out +round the flashes: and he goes, and our airmen go away after him; +black puffs break out round our airmen. Up in the sky you hear a faint +tap-tapping. They have got their machine guns working. + +You see many things there that are unusual in deserts: a good road, a +railway, perhaps a motor bus; you see what was obviously once a +village, and hear English songs, but no one who has not seen it can +imagine the country in which the trenches lie, unless he bear a desert +clearly in mind, a desert that has moved from its place on the map by +some enchantment of wizardry, and come down on a smiling country. +Would it not be glorious to be a Kaiser and be able to do things like +that? + +Past all manner of men, past no trees, no hedges, no fields, but only +one field from skyline to skyline that has been harrowed by war, one +goes with companions that this event in our history has drawn from all +parts of the earth. On that road you may hear all in one walk where is +the best place to get lunch in the City; you may hear how they laid a +drag for some Irish pack, and what the Master said; you may hear a +farmer lamenting over the harm that rhinoceroses do to his coffee +crop; you may hear Shakespeare quoted and La vie Parisienne. + +In the village you see a lot of German orders, with their silly notes +of exclamation after them, written up on notice boards among the +ruins. Ruins and German orders. That turning movement of Von Kluck’s +near Paris in 1914 was a mistake. Had he not done it we might have had +ruins and German orders everywhere. And yet Von Kluck may comfort +himself with the thought that it is not by his mistakes that Destiny +shapes the world: such a nightmare as a world-wide German domination +can have had no place amongst the scheme of things. + +Beyond the village the batteries are thick. A great howitzer near the +road lifts its huge muzzle slowly, fires and goes down again, and +lifts again and fires. It is as though Polyphemus had lifted his huge +shape slowly, leisurely, from the hillside where he was sitting, and +hurled the mountain top, and sat down again. If he is firing pretty +regularly you are sure to get the blast of one of them as you go by, +and it can be a very strong wind indeed. One’s horse, if one is +riding, does not very much like it, but I have seen horses far more +frightened by a puddle on the road when coming home from hunting in +the evening: one 12-inch howitzer more or less in France calls for no +great attention from man or beast. + +And so we come in sight of the support trenches where we are to dwell +for a week before we go on for another mile over the hills, where the +black fountains are rising. + + + + +A Walk in Picardy + + +Picture any village you know. In such a village as that the trench +begins. That is to say, there are duck-boards along a ditch, and the +ditch runs into a trench. Only the village is no longer there. It was +like some village you know, though perhaps a little merrier, because +it was further south and nearer the sun; but it is all gone now. And +the trench runs out of the ruins, and is called Windmill Avenue. There +must have been a windmill standing there once. + +When you come from the ditch to the trench you leave the weeds and +soil and trunks of willows and see the bare chalk. At the top of those +two white walls is a foot or so of brown clay. The brown clay grows +deeper as you come to the hills, until the chalk has disappeared +altogether. Our alliance with France is new in the history of man, but +it is an old, old union in the history of the hills. White chalk with +brown clay on top has dipped and gone under the sea; and the hills of +Sussex and Kent are one with the hills of Picardy. + +And so you may pass through the chalk that lies in that desolate lane +with memories of more silent and happier hills; it all depends on what +the chalk means to you: you may be unfamiliar with it and in that case +you will not notice it; or you may have been born among those +thyme-scented hills and yet have no errant fancies, so that you will +not think of the hills that watched you as a child, but only keep your +mind on the business in hand; that is probably best. + +You come after a while to other trenches: notice boards guide you, and +you keep to Windmill Avenue. You go by Pear Lane, Cherry Lane, and +Plum Lane. Pear trees, cherry trees and plum trees must have grown +there. You are passing through either wild lanes banked with briar, +over which these various trees peered one by one and showered their +blossoms down at the end of spring, and girls would have gathered the +fruit when it ripened, with the help of tall young men; or else you +are passing through an old walled garden, and the pear and the cherry +and plum were growing against the wall, looking southwards all through +the summer. There is no way whatever of telling which it was; it is +all one in war; whatever was there is gone; there remain to-day, and +survive, the names of those three trees only. We come next to Apple +Lane. You must not think that an apple tree ever grew there, for we +trace here the hand of the wit, who by naming Plum Lane’s neighbour +“Apple Lane” merely commemorates the inseparable connection that +plum has with apple forever in the minds of all who go to modern war. +For by mixing apple with plum the manufacturer sees the opportunity of +concealing more turnip in the jam, as it were, at the junction of the +two forces, than he might be able to do without this unholy alliance. + +We come presently to the dens of those who trouble us (but only for +our own good), the dugouts of the trench mortar batteries. It is noisy +when they push up close to the front line and play for half an hour or +so with their rivals: the enemy sends stuff back, our artillery join +in; it is as though, while you were playing a game of croquet, giants +hundreds of feet high, some of them friendly, some unfriendly, +carnivorous and hungry, came and played football on your croquet lawn. + +We go on past Battalion Headquarters, and past the dugouts and +shelters of various people having business with History, past stores +of bombs and the many other ingredients with which history is made, +past men coming down who are very hard to pass, for the width of two +men and two packs is the width of a communication trench and sometimes +an inch over; past two men carrying a flying pig slung on a pole +between them; by many turnings; and Windmill Avenue brings you at last +to Company Headquarters in a dugout that Hindenburg made with his +German thoroughness. + +And there, after a while, descends the Tok Emma man, the officer +commanding a trench mortar battery, and is given perchance a whiskey +and water, and sits on the best empty box that we have to offer, and +lights one of our cigarettes. + +“There’s going to be a bit of a strafe at 5.30,” he says. + + + + +What Happened on the Night of the Twenty-Seventh + + +The night of the twenty-seventh was Dick Cheeser’s first night on +sentry. The night was far gone when he went on duty; in another hour +they would stand to. Dick Cheeser had camouflaged his age when he +enlisted: he was barely eighteen. A wonderfully short time ago he was +quite a little boy; now he was in a frontline trench. It hadn’t seemed +that things were going to alter like that. Dick Cheeser was a plowboy: +long brown furrows over haughty, magnificent downs seemed to stretch +away into the future as far as his mind could see. No narrow outlook +either, for the life of nations depends upon those brown furrows. But +there are the bigger furrows that Mars makes, the long brown trenches +of war; the life of nations depends on these too; Dick Cheeser had +never pictured these. He had heard talk about a big navy and a lot of +Dreadnoughts; silly nonsense he called it. What did one want a big +navy for? To keep the Germans out, some people said. But the Germans +weren’t coming. If they wanted to come, why didn’t they come? Anybody +could see that they never did come. Some of Dick Cheeser’s pals had +votes. + +And so he had never pictured any change from plowing the great downs; +and here was war at last, and here was he. The Corporal showed him +where to stand, told him to keep a good lookout and left him. + +And there was Dick Cheeser alone in the dark with an army in front of +him, eighty yards away: and, if all tales were true, a pretty horrible +army. + +The night was awfully still. I use the adverb not as Dick Cheeser +would have used it. The stillness awed him. There had not been a shell +all night. He put his head up over the parapet and waited. Nobody +fired at him. He felt that the night was waiting for him. He heard +voices going along the trench: some one said it was a black night: the +voices died away. A mere phrase; the night wasn’t black at all, it was +grey. Dick Cheeser was staring at it, and the night was staring back +at him, and seemed to be threatening him; it was grey, grey as an old +cat that they used to have at home, and as artful. Yes, thought Dick +Cheeser, it was an artful night; that was what was wrong with it. If +shells had come or the Germans, or anything at all, you would know how +to take it; but that quiet mist over huge valleys, and stillness! +Anything might happen. Dick waited and waited, and the night waited +too. He felt they were watching each other, the night and he. He felt +that each was crouching. His mind slipped back to the woods on hills +he knew. He was watching with eyes and ears and imagination to see +what would happen in No Man’s Land under that ominous mist: but his +mind took a peep for all that at the old woods that he knew. He +pictured himself, he and a band of boys, chasing squirrels again in +the summer. They used to chase a squirrel from tree to tree, throwing +stones, till they tired it: and then they might hit it with a stone: +usually not. Sometimes the squirrel would hide, and a boy would have +to climb after it. It was great sport, thought Dick Cheeser. What a +pity he hadn’t had a catapult in those days, he thought. Somehow the +years when he had not had a catapult seemed all to be wasted years. +With a catapult one might get the squirrel almost at once, with luck: +and what a great thing that would be. All the other boys would come +round to look at the squirrel, and to look at the catapult, and ask +him how he did it. He wouldn’t have to say much, there would be the +squirrel; no boasting would be necessary with the squirrel lying dead. +It might spread to other things, even rabbits; almost anything, in +fact. He would certainly get a catapult first thing when he got home. +A little wind blew in the night, too cold for summer. It blew away, as +it were, the summer of Dick’s memories; blew away hills and woods and +squirrel. It made for a moment a lane in the mist over No Man’s Land. +Dick Cheeser peered down it, but it closed again. “No,” Night seemed +to say, “you don’t guess my secret.” And the awful hush intensified. +“What would they do?” thought the sentry. “What were they planning +in all those miles of silence?” Even the Verys were few. When one +went up, far hills seemed to sit and brood over the valley: their +black shapes seemed to know what would happen in the mist and seemed +sworn not to say. The rocket faded, and the hills went back into +mystery again, and Dick Cheeser peered level again over the ominous +valley. + +All the dangers and sinister shapes and evil destinies, lurking +between the armies in that mist, that the sentry faced that night +cannot be told until the history of the war is written by a historian +who can see the mind of the soldier. Not a shell fell all night, no +German stirred; Dick Cheeser was relieved at “Stand to” and his +comrades stood to beside him, and soon it was wide, golden, welcome +dawn. + +And for all the threats of night the thing that happened was one that +the lonely sentry had never foreseen: in the hour of his watching Dick +Cheeser, though scarcely eighteen, became a full-grown man. + + + + +Standing To + + +One cannot say that one time in the trenches is any more tense than +another. One cannot take any one particular hour and call it, in +modern nonsensical talk, “typical hour in the trenches.” The routine +of the trenches has gone on too long for that. The tensest hour ought +to be half an hour before dawn, the hour when attacks are expected and +men stand to. It is an old convention of war that that is the +dangerous hour, the hour when defenders are weakest and attack most to +be feared. For darkness favours the attackers then as night favours +the lion, and then dawn comes and they can hold their gains in the +light. Therefore in every trench in every war the garrison is prepared +in that menacing hour, watching in greater numbers than they do the +whole night through. As the first lark lifts from meadows they stand +there in the dark. Whenever there is any war in any part of the world +you may be sure that at that hour men crowd to their parapets: when +sleep is deepest in cities they are watching there. + +When the dawn shimmers a little, and a grey light comes, and widens, +and all of a sudden figures become distinct, and the hour of the +attack that is always expected is gone, then perhaps some faint +feeling of gladness stirs the newest of the recruits; but chiefly the +hour passes like all the other hours there, an unnoticed fragment of +the long, long routine that is taken with resignation mingled with +jokes. + +Dawn comes shy with a wind scarce felt, dawn faint and strangely +perceptible, feeble and faint in the east while men still watch the +darkness. When did the darkness go? When did the dawn grow golden? It +happened as in a moment, a moment you did not see. Guns flash no +longer: the sky is gold and serene; dawn stands there like Victory +that will shine, on one of these years when the Kaiser goes the way of +the older curses of earth. Dawn, and the men unfix bayonets as they +step down from the fire-step and clean their rifles with +pull-throughs. Not all together, but section by section, for it would +not do for a whole company to be caught cleaning their rifles at dawn, +or at any other time. + +They rub off the mud or the rain that has come at night on their +rifles, they detach the magazine and see that its spring is working, +they take out the breechblock and oil it, and put back everything +clean: and another night is gone; it is one day nearer victory. + + + + +The Splendid Traveller + + +A traveller threw his cloak over his shoulder and came down slopes of +gold in El Dorado. From incredible heights he came. He came from where +the peaks of the pure gold mountain shone a little red with the +sunset; from crag to crag of gold he stepped down slowly. Sheer out of +romance he came through the golden evening. + +It was only an incident of every day; the sun had set or was setting, +the air turned chill, and a battalion’s bugles were playing +“Retreat” when this knightly stranger, a British aëroplane, dipped, +and went homeward over the infantry. That beautiful evening call, and +the golden cloud bank towering, and that adventurer coming home in the +cold, happening all together, revealed in a flash the fact (which +hours of thinking sometimes will not bring) that we live in such a +period of romance as the troubadours would have envied. + +He came, that British airman, over the border, sheer over No Man’s +Land and the heads of the enemy and the mysterious land behind, +snatching the secrets that the enemy would conceal. Either he had +defeated the German airmen who would have stopped his going, or they +had not dared to try. Who knows what he had done? He had been abroad +and was coming home in the evening, as he did every day. + +Even when all its romance has been sifted from an age (as the +centuries sift) and set apart from the trivial, and when all has been +stored by the poets; even then what has any of them more romantic than +these adventurers in the evening air, coming home in the twilight with +the black shells bursting below? + +The infantry look up with the same vague wonder with which children +look at dragon flies; sometimes they do not look at all, for all that +comes in France has its part with the wonder of a terrible story as +well as with the incidents of the day, incidents that recur year in +and year out, too often for us to notice them. If a part of the moon +were to fall off in the sky and come tumbling to earth, the comment on +the lips of the imperturbable British watchers that have seen so much +would be, “Hullo, what is Jerry up to now?” + +And so the British aëroplane glides home in the evening, and the light +fades from the air, and what is left of the poplars grows dark against +the sky, and what is left of the houses grows more mournful in the +gloaming, and night comes, and with it the sounds of thunder, for the +airman has given his message to the artillery. It is as though Hermes +had gone abroad sailing upon his sandals, and had found some bad land +below those winged feet wherein men did evil and kept not the laws of +gods or men; and he had brought this message back and the gods were +angry. + +For the wars we fight to-day are not like other wars, and the wonders +of them are unlike other wonders. If we do not see in them the saga +and epic, how shall we tell of them? + +England + +“And then we used to have sausages,” said the Sergeant. + +“And mashed?” said the Private. + +“Yes,” said the Sergeant, “and beer. And then we used to go home. +It was grand in the evenings. We used to go along a lane that was full +of them wild roses. And then we come to the road where the houses +were. They all had their bit of a garden, every house.” + +“Nice, I calls it, a garden,” the Private said. + +“Yes,” said the Sergeant, “they all had their garden. It came right +down to the road. Wooden palings: none of that there wire.” + +“I hates wire,” said the Private. + +“They didn’t have none of it,” the N. C. O. went on. “The gardens +came right down to the road, looking lovely. Old Billy Weeks he had +them tall pale-blue flowers in his garden nearly as high as a man.” + +“Hollyhocks?” said the Private. + +“No, they wasn’t hollyhocks. Lovely they were. We used to stop and +look at them, going by every evening. He had a path up the middle of +his garden paved with red tiles, Billy Weeks had; and these tall blue +flowers growing the whole way along it, both sides like. They was a +wonder. Twenty gardens there must have been, counting them all; but +none to touch Billy Weeks with his pale-blue flowers. There was an old +windmill away to the left. Then there were the swifts sailing by +overhead and screeching: just about as high again as the houses. Lord, +how them birds did fly. And there was the other young fellows, what +were not out walking, standing about by the roadside, just doing +nothing at all. One of them had a flute: Jim Booker, he was. Those +were great days. The bats used to come out, flutter, flutter, flutter; +and then there’d be a star or two; and the smoke from the chimneys +going all grey; and a little cold wind going up and down like the +bats; and all the colour going out of things; and the woods looking +all strange, and a wonderful quiet in them, and a mist coming up from +the stream. It’s a queer time that. It’s always about that time, the +way I see it: the end of the evening in the long days, and a star or +two, and me and my girl going home. + +“Wouldn’t you like to talk about things for a bit the way you +remember them?” + +“Oh, no, Sergeant,” said the other, “you go on. You do bring it all +back so.” + +“I used to bring her home,” the Sergeant said, “to her father’s +house. Her father was keeper there, and they had a house in the wood. +A fine house with queer old tiles on it, and a lot of large friendly +dogs. I knew them all by name, same as they knew me. I used to walk +home then along the side of the wood. The owls would be about; you +could hear them yelling. They’d float out of the wood like, sometimes: +all large and white.” + +“I knows them,” said the Private. + +“I saw a fox once so close I could nearly touch him, walking like he +was on velvet. He just slipped out of the wood.” + +“Cunning old brute,” said the Private. + +“That’s the time to be out,” said the Sergeant. “Ten o’clock on a +summer’s night, and the night full of noises, not many of them, but +what there is, strange, and coming from a great way off, through the +quiet, with nothing to stop them. Dogs barking, owls hooting, an old +cart; and then just once a sound that you couldn’t account for at all, +not anyhow. I’ve heard sounds on nights like that that nobody ‘ud +think you’d heard, nothing like the flute that young Booker had, +nothing like anything on earth.” + +“I know,” said the Private. + +“I never told any one before, because they wouldn’t believe you. But +it doesn’t matter now. There’d be a light in the window to guide me +when I got home. I’d walk up through the flowers of our garden. We had +a lovely garden. Wonderful white and strange the flowers looked of a +nighttime.” + +“You bring it all back wonderful,” said the Private. + +“It’s a great thing to have lived,” said the Sergeant. + +“Yes, Sergeant,” said the other, “I wouldn’t have missed it, not +for anything.” + +For five days the barrage had rained down behind them: they were +utterly cut off and had no hope of rescue: their food was done, and +they did not know where they were. + + + + +Shells + + +When the aëroplanes are home and the sunset has flared away, and it is +cold, and night comes down over France, you notice the guns more than +you do by day, or else they are actually more active then, I do not +know which it is. + +It is then as though a herd of giants, things of enormous height, came +out from lairs in the earth and began to play with the hills. It is as +though they picked up the tops of the hills in their hands and then +let them drop rather slowly. It is exactly like hills falling. You see +the flashes all along the sky, and then that lumping thump as though +the top of the hill had been let drop, not all in one piece, but +crumbled a little as it would drop from your hands if you were three +hundred feet high and were fooling about in the night, spoiling what +it had taken so long to make. That is heavy stuff bursting, a little +way off. + +If you are anywhere near a shell that is bursting, you can hear in it +a curious metallic ring. That applies to the shells of either side, +provided that you are near enough, though usually of course it is the +hostile shell and not your own that you are nearest to, and so one +distinguishes them. It is curious, after such a colossal event as this +explosion must be in the life of a bar of steel, that anything should +remain at all of the old bell-like voice of the metal, but it appears +to, if you listen attentively; it is perhaps its last remonstrance +before leaving its shape and going back to rust in the earth again for +ages. + +Another of the voices of the night is the whine the shell makes in +coming; it is not unlike the cry the hyena utters as soon as it’s dark +in Africa: “How nice traveller would taste,” the hyena seems to say, +and “I want dead White Man.” It is the rising note of the shell as +it comes nearer, and its dying away when it has gone over, that make +it reminiscent of the hyena’s method of diction. If it is not going +over then it has something quite different to say. It begins the same +as the other, it comes up, talking of the back areas with the same +long whine as the other. I have heard old hands say “That one is +going well over.” “Whee-oo,” says the shell; but just where the +“oo” should be long drawn out and turn into the hyena’s final +syllable, it says something quite different. “Zarp,” it says. That +is bad. Those are the shells that are looking for you. + +And then of course there is the whizz-bang coming from close, along +his flat trajectory: he has little to say, but comes like a sudden +wind, and all that he has to do is done and over at once. + +And then there is the gas shell, who goes over gurgling gluttonously, +probably in big herds, putting down a barrage. It is the liquid inside +that gurgles before it is turned to gas by the mild explosion; that is +the explanation of it; yet that does not prevent one picturing a tribe +of cannibals who have winded some nice juicy men and are smacking +their chops and dribbling in anticipation. + +And a wonderful thing to see, even in those wonderful nights, is our +thermite bursting over the heads of the Germans. The shell breaks into +a shower of golden rain; one cannot judge easily at night how high +from the ground it breaks, but about as high as the tops of trees seen +at a hundred yards. It spreads out evenly all round and rains down +slowly; it is a bad shower to be out in, and for a long time after it +has fallen, the sodden grass of winter, and the mud and old bones +beneath it, burn quietly in a circle. On such a night as this, and in +such showers, the flying pigs will go over, which take two men to +carry each of them; they go over and root right down to the German +dugout, where the German has come in out of the golden rain, and they +fling it all up in the air. + +These are such nights as Scheherazade with all her versatility never +dreamed of; or if such nightmares came she certainly never told of +them, or her august master, the Sultan, light of the age, would have +had her at once beheaded; and his people would have deemed that he did +well. It has been reserved for a modern autocrat to dream such a +nightmare, driven to it perhaps by the tales of a white-whiskered +Scheherazade, the Lord of the Kiel Canal; and being an autocrat he has +made the nightmare a reality for the world. But the nightmare is +stronger than its master, and grows mightier every night; and the +All-Highest War Lord learns that there are powers in Hell that are +easily summoned by the rulers of earth, but that go not easily home. + + + + +Two Degrees of Envy + + +It was night in the front line and no moon, or the moon was hidden. +There was a strafe going on. The Tok Emmas were angry. And the +artillery on both sides were looking for the Tok Emmas. + +Tok Emma, I may explain for the blessed dwellers in whatever far happy +island there be that has not heard of these things, is the crude +language of Mars. He has not time to speak of a trunk mortar battery, +for he is always in a hurry, and so he calls them T. M.’s. But Bellona +might not hear him saying T. M., for all the din that she makes: might +think that he said D. N; and so he calls it Tok Emma. Ak, Beer, C, +Don: this is the alphabet of Mars. + +And the huge minnies were throwing old limbs out of No Man’s Land into +the frontline trench, and shells were rasping down through the air +that seemed to resist them until it was torn to pieces: they burst and +showers of mud came down from heaven. Aimlessly, as it seemed, shells +were bursting now and then in the air, with a flash intensely red: the +smell of them was drifting down the trenches. + +In the middle of all this Bert Butterworth was hit. “Only in the +foot,” his pals said. “Only!” said Bert. They put him on a +stretcher and carried him down the trench. They passed Bill +Britterling, standing in the mud, an old friend of Bert’s. Bert’s +face, twisted with pain, looked up to Bill for some sympathy. + +“Lucky devil,” said Bill. + +Across the way on the other side of No Man’s Land there was mud the +same as on Bill’s side: only the mud over there stank; it didn’t seem +to have been kept clean somehow. And the parapet was sliding away in +places, for working parties had not had much of a chance. They had +three Tok Emmas working in that battalion front line, and the British +batteries did not quite know where they were, and there were eight of +them looking. + +Fritz Groedenschasser, standing in that unseemly mud, greatly yearned +for them to find soon what they were looking for. Eight batteries +searching for something they can’t find, along a trench in which you +have to be, leaves the elephant hunter’s most desperate tale a little +dull and insipid. Not that Fritz Groedenschasser knew anything about +elephant hunting: he hated all things sporting, and cordially approved +of the execution of Nurse Cavell. And there was thermite too. +Flammenwerfer was all very well, a good German weapon: it could burn a +man alive at twenty yards. But this accursed flaming English thermite +could catch you at four miles. It wasn’t fair. + +The three German trench mortars were all still firing. When would the +English batteries find what they were looking for, and this awful +thing stop? The night was cold and smelly. + +Fritz shifted his feet in the foul mud, but no warmth came to him that +way. + +A gust of shells was coming along the trench. Still they had not found +the minnewerfer! Fritz moved from his place altogether to see if he +could find some place where the parapet was not broken. And as he +moved along the sewerlike trench he came on a wooden cross that marked +the grave of a man he once had known, now buried some days in the +parapet, old Ritz Handelscheiner. + +“Lucky devil,” said Fritz. + + + + +The Master of No Man’s Land + + +When the last dynasty has fallen and the last empire passed away, when +man himself has gone, there will probably still remain the swede. [The +rutabaga or Swedish turnip.] + +There grew a swede in No Man’s Land by Croisille near the Somme, and +it had grown there for a long while free from man. + +It grew as you never saw a swede grow before. It grew tall and strong +and weedy. It lifted its green head and gazed round over No Man’s +Land. Yes, man was gone, and it was the day of the swede. + +The storms were tremendous. Sometimes pieces of iron sang through its +leaves. But man was gone and it was the day of the swede. + +A man used to come there once, a great French farmer, an oppressor of +swedes. Legends were told of him and his herd of cattle, dark +traditions that passed down vegetable generations. It was somehow +known in those fields that the man ate swedes. + +And now his house was gone and he would come no more. + +The storms were terrible, but they were better than man. The swede +nodded to his companions: the years of freedom had come. + +They had always known among them that these years would come. Man had +not been there always, but there had always been swedes. He would go +some day, suddenly, as he came. That was the faith of the swedes. And +when the trees went the swede believed that the day was come. When +hundreds of little weeds arrived that were never allowed before, and +grew unchecked, he knew it. + +After that he grew without any care, in sunlight, moonlight and rain; +grew abundantly and luxuriantly in the freedom, and increased in +arrogance till he felt himself greater than man. And indeed in those +leaden storms that sang often over his foliage all living things +seemed equal. + +There was little that the Germans left when they retreated from the +Somme that was higher than this swede. He grew the tallest thing for +miles and miles. He dominated the waste. Two cats slunk by him from a +shattered farm: he towered above them contemptuously. + +A partridge ran by him once, far, far below his lofty leaves. The +night winds mourning in No Man’s Land seemed to sing for him alone. + +It was surely the hour of the swede. For him, it seemed, was No Man’s +Land. And there I met him one night by the light of a German rocket +and brought him back to our company to cook. + + + + +Weeds and Wire + + +Things had been happening. Divisions were moving. There had been, +there was going to be, a stunt. A battalion marched over the hill and +sat down by the road. They had left the trenches three days march to +the north and had come to a new country. The officers pulled their +maps out; a mild breeze fluttered them; yesterday had been winter and +to-day was spring; but spring in a desolation so complete and +far-reaching that you only knew of it by that little wind. It was +early March by the calendar, but the wind was blowing out of the gates +of April. A platoon commander, feeling that mild wind blowing, forgot +his map and began to whistle a tune that suddenly came to him out of +the past with the wind. Out of the past it blew and out of the South, +a merry vernal tune of a Southern people. Perhaps only one of those +that noticed the tune had ever heard it before. An officer sitting +near had heard it sung; it reminded him of a holiday long ago in the +South. + +“Where did you hear that tune?” he asked the platoon commander. + +“Oh, the hell of a long way from here,” the platoon commander said. + +He did not remember quite where it was he had heard it, but he +remembered a sunny day in France and a hill all dark with pine woods, +and a man coming down at evening out of the woods, and down the slope +to the village, singing this song. Between the village and the slope +there were orchards in blossom. So that he came with his song for +hundreds of yards through orchards. “The hell of a way from here,” + he said. + +For a long while then they sat silent. + +“It mightn’t have been so very far from here,” said the platoon +commander. “It was in France, now I come to think of it. But it was a +lovely part of France, all woods and orchards. Nothing like this, +thank God.” And he glanced with a tired look at the unutterable +desolation. + +“Where was it?” said the other. + +“In Picardy,” he said. + +“Aren’t we in Picardy now?” said his friend. + +“Are we?” he said. + +“I don’t know. The maps don’t call it Picardy.” + +“It was a fine place, anyway,” the platoon commander said. “There +seemed always to be a wonderful light on the hills. A kind of short +grass grew on them, and it shone in the sun at evening. There were +black woods above them. A man used to come out of them singing at +evening.” + +He looked wearily round at the brown desolation of weeds. As far as +the two officers could see there was nothing but brown weeds and bits +of brown barbed wire. He turned from the desolate scene back to his +reminiscences. + +“He came singing through the orchards into the village,” he said. +“A quaint old place with queer gables, called Ville-en-Bois.” + +“Do you know where we are?” said the other. + +“No, said the platoon commander.” + +“I thought not,” he said. “Hadn’t you better take a look at the +map?” + +“I suppose so,” said the platoon commander, and he smoothed out his +map and wearily got to the business of finding out where he was. + +“Good Lord!” he said. “Ville-en-Bois!” + + + + +Spring in England and Flanders + + +Very soon the earliest primroses will be coming out in woods wherever +they have been sheltered from the north. They will grow bolder as the +days go by, and spread and come all down the slopes of sunny hills. +Then the anemones will come, like a shy pale people, one of the tribes +of the elves, who dare not leave the innermost deeps of the wood: in +those days all the trees will be in leaf, the bluebells will follow, +and certain fortunate woods will shelter such myriads of them that the +bright fresh green of the beech trees will flash between two blues, +the blue of the sky and the deeper blue of the bluebells. Later the +violets come, and such a time as this is the perfect time to see +England: when the cuckoo is heard and he surprises his hearers; when +evenings are lengthening out and the bat is abroad again; and all the +flowers are out and all the birds sing. At such a time not only Nature +smiles but our quiet villages and grave old spires wake up from winter +in the mellow air and wear their centuries lightly. At such a time you +might come just at evening on one of those old villages in a valley +and find it in the mood to tell you the secret of the ages that it hid +and treasured there before the Normans came. Who knows? For they are +very old, very wise, very friendly; they might speak to you one warm +evening. If you went to them after great suffering they might speak to +you; after nights and nights of shelling over in France, they might +speak to you and you might hear them clearly. + +It would be a long, long story that they would tell, all about the +ages; and it would vary wonderfully little, much less perhaps than we +think; and the repetitions rambling on and on in the evening, as the +old belfry spoke and the cottages gathered below it, might sound so +soothing after the boom of shells that perhaps you would nearly sleep. +And then with one’s memory tired out by the war one might never +remember the long story they told, when the belfry and the +brown-roofed houses all murmured at evening, might never remember even +that they had spoken all through that warm spring and evening. We may +have heard them speak and forgotten that they have spoken. Who knows? +We are at war, and see so many strange things: some we must forget, +some we must remember; and we cannot choose which. + +To turn from Kent to Flanders is to turn to a time of mourning through +all seasons alike. Spring there brings out no leaf on myriad oaks, nor +the haze of green that floats like a halo above the heads of the birch +trees, that stand with their fairylike trunks haunting the deeps of +the woods. For miles and miles and miles summer ripens no crops, leads +out no maidens laughing in the moonlight, and brings no harvest home. +When Autumn looks on orchards in all that region of mourning he looks +upon barren trees that will never blossom again. Winter drives in no +sturdy farmers at evening to sit before cheery fires, families meet +not at Christmas, and the bells are dumb in belfries; for all by which +a man might remember his home has been utterly swept away: has been +swept away to make a maniacal dancing ground on which a murderous +people dance to their death led by a shallow, clever, callous, +imperial clown. + +There they dance to their doom till their feet shall find the +precipice that was prepared for them on the day that they planned the +evil things they have done. + + + + +The Nightmare Countries + + +There are certain lands in the darker dreams of poetry that stand out +in the memory of generations. There is for instance Poe’s “Dark tarn +of Auber, the ghoul-haunted region of Weir”; there are some queer +twists in the river Alph as imagined by Coleridge; two lines of +Swinburne: + + By the tideless dolorous inland sea + In a land of sand and ruin and gold + +are as haunting as any. There are in literature certain regions of +gloom, so splendid that whenever you come on them they leave in the +mind a sort of nightmare country which one’s thoughts revisit on +hearing the lines quoted. + +It is pleasant to picture such countries sometimes when sitting before +the fire. It is pleasant because you can banish them by the closing of +a book; a puff of smoke from a pipe will hide them altogether, and +back come the pleasant, wholesome, familiar things. But in France they +are there always. In France the nightmare countries stand all night in +the starlight; dawn comes and they still are there. The dead are +buried out of sight and others take their places among men; but the +lost lands lie unburied gazing up at the winds; and the lost woods +stand like skeletons all grotesque in the solitude; the very seasons +have fled from them. The very seasons have fled; so that if you look +up to see whether summer has turned to autumn, or if autumn has turned +to winter yet, nothing remains to show you. It is like the eccentric +dream of some strange man, very arresting and mysterious, but lacking +certain things that should be there before you can recognize it as +earthly. It is a mad, mad landscape. There are miles and miles and +miles of it. It is the biggest thing man has done. It looks as though +man in his pride, with all his clever inventions, had made for himself +a sorry attempt at creation. + +Indeed when we trace it all back to its origin we find at the +beginning of this unhappy story a man who was only an emperor and +wished to be something more. He would have ruled the world but has +only meddled with it; and his folly has brought misery to millions, +and there lies his broken dream on the broken earth. He will never +take Paris now. He will never be crowned at Versailles as Emperor of +Europe; and after that, most secret dream of all, did not the Cæsars +proclaim themselves divine? Was it not whispered among Macedonian +courtiers that Alexander was the child of God? And was the +Hohenzollern less than these? + +What might not force accomplish? All gone now, that dream and the +Hohenzollern line broken. A maniacal dream and broken farms all mixed +up together: they make a pretty nightmare and the clouds still gleam +at night with the flashes of shells, and the sky is still troubled by +day with uncouth balloons and the black bursts of the German shells +and the white of our anti-aircraft. + +And below there lies this wonderful waste land where no girls sing, +and where no birds come but starlings; where no hedgerows stand, and +no lanes with wild roses, and where no pathways run through fields of +wheat, and there are no fields at all and no farms and no farmers; and +two haystacks stand on a hill I know, undestroyed in the desolation, +and nobody touches them for they know the Germans too well; and the +tops have been blown off hills down to the chalk. And men say of this +place that it is Pozières and of that place that it is Ginchy; nothing +remains to show that hamlets stood there at all, and a brown, brown +weed grows over it all for ever; and a mighty spirit has arisen in +man, and no one bows to the War Lord though many die. And Liberty is +she who sang her songs of old, and is fair as she ever was, when men +see her in visions, at night in No Man’s Land when they have the +strength to crawl in: still she walks of a night in Pozières and in +Ginchy. + +A fanciful man once called himself the Emperor of the Sahara: the +German Kaiser has stolen into a fair land and holds with weakening +hands a land of craters and weed, and wire and wild cabbages and old +German bones. + + + + +Spring and the Kaiser + + +While all the world is waiting for Spring there lie great spaces in +one of the pleasantest lands to which Spring cannot come. + +Pear trees and cherry and orchards flash over other lands, blossoming +as abundantly as though their wonder were new, with a beauty as fresh +and surprising as though nothing like it before had ever adorned +countless centuries. Now with the larch and soon with the beech trees +and hazel, a bright green blazes forth to illumine the year. The +slopes are covered with violets. Those who have gardens are beginning +to be proud of them and to point them out to their neighbours. Almond +and peach in blossom peep over old brick walls. The land dreams of +summer all in the youth of the year. + +But better than all this the Germans have found war. The simple +content of a people at peace in pleasant countries counted for nothing +with them. Their Kaiser prepared for war, made speeches about war, +and, when he was ready, made war. And now the hills that should be +covered with violets are full of murderous holes, and the holes are +half full of empty meat tins, and the garden walls have gone and the +gardens with them, and there are no woods left to shelter anemones. +Boundless masses of brown barbed wire straggle over the landscape. All +the orchards there are cut down out of ruthless spite to hurt France +whom they cannot conquer. All the little trees that grow near gardens +are gone, aspen, laburnum and lilac. It is like this for hundreds of +miles. Hundreds of ruined towns gaze at it with vacant windows and see +a land from which even Spring is banished. And not a ruined house in +all the hundred towns but mourns for some one, man, woman or child; +for the Germans make war equally on all in the land where Spring comes +no more. + +Some day Spring will come back; some day she will shine all April in +Picardy again, for Nature is never driven utterly forth, but comes +back with her seasons to cover up even the vilest things. + +She shall hide the raw earth of the shell holes till the violets come +again; she shall bring back even the orchards for Spring to walk in +once more; the woods will grow tall again above the southern anemones; +and the great abandoned guns of the Germans will rust by the rivers of +France. Forgotten like them, the memory of the War Lord will pass with +his evil deeds. + + + + +Two Songs + + +Over slopes of English hills looking south in the time of violets, +evening was falling. + +Shadows at edges of woods moved, and then merged in the gloaming. + +The bat, like a shadow himself, finding that spring was come, slipped +from the dark of the wood as far as a clump of beech trees and +fluttered back again on his wonderful quiet wings. + +Pairing pigeons were home. + +Very young rabbits stole out to gaze at the calm still world. They +came out as the stars come. At one time they were not there, and then +you saw them, but you did not see them come. + +Towering clouds to the west built palaces, cities and mountains; +bastions of rose and precipices of gold; giants went home over them +draped in mauve by steep rose-pink ravines into emerald-green empires. +Turbulences of colour broke out above the departed sun; giants merged +into mountains, and cities became seas, and new processions of other +fantastic things sailed by. But the chalk slopes facing south smiled +on with the same calm light, as though every blade of grass gathered a +ray from the gloaming. All the hills faced the evening with that same +quiet glow, which faded softly as the air grew colder; and the first +star appeared. + +Voices came up in the hush, clear from the valley, and ceased. A light +was lit, like a spark, in a distant window: more stars appeared and +the woods were all dark now, and shapes even on the hill slopes began +to grow indistinct. + +Home by a laneway in the dim, still evening a girl was going, singing +the Marseillaise. + +In France where the downs in the north roll away without hedges, as +though they were great free giants that man had never confined, as +though they were stretching their vast free limbs in the evening, the +same light was smiling and glimmering softly away. + +A road wound over the downs and away round one of their shoulders. A +hush lay over them as though the giants slept, or as though they +guarded in silence their ancient, wonderful history. + +The stillness deepened and the dimness of twilight; and just before +colours fade, while shapes can still be distinguished, there came by +the road a farmer leading his Norman horse. High over the horse’s +withers his collar pointed with brass made him fantastic and huge and +strange to see in the evening. + +They moved together through that mellow light towards where unseen +among the clustered downs the old French farmer’s house was sheltered +away. + +He was going home at evening humming “God Save the King.” + + + + +The Punishment + + +An exhalation arose, drawn up by the moon, from an old battlefield +after the passing of years. It came out of very old craters and +gathered from trenches, smoked up from No Man’s Land, and the ruins of +farms; it rose from the rottenness of dead brigades, and lay for half +the night over two armies; but at midnight the moon drew it up all +into one phantom and it rose and trailed away eastwards. + +It passed over men in grey that were weary of war; it passed over a +land once prosperous, happy and mighty, in which were a people that +were gradually starving; it passed by ancient belfries in which there +were no bells now; it passed over fear and misery and weeping, and so +came to the palace at Potsdam. It was the dead of the night between +midnight and dawn, and the palace was very still that the Emperor +might sleep, and sentries guarded it who made no noise and relieved +others in silence. Yet it was not so easy to sleep. Picture to +yourself a murderer who had killed a man. Would you sleep? Picture +yourself the man that planned this war! Yes, you sleep, but nightmares +come. + +The phantom entered the chamber. “Come,” it said. + +The Kaiser leaped up at once as obediently as when he came to +attention on parade, years ago, as a subaltern in the Prussian Guard, +a man whom no woman or child as yet had ever cursed; he leaped up and +followed. They passed the silent sentries; none challenged and none +saluted; they were moving swiftly over the town as the felon Gothas +go; they came to a cottage in the country. They drifted over a little +garden gate, and there in a neat little garden the phantom halted like +a wind that has suddenly ceased. “Look,” it said. + +Should he look? Yet he must look. The Kaiser looked; and saw a window +shining and a neat room in the cottage: there was nothing dreadful +there; thank the good German God for that; it was all right, after +all. The Kaiser had had a fright, but it was all right; there was only +a woman with a baby sitting before the fire, and two small children +and a man. And it was quite a jolly room. And the man was a young +soldier; and, why, he was a Prussian Guardsman,--there was his +helmet hanging on the wall,--so everything was all right. They were +jolly German children; that was well. How nice and homely the room +was. There shone before him, and showed far off in the night, the +visible reward of German thrift and industry. It was all so tidy and +neat, and yet they were quite poor people. The man had done his work +for the Fatherland, and yet beyond all that had been able to afford +all those little knickknacks that make a home so pleasant and that in +their humble little way were luxury. And while the Kaiser looked the +two young children laughed as they played on the floor, not seeing +that face at the window. + +Why! Look at the helmet. That was lucky. A bullet hole right through +the front of it. That must have gone very close to the man’s head. How +ever did it get through? It must have glanced upwards as bullets +sometimes do. The hole was quite low in the helmet. It would be +dreadful to have bullets coming by close like that. The firelight +flickered, and the lamp shone on, and the children played on the +floor, and the man was smoking out of a china pipe; he was strong and +able and young, one of the wealth-winners of Germany. + +“Have you seen?” said the phantom. + +“Yes,” said the Kaiser. It was well, he thought, that a Kaiser +should see how his people lived. + +At once the fire went out and the lamp faded away, the room fell +sombrely into neglect and squalor, and the soldier and the children +faded away with the room; all disappeared phantasmally, and nothing +remained but the helmet in a kind of glow on the wall, and the woman +sitting all by herself in the darkness. + +“It has all gone,” said the Kaiser. + +“It has never been,” said the phantom. + +The Kaiser looked again. Yes, there was nothing there, it was just a +vision. There were the grey walls all damp and uncared for, and that +helmet standing out solid and round, like the only real thing among +fancies. No, it had never been. It was just a vision. + +“It might have been,” said the phantom. + +Might have been? How might it have been? + +“Come,” said the phantom. + +They drifted away down a little lane that in summer would have had +roses, and came to an Uhlan’s house; in times of peace a small farmer. +Farm buildings in good repair showed even in the night, and the black +shapes of haystacks; again a well-kept garden lay by the house. The +phantom and the Kaiser stood in the garden; before them a window +glowed in a lamplit room. + +“Look,” said the phantom. + +The Kaiser looked again and saw a young couple; the woman played with +a baby, and all was prosperous in the merry room. Again the hard-won +wealth of Germany shone out for all to see, the cosy comfortable +furniture spoke of acres well cared for, spoke of victory in the +struggle with the seasons on which wealth of nations depends. + +“It might have been,” said the phantom. Again the fire died out and +the merry scene faded away, leaving a melancholy, ill-kept room, with +poverty and mourning haunting dusty corners and the woman sitting +alone. + +“Why do you show me this?” said the Kaiser. “Why do you show me +these visions?” + +“Come,” said the phantom. + +“What is it?” said the Kaiser. “Where are you bringing me?” + +“Come,” said the phantom. + +They went from window to window, from land to land. You had seen, had +you been out that night in Germany, and able to see visions, an +imperious figure passing from place to place, looking on many scenes. +He looked on them, and families withered away, and happy scenes faded, +and the phantom said to him “Come.” He expostulated but obeyed; and +so they went from window to window of hundreds of farms in Prussia, +till they came to the Prussian border and went on into Saxony; and +always you would have heard, could you hear spirits speak, “It might +have been,” “It might have been,” repeated from window to window. + +They went down through Saxony, heading for Austria. And for long the +Kaiser kept that callous, imperious look. But at last he, even he, at +last he nearly wept. And the phantom turned then and swept him back +over Saxony, and into Prussia again and over the sentries’ heads, back +to his comfortable bed where it was so hard to sleep. + +And though they had seen thousands of merry homes, homes that can +never be merry now, shrines of perpetual mourning; though they had +seen thousands of smiling German children, who will never be born now, +but were only the visions of hopes blasted by him; for all the leagues +over which he had been so ruthlessly hurried, dawn was yet barely +breaking. + +He had looked on the first few thousand homes of which he had robbed +all time, and which he must see with his eyes before he may go hence. +The first night of the Kaiser’s punishment was accomplished. + + + + +The English Spirit + + +By the end of the South African war Sergeant Cane had got one thing +very well fixed in his mind, and that was that war was an overrated +amusement. He said he “was fed up with it,” partly because that +misused metaphor was then new, partly because every one was saying it: +he felt it right down in his bones, and he had a long memory. So when +wonderful rumours came to the East Anglian village where he lived, on +August 1, 1914, Sergeant Cane said: “That means war,” and decided +then and there to have nothing to do with it: it was somebody else’s +turn; he felt he had done enough. Then came August 4th, and England +true to her destiny, and then Lord Kitchener’s appeal for men. +Sergeant Cane had a family to look after and a nice little house: he +had left the army ten years. + +In the next week all the men went who had been in the army before, all +that were young enough, and a good sprinkling of the young men too who +had never been in the army. Men asked Cane if he was going, and he +said straight out “No.” + +By the middle of August Cane was affecting the situation. He was a +little rallying point for men who did not want to go. “He knows what +it’s like,” they said. + +In the smoking room of the Big House sat the Squire and his son, Arthur +Smith; and Sir Munion Boomer-Platt, the Member for the division. The +Squire’s son had been in the last war as a boy, and like Sergeant Cane +had left the army since. All the morning he had been cursing an +imaginary general, seated in the War Office at an imaginary desk with +Smith’s own letter before him, in full view but unopened. Why on earth +didn’t he answer it, Smith thought. But he was calmer now, and the +Squire and Sir Munion were talking of Sergeant Cane. + +“Leave him to me,” said Sir Munion. + +“Very well,” said the Squire. So Sir Munion Boomer-Platt went off +and called on Sergeant Cane. + +Mrs Cane knew what he had come for. + +“Don’t let him talk you over, Bill,” she said. + +“Not he,” said Sergeant Cane. + +Sir Munion came on Sergeant Cane in his garden. + +“A fine day,” said Sir Munion. And from that he went on to the war. +“If you enlist,” he said, “they will make you a sergeant again at +once. You will get a sergeant’s pay, and your wife will get the new +separation allowance.” + +“Sooner have Cane,” said Mrs Cane. + +“Yes, yes, of course,” said Sir Munion. “But then there is the +medal, probably two or three medals, and the glory of it, and it is +such a splendid life.” + +Sir Munion did warm to a thing whenever he began to hear his own +words. He painted war as it has always been painted, one of the most +beautiful things you could imagine. And then it mustn’t be supposed +that it was like those wars that there used to be, a long way off. +There would be houses where you would be billeted, and good food, and +shady trees and villages wherever you went. And it was such an +opportunity of seeing the Continent (“the Continent as it really +is,” Sir Munion called it) as would never come again, and he only +wished he were younger. Sir Munion really did wish it, as he spoke, +for his own words stirred him profoundly; but somehow or other they +did not stir Sergeant Cane. No, he had done his share, and he had a +family to look after. + +Sir Munion could not understand him: he went back to the Big House and +said so. He had told him all the advantages he could think of that +were there to be had for the asking, and Sergeant Cane merely +neglected them. + +“Let me have a try,” said Arthur Smith. “He soldiered with me +before.” + +Sir Munion shrugged his shoulders. He had all the advantages at his +fingers’ ends, from pay to billeting: there was nothing more to be +said. Nevertheless young Smith went. + +“Hullo, Sergeant Cane,” said Smith. + +“Hello, sir,” said the sergeant. + +“Do you remember that night at Reit River?” + +“Don’t I, sir,” said Cane. + +“One blanket each and no ground sheet?” + +“I remember, sir,” said Cane. + +“Didn’t it rain,” said Smith. + +“It rained that night, proper.” + +“Drowned a few of the lice, I suppose.” + +“Not many,” said Cane. + +“No, not many,” Smith reflected. “The Boers had the range all right +that time.” + +“Gave it us proper,” said Cane. + +“We were hungry that night,” said Smith. “I could have eaten +biltong.” + +“I did eat some of it,” said Cane. “Not bad stuff, what there was +of it, only not enough.” + +“I don’t think,” said Smith, “that I’ve ever slept on the bare +earth since.” + +“No, sir?” said Cane. “It’s hard. You get used to it. But it will +always be hard.” + +“Yes, it will always be hard,” said Smith. “Do you remember the +time we were thirsty?” + +“Oh, yes, sir,” said Cane, “I remember that. One doesn’t forget +that.” + +“No. I still dream of it sometimes,” said Smith. “It makes a nasty +dream. I wake with my mouth all dry too, when I dream that.” + +“Yes,” said Cane, “one doesn’t forget being thirsty.” + +“Well,” said Smith, “I suppose we’re for it all over again?” + +“I suppose so, sir,” said Cane. + +An Investigation Into the Causes and Origin of the War + +The German imperial barber has been called up. He must have been +called up quite early in the war. I have seen photographs in papers +that leave no doubt of that. Who he is I do not know: I once read his +name in an article but have forgotten it; few even know if he still +lives. And yet what harm he has done! What vast evils he has +unwittingly originated! Many years ago he invented a frivolity, a jeu +d’esprit easily forgivable to an artist in the heyday of his youth, to +whom his art was new and even perhaps wonderful. A craft, of course, +rather than an art, and a humble craft at that; but then, the man was +young, and what will not seem wonderful to youth? + +He must have taken the craft very seriously, but as youth takes things +seriously, fantastically and with laughter. He must have determined to +outshine rivals: he must have gone away and thought, burning candles +late perhaps, when all the palace was still. But how can youth think +seriously? And there had come to him this absurd, this fantastical +conceit. What else would have come? The more seriously he took the +tonsorial art, the more he studied its tricks and phrases and heard +old barbers lecture, the more sure were the imps of youth to prompt +him to laughter and urge him to something outrageous and ridiculous. +The background of the dull pomp of Potsdam must have made all this +more certain. It was bound to come. + +And so one day, or, as I have suggested, suddenly late one night, +there came to the young artist bending over tonsorial books that +quaint, mad, odd, preposterous inspiration. Ah, what pleasure there is +in the madness of youth; it is not like the madness of age, clinging +to outworn formulæ; it is the madness of breaking away, of galloping +among precipices, of dallying with the impossible, of courting the +absurd. And this inspiration, it was in none of the books; the +lecturer barbers had not lectured on it, could not dream of it and did +not dare to; there was no tradition for it, no precedent; it was mad; +and to introduce it into the pomp of Potsdam, that was the daring of +madness. And this preposterous inspiration of the absurd young +barber-madman was nothing less than a moustache that without any curve +at all, or any suggestion of sanity, should go suddenly up at the ends +very nearly as high as the eyes! + +He must have told his young fellow craftsmen first, for youth goes +first to youth with its hallucinations. And they, what could they have +said? You cannot say of madness that it is mad, you cannot call +absurdity absurd. To have criticized would have revealed jealousy; and +as for praise you could not praise a thing like that. They probably +shrugged, made gestures; and perhaps one friend warned him. But you +cannot warn a man against a madness; if the madness is in possession +it will not be warned away: why should it? And then perhaps he went to +the old barbers of the Court. You can picture their anger. Age does +not learn from youth in any case. But there was the insult to their +ancient craft, bad enough if only imagined, but here openly spoken of. +And what would come of it? They must have feared, on the one hand, +dishonour to their craft if this young barber were treated as his +levity deserved; and, on the other hand, could they have feared his +success? I think they could not have guessed it. + +And then the young idiot with his preposterous inspiration must have +looked about to see where he could practise his new absurdity. It +should have been enough to have talked about it among his fellow +barbers; they would have gone with new zest to their work next day for +this delirious interlude, and no harm would have been done. “Fritz,” + (or Hans) they would have said, “was a bit on last night, a bit full +up,” or whatever phrase they use to touch on drunkenness; and the +thing would have been forgotten. We all have our fancies. But this +young fool wanted to get his fancy mixed up with practice: that’s +where he was mad. And in Potsdam, of all places. + +He probably tried his friends first, young barbers at the Court and +others of his own standing. None of them were fools enough to be seen +going about like that. They had jobs to lose. A Court barber is one +thing, a man who cuts ordinary hair is quite another. Why should they +become outcasts because their friend chose to be mad? + +He probably tried his inferiors then, but they would have been timid +folk; they must have seen the thing was absurd, and of course daren’t +risk it. Again, why should they? + +Did he try to get some noble then to patronize his invention? Probably +the first refusals he had soon inflamed his madness more, and he threw +caution insanely to the winds, and went straight to the Emperor. + +It was probably about the time that the Emperor dismissed Bismarck; +certainly the drawings of that time show him still with a sane +moustache. + +The young barber probably chanced on him in this period, finding him +bereft of an adviser, and ready to be swayed by whatever whim should +come. Perhaps he was attracted by the barber’s hardihood, perhaps the +absurdity of his inspiration had some fascination for him, perhaps he +merely saw that the thing was new and, feeling jaded, let the barber +have his way. And so the frivolity became a fact, the absurdity became +visible, and honour and riches came the way of the barber. + +A small thing, you might say, however fantastical. And yet I believe +the absurdity of that barber to be among the great evils that have +brought death nearer to man; whimsical and farcical as it was, yet a +thing deadlier than Helen’s beauty or Tamerlane’s love of skulls. For +just as character is outwardly shown so outward things react upon the +character; and who, with that daring barber’s ludicrous fancy visible +always on his face, could quite go the sober way of beneficent +monarchs? The fantasy must be mitigated here, set off there; had you +such a figure to dress, say for amateur theatricals, you would realize +the difficulty. The heavy silver eagle to balance it; the glittering +cuirass lower down, preventing the eye from dwelling too long on the +barber’s absurdity. And then the pose to go with the cuirass and to +carry off the wild conceit of that mad, mad barber. He has much to +answer for, that eccentric man whose name so few remember. For pose +led to actions; and just when Europe most needed a man of wise +counsels, restraining the passions of great empires, just then she had +ruling over Germany and, unhappily, dominating Austria, a man who +every year grew more akin to the folly of that silly barber’s youthful +inspiration. + +Let us forgive the barber. For long I have known from pictures that I +have seen of the Kaiser that he has gone to the trenches. Probably he +is dead. Let us forgive the barber. But let us bear in mind that the +futile fancies of youth may be deadly things, and that one of them +falling on a fickle mind may so stir its shallows as to urge it to +disturb and set in motion the avalanches of illimitable grief. + +Lost + +Describing a visit, say the papers of March 28th, which the Kaiser +paid incognito to Cologne Cathedral on March 18th before the great +battle, the Cologne correspondent of the Tyd says: + +There were only a few persons in the building. Under high arches +and in spacious solitude the Kaiser sat, as if in deep thought, +before the priests’ choir. Behind him his military staff stood +respectfully at a distance. Still musing as he rose, the monarch +resting both hands on his walking-stick remains standing immovable +for some minutes... I shall never forget this picture of the musing +monarch praying in Cologne Cathedral on the eve of the great +battle. + +Probably he won’t forget it. The German casualty lists will help to +remind him. But what is more to the point is that this expert +propagandist has presumably received orders that we are not to forget +it, and that the sinister originator of the then impending holocaust +should be toned down a little in the eyes at least of the Tyd to +something a little more amiable. + +And no doubt the little piece of propaganda gave every satisfaction to +those who ordered it, or they would not have passed it out to the Tyd, +and the touching little scene would never have reached our eyes. At +the same time the little tale would have been better suited to the +psychology of other countries if he had made the War Lord kneel when +he prayed in Cologne Cathedral, and if he had represented the Military +Staff as standing out of respect to One who, outside Germany, is held +in greater respect than the All Highest. + +And had the War Lord really knelt is it not possible that he might +have found pity, humility, or even contrition? Things easily +overlooked in so large a cathedral when sitting erect, as a War Lord, +before the priests’ choir, but to be noticed perhaps with one’s eyes +turned to the ground. + +Perhaps he nearly found one of those things. Perhaps he felt (who +knows?) just for a moment, that in the dimness of those enormous +aisles was something he had lost a long, long while ago. + +One is not mistaken to credit the very bad with feeling far, faint +appeals from things of glory like Cologne Cathedral; it is that the +appeals come to them too far and faint on their headlong descent to +ruin. + +For what was the War Lord seeking? Did he know that pity for his poor +slaughtered people, huddled by him on to our ceaseless machine guns, +might be found by seeking there? Or was it only that the lost thing, +whatever it was, made that faint appeal to him, passing the door by +chance, and drew him in, as the scent of some herb or flower in a +moment draws us back years to look for something lost in our youth; we +gaze back, wondering, and do not find it. + +And to think that perhaps he lost it by very little! That, but for +that proud attitude and the respectful staff, he might have seen what +was lost, and have come out bringing pity for his people. Might have +said to the crowd that gave him that ovation, as we read, outside the +door: “My pride has driven you to this needless war, my ambition has +made a sacrifice of millions, but it is over, and it shall be no more; +I will make no more conquests.” + +They would have killed him. But for that renunciation, perhaps, +however late, the curses of the widows of his people might have kept +away from his grave. + +But he did not find it. He sat at prayer. Then he stood. Then he +marched out: and his staff marched out behind him. And in the gloom of +the floor of the vast Cologne Cathedral lie the things that the Kaiser +did not find and never will find now. Unnoticed thus, and in some +silent moment, passes a man’s last chance. + + + + +The Last Mirage + + +The desolation that the German offensive has added to the dominions of +the Kaiser cannot easily be imagined by any one who has never seen a +desert. Look at it on the map and it is full of the names of towns and +villages; it is in Europe, where there are no deserts; it is a fertile +province among places of famous names. Surely it is a proud addition +to an ambitious monarch’s possessions. Surely there is something there +that it is worth while to have conquered at the cost of army corps. +No, nothing. They are mirage towns. The farms grow Dead Sea fruit. +France recedes before the imperial clutch. France smiles, but not for +him. His new towns seem to be his because their names have not yet +been removed from any map, but they crumble at his approach because +France is not for him. His deadly ambition makes a waste before it as +it goes, clutching for cities. It comes to them and the cities are not +there. + +I have seen mirages and have heard others told of, but the best +mirages of all we never hear described; the mirage that waterless +travellers see at the last. Those fountains rising out of onyx basins, +blue and straight into incredible heights, and falling and flooding +cool white marble; the haze of spray above their feathery heads +through which the pale green domes of weathered copper shimmer and +shake a little; mysterious temples, the tombs of unknown kings; the +cataracts coming down from rose-quartz cliffs, far off but seen quite +clearly, growing to rivers bearing curious barges to the golden courts +of Sahara. These things we never see; they are seen at the last by men +who die of thirst. + +Even so has the Kaiser looked at the smiling plains of France. Even so +has he looked on her famous ancient cities and the farms and the +fertile fields and the woods and orchards of Picardy. With effort and +trouble he has moved towards them. As he comes near to them the cities +crumble, the woods shrivel and fall, the farms fade out of Picardy, +even the hedgerows go; it is bare, bare desert. He had been sure of +Paris, he had dreamed of Versailles and some monstrous coronation, he +had thought his insatiable avarice would be sated. For he had plotted +for conquest of the world, that boundless greed of his goading him on +as a man in the grip of thirst broods upon lakes. + +He sees victory near him now. That also will fade in the desert of old +barbed wire and weeds. When will he see that a doom is over all his +ambitions? For his dreams of victory are like those last dreams that +come in deceptive deserts to dying men. + +There is nothing good for him in the desert of the Somme. Bapaume is +not really there, though it be marked on his maps; it is only a +wilderness of slates and brick. Peronne looks like a city a long way +off, but when you come near it is only the shells of houses. Pozière, +Le Sars, Sapigny, are gone altogether. + +And all is Dead Sea fruit in a visible desert. The reports of German +victories there are mirage like all the rest; they too will fade into +weeds and old barbed wire. + +And the advances that look like victories, and the ruins that look +like cities, and the shell-beaten broken fields that look like +farms,--they and the dreams of conquest and all the plots and ambitions, +they are all the mirage of a dying dynasty in a desert it made for its +doom. + +Bones lead up to the desert, bones are scattered about it, it is the +most menacing and calamitous waste of all the deadly places that have +been inclement to man. It flatters the Hohenzollerns with visions of +victory now because they are doomed by it and are about to die. When +their race has died the earth shall smile again, for their deadly +mirage shall oppress us no more. The cities shall rise again and the +farms come back; hedgerows and orchards shall be seen again; the woods +shall slowly lift their heads from the dust; and gardens shall come +again where the desert was, to bloom in happier ages that forget the +Hohenzollerns. + + + + +A Famous Man + + +Last winter a famous figure walked in Behagnies. Soldiers came to see +him from their billets all down the Arras road, from Ervillers and +from Sapigny, and from the ghosts of villages back from the road, +places that once were villages but are only names now. They would walk +three or four miles, those who could not get lorries, for his was one +of those names that all men know, not such a name as a soldier or poet +may win, but a name that all men know. They used to go there at +evening. + +Four miles away on the left as you went from Ervillers, the guns +mumbled over the hills, low hills over which the Verys from the +trenches put up their heads and peered around,--greeny, yellowy +heads that turned the sky sickly, and the clouds lit up and went grey +again all the night long. As you got near to Behagnies you lost sight +of the Verys, but the guns mumbled on. A silly little train used to +run on one’s left, which used to whistle loudly, as though it asked to +be shelled, but I never saw a shell coming its way; perhaps it knew +that the German gunners could not calculate how slow it went. It +crossed the road as you got down to Behagnies. + +You passed the graves of two or three German soldiers with their names +on white wooden crosses,--men killed in 1914; and then a little +cemetery of a French cavalry regiment, where a big cross stood in the +middle with a wreath and a tricolor badge, and the names of the men. +And then one saw trees. That was always a wonder, whether one saw +their dark shapes in the evening, or whether one saw them by day, and +knew from the look of their leaves whether autumn had come yet, or +gone. In winter at evening one just saw the black bulk of them, but +that was no less marvellous than seeing them green in summer; trees by +the side of the Arras-Bapaume road, trees in mid-desert in the awful +region of Somme. There were not many of them, just a cluster, fewer +than the date palms in an oasis in Sahara, but an oasis is an oasis +wherever you find it, and a few trees make it. There are little places +here and there, few enough as the Arabs know, that the Sahara’s deadly +sand has never been able to devastate; and there are places even in +the Somme that German malice, obeying the Kaiser as the sand of Sahara +obeys the accursed sirocco, has not been able to destroy quite to the +uttermost. That little cluster of trees at Behagnies is one of these; +Divisional Headquarters used to shelter beneath them; and near them +was a statue on a lawn which probably stood by the windows of some +fine house, though there is no trace of the house but the lawn and +that statue now. + +And over the way on the left a little further on, just past the +officers’ club, a large hall stood where one saw that famous figure, +whom officers and men alike would come so far to see. + +The hall would hold perhaps four or five hundred seats in front of a +stage fitted up very simply with red, white and blue cloths, but +fitted up by some one that understood the job; and at the back of that +stage on those winter evenings walked on his flat and world-renowned +feet the figure of Charlie Chaplin. + +When aëroplanes came over bombing, the dynamos used to stop for they +supplied light to other places besides the cinema, and the shade of +Charlie Chaplin would fade away. But the men would wait till the +aëroplanes had gone and that famous figure came waddling back to the +screen. There he amused tired men newly come from the trenches, there +he brought laughter to most of the twelve days that they had out of +the line. + +He is gone from Behagnies now. He did not march in the retreat a +little apart from the troops, with head bent forward and hand thrust +in jacket, a flat-footed Napoleon: yet he is gone; for no one would +have left behind for the enemy so precious a thing as a Charlie +Chaplin film. He is gone but he will return. He will come with his +cane one day along that Arras road to the old hut in Behagnies; and +men dressed in brown will welcome him there again. + +He will pass beyond it through those desolate plains, and over the +hills beyond them, beyond Bapaume. Far hamlets to the east will know +his antics. + +And one day surely, in old familiar garb, without court dress, without +removing his hat, armed with that flexible cane, he will walk over the +faces of the Prussian Guard and, picking up the Kaiser by the collar, +with infinite nonchalance in finger and thumb, will place him neatly +in a prone position and solemnly sit on his chest. + + + + +The Oases of Death + + +While the German guns were pounding Amiens and the battle of dull +Prussianism against Liberty raged on, they buried Richthofen in the +British lines. + +They had laid him in a large tent with his broken machine outside it. +Thence British airmen carried him to the quiet cemetery, and he was +buried among the cypresses in this old resting place of French +generations just as though he had come there bringing no harm to +France. + +Five wreaths were on his coffin, placed there by those who had fought +against him up in the air. And under the wreaths on the coffin was +spread the German flag. + +When the funeral service was over three volleys were fired by the +escort, and a hundred aviators paid their last respects to the grave +of their greatest enemy; for the chivalry that the Prussians have +driven from earth and sea lives on in the blue spaces of the air. + +They buried Richthofen at evening, and the planes came droning home as +they buried him, and the German guns roared on and guns answered, +defending Amiens. And in spite of all, the cemetery had the air of +quiet, remaining calm and aloof, as all French graveyards are. For +they seem to have no part in the cataclysm that shakes all the world +but them; they seem to withdraw amongst memories and to be aloof from +time, and, above all, to be quite untroubled by the war that rages +to-day, upon which they appear to look out listlessly from among their +cypress and yew, and dimly, down a vista of centuries. They are very +strange, these little oases of death that remain unmoved and green +with their trees still growing, in the midst of a desolation as far as +the eye can see, in which cities and villages and trees and hedges and +farms and fields and churches are all gone, and where hugely broods a +desert. It is as though Death, stalking up and down through France for +four years, sparing nothing, had recognized for his own his little +gardens, and had spared only them. + + + + +Anglo-Saxon Tyranny + + +“We need a sea,” says Big-Admiral von Tirpitz, “freed of +Anglo-Saxon tyranny.” Unfortunately neither the British Admiralty nor +the American Navy permit us to know how much of the Anglo-Saxon +tyranny is done by American destroyers and how much by British ships +and even trawler. It would interest both countries to know, if it +could be known. But the Big-Admiral is unjust to France, for the +French navy exerts a tyranny at sea that can by no means be +overlooked, although naturally from her position in front of the mouth +of the Elbe England practises the culminating insupportable tyranny of +keeping the High Seas Fleet in the Kiel Canal. + +It is not I, but the Big-Admiral, who chose the word tyranny as +descriptive of the activities of the Anglo-Saxon navies. He was making +a speech at Dusseldorf on May 25th and was reported in the +Dusseldorfer Nachrichten on May 27th. + +Naturally it does not seem like tyranny to us, even the contrary; but +for an admiral, ein Grosse-Admiral, lately commanding a High Seas +Fleet, it must have been more galling than we perhaps can credit to be +confined in a canal. There was he, who should have been breasting the +blue, or at any rate doing something salty and nautical, far out in +the storms of that sea that the Germans call an Ocean, with the +hurricane raging angrily in his whiskers and now and then wafting +tufts of them aloft to white the halyards; there was he constrained to +a command the duties of which however nobly he did them could be +equally well carried out by any respectable bargee. He hoped for a +piracy of which the Lusitania was merely a beginning; he looked for +the bombardment of innumerable towns; he pictured slaughter in many a +hamlet of fishermen; he planned more than all those things of which +U-boat commanders are guilty; he saw himself a murderous old man, +terrible to seafarers, and a scourge of the coasts, and fancied +himself chronicled in after years by such as told dark tales of +Captain Kidd or the awful buccaneers; but he followed in the end no +more desperate courses than to sit and watch his ships on a wharf near +Kiel like one of Jacob’s night watchmen. + +No wonder that what appears to us no more than the necessary +protection of women and children in seacoast towns from murder should +be to him an intolerable tyranny. No wonder that the guarding of +travellers of the allied countries at sea, and even those of the +neutrals, should be a most galling thing to the Big-Admiral’s thwarted +ambition, looking at it from the point of view of one who to +white-whiskered age has retained the schoolboy’s natural love of the +black and yellow flag. A pirate, he would say, has as much right to +live as wasps or tigers. The Anglo-Saxon navies, he might argue, have +a certain code of rules for use at sea; they let women get first into +the boats, for instance, when ships are sinking, and they rescue +drowning mariners when they can: no actual harm in all this, he would +feel, though it would weaken you, as Hindenburg said of poetry; but if +all these little rules are tyrannously enforced on those who may think +them silly, what is to become of the pirate? Where, if people like +Beattie and Sims had always had their way, would be those rollicking +tales of the jolly Spanish Main, and men walking the plank into the +big blue sea, and long, low, rakish craft putting in to Indian +harbours with a cargo of men and women all hung from the yard-arm? A +melancholy has come over the spirit of Big-Admiral von Tirpitz in the +years he has spent in the marshes between the Elbe and Kiel, and in +that melancholy he sees romance crushed; he sees no more pearl +earrings and little gold rings in the hold, he sees British +battleships spoiling the Spanish Main, and hateful American cruisers +in the old Sargasso Sea; he sees himself, alas, the last of all the +pirates. + +Let him take comfort. There were always pirates. And in spite of the +tyranny of England and America, and of France, which the poor old man +perplexed with his troubles forgot, there will be pirates still. Not +many perhaps, but enough U-boats will always be able to slip through +that tyrannous blockade to spread indiscriminate slaughter amongst the +travellers of any nation, enough to hand on the old traditions of +murder at sea. And one day Captain Kidd, with such a bow as they used +to make in ports of the Spanish Main, will take off his ancient hat, +sweeping it low in Hell, and be proud to clasp the hand of the Lord of +the Kiel Canal. + + + + +Memories + + + ... far-off things + And battles long ago. + + +Those who live in an old house are necessarily more concerned with +paying the plumber, should his art be required, or choosing wall paper +that does not clash with the chintzes, than with the traditions that +may haunt its corridors. In Ireland,--and no one knows how old that +is, for the gods that lived there before the Red Branch came wrote few +chronicles on the old grey Irish stones and wrote in their own +language,--in Ireland we are more concerned with working it so that +Tim Flanagan gets the job he does be looking for. + +But in America those who remember Ireland remember her, very often, +from old generations; maybe their grandfather migrated, perhaps his +grandfather, and Ireland is remembered by old tales treasured among +them. Now Tim Flanagan will not be remembered in a year’s time when he +has the job for which he has got us to agitate, and the jobberies that +stir us move not the pen of History. + +But the tales that Irish generations hand down beyond the Atlantic +have to be tales that are worth remembering. They are tales that have +to stand the supreme test, tales that a child will listen to by the +fireside of an evening, so that they go down with those early +remembered evenings that are last of all to go of the memories of a +lifetime. A tale that a child will listen to must have much grandeur. +Any cheap stuff will do for us, bad journalism, and novels by girls +that could get no other jobs; but a child looks for those things in a +tale that are simple and noble and epic, the things that Earth +remembers. And so they tell, over there, tales of Sarsfield and of the +old Irish Brigade; they tell, of an evening, of Owen Roe O’Neill. And +into those tales come the plains of Flanders again and the ancient +towns of France, towns famous long ago and famous yet: let us rather +think of them as famous names and not as the sad ruins we have seen, +melancholy by day and monstrous in the moonlight. + +Many an Irishman who sails from America for those historic lands knows +that the old trees that stand there have their roots far down in soil +once richened by Irish blood. When the Boyne was lost and won, and +Ireland had lost her King, many an Irishman with all his wealth in a +scabbard looked upon exile as his sovereign’s court. And so they came +to the lands of foreign kings, with nothing to offer for the +hospitality that was given them but a sword; and it usually was a +sword with which kings were well content. Louis XV had many of them, +and was glad to have them at Fontenoy; the Spanish King admitted them +to the Golden Fleece; they defended Maria Theresa. Landen in Flanders +and Cremona knew them. A volume were needed to tell of all those +swords; more than one Muse has remembered them. It was not disloyalty +that drove them forth; their King was gone, they followed, the oak was +smitten and brown were the leaves of the tree. + +But no such mournful metaphor applies to the men who march to-day +towards the plains where the “Wild Geese” were driven. They go with +no country mourning them, but their whole land cheers them on; they go +to the inherited battlefields. And there is this difference in their +attitude to kings, that those knightly Irishmen of old, driven +homeless over-sea, appeared as exiles suppliant for shelter before the +face of the Grand Monarch, and he, no doubt with exquisite French +grace, gave back to them all they had lost except what was lost +forever, salving so far as he could the injustice suffered by each. +But to-day when might, for its turn, is in the hands of democracies, +the men whose fathers built the Statue of Liberty have left their +country to bring back an exiled king to his home, and to right what +can be righted of the ghastly wrongs of Flanders. + +And if men’s prayers are heard, as many say, old saints will hear old +supplications going up by starlight with a certain wistful, musical +intonation that has linked the towns of Limerick and Cork with the +fields of Flanders before. + + + + +The Movement + + +For many years Eliphaz Griggs was comparatively silent. Not that he +did not talk on all occasions whenever he could find hearers, he did +that at great length; but for many years he addressed no public +meeting, and was no part of the normal life of the northeast end of +Hyde Park or Trafalgar Square. And then one day he was talking in a +public house where he had gone to talk on the only subject that was +dear to him. He waited, as was his custom, until five or six men were +present, and then he began. “Ye’re all damned, I’m saying, damned +from the day you were born. Your portion is Tophet.” + +And on that day there happened what had never happened in his +experience before. Men used to listen in a tolerant way, and say +little over their beer, for that is the English custom; and that would +be all. But to-day a man rose up with flashing eyes and went over to +Eliphaz and gripped him by the hand: “They’re all damned,” said the +stranger. + +That was the turning point in the life of Eliphaz. Up to that moment +he had been a lonely crank, and men thought he was queer; but now +there were two of them and he became a Movement. A Movement in England +may do what it likes: there was a Movement, before the War, for +spoiling tulips in Kew Gardens and breaking church windows; it had its +run like the rest. + +The name of Eliphaz’s new friend was Ezekiel Pim: and they drew up +rules for their Movement almost at once; and very soon country inns +knew Eliphaz no more. And for some while they missed him where he used +to drop in of an evening to tell them they were all damned: and then a +man proved one day that the earth was flat, and they all forgot +Eliphaz. + +But Eliphaz went to Hyde Park and Ezekiel Pim went with him, and there +you would see them close to the Marble Arch on any fine Sunday +afternoon, preaching their Movement to the people of London. “You are +all damned,” said Eliphaz. “Your portion shall be damnation for +everlasting.” + +“All damned,” added Ezekiel. + +Eliphaz was the orator. He would picture Hell to you as it really is. +He made you see pretty much what it will be like to wriggle and turn +and squirm, and never escape from burning. But Ezekiel Pim, though he +seldom said more than three words, uttered those words with such +alarming sincerity and had such a sure conviction shining in his eyes +that searched right in your face as he said them, and his long hair +waved so weirdly as his head shot forward when he said “You’re all +damned,” that Ezekiel Pim brought home to you that the vivid +descriptions of Eliphaz really applied to you. + +People who lead bad lives get their sensibilities hardened. These did +not care very much what Eliphaz said. But girls at school, and several +governesses, and even some young clergy, were very much affected. +Eliphaz Griggs and Ezekiel Pim seemed to bring Hell so near to you. +You could almost feel it baking the Marble Arch from two to four on +Sundays. And at four o’clock the Surbiton Branch of the International +Anarchists used to come along, and Eliphaz Griggs and Ezekiel Pim +would pack up their flag and go, for the pitch belonged to the +Surbiton people till six; and the crank Movements punctiliously +recognize each other’s rights. If they fought among themselves, which +is quite unthinkable, the police would run them in; it is the one +thing that an anarchist in England may never do. + +When the War came the two speakers doubled their efforts. The way they +looked at it was that here was a counter-attraction taking people’s +minds off the subject of their own damnation just as they had got them +to think about it. Eliphaz worked as he had never worked before; he +spared nobody; but it was still Ezekiel Pim who somehow brought it +most home to them. + +One fine spring afternoon Eliphaz Griggs was speaking at his usual +place and time; he had wound himself up wonderfully. “You are +damned,” he was saying, “for ever and ever and ever. Your sins have +found you out. Your filthy lives will be as fuel round you and shall +burn for ever and ever.” + +“Look here,” said a Canadian soldier in the crowd, “we shouldn’t +allow that in Ottawa.” + +“What?” asked an English girl. + +“Why, telling us we’re all damned like that,” he said. + +“Oh, this is England,” she said. “They may all say what they like +here.” + +“You are all damned,” said Ezekiel, jerking forward his head and +shoulders till his hair flapped out behind. “All, all, all damned.” + +“I’m damned if I am,” said the Canadian soldier. + +“Ah,” said Ezekiel, and a sly look came into his face. + +Eliphaz flamed on. “Your sins are remembered. Satan shall grin at +you. He shall heap cinders on you for ever and ever. Woe to you, +filthy livers. Woe to you, sinners. Hell is your portion. There shall +be none to grieve for you. You shall dwell in torment for ages. None +shall be spared, not one. Woe everlasting... Oh, I beg pardon, +gentlemen, I’m sure.” For the Pacifists’ League had been kept waiting +three minutes. It was their turn to-day at four. + + + + +Nature’s Cad + + +The claim of Professor Grotius Jan Beek to have discovered, or +learned, the language of the greater apes has been demonstrated +clearly enough. He is not the original discoverer of the fact that +they have what may be said to correspond with a language; nor is he +the first man to have lived for some while in the jungle protected by +wooden bars, with a view to acquiring some knowledge of the meaning of +the various syllables that gorillas appear to utter. If so crude a +collection of sounds, amounting to less than a hundred words, if words +they are, may be called a language, it may be admitted that the +Professor has learned it, as his recent experiments show. What he has +not proved is his assertion that he has actually conversed with a +gorilla, or by signs, or grunts, or any means whatever obtained an +insight, as he put it, into its mentality, or, as we should put it, +its point of view. This Professor Beek claims to have done; and though +he gives us a certain plausible corroboration of a kind which makes +his story appear likely, it should be borne in mind that it is not of +the nature of proof. + +The Professor’s story is briefly that having acquired this language, +which nobody that has witnessed his experiments will call in question, +he went back to the jungle for a week, living all the time in the +ordinary explorer’s cage of the Blik pattern. Towards the very end of +the week a big male gorilla came by, and the Professor attracted it by +the one word “Food.” It came, he says, close to the cage, and seemed +prepared to talk but became very angry on seeing a man there, and beat +the cage and would say nothing. The Professor says that he asked it +why it was angry. He admits that he had learned no more than forty +words of this language, but believes that there are perhaps thirty +more. Much however is expressed, as he says, by mere intonation. +Anger, for instance; and scores of allied words, such as terrible, +frightful, kill, whether noun, verb or adjective, are expressed, he +says, by a mere growl. Nor is there any word for “Why,” but queries +are signified by the inflexion of the voice. + +When he asked it why it was angry the gorilla said that men killed +him, and added a noise that the professor said was evidently meant to +allude to guns. The only word used, he says, in this remark of the +gorilla’s was the word that signified “man.” The sentence as +understood by the professor amounted to “Man kill me. Guns.” But the +word “kill” was represented simply by a snarl, “me” by slapping +its chest, and “guns” as I have explained was only represented by a +noise. The Professor believes that ultimately a word for guns may be +evolved out of that noise, but thinks that it will take many +centuries, and that if during that time guns should cease to be in +use, this stimulus being withdrawn, the word will never be evolved at +all, nor of course will it be needed. + +The Professor tried, by evincing interest, ignorance, and incredulity, +and even indignation, to encourage the gorilla to say more; but to his +disappointment, all the more intense after having exchanged that one +word of conversation with one of the beasts, the gorilla only repeated +what it had said, and beat on the cage again. For half an hour this +went on, the Professor showing every sign of sympathy, the gorilla +raging and beating upon the cage. + +It was half an hour of the most intense excitement to the Professor, +during which time he saw the realization of dreams that many +considered crazy, glittering as it were within his grasp, and all the +while this ridiculous gorilla would do nothing but repeat the mere +shred of a sentence and beat the cage with its great hands; and the +heat of course was intense. And by the end of the half hour the +excitement and the heat seem to have got the better of the Professor’s +temper, and he waved the disgusting brute angrily away with a gesture +that probably was not much less impatient than the gorilla’s own. And +at that the animal suddenly became voluble. He beat more furiously +than ever upon the cage and slipped his great fingers through the +bars, trying to reach the Professor, and poured out volumes of +ape-chatter. + +Why, why did men shoot at him, he asked. He made himself terrible, +therefore men ought to love him. That was the whole burden of what the +Professor calls its argument. “Me, me terrible,” two slaps on the +chest and then a growl. “Man love me.” And then the emphatic +negative word, and the sound that meant guns, and sudden furious +rushes at the cage to try to get at the Professor. + +The gorilla, Professor Beek explains, evidently admired only strength; +whenever he said “I make myself terrible to Man,” a sentence he +often repeated, he drew himself up and thrust out his huge chest and +bared his frightful teeth; and certainly, the Professor says, there +was something terribly grand about the menacing brute. “Me +terrible,” he repeated again and again, “Me terrible. Sky, sun, +stars with me. Man love me. Man love me. No?” It meant that all the +great forces of nature assisted him and his terrible teeth, which he +gnashed repeatedly, and that therefore man should love him, and he +opened his great jaws wide as he said this, showing all the brutal +force of them. + +There was to my mind a genuine ring in Professor Beek’s story, because +he was obviously so much more concerned, and really troubled, by the +dreadful depravity of this animal’s point of view, or mentality as he +called it, than he was concerned with whether or not we believed what +he had said. + +And I mentioned that there was a circumstance in his story of a +plausible and even corroborative nature. It is this. Professor Beek, +who noticed at the time a bullet wound in the tip of the gorilla’s +left ear, by means of which it was luckily identified, put his +analysis of its mentality in writing and showed it to several others, +before he had any way of accounting for the beast having such a mind. + +Long afterwards it was definitely ascertained that this animal had +been caught when young on the slopes of Kilimanjaro and trained and +even educated, so far as such things are possible, by an eminent +German Professor, a persona grata at the Court of Berlin. + + + + +The Home of Herr Schnitzelhaaser + + +The guns in the town of Greinstein were faintly audible. The family of +Schnitzelhaaser lived alone there in mourning, an old man and old +woman. They never went out or saw any one, for they knew they could +not speak as though they did not mourn. They feared that their secret +would escape them. They had never cared for the war that the War Lord +made. They no longer cared what he did with it. They never read his +speeches; they never hung out flags when he ordered flags: they hadn’t +the heart to. + +They had had four sons. + +The lonely old couple would go as far as the shop for food. Hunger +stalked behind them. They just beat hunger every day, and so saw +evening: but there was nothing to spare. Otherwise they did not go out +at all. Hunger had been coming slowly nearer of late. They had nothing +but the ration, and the ration was growing smaller. They had one pig +of their own, but the law said you might not kill it. So the pig was +no good to them. + +They used to go and look at that pig sometimes when hunger pinched. +But more than that they did not dare to contemplate. + +Hunger came nearer and nearer. The war was going to end by the first +of July. The War Lord was going to take Paris on this day and that +would end the war at once. But then the war was always going to end. +It was going to end in 1914, and their four sons were to have come +home when the leaves fell. The War Lord had promised that. And even if +it did end, that would not bring their four sons home now. So what did +it matter what the War Lord said. + +It was thoughts like these that they knew they had to conceal. It was +because of thoughts like these that they did not trust themselves to +go out and see other people, for they feared that by their looks if by +nothing else, or by their silence or perhaps their tears, they might +imply a blasphemy against the All Highest. And hunger made one so +hasty. What might one not say? And so they stayed indoors. + +But now. What would happen now? The War Lord was coming to Greinstein +in order to hear the guns. One officer of the staff was to be billeted +in their house. And what would happen now? + +They talked the whole thing over. They must struggle and make an +effort. The officer would be there for one evening. He would leave in +the morning quite early in order to make things ready for the return +to Potsdam: he had charge of the imperial car. So for one evening they +must be merry. They would suppose, it was Herr Schnitzelhaaser’s +suggestion, they would think all the evening that Belgium and France +and Luxemburg all attacked the Fatherland, and that the Kaiser, +utterly unprepared, quite unprepared, called on the Germans to defend +their land against Belgium. + +Yes, the old woman could imagine that; she could think it all the +evening. + +And then,--it was no use not being cheerful altogether,--then one +must imagine a little more, just for the evening: it would come quite +easy; one must think that the four boys were alive. + +Hans too? (Hans was the youngest). + +Yes, all four. Just for the evening. + +But if the officer asks? + +He will not ask. What are four soldiers? + +So it was all arranged; and at evening the officer came. He brought +his own rations, so hunger came no nearer. Hunger just lay down +outside the door and did not notice the officer. + +A this supper the officer began to talk. The Kaiser himself, he said, +was at the Schartzhaus. + +“So,” said Herr Schnitzelhaaser; “just over the way.” So close. +Such an honour. + +And indeed the shadow of the Schartzhaus darkened their garden in the +morning. + +It was such an honour, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser too. And they began +to praise the Kaiser. So great a War Lord, she said; the most glorious +war there had ever been. + +Of course, said the officer, it would end on the first of July. + +Of course, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser. And so great an admiral, too. +One must remember that also. And how fortunate we were to have him: +one must not forget that. Had it not been for him the crafty Belgians +would have attacked the Fatherland, but they were struck down before +they could do it. So much better to prevent a bad deed like that than +merely to punish after. So wise. And had it not been for him, if it +had not been for him... + +The old man saw that she was breaking down and hastily he took up that +feverish praise. Feverish it was, for their hunger and bitter loss +affected their minds no less than illness does, and the things they +did they did hastily and intemperately. His praise of the War Lord +raced on as the officer ate. He spoke of him as of those that benefit +man, as of monarchs who bring happiness to their people. And now, he +said, he is here in the Schartzhaus beside us, listening to the guns +just like a common soldier. + +Finally the guns, as he spoke, coughed beyond ominous hills. +Contentedly the officer went on eating. He suspected nothing of the +thoughts his host and hostess were hiding. At last he went upstairs to +bed. + +As fierce exertion is easy to the fevered, so they had spoken; and it +wears them, so they were worn. The old woman wept when the officer +went out of hearing. But old Herr Schnitzelhaaser picked up a big +butcher’s knife. “I will bear it no more,” he said. + +His wife watched him in silence as he went away with his knife. Out of +the house he went and into the night. Through the open door she saw +nothing; all was dark; even the Schartzhaus, where all was gay +to-night, stood dark for fear of aëroplanes. The old woman waited in +silence. + +When Herr Schnitzelhaaser returned there was blood on his knife. + +“What have you done?” the old woman asked him quite calmly. “I have +killed our pig,” he said. + +She broke out then, all the more recklessly for the long restraint of +the evening; the officer must have heard her. + +“We are lost! We are lost!” she cried. “We may not kill our pig. +Hunger has made you mad. You have ruined us.” + +“I will bear it no longer,” he said. “I have killed our pig.” + +“But they will never let us eat it,” she cried. “Oh, you have +ruined us!” + +“If you did not dare to kill our pig,” he said, “why did you not +stop me when you saw me go? You saw me go with the knife?” + +“I thought,” she said, “you were going to kill the Kaiser.” + + + + +A Deed of Mercy + + +As Hindenburg and the Kaiser came down, as we read, from Mont d’Hiver, +during the recent offensive, they saw on the edge of a crater two +wounded British soldiers. The Kaiser ordered that they should be cared +for: their wounds were bound up and they were given brandy, and +brought round from unconsciousness. That is the German account of it, +and it may well be true. It was a kindly act. + +Probably had it not been for this the two men would have died among +those desolate craters; no one would have known, and no one could have +been blamed for it. + +The contrast of this spark of imperial kindness against the gloom of +the background of the war that the Kaiser made is a pleasant thing to +see, even though it illuminates for only a moment the savage darkness +in which our days are plunged. It was a kindness that probably will +long be remembered to him. Even we, his enemies, will remember it. And +who knows but that when most he needs it his reward for the act will +be given him. + +For Judas, they say, once in his youth, gave his cloak, out of +compassion, to a shivering beggar, who sat shaken with ague, in rags, +in bitter need. And the years went by and Judas forgot his deed. And +long after, in Hell, Judas they say was given one day’s respite at the +end of every year because of this one kindness he had done so long +since in his youth. And every year he goes, they say, for a day and +cools himself among the Arctic bergs; once every year for century +after century. + +Perhaps some sailor on watch on a misty evening blown far out of his +course away to the north saw something ghostly once on an iceberg +floating by, or heard some voice in the dimness that seemed like the +voice of man, and came home with this weird story. And perhaps, as the +story passed from lip to lip, men found enough justice in it to +believe it true. So it came down the centuries. + +Will seafarers ages hence on dim October evenings, or on nights when +the moon is ominous through mist, red and huge and uncanny, see a +lonely figure sometimes on the loneliest part of the sea, far north of +where the Lusitania sank, gathering all the cold it can? Will they see +it hugging a crag of iceberg wan as itself, helmet, cuirass and ice +pale-blue in the mist together? Will it look towards them with +ice-blue eyes through the mist, and will they question it, meeting on +those bleak seas? Will it answer--or will the North wind howl like +voices? Will the cry of seals be heard, and ice floes grinding, and +strange birds lost upon the wind that night, or will it speak to them +in those distant years and tell them how it sinned, betraying man? + +It will be a grim, dark story in that lonely part of the sea, when he +confesses to sailors, blown too far north, the dreadful thing he +plotted against man. The date on which he is seen will be told from +sailor to sailor. Queer taverns of distant harbours will know it well. +Not many will care to be at sea that day, and few will risk being +driven by stress of weather on the Kaiser’s night to the bergs of the +haunted part of sea. + +And yet for all the grimness of the pale-blue phantom, with cuirass +and helmet and eyes shimmering on deadly icebergs, and yet for all the +sorrow of the wrong he did against man, the women drowned and the +children, and all the good ships gone, yet will the horrified mariners +meeting him in the mist grudge him no moment of the day he has earned, +or the coolness he gains from the bergs, because of the kindness he +did to the wounded men. For the mariners in their hearts are kindly +men, and what a soul gains from kindness will seem to them well +deserved. + + + + +Last Scene of All + + +After John Calleron was hit he carried on in a kind of twilight of the +mind. Things grew dimmer and calmer; harsh outlines of events became +blurred; memories came to him; there was a singing in his ears like +far-off bells. Things seemed more beautiful than they had a while ago; +to him it was for all the world like evening after some quiet sunset, +when lawns and shrubs and woods and some old spire look lovely in the +late light, and one reflects on past days. Thus he carried on, seeing +things dimly. And what is sometimes called “the roar of battle,” + those aërial voices that snarl and moan and whine and rage at +soldiers, had grown dimmer too. It all seemed further away, and +littler, as far things are. He still heard the bullets: there is +something so violently and intensely sharp in the snap of passing +bullets at short ranges that you hear them in deepest thought, and +even in dreams. He heard them, tearing by, above all things else. The +rest seemed fainter and dimmer, and smaller and further away. + +He did not think he was very badly hit, but nothing seemed to matter +as it did a while ago. Yet he carried on. + +And then he opened his eyes very wide and found he was back in London +again in an underground train. He knew it at once by the look of it. +He had made hundreds of journeys, long ago, by those trains. He knew +by the dark, outside, that it had not yet left London; but what was +odder than that, if one stopped to think of it, was that he knew +exactly where it was going. It was the train that went away out into +the country where he used to live as a boy. He was sure of that +without thinking. + +When he began to think how he came to be there he remembered the war +as a very far-off thing. He supposed he had been unconscious a very +long time. He was all right now. + +Other people were sitting beside him on the same seat. They all seemed +like people he remembered a very long time ago. In the darkness +opposite, beyond the windows of the train, he could see their +reflections clearly. He looked at the reflections but could not quite +remember. + +A woman was sitting on his left. She was quite young. She was more +like some one that he most deeply remembered than all the others were. +He gazed at her, and tried to clear his mind. + +He did not turn and stare at her, but he quietly watched her +reflection before him in the dark. Every detail of her dress, her +young face, her hat, the little ornaments she wore, were minutely +clear before him, looking out of the dark. So contented she looked you +would say she was untouched by war. + +As he gazed at the clear calm face and the dress that seemed neat +though old and, like all things, so faraway, his mind grew clearer and +clearer. It seemed to him certain it was the face of his mother, but +from thirty years ago, out of old memories and one picture. He felt +sure it was his mother as she had been when he was very small. And yet +after thirty years how could he know? He puzzled to try and be quite +sure. But how she came to be there, looking like that, out of those +oldest memories, he did not think of at all. + +He seemed to be hugely tired by many things and did not want to think. +Yet he was very happy, more happy even than tired men just come home +all new to comfort. + +He gazed and gazed at the face in the dark. And then he felt quite +sure. + +He was about to speak. Was she looking at him? Was she watching him, +he wondered. He glanced for the first time to his own reflection in +that clear row of faces. + +His own reflection was not there, but blank dark showed between his +two neighbours. And then he knew he was dead. + + + + +Old England + + +Towards winter’s end on a high, big, bare down, in the south of +England, John Plowman was plowing. He was plowing the brown field at +the top of the hill, good soil of the clay; a few yards lower down was +nothing but chalk, with shallow flinty soil and steep to plow; so they +let briars grow there. For generations his forbears had plowed on the +top of that hill. John did not know how many. The hills were very old; +it might have been always. + +He scarcely looked to see if his furrow was going straight. The work +he was doing was so much in his blood that he could almost feel if +furrows were straight or not. Year after year they moved on the same +old landmarks; thorn trees and briars mostly guided the plow, where +they stood on the untamed land beyond; the thorn trees grew old at +their guiding, and still the furrows varied not by the breadth of a +hoof-mark. + +John, as he plowed, had leisure to meditate on much besides the crops; +he knew so much of the crops that his thoughts could easily run free +from them; he used to meditate on who they were that lived in briar +and thorn tree, and danced as folk said all through midsummer night, +and sometimes blessed and sometimes harmed the crops; for he knew that +in Old England were wonderful ancient things, odder and older things +than many folks knew. And his eyes had leisure to see much beside the +furrows, for he could almost feel the furrows going straight. + +One day at his plowing, as he watched the thorn ahead, he saw the +whole big hill besides, looking south, and the lands below it; one day +he saw in the bright sun of late winter a horseman riding the road +through the wide lands below. The horseman shone as he rode, and wore +white linen over what was shining, and on the linen was a big red +cross. “One of them knights,” John Plowman said to himself or his +horse, “going to them crusades.” And he went on with his plowing all +that day satisfied, and remembered what he had seen for years, and +told his son. + +For there is in England, and there always was, mixed with the needful +things that feed or shelter the race, the wanderer-feeling for +romantic causes that runs deep and strange through the other thoughts, +as the Gulf Stream runs through the sea. Sometimes generations of John +Plowman’s family would go by and no high romantic cause would come to +sate that feeling. They would work on just the same though a little +sombrely, as though some good thing had been grudged them. And then +the Crusades had come, and John Plowman had seen the Red Cross knight +go by, riding towards the sea in the morning, and Jon Plowman was +satisfied. + +Some generations later a man of the same name was plowing the same +hill. They still plowed the brown clay at the top and left the slope +wild, though there were many changes. And the furrows were wonderfully +straight still. And half he watched a thorn tree ahead as he plowed +and half he took in the whole hill sloping south and the wide lands +below it, far beyond which was the sea. They had a railway now down in +the valley. The sunlight glittering near the end of winter shone on a +train that was marked with great white squares and red crosses on +them. + +John Plowman stopped his horses and looked at the train. “An +ambulance train,” he said, “coming up from the coast.” He thought +of the lads he knew and wondered if any were there. He pitied the men +in that train and envied them. And then there came to him the thought +of England’s cause and of how those men had upheld it, at sea and in +crumbling cities. He thought of the battle whose echoes reached +sometimes to that field, whispering to furrows and thorn trees that +had never heard them before. He thought of the accursed tyrant’s cruel +might, and of the lads that had faced it. He saw the romantic +splendour of England’s cause. He was old but had seen the glamour for +which each generation looked. Satisfied in his heart and cheered with +a new content he went on with his age-old task in the business of man +with the hills. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WAR *** + +***** This file should be named 5713-0.txt or 5713-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/1/5713/ + +Produced by William McClain + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation’s web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/5713-0.zip b/5713-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9bd2c0d --- /dev/null +++ b/5713-0.zip diff --git a/5713-8.txt b/5713-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..448712e --- /dev/null +++ b/5713-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3176 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales of War + +Author: Lord Dunsany + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5713] +Last Updated: August 18, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WAR *** + + + + +Produced by William McClain + + + + + + +TALES OF WAR + +By Lord Dunsany + + +1918 + + + + +The Prayer of the Men of Daleswood + + +He said: "There were only twenty houses in Daleswood. A place you +would scarcely have heard of. A village up top of the hills. + +"When the war came there was no more than thirty men there between +sixteen and forty-five. They all went. + +"They all kept together; same battalion, same platoon. They was like +that in Daleswood. Used to call the hop pickers foreigners, the ones +that come from London. They used to go past Daleswood, some of them, +every year, on their way down to the hop fields. Foreigners they used +to call them. Kept very much to themselves, did the Daleswood people. +Big woods all round them. + +"Very lucky they was, the Daleswood men. They'd lost no more than +five killed and a good sprinkling of wounded. But all the wounded was +back again with the platoon. This was up to March when the big +offensive started. + +"It came very sudden. No bombardment to speak of. Just a burst of Tok +Emmas going off all together and lifting the front trench clean out of +it; then a barrage behind, and the Boche pouring over in thousands. +'Our luck is holding good,' the Daleswood men said, for their trench +wasn't getting it at all. But the platoon on their right got it. And +it sounded bad too a long way beyond that. No one could be quite sure. +But the platoon on their right was getting it: that was sure enough. + +"And then the Boche got through them altogether. A message came to +say so. 'How are things on the right?' they said to the runner. 'Bad,' +said the runner, and he went back, though Lord knows what he went back +to. The Boche was through right enough. 'We'll have to make a +defensive flank,' said the platoon commander. He was a Daleswood man +too. Came from the big farm. He slipped down a communication trench +with a few men, mostly bombers. And they reckoned they wouldn't see +any of them any more, for the Boche was on the right, thick as +starlings. + +"The bullets were snapping over thick to keep them down while the +Boche went on, on the right: machine guns, of course. The barrage was +screaming well over and dropping far back, and their wire was still +all right just in front of them, when they put up a head to look. +There was the left platoon of the battalion. One doesn't bother, +somehow, so much about another battalion as one's own. One's own gets +sort of homely. And there they were wondering how their own officer +was getting on, and the few fellows with them, on his defensive flank. +The bombs were going off thick. All the Daleswood men were firing half +right. It sounded from the noise as if it couldn't last long, as if it +would soon be decisive, and the battle be won, or lost, just there on +the right, and perhaps the war ended. They didn't notice the left. +Nothing to speak of. + +"Then a runner came from the left. 'Hullo!' they said, 'How are +things over there?' + +"'The Boche is through,' he said. 'Where's the officer?' 'Through!' +they said. It didn't seem possible. However did he do that? they +thought. And the runner went on to the right to look for the officer. + +"And then the barrage shifted further back. The shells still screamed +over them, but the bursts were further away. That is always a relief. +Probably they felt it. But it was bad for all that. Very bad. It meant +the Boche was well past them. They realized it after a while. + +"They and their bit of wire were somehow just between two waves of +attack. Like a bit of stone on the beach with the sea coming in. A +platoon was nothing to the Boche; nothing much perhaps just then to +anybody. But it was the whole of Daleswood for one long generation. + +"The youngest full-grown man they had left behind was fifty, and some +one had heard that he had died since the war. There was no one else in +Daleswood but women and children, and boys up to seventeen. + +"The bombing had stopped on their right; everything was quieter, and +the barrage further away. When they began to realize what that meant +they began to talk of Daleswood. And then they thought that when all +of them were gone there would be nobody who would remember Daleswood +just as it used to be. For places alter a little, woods grow, and +changes come, trees get cut down, old people die; new houses are built +now and then in place of a yew tree, or any old thing, that used to be +there before; and one way or another the old things go; and all the +time you have people thinking that the old times were best, and the +old ways when they were young. And the Daleswood men were beginning to +say, 'Who would there be to remember it just as it was?' + +"There was no gas, the wind being wrong for it, so they were able to +talk, that is if they shouted, for the bullets alone made as much +noise as breaking up an old shed, crisper like, more like new timber +breaking; and the shells of course was howling all the time, that is +the barrage that was bursting far back. The trench still stank of +them. + +"They said that one of them must go over and put his hands up, or run +away if he could, whichever he liked, and when the war was over he +would go to some writing fellow, one of those what makes a living by +it, and tell him all about Daleswood, just as it used to be, and he +would write it out proper and there it would be for always. They all +agreed to that. And then they talked a bit, as well as they could +above that awful screeching, to try and decide who it should be. The +eldest, they said, would know Daleswood best. But he said, and they +came to agree with him, that it would be a sort of waste to save the +life of a man what had had his good time, and they ought to send the +youngest, and they would tell him all they knew of Daleswood before +his time, and everything would be written down just the same and the +old time remembered. + +"They had the idea somehow that the women thought more of their own +man and their children and the washing and what-not; and that the deep +woods and the great hills beyond, and the plowing and the harvest and +snaring rabbits in winter and the sports in the village in summer, and +the hundred things that pass the time of one generation in an old, old +place like Daleswood, meant less to them than the men. Anyhow they did +not quite seem to trust them with the past. + +"The youngest of them was only just eighteen. That was Dick. They +told him to get out and put his hands up and be quick getting across, +as soon as they had told him one or two things about the old time in +Daleswood that a youngster like him wouldn't know. + +"Well, Dick said he wasn't going, and was making trouble about it, so +they told Fred to go. Back, they told him, was best, and come up +behind the Boche with his hands up; they would be less likely to shoot +when it was back towards their own supports. + +"Fred wouldn't go, and so on with the rest. Well, they didn't waste +time quarrelling, time being scarce, and they said what was to be +done? There was chalk where they were, low down in the trench, a +little brown clay on the top of it. There was a great block of it +loose near a shelter. They said they would carve with their knives on +the big bowlder of chalk all that they knew about Daleswood. They +would write where it was and just what it was like, and they would +write something of all those little things that pass with a +generation. They reckoned on having the time for it. It would take a +direct hit with something large, what they call big stuff, to do any +harm to that bowlder. They had no confidence in paper, it got so +messed up when you were hit; besides, the Boche had been using +thermite. Burns, that does. + +"They'd one or two men that were handy at carving chalk; used to do +the regimental crest and pictures of Hindenburg, and all that. They +decided they'd do it in reliefs. + +"They started smoothing the chalk. They had nothing more to do but +just to think what to write. It was a great big bowlder with plenty of +room on it. The Boche seemed not to know that they hadn't killed the +Daleswood men, just as the sea mightn't know that one stone stayed dry +at the coming in of the tide. A gap between two divisions probably. + +"Harry wanted to tell of the woods more than anything. He was afraid +they might cut them down because of the war, and no one would know of +the larks they had had there as boys. Wonderful old woods they were, +with a lot of Spanish chestnut growing low, and tall old oaks over it. +Harry wanted them to write down what the foxgloves were like in the +wood at the end of summer, standing there in the evening, 'Great +solemn rows,' he said, 'all odd in the dusk. All odd in the evening, +going there after work; and makes you think of fairies.' There was +lots of things about those woods, he said, that ought to be put down +if people were to remember Daleswood as it used to be when they knew +it. What were the good old days without those woods? he said. + +"But another wanted to tell of the time when they cut the hay with +scythes, working all those long days at the end of June; there would +be no more of that, he said, with machines come in and all. + +"There was room to tell of all that and the woods too, said the +others, so long as they put it short like. + +"And another wanted to tell of the valleys beyond the wood, far +afield where the men went working; the women would remember the hay. +The great valleys he'd tell of. It was they that made Daleswood. The +valleys beyond the wood and the twilight on them in summer. Slopes +covered with mint and thyme, all solemn at evening. A hare on them +perhaps, sitting as though they were his, then lolloping slowly away. +It didn't seem from the way he told of those old valleys that he +thought they could ever be to other folk what they were to the +Daleswood men in the days he remembered. He spoke of them as though +there were something in them, besides the mint and the thyme and the +twilight and hares, that would not stay after these men were gone, +though he did not say what it was. Scarcely hinted it even. + +"And still the Boche did nothing to the Daleswood men. The bullets +had ceased altogether. That made it much quieter. The shells still +snarled over, bursting far, far away. + +"And Bob said tell of Daleswood itself, the old village, with queer +chimneys, of red brick, in the wood. There weren't houses like that +nowadays. They'd be building new ones and spoiling it, likely, after +the war. And that was all he had to say. + +"And nobody was for not putting down anything any one said. It was +all to go in on the chalk, as much as would go in the time. For they +all sort of understood that the Daleswood of what they called the good +old time was just the memories that those few men had of the days they +had spent there together. And that was the Daleswood they loved, and +wanted folks to remember. They were all agreed as to that. And then +they said how was they to write it down. And when it came to writing +there was so much to be said, not spread over a lot of paper I don't +mean, but going down so deep like, that it seemed to them how their +own talk wouldn't be good enough to say it. And they knew no other, +and didn't know what to do. I reckon they'd been reading magazines and +thought that writing had to be like that muck. Anyway, they didn't +know what to do. I reckon their talk would be good enough for +Daleswood when they loved Daleswood like that. But they didn't, and +they were puzzled. + +"The Boche was miles away behind them now, and his barrage with him. +Still in front he did nothing. + +"They talked it all over and over, did the Daleswood men. They tried +everything. But somehow or other they couldn't get near what they +wanted to say about old summer evenings. Time wore on. The bowlder was +smooth and ready, and that whole generation of Daleswood men could +find no words to say what was in their hearts about Daleswood. There +wasn't time to waste. And the only thing they thought of in the end +was 'Please, God, remember Daleswood just like it used to be.' And +Bill and Harry carved that on the chalk between them. + +"What happened to the Daleswood men? Why, nothing. There come one of +them counter-attacks, a regular bastard for Jerry. The French made it +and did the Boche in proper. I got the story from a man with a hell of +a great big hammer, long afterwards when that trench was well behind +our line. He was smashing up a huge great chunk of chalk because he +said they all felt it was so damn silly." + + + + +The Road + + +The battery Sergeant-Major was practically asleep. He was all worn out +by the continuous roar of bombardments that had been shaking the +dugouts and dazing his brains for weeks. He was pretty well fed up. + +The officer commanding the battery, a young man in a very neat uniform +and of particularly high birth, came up and spat in his face. The +Sergeant-Major sprang to attention, received an order, and took a +stick at once and beat up the tired men. For a message had come to the +battery that some English (God punish them!) were making a road at X. + +The gun was fired. It was one of those unlucky shots that come on days +when our luck is out. The shell, a 5.9, lit in the midst of the British +working party. It did the Germans little good. It did not stop the +deluge of shells that was breaking up their guns and was driving +misery down like a wedge into their spirits. It did not improve the +temper of the officer commanding the battery, so that the men suffered +as acutely as ever under the Sergeant-Major. But it stopped the road +for that day. + +I seemed to see that road going on in a dream. + +Another working party came along next day, with clay pipes and got to +work; and next day and the day after. Shells came, but went short or +over; the shell holes were neatly patched up; the road went on. Here +and there a tree had to be cut, but not often, not many of them were +left; it was mostly digging and grubbing up roots, and pushing +wheelbarrows along planks and duck-boards, and filling up with stones. +Sometimes the engineers would come: that was when streams were +crossed. The engineers made their bridges, and the infantry working +party went on with the digging and laying down stones. It was +monotonous work. Contours altered, soil altered, even the rock beneath +it, but the desolation never; they always worked in desolation and +thunder. And so the road went on. + +They came to a wide river. They went through a great forest. They +passed the ruins of what must have been quite fine towns, big +prosperous towns with universities in them. I saw the infantry working +party with their stumpy clay pipes, in my dream, a long way on from +where that shell had lit, which stopped the road for a day. And behind +them curious changes came over the road at X. You saw the infantry +going up to the trenches, and going back along it into reserve. They +marched at first, but in a few days they were going up in motors, grey +busses with shuttered windows. And then the guns came along it, miles +and miles of guns, following after the thunder which was further off +over the hills. And then one day the cavalry came by. Then stores in +wagons, the thunder muttering further and further away. I saw +farm-carts going down the road at X. And then one day all manner of +horses and traps and laughing people, farmers and women and boys all +going by to X. There was going to be a fair. + +And far away the road was growing longer and longer amidst, as always, +desolation and thunder. And one day far away from X the road grew very +fine indeed. It was going proudly through a mighty city, sweeping in +like a river; you would not think that it ever remembered duck-boards. +There were great palaces there, with huge armorial eagles blazoned in +stone, and all along each side of the road was a row of statues of +kings. And going down the road towards the palace, past the statues of +the kings, a tired procession was riding, full of the flags of the +Allies. And I looked at the flags in my dream, out of national pride +to see whether we led, or whether France or America. America went +before us, but I could not see the Union Jack in the van nor the +Tricolour either, nor the Stars and Stripes: Belgium led and then +Serbia, they that had suffered most. + +And before the flags, and before the generals, I saw marching along on +foot the ghosts of the working party that were killed at X, gazing +about them in admiration as they went, at the great city and at the +palaces. And one man, wondering at the Siges Alle, turned round to +the Lance Corporal in charge of the party: "That is a fine road that +we made, Frank," he said. + + + + +An Imperial Monument + + +It is an early summer's morning: the dew is all over France: the train +is going eastwards. They are quite slow, those troop trains, and there +are few embankments or cuttings in those flat plains, so that you seem +to be meandering along through the very life of the people. The roads +come right down to the railways, and the sun is shining brightly over +the farms and the people going to work along the roads, so that you +can see their faces clearly as the slow train passes them by. + +They are all women and boys that work on the farms; sometimes perhaps +you see a very old man, but nearly always women and boys; they are out +working early. They straighten up from their work as we go by and lift +their hands to bless us. + +We pass by long rows of the tall French poplars, their branches cut +away all up the trunk, leaving only an odd round tuft at the top of +the tree; but little branches are growing all up the trunk now, and +the poplars are looking unkempt. It would be the young men who would +cut the branches of the poplars. They would cut them for some useful +thrifty purpose that I do not know; and then they would cut them +because they were always cut that way, as long ago as the times of the +old men's tales about France; but chiefly, I expect, because youth +likes to climb difficult trees; that is why they are clipped so very +high. And the trunks are all unkempt now. + +We go on by many farms with their shapely red-roofed houses; they +stand there, having the air of the homes of an ancient people; they +would not be out of keeping with any romance that might come, or any +romance that has come in the long story of France, and the girls of +those red-roofed houses work all alone in the fields. + +We pass by many willows and come to a great marsh. In a punt on some +open water an old man is angling. We come to fields again, and then to +a deep wood. France smiles about us in the open sunlight. + +But towards evening we pass over the border of this pleasant country +into a tragical land of destruction and gloom. It is not only that +murder has walked here to and fro for years, until all the fields are +ominous with it, but the very fields themselves have been mutilated +until they are unlike fields, the woods have been shattered right down +to the anemones, and the houses have been piled in heaps of rubbish, +and the heaps of rubbish have been scattered by shells. We see no more +trees, no more houses, no more women, no cattle even now. We have come +to the abomination of desolation. And over it broods, and will +probably brood for ever, accursed by men and accursed by the very +fields, the hyena-like memory of the Kaiser, who has whitened so many +bones. + +It may be some satisfaction to his selfishness to know that the +monument to it cannot pass away, to know that the shell holes go too +deep to be washed away by the healing rains of years, to know that the +wasted German generations will not in centuries gather up what has +been spilt on the Somme, or France recover in the sunshine of many +summers from all the misery that his devilish folly has caused. It is +likely to be to such as him a source of satisfaction, for the truly +vain care only to be talked of in many mouths; they hysterically love +to be thought of, and the notice of mankind is to them a mirror which +reflects their futile postures. The admiration of fools they love, and +the praise of a slavelike people, but they would sooner be hated by +mankind than be ignored and forgotten as is their due. And the truly +selfish care only for their imperial selves. + +Let us leave him to pass in thought from ruin to ruin, from wasted +field to field, from crater to crater; let us leave his fancy haunting +cemeteries in the stricken lands of the world, to find what glee he +can in this huge manifestation of his imperial will. + +We neither know to what punishment he moves nor can even guess what +fitting one is decreed. But the time is surely appointed and the +place. Poor trifler with Destiny, who ever had so much to dread? + + + + +A Walk to the Trenches + + +To stand at the beginning of a road is always wonderful; for on all +roads before they end experience lies, sometimes adventure. And a +trench, even as a road, has its beginnings somewhere. In the heart of +a very strange country you find them suddenly. A trench may begin in +the ruins of a house, may run up out of a ditch; may be cut into a +rise of ground sheltered under a hill, and is built in many ways by +many men. As to who is the best builder of trenches there can be +little doubt, and any British soldier would probably admit that for +painstaking work and excellence of construction there are few to rival +Von Hindenburg. His Hindenburg line is a model of neatness and +comfort, and it would be only a very ungrateful British soldier who +would deny it. + +You come to the trenches out of strangely wasted lands, you come +perhaps to a wood in an agony of contortions, black, branchless, +sepulchral trees, and then no more trees at all. The country after +that is still called Picardy or Belgium, still has its old name on the +map as though it smiled there yet, sheltering cities and hamlet and +radiant with orchards and gardens, but the country named Belgium--or +whatever it be--is all gone away, and there stretches for miles +instead one of the world's great deserts, a thing to take its place no +longer with smiling lands, but with Sahara, Gobi, Kalahari, and the +Karoo; not to be thought of as Picardy, but more suitably to be named +the Desert of Wilhelm. Through these sad lands one goes to come to the +trenches. Overhead floats until it is chased away an aroplane with +little black crosses, that you can scarcely see at his respectful +height, peering to see what more harm may be done in the desolation +and ruin. Little flashes sparkle near him, white puffs spread out +round the flashes: and he goes, and our airmen go away after him; +black puffs break out round our airmen. Up in the sky you hear a faint +tap-tapping. They have got their machine guns working. + +You see many things there that are unusual in deserts: a good road, a +railway, perhaps a motor bus; you see what was obviously once a +village, and hear English songs, but no one who has not seen it can +imagine the country in which the trenches lie, unless he bear a desert +clearly in mind, a desert that has moved from its place on the map by +some enchantment of wizardry, and come down on a smiling country. +Would it not be glorious to be a Kaiser and be able to do things like +that? + +Past all manner of men, past no trees, no hedges, no fields, but only +one field from skyline to skyline that has been harrowed by war, one +goes with companions that this event in our history has drawn from all +parts of the earth. On that road you may hear all in one walk where is +the best place to get lunch in the City; you may hear how they laid a +drag for some Irish pack, and what the Master said; you may hear a +farmer lamenting over the harm that rhinoceroses do to his coffee +crop; you may hear Shakespeare quoted and La vie Parisienne. + +In the village you see a lot of German orders, with their silly notes +of exclamation after them, written up on notice boards among the +ruins. Ruins and German orders. That turning movement of Von Kluck's +near Paris in 1914 was a mistake. Had he not done it we might have had +ruins and German orders everywhere. And yet Von Kluck may comfort +himself with the thought that it is not by his mistakes that Destiny +shapes the world: such a nightmare as a world-wide German domination +can have had no place amongst the scheme of things. + +Beyond the village the batteries are thick. A great howitzer near the +road lifts its huge muzzle slowly, fires and goes down again, and +lifts again and fires. It is as though Polyphemus had lifted his huge +shape slowly, leisurely, from the hillside where he was sitting, and +hurled the mountain top, and sat down again. If he is firing pretty +regularly you are sure to get the blast of one of them as you go by, +and it can be a very strong wind indeed. One's horse, if one is +riding, does not very much like it, but I have seen horses far more +frightened by a puddle on the road when coming home from hunting in +the evening: one 12-inch howitzer more or less in France calls for no +great attention from man or beast. + +And so we come in sight of the support trenches where we are to dwell +for a week before we go on for another mile over the hills, where the +black fountains are rising. + + + + +A Walk in Picardy + + +Picture any village you know. In such a village as that the trench +begins. That is to say, there are duck-boards along a ditch, and the +ditch runs into a trench. Only the village is no longer there. It was +like some village you know, though perhaps a little merrier, because +it was further south and nearer the sun; but it is all gone now. And +the trench runs out of the ruins, and is called Windmill Avenue. There +must have been a windmill standing there once. + +When you come from the ditch to the trench you leave the weeds and +soil and trunks of willows and see the bare chalk. At the top of those +two white walls is a foot or so of brown clay. The brown clay grows +deeper as you come to the hills, until the chalk has disappeared +altogether. Our alliance with France is new in the history of man, but +it is an old, old union in the history of the hills. White chalk with +brown clay on top has dipped and gone under the sea; and the hills of +Sussex and Kent are one with the hills of Picardy. + +And so you may pass through the chalk that lies in that desolate lane +with memories of more silent and happier hills; it all depends on what +the chalk means to you: you may be unfamiliar with it and in that case +you will not notice it; or you may have been born among those +thyme-scented hills and yet have no errant fancies, so that you will +not think of the hills that watched you as a child, but only keep your +mind on the business in hand; that is probably best. + +You come after a while to other trenches: notice boards guide you, and +you keep to Windmill Avenue. You go by Pear Lane, Cherry Lane, and +Plum Lane. Pear trees, cherry trees and plum trees must have grown +there. You are passing through either wild lanes banked with briar, +over which these various trees peered one by one and showered their +blossoms down at the end of spring, and girls would have gathered the +fruit when it ripened, with the help of tall young men; or else you +are passing through an old walled garden, and the pear and the cherry +and plum were growing against the wall, looking southwards all through +the summer. There is no way whatever of telling which it was; it is +all one in war; whatever was there is gone; there remain to-day, and +survive, the names of those three trees only. We come next to Apple +Lane. You must not think that an apple tree ever grew there, for we +trace here the hand of the wit, who by naming Plum Lane's neighbour +"Apple Lane" merely commemorates the inseparable connection that +plum has with apple forever in the minds of all who go to modern war. +For by mixing apple with plum the manufacturer sees the opportunity of +concealing more turnip in the jam, as it were, at the junction of the +two forces, than he might be able to do without this unholy alliance. + +We come presently to the dens of those who trouble us (but only for +our own good), the dugouts of the trench mortar batteries. It is noisy +when they push up close to the front line and play for half an hour or +so with their rivals: the enemy sends stuff back, our artillery join +in; it is as though, while you were playing a game of croquet, giants +hundreds of feet high, some of them friendly, some unfriendly, +carnivorous and hungry, came and played football on your croquet lawn. + +We go on past Battalion Headquarters, and past the dugouts and +shelters of various people having business with History, past stores +of bombs and the many other ingredients with which history is made, +past men coming down who are very hard to pass, for the width of two +men and two packs is the width of a communication trench and sometimes +an inch over; past two men carrying a flying pig slung on a pole +between them; by many turnings; and Windmill Avenue brings you at last +to Company Headquarters in a dugout that Hindenburg made with his +German thoroughness. + +And there, after a while, descends the Tok Emma man, the officer +commanding a trench mortar battery, and is given perchance a whiskey +and water, and sits on the best empty box that we have to offer, and +lights one of our cigarettes. + +"There's going to be a bit of a strafe at 5.30," he says. + + + + +What Happened on the Night of the Twenty-Seventh + + +The night of the twenty-seventh was Dick Cheeser's first night on +sentry. The night was far gone when he went on duty; in another hour +they would stand to. Dick Cheeser had camouflaged his age when he +enlisted: he was barely eighteen. A wonderfully short time ago he was +quite a little boy; now he was in a frontline trench. It hadn't seemed +that things were going to alter like that. Dick Cheeser was a plowboy: +long brown furrows over haughty, magnificent downs seemed to stretch +away into the future as far as his mind could see. No narrow outlook +either, for the life of nations depends upon those brown furrows. But +there are the bigger furrows that Mars makes, the long brown trenches +of war; the life of nations depends on these too; Dick Cheeser had +never pictured these. He had heard talk about a big navy and a lot of +Dreadnoughts; silly nonsense he called it. What did one want a big +navy for? To keep the Germans out, some people said. But the Germans +weren't coming. If they wanted to come, why didn't they come? Anybody +could see that they never did come. Some of Dick Cheeser's pals had +votes. + +And so he had never pictured any change from plowing the great downs; +and here was war at last, and here was he. The Corporal showed him +where to stand, told him to keep a good lookout and left him. + +And there was Dick Cheeser alone in the dark with an army in front of +him, eighty yards away: and, if all tales were true, a pretty horrible +army. + +The night was awfully still. I use the adverb not as Dick Cheeser +would have used it. The stillness awed him. There had not been a shell +all night. He put his head up over the parapet and waited. Nobody +fired at him. He felt that the night was waiting for him. He heard +voices going along the trench: some one said it was a black night: the +voices died away. A mere phrase; the night wasn't black at all, it was +grey. Dick Cheeser was staring at it, and the night was staring back +at him, and seemed to be threatening him; it was grey, grey as an old +cat that they used to have at home, and as artful. Yes, thought Dick +Cheeser, it was an artful night; that was what was wrong with it. If +shells had come or the Germans, or anything at all, you would know how +to take it; but that quiet mist over huge valleys, and stillness! +Anything might happen. Dick waited and waited, and the night waited +too. He felt they were watching each other, the night and he. He felt +that each was crouching. His mind slipped back to the woods on hills +he knew. He was watching with eyes and ears and imagination to see +what would happen in No Man's Land under that ominous mist: but his +mind took a peep for all that at the old woods that he knew. He +pictured himself, he and a band of boys, chasing squirrels again in +the summer. They used to chase a squirrel from tree to tree, throwing +stones, till they tired it: and then they might hit it with a stone: +usually not. Sometimes the squirrel would hide, and a boy would have +to climb after it. It was great sport, thought Dick Cheeser. What a +pity he hadn't had a catapult in those days, he thought. Somehow the +years when he had not had a catapult seemed all to be wasted years. +With a catapult one might get the squirrel almost at once, with luck: +and what a great thing that would be. All the other boys would come +round to look at the squirrel, and to look at the catapult, and ask +him how he did it. He wouldn't have to say much, there would be the +squirrel; no boasting would be necessary with the squirrel lying dead. +It might spread to other things, even rabbits; almost anything, in +fact. He would certainly get a catapult first thing when he got home. +A little wind blew in the night, too cold for summer. It blew away, as +it were, the summer of Dick's memories; blew away hills and woods and +squirrel. It made for a moment a lane in the mist over No Man's Land. +Dick Cheeser peered down it, but it closed again. "No," Night seemed +to say, "you don't guess my secret." And the awful hush intensified. +"What would they do?" thought the sentry. "What were they planning +in all those miles of silence?" Even the Verys were few. When one +went up, far hills seemed to sit and brood over the valley: their +black shapes seemed to know what would happen in the mist and seemed +sworn not to say. The rocket faded, and the hills went back into +mystery again, and Dick Cheeser peered level again over the ominous +valley. + +All the dangers and sinister shapes and evil destinies, lurking +between the armies in that mist, that the sentry faced that night +cannot be told until the history of the war is written by a historian +who can see the mind of the soldier. Not a shell fell all night, no +German stirred; Dick Cheeser was relieved at "Stand to" and his +comrades stood to beside him, and soon it was wide, golden, welcome +dawn. + +And for all the threats of night the thing that happened was one that +the lonely sentry had never foreseen: in the hour of his watching Dick +Cheeser, though scarcely eighteen, became a full-grown man. + + + + +Standing To + + +One cannot say that one time in the trenches is any more tense than +another. One cannot take any one particular hour and call it, in +modern nonsensical talk, "typical hour in the trenches." The routine +of the trenches has gone on too long for that. The tensest hour ought +to be half an hour before dawn, the hour when attacks are expected and +men stand to. It is an old convention of war that that is the +dangerous hour, the hour when defenders are weakest and attack most to +be feared. For darkness favours the attackers then as night favours +the lion, and then dawn comes and they can hold their gains in the +light. Therefore in every trench in every war the garrison is prepared +in that menacing hour, watching in greater numbers than they do the +whole night through. As the first lark lifts from meadows they stand +there in the dark. Whenever there is any war in any part of the world +you may be sure that at that hour men crowd to their parapets: when +sleep is deepest in cities they are watching there. + +When the dawn shimmers a little, and a grey light comes, and widens, +and all of a sudden figures become distinct, and the hour of the +attack that is always expected is gone, then perhaps some faint +feeling of gladness stirs the newest of the recruits; but chiefly the +hour passes like all the other hours there, an unnoticed fragment of +the long, long routine that is taken with resignation mingled with +jokes. + +Dawn comes shy with a wind scarce felt, dawn faint and strangely +perceptible, feeble and faint in the east while men still watch the +darkness. When did the darkness go? When did the dawn grow golden? It +happened as in a moment, a moment you did not see. Guns flash no +longer: the sky is gold and serene; dawn stands there like Victory +that will shine, on one of these years when the Kaiser goes the way of +the older curses of earth. Dawn, and the men unfix bayonets as they +step down from the fire-step and clean their rifles with +pull-throughs. Not all together, but section by section, for it would +not do for a whole company to be caught cleaning their rifles at dawn, +or at any other time. + +They rub off the mud or the rain that has come at night on their +rifles, they detach the magazine and see that its spring is working, +they take out the breechblock and oil it, and put back everything +clean: and another night is gone; it is one day nearer victory. + + + + +The Splendid Traveller + + +A traveller threw his cloak over his shoulder and came down slopes of +gold in El Dorado. From incredible heights he came. He came from where +the peaks of the pure gold mountain shone a little red with the +sunset; from crag to crag of gold he stepped down slowly. Sheer out of +romance he came through the golden evening. + +It was only an incident of every day; the sun had set or was setting, +the air turned chill, and a battalion's bugles were playing +"Retreat" when this knightly stranger, a British aroplane, dipped, +and went homeward over the infantry. That beautiful evening call, and +the golden cloud bank towering, and that adventurer coming home in the +cold, happening all together, revealed in a flash the fact (which +hours of thinking sometimes will not bring) that we live in such a +period of romance as the troubadours would have envied. + +He came, that British airman, over the border, sheer over No Man's +Land and the heads of the enemy and the mysterious land behind, +snatching the secrets that the enemy would conceal. Either he had +defeated the German airmen who would have stopped his going, or they +had not dared to try. Who knows what he had done? He had been abroad +and was coming home in the evening, as he did every day. + +Even when all its romance has been sifted from an age (as the +centuries sift) and set apart from the trivial, and when all has been +stored by the poets; even then what has any of them more romantic than +these adventurers in the evening air, coming home in the twilight with +the black shells bursting below? + +The infantry look up with the same vague wonder with which children +look at dragon flies; sometimes they do not look at all, for all that +comes in France has its part with the wonder of a terrible story as +well as with the incidents of the day, incidents that recur year in +and year out, too often for us to notice them. If a part of the moon +were to fall off in the sky and come tumbling to earth, the comment on +the lips of the imperturbable British watchers that have seen so much +would be, "Hullo, what is Jerry up to now?" + +And so the British aroplane glides home in the evening, and the light +fades from the air, and what is left of the poplars grows dark against +the sky, and what is left of the houses grows more mournful in the +gloaming, and night comes, and with it the sounds of thunder, for the +airman has given his message to the artillery. It is as though Hermes +had gone abroad sailing upon his sandals, and had found some bad land +below those winged feet wherein men did evil and kept not the laws of +gods or men; and he had brought this message back and the gods were +angry. + +For the wars we fight to-day are not like other wars, and the wonders +of them are unlike other wonders. If we do not see in them the saga +and epic, how shall we tell of them? + +England + +"And then we used to have sausages," said the Sergeant. + +"And mashed?" said the Private. + +"Yes," said the Sergeant, "and beer. And then we used to go home. +It was grand in the evenings. We used to go along a lane that was full +of them wild roses. And then we come to the road where the houses +were. They all had their bit of a garden, every house." + +"Nice, I calls it, a garden," the Private said. + +"Yes," said the Sergeant, "they all had their garden. It came right +down to the road. Wooden palings: none of that there wire." + +"I hates wire," said the Private. + +"They didn't have none of it," the N. C. O. went on. "The gardens +came right down to the road, looking lovely. Old Billy Weeks he had +them tall pale-blue flowers in his garden nearly as high as a man." + +"Hollyhocks?" said the Private. + +"No, they wasn't hollyhocks. Lovely they were. We used to stop and +look at them, going by every evening. He had a path up the middle of +his garden paved with red tiles, Billy Weeks had; and these tall blue +flowers growing the whole way along it, both sides like. They was a +wonder. Twenty gardens there must have been, counting them all; but +none to touch Billy Weeks with his pale-blue flowers. There was an old +windmill away to the left. Then there were the swifts sailing by +overhead and screeching: just about as high again as the houses. Lord, +how them birds did fly. And there was the other young fellows, what +were not out walking, standing about by the roadside, just doing +nothing at all. One of them had a flute: Jim Booker, he was. Those +were great days. The bats used to come out, flutter, flutter, flutter; +and then there'd be a star or two; and the smoke from the chimneys +going all grey; and a little cold wind going up and down like the +bats; and all the colour going out of things; and the woods looking +all strange, and a wonderful quiet in them, and a mist coming up from +the stream. It's a queer time that. It's always about that time, the +way I see it: the end of the evening in the long days, and a star or +two, and me and my girl going home. + +"Wouldn't you like to talk about things for a bit the way you +remember them?" + +"Oh, no, Sergeant," said the other, "you go on. You do bring it all +back so." + +"I used to bring her home," the Sergeant said, "to her father's +house. Her father was keeper there, and they had a house in the wood. +A fine house with queer old tiles on it, and a lot of large friendly +dogs. I knew them all by name, same as they knew me. I used to walk +home then along the side of the wood. The owls would be about; you +could hear them yelling. They'd float out of the wood like, sometimes: +all large and white." + +"I knows them," said the Private. + +"I saw a fox once so close I could nearly touch him, walking like he +was on velvet. He just slipped out of the wood." + +"Cunning old brute," said the Private. + +"That's the time to be out," said the Sergeant. "Ten o'clock on a +summer's night, and the night full of noises, not many of them, but +what there is, strange, and coming from a great way off, through the +quiet, with nothing to stop them. Dogs barking, owls hooting, an old +cart; and then just once a sound that you couldn't account for at all, +not anyhow. I've heard sounds on nights like that that nobody 'ud +think you'd heard, nothing like the flute that young Booker had, +nothing like anything on earth." + +"I know," said the Private. + +"I never told any one before, because they wouldn't believe you. But +it doesn't matter now. There'd be a light in the window to guide me +when I got home. I'd walk up through the flowers of our garden. We had +a lovely garden. Wonderful white and strange the flowers looked of a +nighttime." + +"You bring it all back wonderful," said the Private. + +"It's a great thing to have lived," said the Sergeant. + +"Yes, Sergeant," said the other, "I wouldn't have missed it, not +for anything." + +For five days the barrage had rained down behind them: they were +utterly cut off and had no hope of rescue: their food was done, and +they did not know where they were. + + + + +Shells + + +When the aroplanes are home and the sunset has flared away, and it is +cold, and night comes down over France, you notice the guns more than +you do by day, or else they are actually more active then, I do not +know which it is. + +It is then as though a herd of giants, things of enormous height, came +out from lairs in the earth and began to play with the hills. It is as +though they picked up the tops of the hills in their hands and then +let them drop rather slowly. It is exactly like hills falling. You see +the flashes all along the sky, and then that lumping thump as though +the top of the hill had been let drop, not all in one piece, but +crumbled a little as it would drop from your hands if you were three +hundred feet high and were fooling about in the night, spoiling what +it had taken so long to make. That is heavy stuff bursting, a little +way off. + +If you are anywhere near a shell that is bursting, you can hear in it +a curious metallic ring. That applies to the shells of either side, +provided that you are near enough, though usually of course it is the +hostile shell and not your own that you are nearest to, and so one +distinguishes them. It is curious, after such a colossal event as this +explosion must be in the life of a bar of steel, that anything should +remain at all of the old bell-like voice of the metal, but it appears +to, if you listen attentively; it is perhaps its last remonstrance +before leaving its shape and going back to rust in the earth again for +ages. + +Another of the voices of the night is the whine the shell makes in +coming; it is not unlike the cry the hyena utters as soon as it's dark +in Africa: "How nice traveller would taste," the hyena seems to say, +and "I want dead White Man." It is the rising note of the shell as +it comes nearer, and its dying away when it has gone over, that make +it reminiscent of the hyena's method of diction. If it is not going +over then it has something quite different to say. It begins the same +as the other, it comes up, talking of the back areas with the same +long whine as the other. I have heard old hands say "That one is +going well over." "Whee-oo," says the shell; but just where the +"oo" should be long drawn out and turn into the hyena's final +syllable, it says something quite different. "Zarp," it says. That +is bad. Those are the shells that are looking for you. + +And then of course there is the whizz-bang coming from close, along +his flat trajectory: he has little to say, but comes like a sudden +wind, and all that he has to do is done and over at once. + +And then there is the gas shell, who goes over gurgling gluttonously, +probably in big herds, putting down a barrage. It is the liquid inside +that gurgles before it is turned to gas by the mild explosion; that is +the explanation of it; yet that does not prevent one picturing a tribe +of cannibals who have winded some nice juicy men and are smacking +their chops and dribbling in anticipation. + +And a wonderful thing to see, even in those wonderful nights, is our +thermite bursting over the heads of the Germans. The shell breaks into +a shower of golden rain; one cannot judge easily at night how high +from the ground it breaks, but about as high as the tops of trees seen +at a hundred yards. It spreads out evenly all round and rains down +slowly; it is a bad shower to be out in, and for a long time after it +has fallen, the sodden grass of winter, and the mud and old bones +beneath it, burn quietly in a circle. On such a night as this, and in +such showers, the flying pigs will go over, which take two men to +carry each of them; they go over and root right down to the German +dugout, where the German has come in out of the golden rain, and they +fling it all up in the air. + +These are such nights as Scheherazade with all her versatility never +dreamed of; or if such nightmares came she certainly never told of +them, or her august master, the Sultan, light of the age, would have +had her at once beheaded; and his people would have deemed that he did +well. It has been reserved for a modern autocrat to dream such a +nightmare, driven to it perhaps by the tales of a white-whiskered +Scheherazade, the Lord of the Kiel Canal; and being an autocrat he has +made the nightmare a reality for the world. But the nightmare is +stronger than its master, and grows mightier every night; and the +All-Highest War Lord learns that there are powers in Hell that are +easily summoned by the rulers of earth, but that go not easily home. + + + + +Two Degrees of Envy + + +It was night in the front line and no moon, or the moon was hidden. +There was a strafe going on. The Tok Emmas were angry. And the +artillery on both sides were looking for the Tok Emmas. + +Tok Emma, I may explain for the blessed dwellers in whatever far happy +island there be that has not heard of these things, is the crude +language of Mars. He has not time to speak of a trunk mortar battery, +for he is always in a hurry, and so he calls them T. M.'s. But Bellona +might not hear him saying T. M., for all the din that she makes: might +think that he said D. N; and so he calls it Tok Emma. Ak, Beer, C, +Don: this is the alphabet of Mars. + +And the huge minnies were throwing old limbs out of No Man's Land into +the frontline trench, and shells were rasping down through the air +that seemed to resist them until it was torn to pieces: they burst and +showers of mud came down from heaven. Aimlessly, as it seemed, shells +were bursting now and then in the air, with a flash intensely red: the +smell of them was drifting down the trenches. + +In the middle of all this Bert Butterworth was hit. "Only in the +foot," his pals said. "Only!" said Bert. They put him on a +stretcher and carried him down the trench. They passed Bill +Britterling, standing in the mud, an old friend of Bert's. Bert's +face, twisted with pain, looked up to Bill for some sympathy. + +"Lucky devil," said Bill. + +Across the way on the other side of No Man's Land there was mud the +same as on Bill's side: only the mud over there stank; it didn't seem +to have been kept clean somehow. And the parapet was sliding away in +places, for working parties had not had much of a chance. They had +three Tok Emmas working in that battalion front line, and the British +batteries did not quite know where they were, and there were eight of +them looking. + +Fritz Groedenschasser, standing in that unseemly mud, greatly yearned +for them to find soon what they were looking for. Eight batteries +searching for something they can't find, along a trench in which you +have to be, leaves the elephant hunter's most desperate tale a little +dull and insipid. Not that Fritz Groedenschasser knew anything about +elephant hunting: he hated all things sporting, and cordially approved +of the execution of Nurse Cavell. And there was thermite too. +Flammenwerfer was all very well, a good German weapon: it could burn a +man alive at twenty yards. But this accursed flaming English thermite +could catch you at four miles. It wasn't fair. + +The three German trench mortars were all still firing. When would the +English batteries find what they were looking for, and this awful +thing stop? The night was cold and smelly. + +Fritz shifted his feet in the foul mud, but no warmth came to him that +way. + +A gust of shells was coming along the trench. Still they had not found +the minnewerfer! Fritz moved from his place altogether to see if he +could find some place where the parapet was not broken. And as he +moved along the sewerlike trench he came on a wooden cross that marked +the grave of a man he once had known, now buried some days in the +parapet, old Ritz Handelscheiner. + +"Lucky devil," said Fritz. + + + + +The Master of No Man's Land + + +When the last dynasty has fallen and the last empire passed away, when +man himself has gone, there will probably still remain the swede. [The +rutabaga or Swedish turnip.] + +There grew a swede in No Man's Land by Croisille near the Somme, and +it had grown there for a long while free from man. + +It grew as you never saw a swede grow before. It grew tall and strong +and weedy. It lifted its green head and gazed round over No Man's +Land. Yes, man was gone, and it was the day of the swede. + +The storms were tremendous. Sometimes pieces of iron sang through its +leaves. But man was gone and it was the day of the swede. + +A man used to come there once, a great French farmer, an oppressor of +swedes. Legends were told of him and his herd of cattle, dark +traditions that passed down vegetable generations. It was somehow +known in those fields that the man ate swedes. + +And now his house was gone and he would come no more. + +The storms were terrible, but they were better than man. The swede +nodded to his companions: the years of freedom had come. + +They had always known among them that these years would come. Man had +not been there always, but there had always been swedes. He would go +some day, suddenly, as he came. That was the faith of the swedes. And +when the trees went the swede believed that the day was come. When +hundreds of little weeds arrived that were never allowed before, and +grew unchecked, he knew it. + +After that he grew without any care, in sunlight, moonlight and rain; +grew abundantly and luxuriantly in the freedom, and increased in +arrogance till he felt himself greater than man. And indeed in those +leaden storms that sang often over his foliage all living things +seemed equal. + +There was little that the Germans left when they retreated from the +Somme that was higher than this swede. He grew the tallest thing for +miles and miles. He dominated the waste. Two cats slunk by him from a +shattered farm: he towered above them contemptuously. + +A partridge ran by him once, far, far below his lofty leaves. The +night winds mourning in No Man's Land seemed to sing for him alone. + +It was surely the hour of the swede. For him, it seemed, was No Man's +Land. And there I met him one night by the light of a German rocket +and brought him back to our company to cook. + + + + +Weeds and Wire + + +Things had been happening. Divisions were moving. There had been, +there was going to be, a stunt. A battalion marched over the hill and +sat down by the road. They had left the trenches three days march to +the north and had come to a new country. The officers pulled their +maps out; a mild breeze fluttered them; yesterday had been winter and +to-day was spring; but spring in a desolation so complete and +far-reaching that you only knew of it by that little wind. It was +early March by the calendar, but the wind was blowing out of the gates +of April. A platoon commander, feeling that mild wind blowing, forgot +his map and began to whistle a tune that suddenly came to him out of +the past with the wind. Out of the past it blew and out of the South, +a merry vernal tune of a Southern people. Perhaps only one of those +that noticed the tune had ever heard it before. An officer sitting +near had heard it sung; it reminded him of a holiday long ago in the +South. + +"Where did you hear that tune?" he asked the platoon commander. + +"Oh, the hell of a long way from here," the platoon commander said. + +He did not remember quite where it was he had heard it, but he +remembered a sunny day in France and a hill all dark with pine woods, +and a man coming down at evening out of the woods, and down the slope +to the village, singing this song. Between the village and the slope +there were orchards in blossom. So that he came with his song for +hundreds of yards through orchards. "The hell of a way from here," +he said. + +For a long while then they sat silent. + +"It mightn't have been so very far from here," said the platoon +commander. "It was in France, now I come to think of it. But it was a +lovely part of France, all woods and orchards. Nothing like this, +thank God." And he glanced with a tired look at the unutterable +desolation. + +"Where was it?" said the other. + +"In Picardy," he said. + +"Aren't we in Picardy now?" said his friend. + +"Are we?" he said. + +"I don't know. The maps don't call it Picardy." + +"It was a fine place, anyway," the platoon commander said. "There +seemed always to be a wonderful light on the hills. A kind of short +grass grew on them, and it shone in the sun at evening. There were +black woods above them. A man used to come out of them singing at +evening." + +He looked wearily round at the brown desolation of weeds. As far as +the two officers could see there was nothing but brown weeds and bits +of brown barbed wire. He turned from the desolate scene back to his +reminiscences. + +"He came singing through the orchards into the village," he said. +"A quaint old place with queer gables, called Ville-en-Bois." + +"Do you know where we are?" said the other. + +"No, said the platoon commander." + +"I thought not," he said. "Hadn't you better take a look at the +map?" + +"I suppose so," said the platoon commander, and he smoothed out his +map and wearily got to the business of finding out where he was. + +"Good Lord!" he said. "Ville-en-Bois!" + + + + +Spring in England and Flanders + + +Very soon the earliest primroses will be coming out in woods wherever +they have been sheltered from the north. They will grow bolder as the +days go by, and spread and come all down the slopes of sunny hills. +Then the anemones will come, like a shy pale people, one of the tribes +of the elves, who dare not leave the innermost deeps of the wood: in +those days all the trees will be in leaf, the bluebells will follow, +and certain fortunate woods will shelter such myriads of them that the +bright fresh green of the beech trees will flash between two blues, +the blue of the sky and the deeper blue of the bluebells. Later the +violets come, and such a time as this is the perfect time to see +England: when the cuckoo is heard and he surprises his hearers; when +evenings are lengthening out and the bat is abroad again; and all the +flowers are out and all the birds sing. At such a time not only Nature +smiles but our quiet villages and grave old spires wake up from winter +in the mellow air and wear their centuries lightly. At such a time you +might come just at evening on one of those old villages in a valley +and find it in the mood to tell you the secret of the ages that it hid +and treasured there before the Normans came. Who knows? For they are +very old, very wise, very friendly; they might speak to you one warm +evening. If you went to them after great suffering they might speak to +you; after nights and nights of shelling over in France, they might +speak to you and you might hear them clearly. + +It would be a long, long story that they would tell, all about the +ages; and it would vary wonderfully little, much less perhaps than we +think; and the repetitions rambling on and on in the evening, as the +old belfry spoke and the cottages gathered below it, might sound so +soothing after the boom of shells that perhaps you would nearly sleep. +And then with one's memory tired out by the war one might never +remember the long story they told, when the belfry and the +brown-roofed houses all murmured at evening, might never remember even +that they had spoken all through that warm spring and evening. We may +have heard them speak and forgotten that they have spoken. Who knows? +We are at war, and see so many strange things: some we must forget, +some we must remember; and we cannot choose which. + +To turn from Kent to Flanders is to turn to a time of mourning through +all seasons alike. Spring there brings out no leaf on myriad oaks, nor +the haze of green that floats like a halo above the heads of the birch +trees, that stand with their fairylike trunks haunting the deeps of +the woods. For miles and miles and miles summer ripens no crops, leads +out no maidens laughing in the moonlight, and brings no harvest home. +When Autumn looks on orchards in all that region of mourning he looks +upon barren trees that will never blossom again. Winter drives in no +sturdy farmers at evening to sit before cheery fires, families meet +not at Christmas, and the bells are dumb in belfries; for all by which +a man might remember his home has been utterly swept away: has been +swept away to make a maniacal dancing ground on which a murderous +people dance to their death led by a shallow, clever, callous, +imperial clown. + +There they dance to their doom till their feet shall find the +precipice that was prepared for them on the day that they planned the +evil things they have done. + + + + +The Nightmare Countries + + +There are certain lands in the darker dreams of poetry that stand out +in the memory of generations. There is for instance Poe's "Dark tarn +of Auber, the ghoul-haunted region of Weir"; there are some queer +twists in the river Alph as imagined by Coleridge; two lines of +Swinburne: + + By the tideless dolorous inland sea + In a land of sand and ruin and gold + +are as haunting as any. There are in literature certain regions of +gloom, so splendid that whenever you come on them they leave in the +mind a sort of nightmare country which one's thoughts revisit on +hearing the lines quoted. + +It is pleasant to picture such countries sometimes when sitting before +the fire. It is pleasant because you can banish them by the closing of +a book; a puff of smoke from a pipe will hide them altogether, and +back come the pleasant, wholesome, familiar things. But in France they +are there always. In France the nightmare countries stand all night in +the starlight; dawn comes and they still are there. The dead are +buried out of sight and others take their places among men; but the +lost lands lie unburied gazing up at the winds; and the lost woods +stand like skeletons all grotesque in the solitude; the very seasons +have fled from them. The very seasons have fled; so that if you look +up to see whether summer has turned to autumn, or if autumn has turned +to winter yet, nothing remains to show you. It is like the eccentric +dream of some strange man, very arresting and mysterious, but lacking +certain things that should be there before you can recognize it as +earthly. It is a mad, mad landscape. There are miles and miles and +miles of it. It is the biggest thing man has done. It looks as though +man in his pride, with all his clever inventions, had made for himself +a sorry attempt at creation. + +Indeed when we trace it all back to its origin we find at the +beginning of this unhappy story a man who was only an emperor and +wished to be something more. He would have ruled the world but has +only meddled with it; and his folly has brought misery to millions, +and there lies his broken dream on the broken earth. He will never +take Paris now. He will never be crowned at Versailles as Emperor of +Europe; and after that, most secret dream of all, did not the Csars +proclaim themselves divine? Was it not whispered among Macedonian +courtiers that Alexander was the child of God? And was the +Hohenzollern less than these? + +What might not force accomplish? All gone now, that dream and the +Hohenzollern line broken. A maniacal dream and broken farms all mixed +up together: they make a pretty nightmare and the clouds still gleam +at night with the flashes of shells, and the sky is still troubled by +day with uncouth balloons and the black bursts of the German shells +and the white of our anti-aircraft. + +And below there lies this wonderful waste land where no girls sing, +and where no birds come but starlings; where no hedgerows stand, and +no lanes with wild roses, and where no pathways run through fields of +wheat, and there are no fields at all and no farms and no farmers; and +two haystacks stand on a hill I know, undestroyed in the desolation, +and nobody touches them for they know the Germans too well; and the +tops have been blown off hills down to the chalk. And men say of this +place that it is Pozires and of that place that it is Ginchy; nothing +remains to show that hamlets stood there at all, and a brown, brown +weed grows over it all for ever; and a mighty spirit has arisen in +man, and no one bows to the War Lord though many die. And Liberty is +she who sang her songs of old, and is fair as she ever was, when men +see her in visions, at night in No Man's Land when they have the +strength to crawl in: still she walks of a night in Pozires and in +Ginchy. + +A fanciful man once called himself the Emperor of the Sahara: the +German Kaiser has stolen into a fair land and holds with weakening +hands a land of craters and weed, and wire and wild cabbages and old +German bones. + + + + +Spring and the Kaiser + + +While all the world is waiting for Spring there lie great spaces in +one of the pleasantest lands to which Spring cannot come. + +Pear trees and cherry and orchards flash over other lands, blossoming +as abundantly as though their wonder were new, with a beauty as fresh +and surprising as though nothing like it before had ever adorned +countless centuries. Now with the larch and soon with the beech trees +and hazel, a bright green blazes forth to illumine the year. The +slopes are covered with violets. Those who have gardens are beginning +to be proud of them and to point them out to their neighbours. Almond +and peach in blossom peep over old brick walls. The land dreams of +summer all in the youth of the year. + +But better than all this the Germans have found war. The simple +content of a people at peace in pleasant countries counted for nothing +with them. Their Kaiser prepared for war, made speeches about war, +and, when he was ready, made war. And now the hills that should be +covered with violets are full of murderous holes, and the holes are +half full of empty meat tins, and the garden walls have gone and the +gardens with them, and there are no woods left to shelter anemones. +Boundless masses of brown barbed wire straggle over the landscape. All +the orchards there are cut down out of ruthless spite to hurt France +whom they cannot conquer. All the little trees that grow near gardens +are gone, aspen, laburnum and lilac. It is like this for hundreds of +miles. Hundreds of ruined towns gaze at it with vacant windows and see +a land from which even Spring is banished. And not a ruined house in +all the hundred towns but mourns for some one, man, woman or child; +for the Germans make war equally on all in the land where Spring comes +no more. + +Some day Spring will come back; some day she will shine all April in +Picardy again, for Nature is never driven utterly forth, but comes +back with her seasons to cover up even the vilest things. + +She shall hide the raw earth of the shell holes till the violets come +again; she shall bring back even the orchards for Spring to walk in +once more; the woods will grow tall again above the southern anemones; +and the great abandoned guns of the Germans will rust by the rivers of +France. Forgotten like them, the memory of the War Lord will pass with +his evil deeds. + + + + +Two Songs + + +Over slopes of English hills looking south in the time of violets, +evening was falling. + +Shadows at edges of woods moved, and then merged in the gloaming. + +The bat, like a shadow himself, finding that spring was come, slipped +from the dark of the wood as far as a clump of beech trees and +fluttered back again on his wonderful quiet wings. + +Pairing pigeons were home. + +Very young rabbits stole out to gaze at the calm still world. They +came out as the stars come. At one time they were not there, and then +you saw them, but you did not see them come. + +Towering clouds to the west built palaces, cities and mountains; +bastions of rose and precipices of gold; giants went home over them +draped in mauve by steep rose-pink ravines into emerald-green empires. +Turbulences of colour broke out above the departed sun; giants merged +into mountains, and cities became seas, and new processions of other +fantastic things sailed by. But the chalk slopes facing south smiled +on with the same calm light, as though every blade of grass gathered a +ray from the gloaming. All the hills faced the evening with that same +quiet glow, which faded softly as the air grew colder; and the first +star appeared. + +Voices came up in the hush, clear from the valley, and ceased. A light +was lit, like a spark, in a distant window: more stars appeared and +the woods were all dark now, and shapes even on the hill slopes began +to grow indistinct. + +Home by a laneway in the dim, still evening a girl was going, singing +the Marseillaise. + +In France where the downs in the north roll away without hedges, as +though they were great free giants that man had never confined, as +though they were stretching their vast free limbs in the evening, the +same light was smiling and glimmering softly away. + +A road wound over the downs and away round one of their shoulders. A +hush lay over them as though the giants slept, or as though they +guarded in silence their ancient, wonderful history. + +The stillness deepened and the dimness of twilight; and just before +colours fade, while shapes can still be distinguished, there came by +the road a farmer leading his Norman horse. High over the horse's +withers his collar pointed with brass made him fantastic and huge and +strange to see in the evening. + +They moved together through that mellow light towards where unseen +among the clustered downs the old French farmer's house was sheltered +away. + +He was going home at evening humming "God Save the King." + + + + +The Punishment + + +An exhalation arose, drawn up by the moon, from an old battlefield +after the passing of years. It came out of very old craters and +gathered from trenches, smoked up from No Man's Land, and the ruins of +farms; it rose from the rottenness of dead brigades, and lay for half +the night over two armies; but at midnight the moon drew it up all +into one phantom and it rose and trailed away eastwards. + +It passed over men in grey that were weary of war; it passed over a +land once prosperous, happy and mighty, in which were a people that +were gradually starving; it passed by ancient belfries in which there +were no bells now; it passed over fear and misery and weeping, and so +came to the palace at Potsdam. It was the dead of the night between +midnight and dawn, and the palace was very still that the Emperor +might sleep, and sentries guarded it who made no noise and relieved +others in silence. Yet it was not so easy to sleep. Picture to +yourself a murderer who had killed a man. Would you sleep? Picture +yourself the man that planned this war! Yes, you sleep, but nightmares +come. + +The phantom entered the chamber. "Come," it said. + +The Kaiser leaped up at once as obediently as when he came to +attention on parade, years ago, as a subaltern in the Prussian Guard, +a man whom no woman or child as yet had ever cursed; he leaped up and +followed. They passed the silent sentries; none challenged and none +saluted; they were moving swiftly over the town as the felon Gothas +go; they came to a cottage in the country. They drifted over a little +garden gate, and there in a neat little garden the phantom halted like +a wind that has suddenly ceased. "Look," it said. + +Should he look? Yet he must look. The Kaiser looked; and saw a window +shining and a neat room in the cottage: there was nothing dreadful +there; thank the good German God for that; it was all right, after +all. The Kaiser had had a fright, but it was all right; there was only +a woman with a baby sitting before the fire, and two small children +and a man. And it was quite a jolly room. And the man was a young +soldier; and, why, he was a Prussian Guardsman,--there was his +helmet hanging on the wall,--so everything was all right. They were +jolly German children; that was well. How nice and homely the room +was. There shone before him, and showed far off in the night, the +visible reward of German thrift and industry. It was all so tidy and +neat, and yet they were quite poor people. The man had done his work +for the Fatherland, and yet beyond all that had been able to afford +all those little knickknacks that make a home so pleasant and that in +their humble little way were luxury. And while the Kaiser looked the +two young children laughed as they played on the floor, not seeing +that face at the window. + +Why! Look at the helmet. That was lucky. A bullet hole right through +the front of it. That must have gone very close to the man's head. How +ever did it get through? It must have glanced upwards as bullets +sometimes do. The hole was quite low in the helmet. It would be +dreadful to have bullets coming by close like that. The firelight +flickered, and the lamp shone on, and the children played on the +floor, and the man was smoking out of a china pipe; he was strong and +able and young, one of the wealth-winners of Germany. + +"Have you seen?" said the phantom. + +"Yes," said the Kaiser. It was well, he thought, that a Kaiser +should see how his people lived. + +At once the fire went out and the lamp faded away, the room fell +sombrely into neglect and squalor, and the soldier and the children +faded away with the room; all disappeared phantasmally, and nothing +remained but the helmet in a kind of glow on the wall, and the woman +sitting all by herself in the darkness. + +"It has all gone," said the Kaiser. + +"It has never been," said the phantom. + +The Kaiser looked again. Yes, there was nothing there, it was just a +vision. There were the grey walls all damp and uncared for, and that +helmet standing out solid and round, like the only real thing among +fancies. No, it had never been. It was just a vision. + +"It might have been," said the phantom. + +Might have been? How might it have been? + +"Come," said the phantom. + +They drifted away down a little lane that in summer would have had +roses, and came to an Uhlan's house; in times of peace a small farmer. +Farm buildings in good repair showed even in the night, and the black +shapes of haystacks; again a well-kept garden lay by the house. The +phantom and the Kaiser stood in the garden; before them a window +glowed in a lamplit room. + +"Look," said the phantom. + +The Kaiser looked again and saw a young couple; the woman played with +a baby, and all was prosperous in the merry room. Again the hard-won +wealth of Germany shone out for all to see, the cosy comfortable +furniture spoke of acres well cared for, spoke of victory in the +struggle with the seasons on which wealth of nations depends. + +"It might have been," said the phantom. Again the fire died out and +the merry scene faded away, leaving a melancholy, ill-kept room, with +poverty and mourning haunting dusty corners and the woman sitting +alone. + +"Why do you show me this?" said the Kaiser. "Why do you show me +these visions?" + +"Come," said the phantom. + +"What is it?" said the Kaiser. "Where are you bringing me?" + +"Come," said the phantom. + +They went from window to window, from land to land. You had seen, had +you been out that night in Germany, and able to see visions, an +imperious figure passing from place to place, looking on many scenes. +He looked on them, and families withered away, and happy scenes faded, +and the phantom said to him "Come." He expostulated but obeyed; and +so they went from window to window of hundreds of farms in Prussia, +till they came to the Prussian border and went on into Saxony; and +always you would have heard, could you hear spirits speak, "It might +have been," "It might have been," repeated from window to window. + +They went down through Saxony, heading for Austria. And for long the +Kaiser kept that callous, imperious look. But at last he, even he, at +last he nearly wept. And the phantom turned then and swept him back +over Saxony, and into Prussia again and over the sentries' heads, back +to his comfortable bed where it was so hard to sleep. + +And though they had seen thousands of merry homes, homes that can +never be merry now, shrines of perpetual mourning; though they had +seen thousands of smiling German children, who will never be born now, +but were only the visions of hopes blasted by him; for all the leagues +over which he had been so ruthlessly hurried, dawn was yet barely +breaking. + +He had looked on the first few thousand homes of which he had robbed +all time, and which he must see with his eyes before he may go hence. +The first night of the Kaiser's punishment was accomplished. + + + + +The English Spirit + + +By the end of the South African war Sergeant Cane had got one thing +very well fixed in his mind, and that was that war was an overrated +amusement. He said he "was fed up with it," partly because that +misused metaphor was then new, partly because every one was saying it: +he felt it right down in his bones, and he had a long memory. So when +wonderful rumours came to the East Anglian village where he lived, on +August 1, 1914, Sergeant Cane said: "That means war," and decided +then and there to have nothing to do with it: it was somebody else's +turn; he felt he had done enough. Then came August 4th, and England +true to her destiny, and then Lord Kitchener's appeal for men. +Sergeant Cane had a family to look after and a nice little house: he +had left the army ten years. + +In the next week all the men went who had been in the army before, all +that were young enough, and a good sprinkling of the young men too who +had never been in the army. Men asked Cane if he was going, and he +said straight out "No." + +By the middle of August Cane was affecting the situation. He was a +little rallying point for men who did not want to go. "He knows what +it's like," they said. + +In the smoking room of the Big House sat the Squire and his son, Arthur +Smith; and Sir Munion Boomer-Platt, the Member for the division. The +Squire's son had been in the last war as a boy, and like Sergeant Cane +had left the army since. All the morning he had been cursing an +imaginary general, seated in the War Office at an imaginary desk with +Smith's own letter before him, in full view but unopened. Why on earth +didn't he answer it, Smith thought. But he was calmer now, and the +Squire and Sir Munion were talking of Sergeant Cane. + +"Leave him to me," said Sir Munion. + +"Very well," said the Squire. So Sir Munion Boomer-Platt went off +and called on Sergeant Cane. + +Mrs Cane knew what he had come for. + +"Don't let him talk you over, Bill," she said. + +"Not he," said Sergeant Cane. + +Sir Munion came on Sergeant Cane in his garden. + +"A fine day," said Sir Munion. And from that he went on to the war. +"If you enlist," he said, "they will make you a sergeant again at +once. You will get a sergeant's pay, and your wife will get the new +separation allowance." + +"Sooner have Cane," said Mrs Cane. + +"Yes, yes, of course," said Sir Munion. "But then there is the +medal, probably two or three medals, and the glory of it, and it is +such a splendid life." + +Sir Munion did warm to a thing whenever he began to hear his own +words. He painted war as it has always been painted, one of the most +beautiful things you could imagine. And then it mustn't be supposed +that it was like those wars that there used to be, a long way off. +There would be houses where you would be billeted, and good food, and +shady trees and villages wherever you went. And it was such an +opportunity of seeing the Continent ("the Continent as it really +is," Sir Munion called it) as would never come again, and he only +wished he were younger. Sir Munion really did wish it, as he spoke, +for his own words stirred him profoundly; but somehow or other they +did not stir Sergeant Cane. No, he had done his share, and he had a +family to look after. + +Sir Munion could not understand him: he went back to the Big House and +said so. He had told him all the advantages he could think of that +were there to be had for the asking, and Sergeant Cane merely +neglected them. + +"Let me have a try," said Arthur Smith. "He soldiered with me +before." + +Sir Munion shrugged his shoulders. He had all the advantages at his +fingers' ends, from pay to billeting: there was nothing more to be +said. Nevertheless young Smith went. + +"Hullo, Sergeant Cane," said Smith. + +"Hello, sir," said the sergeant. + +"Do you remember that night at Reit River?" + +"Don't I, sir," said Cane. + +"One blanket each and no ground sheet?" + +"I remember, sir," said Cane. + +"Didn't it rain," said Smith. + +"It rained that night, proper." + +"Drowned a few of the lice, I suppose." + +"Not many," said Cane. + +"No, not many," Smith reflected. "The Boers had the range all right +that time." + +"Gave it us proper," said Cane. + +"We were hungry that night," said Smith. "I could have eaten +biltong." + +"I did eat some of it," said Cane. "Not bad stuff, what there was +of it, only not enough." + +"I don't think," said Smith, "that I've ever slept on the bare +earth since." + +"No, sir?" said Cane. "It's hard. You get used to it. But it will +always be hard." + +"Yes, it will always be hard," said Smith. "Do you remember the +time we were thirsty?" + +"Oh, yes, sir," said Cane, "I remember that. One doesn't forget +that." + +"No. I still dream of it sometimes," said Smith. "It makes a nasty +dream. I wake with my mouth all dry too, when I dream that." + +"Yes," said Cane, "one doesn't forget being thirsty." + +"Well," said Smith, "I suppose we're for it all over again?" + +"I suppose so, sir," said Cane. + +An Investigation Into the Causes and Origin of the War + +The German imperial barber has been called up. He must have been +called up quite early in the war. I have seen photographs in papers +that leave no doubt of that. Who he is I do not know: I once read his +name in an article but have forgotten it; few even know if he still +lives. And yet what harm he has done! What vast evils he has +unwittingly originated! Many years ago he invented a frivolity, a jeu +d'esprit easily forgivable to an artist in the heyday of his youth, to +whom his art was new and even perhaps wonderful. A craft, of course, +rather than an art, and a humble craft at that; but then, the man was +young, and what will not seem wonderful to youth? + +He must have taken the craft very seriously, but as youth takes things +seriously, fantastically and with laughter. He must have determined to +outshine rivals: he must have gone away and thought, burning candles +late perhaps, when all the palace was still. But how can youth think +seriously? And there had come to him this absurd, this fantastical +conceit. What else would have come? The more seriously he took the +tonsorial art, the more he studied its tricks and phrases and heard +old barbers lecture, the more sure were the imps of youth to prompt +him to laughter and urge him to something outrageous and ridiculous. +The background of the dull pomp of Potsdam must have made all this +more certain. It was bound to come. + +And so one day, or, as I have suggested, suddenly late one night, +there came to the young artist bending over tonsorial books that +quaint, mad, odd, preposterous inspiration. Ah, what pleasure there is +in the madness of youth; it is not like the madness of age, clinging +to outworn formul; it is the madness of breaking away, of galloping +among precipices, of dallying with the impossible, of courting the +absurd. And this inspiration, it was in none of the books; the +lecturer barbers had not lectured on it, could not dream of it and did +not dare to; there was no tradition for it, no precedent; it was mad; +and to introduce it into the pomp of Potsdam, that was the daring of +madness. And this preposterous inspiration of the absurd young +barber-madman was nothing less than a moustache that without any curve +at all, or any suggestion of sanity, should go suddenly up at the ends +very nearly as high as the eyes! + +He must have told his young fellow craftsmen first, for youth goes +first to youth with its hallucinations. And they, what could they have +said? You cannot say of madness that it is mad, you cannot call +absurdity absurd. To have criticized would have revealed jealousy; and +as for praise you could not praise a thing like that. They probably +shrugged, made gestures; and perhaps one friend warned him. But you +cannot warn a man against a madness; if the madness is in possession +it will not be warned away: why should it? And then perhaps he went to +the old barbers of the Court. You can picture their anger. Age does +not learn from youth in any case. But there was the insult to their +ancient craft, bad enough if only imagined, but here openly spoken of. +And what would come of it? They must have feared, on the one hand, +dishonour to their craft if this young barber were treated as his +levity deserved; and, on the other hand, could they have feared his +success? I think they could not have guessed it. + +And then the young idiot with his preposterous inspiration must have +looked about to see where he could practise his new absurdity. It +should have been enough to have talked about it among his fellow +barbers; they would have gone with new zest to their work next day for +this delirious interlude, and no harm would have been done. "Fritz," +(or Hans) they would have said, "was a bit on last night, a bit full +up," or whatever phrase they use to touch on drunkenness; and the +thing would have been forgotten. We all have our fancies. But this +young fool wanted to get his fancy mixed up with practice: that's +where he was mad. And in Potsdam, of all places. + +He probably tried his friends first, young barbers at the Court and +others of his own standing. None of them were fools enough to be seen +going about like that. They had jobs to lose. A Court barber is one +thing, a man who cuts ordinary hair is quite another. Why should they +become outcasts because their friend chose to be mad? + +He probably tried his inferiors then, but they would have been timid +folk; they must have seen the thing was absurd, and of course daren't +risk it. Again, why should they? + +Did he try to get some noble then to patronize his invention? Probably +the first refusals he had soon inflamed his madness more, and he threw +caution insanely to the winds, and went straight to the Emperor. + +It was probably about the time that the Emperor dismissed Bismarck; +certainly the drawings of that time show him still with a sane +moustache. + +The young barber probably chanced on him in this period, finding him +bereft of an adviser, and ready to be swayed by whatever whim should +come. Perhaps he was attracted by the barber's hardihood, perhaps the +absurdity of his inspiration had some fascination for him, perhaps he +merely saw that the thing was new and, feeling jaded, let the barber +have his way. And so the frivolity became a fact, the absurdity became +visible, and honour and riches came the way of the barber. + +A small thing, you might say, however fantastical. And yet I believe +the absurdity of that barber to be among the great evils that have +brought death nearer to man; whimsical and farcical as it was, yet a +thing deadlier than Helen's beauty or Tamerlane's love of skulls. For +just as character is outwardly shown so outward things react upon the +character; and who, with that daring barber's ludicrous fancy visible +always on his face, could quite go the sober way of beneficent +monarchs? The fantasy must be mitigated here, set off there; had you +such a figure to dress, say for amateur theatricals, you would realize +the difficulty. The heavy silver eagle to balance it; the glittering +cuirass lower down, preventing the eye from dwelling too long on the +barber's absurdity. And then the pose to go with the cuirass and to +carry off the wild conceit of that mad, mad barber. He has much to +answer for, that eccentric man whose name so few remember. For pose +led to actions; and just when Europe most needed a man of wise +counsels, restraining the passions of great empires, just then she had +ruling over Germany and, unhappily, dominating Austria, a man who +every year grew more akin to the folly of that silly barber's youthful +inspiration. + +Let us forgive the barber. For long I have known from pictures that I +have seen of the Kaiser that he has gone to the trenches. Probably he +is dead. Let us forgive the barber. But let us bear in mind that the +futile fancies of youth may be deadly things, and that one of them +falling on a fickle mind may so stir its shallows as to urge it to +disturb and set in motion the avalanches of illimitable grief. + +Lost + +Describing a visit, say the papers of March 28th, which the Kaiser +paid incognito to Cologne Cathedral on March 18th before the great +battle, the Cologne correspondent of the Tyd says: + +There were only a few persons in the building. Under high arches +and in spacious solitude the Kaiser sat, as if in deep thought, +before the priests' choir. Behind him his military staff stood +respectfully at a distance. Still musing as he rose, the monarch +resting both hands on his walking-stick remains standing immovable +for some minutes... I shall never forget this picture of the musing +monarch praying in Cologne Cathedral on the eve of the great +battle. + +Probably he won't forget it. The German casualty lists will help to +remind him. But what is more to the point is that this expert +propagandist has presumably received orders that we are not to forget +it, and that the sinister originator of the then impending holocaust +should be toned down a little in the eyes at least of the Tyd to +something a little more amiable. + +And no doubt the little piece of propaganda gave every satisfaction to +those who ordered it, or they would not have passed it out to the Tyd, +and the touching little scene would never have reached our eyes. At +the same time the little tale would have been better suited to the +psychology of other countries if he had made the War Lord kneel when +he prayed in Cologne Cathedral, and if he had represented the Military +Staff as standing out of respect to One who, outside Germany, is held +in greater respect than the All Highest. + +And had the War Lord really knelt is it not possible that he might +have found pity, humility, or even contrition? Things easily +overlooked in so large a cathedral when sitting erect, as a War Lord, +before the priests' choir, but to be noticed perhaps with one's eyes +turned to the ground. + +Perhaps he nearly found one of those things. Perhaps he felt (who +knows?) just for a moment, that in the dimness of those enormous +aisles was something he had lost a long, long while ago. + +One is not mistaken to credit the very bad with feeling far, faint +appeals from things of glory like Cologne Cathedral; it is that the +appeals come to them too far and faint on their headlong descent to +ruin. + +For what was the War Lord seeking? Did he know that pity for his poor +slaughtered people, huddled by him on to our ceaseless machine guns, +might be found by seeking there? Or was it only that the lost thing, +whatever it was, made that faint appeal to him, passing the door by +chance, and drew him in, as the scent of some herb or flower in a +moment draws us back years to look for something lost in our youth; we +gaze back, wondering, and do not find it. + +And to think that perhaps he lost it by very little! That, but for +that proud attitude and the respectful staff, he might have seen what +was lost, and have come out bringing pity for his people. Might have +said to the crowd that gave him that ovation, as we read, outside the +door: "My pride has driven you to this needless war, my ambition has +made a sacrifice of millions, but it is over, and it shall be no more; +I will make no more conquests." + +They would have killed him. But for that renunciation, perhaps, +however late, the curses of the widows of his people might have kept +away from his grave. + +But he did not find it. He sat at prayer. Then he stood. Then he +marched out: and his staff marched out behind him. And in the gloom of +the floor of the vast Cologne Cathedral lie the things that the Kaiser +did not find and never will find now. Unnoticed thus, and in some +silent moment, passes a man's last chance. + + + + +The Last Mirage + + +The desolation that the German offensive has added to the dominions of +the Kaiser cannot easily be imagined by any one who has never seen a +desert. Look at it on the map and it is full of the names of towns and +villages; it is in Europe, where there are no deserts; it is a fertile +province among places of famous names. Surely it is a proud addition +to an ambitious monarch's possessions. Surely there is something there +that it is worth while to have conquered at the cost of army corps. +No, nothing. They are mirage towns. The farms grow Dead Sea fruit. +France recedes before the imperial clutch. France smiles, but not for +him. His new towns seem to be his because their names have not yet +been removed from any map, but they crumble at his approach because +France is not for him. His deadly ambition makes a waste before it as +it goes, clutching for cities. It comes to them and the cities are not +there. + +I have seen mirages and have heard others told of, but the best +mirages of all we never hear described; the mirage that waterless +travellers see at the last. Those fountains rising out of onyx basins, +blue and straight into incredible heights, and falling and flooding +cool white marble; the haze of spray above their feathery heads +through which the pale green domes of weathered copper shimmer and +shake a little; mysterious temples, the tombs of unknown kings; the +cataracts coming down from rose-quartz cliffs, far off but seen quite +clearly, growing to rivers bearing curious barges to the golden courts +of Sahara. These things we never see; they are seen at the last by men +who die of thirst. + +Even so has the Kaiser looked at the smiling plains of France. Even so +has he looked on her famous ancient cities and the farms and the +fertile fields and the woods and orchards of Picardy. With effort and +trouble he has moved towards them. As he comes near to them the cities +crumble, the woods shrivel and fall, the farms fade out of Picardy, +even the hedgerows go; it is bare, bare desert. He had been sure of +Paris, he had dreamed of Versailles and some monstrous coronation, he +had thought his insatiable avarice would be sated. For he had plotted +for conquest of the world, that boundless greed of his goading him on +as a man in the grip of thirst broods upon lakes. + +He sees victory near him now. That also will fade in the desert of old +barbed wire and weeds. When will he see that a doom is over all his +ambitions? For his dreams of victory are like those last dreams that +come in deceptive deserts to dying men. + +There is nothing good for him in the desert of the Somme. Bapaume is +not really there, though it be marked on his maps; it is only a +wilderness of slates and brick. Peronne looks like a city a long way +off, but when you come near it is only the shells of houses. Pozire, +Le Sars, Sapigny, are gone altogether. + +And all is Dead Sea fruit in a visible desert. The reports of German +victories there are mirage like all the rest; they too will fade into +weeds and old barbed wire. + +And the advances that look like victories, and the ruins that look +like cities, and the shell-beaten broken fields that look like +farms,--they and the dreams of conquest and all the plots and ambitions, +they are all the mirage of a dying dynasty in a desert it made for its +doom. + +Bones lead up to the desert, bones are scattered about it, it is the +most menacing and calamitous waste of all the deadly places that have +been inclement to man. It flatters the Hohenzollerns with visions of +victory now because they are doomed by it and are about to die. When +their race has died the earth shall smile again, for their deadly +mirage shall oppress us no more. The cities shall rise again and the +farms come back; hedgerows and orchards shall be seen again; the woods +shall slowly lift their heads from the dust; and gardens shall come +again where the desert was, to bloom in happier ages that forget the +Hohenzollerns. + + + + +A Famous Man + + +Last winter a famous figure walked in Behagnies. Soldiers came to see +him from their billets all down the Arras road, from Ervillers and +from Sapigny, and from the ghosts of villages back from the road, +places that once were villages but are only names now. They would walk +three or four miles, those who could not get lorries, for his was one +of those names that all men know, not such a name as a soldier or poet +may win, but a name that all men know. They used to go there at +evening. + +Four miles away on the left as you went from Ervillers, the guns +mumbled over the hills, low hills over which the Verys from the +trenches put up their heads and peered around,--greeny, yellowy +heads that turned the sky sickly, and the clouds lit up and went grey +again all the night long. As you got near to Behagnies you lost sight +of the Verys, but the guns mumbled on. A silly little train used to +run on one's left, which used to whistle loudly, as though it asked to +be shelled, but I never saw a shell coming its way; perhaps it knew +that the German gunners could not calculate how slow it went. It +crossed the road as you got down to Behagnies. + +You passed the graves of two or three German soldiers with their names +on white wooden crosses,--men killed in 1914; and then a little +cemetery of a French cavalry regiment, where a big cross stood in the +middle with a wreath and a tricolor badge, and the names of the men. +And then one saw trees. That was always a wonder, whether one saw +their dark shapes in the evening, or whether one saw them by day, and +knew from the look of their leaves whether autumn had come yet, or +gone. In winter at evening one just saw the black bulk of them, but +that was no less marvellous than seeing them green in summer; trees by +the side of the Arras-Bapaume road, trees in mid-desert in the awful +region of Somme. There were not many of them, just a cluster, fewer +than the date palms in an oasis in Sahara, but an oasis is an oasis +wherever you find it, and a few trees make it. There are little places +here and there, few enough as the Arabs know, that the Sahara's deadly +sand has never been able to devastate; and there are places even in +the Somme that German malice, obeying the Kaiser as the sand of Sahara +obeys the accursed sirocco, has not been able to destroy quite to the +uttermost. That little cluster of trees at Behagnies is one of these; +Divisional Headquarters used to shelter beneath them; and near them +was a statue on a lawn which probably stood by the windows of some +fine house, though there is no trace of the house but the lawn and +that statue now. + +And over the way on the left a little further on, just past the +officers' club, a large hall stood where one saw that famous figure, +whom officers and men alike would come so far to see. + +The hall would hold perhaps four or five hundred seats in front of a +stage fitted up very simply with red, white and blue cloths, but +fitted up by some one that understood the job; and at the back of that +stage on those winter evenings walked on his flat and world-renowned +feet the figure of Charlie Chaplin. + +When aroplanes came over bombing, the dynamos used to stop for they +supplied light to other places besides the cinema, and the shade of +Charlie Chaplin would fade away. But the men would wait till the +aroplanes had gone and that famous figure came waddling back to the +screen. There he amused tired men newly come from the trenches, there +he brought laughter to most of the twelve days that they had out of +the line. + +He is gone from Behagnies now. He did not march in the retreat a +little apart from the troops, with head bent forward and hand thrust +in jacket, a flat-footed Napoleon: yet he is gone; for no one would +have left behind for the enemy so precious a thing as a Charlie +Chaplin film. He is gone but he will return. He will come with his +cane one day along that Arras road to the old hut in Behagnies; and +men dressed in brown will welcome him there again. + +He will pass beyond it through those desolate plains, and over the +hills beyond them, beyond Bapaume. Far hamlets to the east will know +his antics. + +And one day surely, in old familiar garb, without court dress, without +removing his hat, armed with that flexible cane, he will walk over the +faces of the Prussian Guard and, picking up the Kaiser by the collar, +with infinite nonchalance in finger and thumb, will place him neatly +in a prone position and solemnly sit on his chest. + + + + +The Oases of Death + + +While the German guns were pounding Amiens and the battle of dull +Prussianism against Liberty raged on, they buried Richthofen in the +British lines. + +They had laid him in a large tent with his broken machine outside it. +Thence British airmen carried him to the quiet cemetery, and he was +buried among the cypresses in this old resting place of French +generations just as though he had come there bringing no harm to +France. + +Five wreaths were on his coffin, placed there by those who had fought +against him up in the air. And under the wreaths on the coffin was +spread the German flag. + +When the funeral service was over three volleys were fired by the +escort, and a hundred aviators paid their last respects to the grave +of their greatest enemy; for the chivalry that the Prussians have +driven from earth and sea lives on in the blue spaces of the air. + +They buried Richthofen at evening, and the planes came droning home as +they buried him, and the German guns roared on and guns answered, +defending Amiens. And in spite of all, the cemetery had the air of +quiet, remaining calm and aloof, as all French graveyards are. For +they seem to have no part in the cataclysm that shakes all the world +but them; they seem to withdraw amongst memories and to be aloof from +time, and, above all, to be quite untroubled by the war that rages +to-day, upon which they appear to look out listlessly from among their +cypress and yew, and dimly, down a vista of centuries. They are very +strange, these little oases of death that remain unmoved and green +with their trees still growing, in the midst of a desolation as far as +the eye can see, in which cities and villages and trees and hedges and +farms and fields and churches are all gone, and where hugely broods a +desert. It is as though Death, stalking up and down through France for +four years, sparing nothing, had recognized for his own his little +gardens, and had spared only them. + + + + +Anglo-Saxon Tyranny + + +"We need a sea," says Big-Admiral von Tirpitz, "freed of +Anglo-Saxon tyranny." Unfortunately neither the British Admiralty nor +the American Navy permit us to know how much of the Anglo-Saxon +tyranny is done by American destroyers and how much by British ships +and even trawler. It would interest both countries to know, if it +could be known. But the Big-Admiral is unjust to France, for the +French navy exerts a tyranny at sea that can by no means be +overlooked, although naturally from her position in front of the mouth +of the Elbe England practises the culminating insupportable tyranny of +keeping the High Seas Fleet in the Kiel Canal. + +It is not I, but the Big-Admiral, who chose the word tyranny as +descriptive of the activities of the Anglo-Saxon navies. He was making +a speech at Dusseldorf on May 25th and was reported in the +Dusseldorfer Nachrichten on May 27th. + +Naturally it does not seem like tyranny to us, even the contrary; but +for an admiral, ein Grosse-Admiral, lately commanding a High Seas +Fleet, it must have been more galling than we perhaps can credit to be +confined in a canal. There was he, who should have been breasting the +blue, or at any rate doing something salty and nautical, far out in +the storms of that sea that the Germans call an Ocean, with the +hurricane raging angrily in his whiskers and now and then wafting +tufts of them aloft to white the halyards; there was he constrained to +a command the duties of which however nobly he did them could be +equally well carried out by any respectable bargee. He hoped for a +piracy of which the Lusitania was merely a beginning; he looked for +the bombardment of innumerable towns; he pictured slaughter in many a +hamlet of fishermen; he planned more than all those things of which +U-boat commanders are guilty; he saw himself a murderous old man, +terrible to seafarers, and a scourge of the coasts, and fancied +himself chronicled in after years by such as told dark tales of +Captain Kidd or the awful buccaneers; but he followed in the end no +more desperate courses than to sit and watch his ships on a wharf near +Kiel like one of Jacob's night watchmen. + +No wonder that what appears to us no more than the necessary +protection of women and children in seacoast towns from murder should +be to him an intolerable tyranny. No wonder that the guarding of +travellers of the allied countries at sea, and even those of the +neutrals, should be a most galling thing to the Big-Admiral's thwarted +ambition, looking at it from the point of view of one who to +white-whiskered age has retained the schoolboy's natural love of the +black and yellow flag. A pirate, he would say, has as much right to +live as wasps or tigers. The Anglo-Saxon navies, he might argue, have +a certain code of rules for use at sea; they let women get first into +the boats, for instance, when ships are sinking, and they rescue +drowning mariners when they can: no actual harm in all this, he would +feel, though it would weaken you, as Hindenburg said of poetry; but if +all these little rules are tyrannously enforced on those who may think +them silly, what is to become of the pirate? Where, if people like +Beattie and Sims had always had their way, would be those rollicking +tales of the jolly Spanish Main, and men walking the plank into the +big blue sea, and long, low, rakish craft putting in to Indian +harbours with a cargo of men and women all hung from the yard-arm? A +melancholy has come over the spirit of Big-Admiral von Tirpitz in the +years he has spent in the marshes between the Elbe and Kiel, and in +that melancholy he sees romance crushed; he sees no more pearl +earrings and little gold rings in the hold, he sees British +battleships spoiling the Spanish Main, and hateful American cruisers +in the old Sargasso Sea; he sees himself, alas, the last of all the +pirates. + +Let him take comfort. There were always pirates. And in spite of the +tyranny of England and America, and of France, which the poor old man +perplexed with his troubles forgot, there will be pirates still. Not +many perhaps, but enough U-boats will always be able to slip through +that tyrannous blockade to spread indiscriminate slaughter amongst the +travellers of any nation, enough to hand on the old traditions of +murder at sea. And one day Captain Kidd, with such a bow as they used +to make in ports of the Spanish Main, will take off his ancient hat, +sweeping it low in Hell, and be proud to clasp the hand of the Lord of +the Kiel Canal. + + + + +Memories + + + ... far-off things + And battles long ago. + + +Those who live in an old house are necessarily more concerned with +paying the plumber, should his art be required, or choosing wall paper +that does not clash with the chintzes, than with the traditions that +may haunt its corridors. In Ireland,--and no one knows how old that +is, for the gods that lived there before the Red Branch came wrote few +chronicles on the old grey Irish stones and wrote in their own +language,--in Ireland we are more concerned with working it so that +Tim Flanagan gets the job he does be looking for. + +But in America those who remember Ireland remember her, very often, +from old generations; maybe their grandfather migrated, perhaps his +grandfather, and Ireland is remembered by old tales treasured among +them. Now Tim Flanagan will not be remembered in a year's time when he +has the job for which he has got us to agitate, and the jobberies that +stir us move not the pen of History. + +But the tales that Irish generations hand down beyond the Atlantic +have to be tales that are worth remembering. They are tales that have +to stand the supreme test, tales that a child will listen to by the +fireside of an evening, so that they go down with those early +remembered evenings that are last of all to go of the memories of a +lifetime. A tale that a child will listen to must have much grandeur. +Any cheap stuff will do for us, bad journalism, and novels by girls +that could get no other jobs; but a child looks for those things in a +tale that are simple and noble and epic, the things that Earth +remembers. And so they tell, over there, tales of Sarsfield and of the +old Irish Brigade; they tell, of an evening, of Owen Roe O'Neill. And +into those tales come the plains of Flanders again and the ancient +towns of France, towns famous long ago and famous yet: let us rather +think of them as famous names and not as the sad ruins we have seen, +melancholy by day and monstrous in the moonlight. + +Many an Irishman who sails from America for those historic lands knows +that the old trees that stand there have their roots far down in soil +once richened by Irish blood. When the Boyne was lost and won, and +Ireland had lost her King, many an Irishman with all his wealth in a +scabbard looked upon exile as his sovereign's court. And so they came +to the lands of foreign kings, with nothing to offer for the +hospitality that was given them but a sword; and it usually was a +sword with which kings were well content. Louis XV had many of them, +and was glad to have them at Fontenoy; the Spanish King admitted them +to the Golden Fleece; they defended Maria Theresa. Landen in Flanders +and Cremona knew them. A volume were needed to tell of all those +swords; more than one Muse has remembered them. It was not disloyalty +that drove them forth; their King was gone, they followed, the oak was +smitten and brown were the leaves of the tree. + +But no such mournful metaphor applies to the men who march to-day +towards the plains where the "Wild Geese" were driven. They go with +no country mourning them, but their whole land cheers them on; they go +to the inherited battlefields. And there is this difference in their +attitude to kings, that those knightly Irishmen of old, driven +homeless over-sea, appeared as exiles suppliant for shelter before the +face of the Grand Monarch, and he, no doubt with exquisite French +grace, gave back to them all they had lost except what was lost +forever, salving so far as he could the injustice suffered by each. +But to-day when might, for its turn, is in the hands of democracies, +the men whose fathers built the Statue of Liberty have left their +country to bring back an exiled king to his home, and to right what +can be righted of the ghastly wrongs of Flanders. + +And if men's prayers are heard, as many say, old saints will hear old +supplications going up by starlight with a certain wistful, musical +intonation that has linked the towns of Limerick and Cork with the +fields of Flanders before. + + + + +The Movement + + +For many years Eliphaz Griggs was comparatively silent. Not that he +did not talk on all occasions whenever he could find hearers, he did +that at great length; but for many years he addressed no public +meeting, and was no part of the normal life of the northeast end of +Hyde Park or Trafalgar Square. And then one day he was talking in a +public house where he had gone to talk on the only subject that was +dear to him. He waited, as was his custom, until five or six men were +present, and then he began. "Ye're all damned, I'm saying, damned +from the day you were born. Your portion is Tophet." + +And on that day there happened what had never happened in his +experience before. Men used to listen in a tolerant way, and say +little over their beer, for that is the English custom; and that would +be all. But to-day a man rose up with flashing eyes and went over to +Eliphaz and gripped him by the hand: "They're all damned," said the +stranger. + +That was the turning point in the life of Eliphaz. Up to that moment +he had been a lonely crank, and men thought he was queer; but now +there were two of them and he became a Movement. A Movement in England +may do what it likes: there was a Movement, before the War, for +spoiling tulips in Kew Gardens and breaking church windows; it had its +run like the rest. + +The name of Eliphaz's new friend was Ezekiel Pim: and they drew up +rules for their Movement almost at once; and very soon country inns +knew Eliphaz no more. And for some while they missed him where he used +to drop in of an evening to tell them they were all damned: and then a +man proved one day that the earth was flat, and they all forgot +Eliphaz. + +But Eliphaz went to Hyde Park and Ezekiel Pim went with him, and there +you would see them close to the Marble Arch on any fine Sunday +afternoon, preaching their Movement to the people of London. "You are +all damned," said Eliphaz. "Your portion shall be damnation for +everlasting." + +"All damned," added Ezekiel. + +Eliphaz was the orator. He would picture Hell to you as it really is. +He made you see pretty much what it will be like to wriggle and turn +and squirm, and never escape from burning. But Ezekiel Pim, though he +seldom said more than three words, uttered those words with such +alarming sincerity and had such a sure conviction shining in his eyes +that searched right in your face as he said them, and his long hair +waved so weirdly as his head shot forward when he said "You're all +damned," that Ezekiel Pim brought home to you that the vivid +descriptions of Eliphaz really applied to you. + +People who lead bad lives get their sensibilities hardened. These did +not care very much what Eliphaz said. But girls at school, and several +governesses, and even some young clergy, were very much affected. +Eliphaz Griggs and Ezekiel Pim seemed to bring Hell so near to you. +You could almost feel it baking the Marble Arch from two to four on +Sundays. And at four o'clock the Surbiton Branch of the International +Anarchists used to come along, and Eliphaz Griggs and Ezekiel Pim +would pack up their flag and go, for the pitch belonged to the +Surbiton people till six; and the crank Movements punctiliously +recognize each other's rights. If they fought among themselves, which +is quite unthinkable, the police would run them in; it is the one +thing that an anarchist in England may never do. + +When the War came the two speakers doubled their efforts. The way they +looked at it was that here was a counter-attraction taking people's +minds off the subject of their own damnation just as they had got them +to think about it. Eliphaz worked as he had never worked before; he +spared nobody; but it was still Ezekiel Pim who somehow brought it +most home to them. + +One fine spring afternoon Eliphaz Griggs was speaking at his usual +place and time; he had wound himself up wonderfully. "You are +damned," he was saying, "for ever and ever and ever. Your sins have +found you out. Your filthy lives will be as fuel round you and shall +burn for ever and ever." + +"Look here," said a Canadian soldier in the crowd, "we shouldn't +allow that in Ottawa." + +"What?" asked an English girl. + +"Why, telling us we're all damned like that," he said. + +"Oh, this is England," she said. "They may all say what they like +here." + +"You are all damned," said Ezekiel, jerking forward his head and +shoulders till his hair flapped out behind. "All, all, all damned." + +"I'm damned if I am," said the Canadian soldier. + +"Ah," said Ezekiel, and a sly look came into his face. + +Eliphaz flamed on. "Your sins are remembered. Satan shall grin at +you. He shall heap cinders on you for ever and ever. Woe to you, +filthy livers. Woe to you, sinners. Hell is your portion. There shall +be none to grieve for you. You shall dwell in torment for ages. None +shall be spared, not one. Woe everlasting... Oh, I beg pardon, +gentlemen, I'm sure." For the Pacifists' League had been kept waiting +three minutes. It was their turn to-day at four. + + + + +Nature's Cad + + +The claim of Professor Grotius Jan Beek to have discovered, or +learned, the language of the greater apes has been demonstrated +clearly enough. He is not the original discoverer of the fact that +they have what may be said to correspond with a language; nor is he +the first man to have lived for some while in the jungle protected by +wooden bars, with a view to acquiring some knowledge of the meaning of +the various syllables that gorillas appear to utter. If so crude a +collection of sounds, amounting to less than a hundred words, if words +they are, may be called a language, it may be admitted that the +Professor has learned it, as his recent experiments show. What he has +not proved is his assertion that he has actually conversed with a +gorilla, or by signs, or grunts, or any means whatever obtained an +insight, as he put it, into its mentality, or, as we should put it, +its point of view. This Professor Beek claims to have done; and though +he gives us a certain plausible corroboration of a kind which makes +his story appear likely, it should be borne in mind that it is not of +the nature of proof. + +The Professor's story is briefly that having acquired this language, +which nobody that has witnessed his experiments will call in question, +he went back to the jungle for a week, living all the time in the +ordinary explorer's cage of the Blik pattern. Towards the very end of +the week a big male gorilla came by, and the Professor attracted it by +the one word "Food." It came, he says, close to the cage, and seemed +prepared to talk but became very angry on seeing a man there, and beat +the cage and would say nothing. The Professor says that he asked it +why it was angry. He admits that he had learned no more than forty +words of this language, but believes that there are perhaps thirty +more. Much however is expressed, as he says, by mere intonation. +Anger, for instance; and scores of allied words, such as terrible, +frightful, kill, whether noun, verb or adjective, are expressed, he +says, by a mere growl. Nor is there any word for "Why," but queries +are signified by the inflexion of the voice. + +When he asked it why it was angry the gorilla said that men killed +him, and added a noise that the professor said was evidently meant to +allude to guns. The only word used, he says, in this remark of the +gorilla's was the word that signified "man." The sentence as +understood by the professor amounted to "Man kill me. Guns." But the +word "kill" was represented simply by a snarl, "me" by slapping +its chest, and "guns" as I have explained was only represented by a +noise. The Professor believes that ultimately a word for guns may be +evolved out of that noise, but thinks that it will take many +centuries, and that if during that time guns should cease to be in +use, this stimulus being withdrawn, the word will never be evolved at +all, nor of course will it be needed. + +The Professor tried, by evincing interest, ignorance, and incredulity, +and even indignation, to encourage the gorilla to say more; but to his +disappointment, all the more intense after having exchanged that one +word of conversation with one of the beasts, the gorilla only repeated +what it had said, and beat on the cage again. For half an hour this +went on, the Professor showing every sign of sympathy, the gorilla +raging and beating upon the cage. + +It was half an hour of the most intense excitement to the Professor, +during which time he saw the realization of dreams that many +considered crazy, glittering as it were within his grasp, and all the +while this ridiculous gorilla would do nothing but repeat the mere +shred of a sentence and beat the cage with its great hands; and the +heat of course was intense. And by the end of the half hour the +excitement and the heat seem to have got the better of the Professor's +temper, and he waved the disgusting brute angrily away with a gesture +that probably was not much less impatient than the gorilla's own. And +at that the animal suddenly became voluble. He beat more furiously +than ever upon the cage and slipped his great fingers through the +bars, trying to reach the Professor, and poured out volumes of +ape-chatter. + +Why, why did men shoot at him, he asked. He made himself terrible, +therefore men ought to love him. That was the whole burden of what the +Professor calls its argument. "Me, me terrible," two slaps on the +chest and then a growl. "Man love me." And then the emphatic +negative word, and the sound that meant guns, and sudden furious +rushes at the cage to try to get at the Professor. + +The gorilla, Professor Beek explains, evidently admired only strength; +whenever he said "I make myself terrible to Man," a sentence he +often repeated, he drew himself up and thrust out his huge chest and +bared his frightful teeth; and certainly, the Professor says, there +was something terribly grand about the menacing brute. "Me +terrible," he repeated again and again, "Me terrible. Sky, sun, +stars with me. Man love me. Man love me. No?" It meant that all the +great forces of nature assisted him and his terrible teeth, which he +gnashed repeatedly, and that therefore man should love him, and he +opened his great jaws wide as he said this, showing all the brutal +force of them. + +There was to my mind a genuine ring in Professor Beek's story, because +he was obviously so much more concerned, and really troubled, by the +dreadful depravity of this animal's point of view, or mentality as he +called it, than he was concerned with whether or not we believed what +he had said. + +And I mentioned that there was a circumstance in his story of a +plausible and even corroborative nature. It is this. Professor Beek, +who noticed at the time a bullet wound in the tip of the gorilla's +left ear, by means of which it was luckily identified, put his +analysis of its mentality in writing and showed it to several others, +before he had any way of accounting for the beast having such a mind. + +Long afterwards it was definitely ascertained that this animal had +been caught when young on the slopes of Kilimanjaro and trained and +even educated, so far as such things are possible, by an eminent +German Professor, a persona grata at the Court of Berlin. + + + + +The Home of Herr Schnitzelhaaser + + +The guns in the town of Greinstein were faintly audible. The family of +Schnitzelhaaser lived alone there in mourning, an old man and old +woman. They never went out or saw any one, for they knew they could +not speak as though they did not mourn. They feared that their secret +would escape them. They had never cared for the war that the War Lord +made. They no longer cared what he did with it. They never read his +speeches; they never hung out flags when he ordered flags: they hadn't +the heart to. + +They had had four sons. + +The lonely old couple would go as far as the shop for food. Hunger +stalked behind them. They just beat hunger every day, and so saw +evening: but there was nothing to spare. Otherwise they did not go out +at all. Hunger had been coming slowly nearer of late. They had nothing +but the ration, and the ration was growing smaller. They had one pig +of their own, but the law said you might not kill it. So the pig was +no good to them. + +They used to go and look at that pig sometimes when hunger pinched. +But more than that they did not dare to contemplate. + +Hunger came nearer and nearer. The war was going to end by the first +of July. The War Lord was going to take Paris on this day and that +would end the war at once. But then the war was always going to end. +It was going to end in 1914, and their four sons were to have come +home when the leaves fell. The War Lord had promised that. And even if +it did end, that would not bring their four sons home now. So what did +it matter what the War Lord said. + +It was thoughts like these that they knew they had to conceal. It was +because of thoughts like these that they did not trust themselves to +go out and see other people, for they feared that by their looks if by +nothing else, or by their silence or perhaps their tears, they might +imply a blasphemy against the All Highest. And hunger made one so +hasty. What might one not say? And so they stayed indoors. + +But now. What would happen now? The War Lord was coming to Greinstein +in order to hear the guns. One officer of the staff was to be billeted +in their house. And what would happen now? + +They talked the whole thing over. They must struggle and make an +effort. The officer would be there for one evening. He would leave in +the morning quite early in order to make things ready for the return +to Potsdam: he had charge of the imperial car. So for one evening they +must be merry. They would suppose, it was Herr Schnitzelhaaser's +suggestion, they would think all the evening that Belgium and France +and Luxemburg all attacked the Fatherland, and that the Kaiser, +utterly unprepared, quite unprepared, called on the Germans to defend +their land against Belgium. + +Yes, the old woman could imagine that; she could think it all the +evening. + +And then,--it was no use not being cheerful altogether,--then one +must imagine a little more, just for the evening: it would come quite +easy; one must think that the four boys were alive. + +Hans too? (Hans was the youngest). + +Yes, all four. Just for the evening. + +But if the officer asks? + +He will not ask. What are four soldiers? + +So it was all arranged; and at evening the officer came. He brought +his own rations, so hunger came no nearer. Hunger just lay down +outside the door and did not notice the officer. + +A this supper the officer began to talk. The Kaiser himself, he said, +was at the Schartzhaus. + +"So," said Herr Schnitzelhaaser; "just over the way." So close. +Such an honour. + +And indeed the shadow of the Schartzhaus darkened their garden in the +morning. + +It was such an honour, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser too. And they began +to praise the Kaiser. So great a War Lord, she said; the most glorious +war there had ever been. + +Of course, said the officer, it would end on the first of July. + +Of course, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser. And so great an admiral, too. +One must remember that also. And how fortunate we were to have him: +one must not forget that. Had it not been for him the crafty Belgians +would have attacked the Fatherland, but they were struck down before +they could do it. So much better to prevent a bad deed like that than +merely to punish after. So wise. And had it not been for him, if it +had not been for him... + +The old man saw that she was breaking down and hastily he took up that +feverish praise. Feverish it was, for their hunger and bitter loss +affected their minds no less than illness does, and the things they +did they did hastily and intemperately. His praise of the War Lord +raced on as the officer ate. He spoke of him as of those that benefit +man, as of monarchs who bring happiness to their people. And now, he +said, he is here in the Schartzhaus beside us, listening to the guns +just like a common soldier. + +Finally the guns, as he spoke, coughed beyond ominous hills. +Contentedly the officer went on eating. He suspected nothing of the +thoughts his host and hostess were hiding. At last he went upstairs to +bed. + +As fierce exertion is easy to the fevered, so they had spoken; and it +wears them, so they were worn. The old woman wept when the officer +went out of hearing. But old Herr Schnitzelhaaser picked up a big +butcher's knife. "I will bear it no more," he said. + +His wife watched him in silence as he went away with his knife. Out of +the house he went and into the night. Through the open door she saw +nothing; all was dark; even the Schartzhaus, where all was gay +to-night, stood dark for fear of aroplanes. The old woman waited in +silence. + +When Herr Schnitzelhaaser returned there was blood on his knife. + +"What have you done?" the old woman asked him quite calmly. "I have +killed our pig," he said. + +She broke out then, all the more recklessly for the long restraint of +the evening; the officer must have heard her. + +"We are lost! We are lost!" she cried. "We may not kill our pig. +Hunger has made you mad. You have ruined us." + +"I will bear it no longer," he said. "I have killed our pig." + +"But they will never let us eat it," she cried. "Oh, you have +ruined us!" + +"If you did not dare to kill our pig," he said, "why did you not +stop me when you saw me go? You saw me go with the knife?" + +"I thought," she said, "you were going to kill the Kaiser." + + + + +A Deed of Mercy + + +As Hindenburg and the Kaiser came down, as we read, from Mont d'Hiver, +during the recent offensive, they saw on the edge of a crater two +wounded British soldiers. The Kaiser ordered that they should be cared +for: their wounds were bound up and they were given brandy, and +brought round from unconsciousness. That is the German account of it, +and it may well be true. It was a kindly act. + +Probably had it not been for this the two men would have died among +those desolate craters; no one would have known, and no one could have +been blamed for it. + +The contrast of this spark of imperial kindness against the gloom of +the background of the war that the Kaiser made is a pleasant thing to +see, even though it illuminates for only a moment the savage darkness +in which our days are plunged. It was a kindness that probably will +long be remembered to him. Even we, his enemies, will remember it. And +who knows but that when most he needs it his reward for the act will +be given him. + +For Judas, they say, once in his youth, gave his cloak, out of +compassion, to a shivering beggar, who sat shaken with ague, in rags, +in bitter need. And the years went by and Judas forgot his deed. And +long after, in Hell, Judas they say was given one day's respite at the +end of every year because of this one kindness he had done so long +since in his youth. And every year he goes, they say, for a day and +cools himself among the Arctic bergs; once every year for century +after century. + +Perhaps some sailor on watch on a misty evening blown far out of his +course away to the north saw something ghostly once on an iceberg +floating by, or heard some voice in the dimness that seemed like the +voice of man, and came home with this weird story. And perhaps, as the +story passed from lip to lip, men found enough justice in it to +believe it true. So it came down the centuries. + +Will seafarers ages hence on dim October evenings, or on nights when +the moon is ominous through mist, red and huge and uncanny, see a +lonely figure sometimes on the loneliest part of the sea, far north of +where the Lusitania sank, gathering all the cold it can? Will they see +it hugging a crag of iceberg wan as itself, helmet, cuirass and ice +pale-blue in the mist together? Will it look towards them with +ice-blue eyes through the mist, and will they question it, meeting on +those bleak seas? Will it answer--or will the North wind howl like +voices? Will the cry of seals be heard, and ice floes grinding, and +strange birds lost upon the wind that night, or will it speak to them +in those distant years and tell them how it sinned, betraying man? + +It will be a grim, dark story in that lonely part of the sea, when he +confesses to sailors, blown too far north, the dreadful thing he +plotted against man. The date on which he is seen will be told from +sailor to sailor. Queer taverns of distant harbours will know it well. +Not many will care to be at sea that day, and few will risk being +driven by stress of weather on the Kaiser's night to the bergs of the +haunted part of sea. + +And yet for all the grimness of the pale-blue phantom, with cuirass +and helmet and eyes shimmering on deadly icebergs, and yet for all the +sorrow of the wrong he did against man, the women drowned and the +children, and all the good ships gone, yet will the horrified mariners +meeting him in the mist grudge him no moment of the day he has earned, +or the coolness he gains from the bergs, because of the kindness he +did to the wounded men. For the mariners in their hearts are kindly +men, and what a soul gains from kindness will seem to them well +deserved. + + + + +Last Scene of All + + +After John Calleron was hit he carried on in a kind of twilight of the +mind. Things grew dimmer and calmer; harsh outlines of events became +blurred; memories came to him; there was a singing in his ears like +far-off bells. Things seemed more beautiful than they had a while ago; +to him it was for all the world like evening after some quiet sunset, +when lawns and shrubs and woods and some old spire look lovely in the +late light, and one reflects on past days. Thus he carried on, seeing +things dimly. And what is sometimes called "the roar of battle," +those arial voices that snarl and moan and whine and rage at +soldiers, had grown dimmer too. It all seemed further away, and +littler, as far things are. He still heard the bullets: there is +something so violently and intensely sharp in the snap of passing +bullets at short ranges that you hear them in deepest thought, and +even in dreams. He heard them, tearing by, above all things else. The +rest seemed fainter and dimmer, and smaller and further away. + +He did not think he was very badly hit, but nothing seemed to matter +as it did a while ago. Yet he carried on. + +And then he opened his eyes very wide and found he was back in London +again in an underground train. He knew it at once by the look of it. +He had made hundreds of journeys, long ago, by those trains. He knew +by the dark, outside, that it had not yet left London; but what was +odder than that, if one stopped to think of it, was that he knew +exactly where it was going. It was the train that went away out into +the country where he used to live as a boy. He was sure of that +without thinking. + +When he began to think how he came to be there he remembered the war +as a very far-off thing. He supposed he had been unconscious a very +long time. He was all right now. + +Other people were sitting beside him on the same seat. They all seemed +like people he remembered a very long time ago. In the darkness +opposite, beyond the windows of the train, he could see their +reflections clearly. He looked at the reflections but could not quite +remember. + +A woman was sitting on his left. She was quite young. She was more +like some one that he most deeply remembered than all the others were. +He gazed at her, and tried to clear his mind. + +He did not turn and stare at her, but he quietly watched her +reflection before him in the dark. Every detail of her dress, her +young face, her hat, the little ornaments she wore, were minutely +clear before him, looking out of the dark. So contented she looked you +would say she was untouched by war. + +As he gazed at the clear calm face and the dress that seemed neat +though old and, like all things, so faraway, his mind grew clearer and +clearer. It seemed to him certain it was the face of his mother, but +from thirty years ago, out of old memories and one picture. He felt +sure it was his mother as she had been when he was very small. And yet +after thirty years how could he know? He puzzled to try and be quite +sure. But how she came to be there, looking like that, out of those +oldest memories, he did not think of at all. + +He seemed to be hugely tired by many things and did not want to think. +Yet he was very happy, more happy even than tired men just come home +all new to comfort. + +He gazed and gazed at the face in the dark. And then he felt quite +sure. + +He was about to speak. Was she looking at him? Was she watching him, +he wondered. He glanced for the first time to his own reflection in +that clear row of faces. + +His own reflection was not there, but blank dark showed between his +two neighbours. And then he knew he was dead. + + + + +Old England + + +Towards winter's end on a high, big, bare down, in the south of +England, John Plowman was plowing. He was plowing the brown field at +the top of the hill, good soil of the clay; a few yards lower down was +nothing but chalk, with shallow flinty soil and steep to plow; so they +let briars grow there. For generations his forbears had plowed on the +top of that hill. John did not know how many. The hills were very old; +it might have been always. + +He scarcely looked to see if his furrow was going straight. The work +he was doing was so much in his blood that he could almost feel if +furrows were straight or not. Year after year they moved on the same +old landmarks; thorn trees and briars mostly guided the plow, where +they stood on the untamed land beyond; the thorn trees grew old at +their guiding, and still the furrows varied not by the breadth of a +hoof-mark. + +John, as he plowed, had leisure to meditate on much besides the crops; +he knew so much of the crops that his thoughts could easily run free +from them; he used to meditate on who they were that lived in briar +and thorn tree, and danced as folk said all through midsummer night, +and sometimes blessed and sometimes harmed the crops; for he knew that +in Old England were wonderful ancient things, odder and older things +than many folks knew. And his eyes had leisure to see much beside the +furrows, for he could almost feel the furrows going straight. + +One day at his plowing, as he watched the thorn ahead, he saw the +whole big hill besides, looking south, and the lands below it; one day +he saw in the bright sun of late winter a horseman riding the road +through the wide lands below. The horseman shone as he rode, and wore +white linen over what was shining, and on the linen was a big red +cross. "One of them knights," John Plowman said to himself or his +horse, "going to them crusades." And he went on with his plowing all +that day satisfied, and remembered what he had seen for years, and +told his son. + +For there is in England, and there always was, mixed with the needful +things that feed or shelter the race, the wanderer-feeling for +romantic causes that runs deep and strange through the other thoughts, +as the Gulf Stream runs through the sea. Sometimes generations of John +Plowman's family would go by and no high romantic cause would come to +sate that feeling. They would work on just the same though a little +sombrely, as though some good thing had been grudged them. And then +the Crusades had come, and John Plowman had seen the Red Cross knight +go by, riding towards the sea in the morning, and Jon Plowman was +satisfied. + +Some generations later a man of the same name was plowing the same +hill. They still plowed the brown clay at the top and left the slope +wild, though there were many changes. And the furrows were wonderfully +straight still. And half he watched a thorn tree ahead as he plowed +and half he took in the whole hill sloping south and the wide lands +below it, far beyond which was the sea. They had a railway now down in +the valley. The sunlight glittering near the end of winter shone on a +train that was marked with great white squares and red crosses on +them. + +John Plowman stopped his horses and looked at the train. "An +ambulance train," he said, "coming up from the coast." He thought +of the lads he knew and wondered if any were there. He pitied the men +in that train and envied them. And then there came to him the thought +of England's cause and of how those men had upheld it, at sea and in +crumbling cities. He thought of the battle whose echoes reached +sometimes to that field, whispering to furrows and thorn trees that +had never heard them before. He thought of the accursed tyrant's cruel +might, and of the lads that had faced it. He saw the romantic +splendour of England's cause. He was old but had seen the glamour for +which each generation looked. Satisfied in his heart and cheered with +a new content he went on with his age-old task in the business of man +with the hills. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WAR *** + +***** This file should be named 5713-8.txt or 5713-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/1/5713/ + +Produced by William McClain + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/5713-8.zip b/5713-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3bdccf4 --- /dev/null +++ b/5713-8.zip diff --git a/5713-h.zip b/5713-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..05da237 --- /dev/null +++ b/5713-h.zip diff --git a/5713-h/5713-h.htm b/5713-h/5713-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9a539c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/5713-h/5713-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3720 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales of War + +Author: Lord Dunsany + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5713] +Last Updated: November 4, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WAR *** + + + + +Produced by William McClain and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + TALES OF WAR + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Lord Dunsany + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h5> + 1918 + </h5> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> The Prayer of the Men of Daleswood </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> The Road </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> An Imperial Monument </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> A Walk to the Trenches </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> A Walk in Picardy </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> What Happened on the Night of the Twenty-Seventh + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> Standing To </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> The Splendid Traveller </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> Shells </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> Two Degrees of Envy </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> The Master of No Man’s Land </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> Weeds and Wire </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> Spring in England and Flanders </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> The Nightmare Countries </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> Spring and the Kaiser </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> Two Songs </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> The Punishment </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> The English Spirit </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> The Last Mirage </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> A Famous Man </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> The Oases of Death </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> Anglo-Saxon Tyranny </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> Memories </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> The Movement </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> Nature’s Cad </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> The Home of Herr Schnitzelhaaser </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> A Deed of Mercy </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> Last Scene of All </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> Old England </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Prayer of the Men of Daleswood + </h2> + <p> + He said: “There were only twenty houses in Daleswood. A place you would + scarcely have heard of. A village up top of the hills. + </p> + <p> + “When the war came there was no more than thirty men there between sixteen + and forty-five. They all went. + </p> + <p> + “They all kept together; same battalion, same platoon. They was like that + in Daleswood. Used to call the hop pickers foreigners, the ones that come + from London. They used to go past Daleswood, some of them, every year, on + their way down to the hop fields. Foreigners they used to call them. Kept + very much to themselves, did the Daleswood people. Big woods all round + them. + </p> + <p> + “Very lucky they was, the Daleswood men. They’d lost no more than five + killed and a good sprinkling of wounded. But all the wounded was back + again with the platoon. This was up to March when the big offensive + started. + </p> + <p> + “It came very sudden. No bombardment to speak of. Just a burst of Tok + Emmas going off all together and lifting the front trench clean out of it; + then a barrage behind, and the Boche pouring over in thousands. ‘Our luck + is holding good,’ the Daleswood men said, for their trench wasn’t getting + it at all. But the platoon on their right got it. And it sounded bad too a + long way beyond that. No one could be quite sure. But the platoon on their + right was getting it: that was sure enough. + </p> + <p> + “And then the Boche got through them altogether. A message came to say so. + ‘How are things on the right?’ they said to the runner. ‘Bad,’ said the + runner, and he went back, though Lord knows what he went back to. The + Boche was through right enough. ‘We’ll have to make a defensive flank,’ + said the platoon commander. He was a Daleswood man too. Came from the big + farm. He slipped down a communication trench with a few men, mostly + bombers. And they reckoned they wouldn’t see any of them any more, for the + Boche was on the right, thick as starlings. + </p> + <p> + “The bullets were snapping over thick to keep them down while the Boche + went on, on the right: machine guns, of course. The barrage was screaming + well over and dropping far back, and their wire was still all right just + in front of them, when they put up a head to look. There was the left + platoon of the battalion. One doesn’t bother, somehow, so much about + another battalion as one’s own. One’s own gets sort of homely. And there + they were wondering how their own officer was getting on, and the few + fellows with them, on his defensive flank. The bombs were going off thick. + All the Daleswood men were firing half right. It sounded from the noise as + if it couldn’t last long, as if it would soon be decisive, and the battle + be won, or lost, just there on the right, and perhaps the war ended. They + didn’t notice the left. Nothing to speak of. + </p> + <p> + “Then a runner came from the left. ‘Hullo!’ they said, ‘How are things + over there?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The Boche is through,’ he said. ‘Where’s the officer?’ ‘Through!’ they + said. It didn’t seem possible. However did he do that? they thought. And + the runner went on to the right to look for the officer. + </p> + <p> + “And then the barrage shifted further back. The shells still screamed over + them, but the bursts were further away. That is always a relief. Probably + they felt it. But it was bad for all that. Very bad. It meant the Boche + was well past them. They realized it after a while. + </p> + <p> + “They and their bit of wire were somehow just between two waves of attack. + Like a bit of stone on the beach with the sea coming in. A platoon was + nothing to the Boche; nothing much perhaps just then to anybody. But it + was the whole of Daleswood for one long generation. + </p> + <p> + “The youngest full-grown man they had left behind was fifty, and some one + had heard that he had died since the war. There was no one else in + Daleswood but women and children, and boys up to seventeen. + </p> + <p> + “The bombing had stopped on their right; everything was quieter, and the + barrage further away. When they began to realize what that meant they + began to talk of Daleswood. And then they thought that when all of them + were gone there would be nobody who would remember Daleswood just as it + used to be. For places alter a little, woods grow, and changes come, trees + get cut down, old people die; new houses are built now and then in place + of a yew tree, or any old thing, that used to be there before; and one way + or another the old things go; and all the time you have people thinking + that the old times were best, and the old ways when they were young. And + the Daleswood men were beginning to say, ‘Who would there be to remember + it just as it was?’ + </p> + <p> + “There was no gas, the wind being wrong for it, so they were able to talk, + that is if they shouted, for the bullets alone made as much noise as + breaking up an old shed, crisper like, more like new timber breaking; and + the shells of course was howling all the time, that is the barrage that + was bursting far back. The trench still stank of them. + </p> + <p> + “They said that one of them must go over and put his hands up, or run away + if he could, whichever he liked, and when the war was over he would go to + some writing fellow, one of those what makes a living by it, and tell him + all about Daleswood, just as it used to be, and he would write it out + proper and there it would be for always. They all agreed to that. And then + they talked a bit, as well as they could above that awful screeching, to + try and decide who it should be. The eldest, they said, would know + Daleswood best. But he said, and they came to agree with him, that it + would be a sort of waste to save the life of a man what had had his good + time, and they ought to send the youngest, and they would tell him all + they knew of Daleswood before his time, and everything would be written + down just the same and the old time remembered. + </p> + <p> + “They had the idea somehow that the women thought more of their own man + and their children and the washing and what-not; and that the deep woods + and the great hills beyond, and the plowing and the harvest and snaring + rabbits in winter and the sports in the village in summer, and the hundred + things that pass the time of one generation in an old, old place like + Daleswood, meant less to them than the men. Anyhow they did not quite seem + to trust them with the past. + </p> + <p> + “The youngest of them was only just eighteen. That was Dick. They told him + to get out and put his hands up and be quick getting across, as soon as + they had told him one or two things about the old time in Daleswood that a + youngster like him wouldn’t know. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Dick said he wasn’t going, and was making trouble about it, so they + told Fred to go. Back, they told him, was best, and come up behind the + Boche with his hands up; they would be less likely to shoot when it was + back towards their own supports. + </p> + <p> + “Fred wouldn’t go, and so on with the rest. Well, they didn’t waste time + quarrelling, time being scarce, and they said what was to be done? There + was chalk where they were, low down in the trench, a little brown clay on + the top of it. There was a great block of it loose near a shelter. They + said they would carve with their knives on the big bowlder of chalk all + that they knew about Daleswood. They would write where it was and just + what it was like, and they would write something of all those little + things that pass with a generation. They reckoned on having the time for + it. It would take a direct hit with something large, what they call big + stuff, to do any harm to that bowlder. They had no confidence in paper, it + got so messed up when you were hit; besides, the Boche had been using + thermite. Burns, that does. + </p> + <p> + “They’d one or two men that were handy at carving chalk; used to do the + regimental crest and pictures of Hindenburg, and all that. They decided + they’d do it in reliefs. + </p> + <p> + “They started smoothing the chalk. They had nothing more to do but just to + think what to write. It was a great big bowlder with plenty of room on it. + The Boche seemed not to know that they hadn’t killed the Daleswood men, + just as the sea mightn’t know that one stone stayed dry at the coming in + of the tide. A gap between two divisions probably. + </p> + <p> + “Harry wanted to tell of the woods more than anything. He was afraid they + might cut them down because of the war, and no one would know of the larks + they had had there as boys. Wonderful old woods they were, with a lot of + Spanish chestnut growing low, and tall old oaks over it. Harry wanted them + to write down what the foxgloves were like in the wood at the end of + summer, standing there in the evening, ‘Great solemn rows,’ he said, ‘all + odd in the dusk. All odd in the evening, going there after work; and makes + you think of fairies.’ There was lots of things about those woods, he + said, that ought to be put down if people were to remember Daleswood as it + used to be when they knew it. What were the good old days without those + woods? he said. + </p> + <p> + “But another wanted to tell of the time when they cut the hay with + scythes, working all those long days at the end of June; there would be no + more of that, he said, with machines come in and all. + </p> + <p> + “There was room to tell of all that and the woods too, said the others, so + long as they put it short like. + </p> + <p> + “And another wanted to tell of the valleys beyond the wood, far afield + where the men went working; the women would remember the hay. The great + valleys he’d tell of. It was they that made Daleswood. The valleys beyond + the wood and the twilight on them in summer. Slopes covered with mint and + thyme, all solemn at evening. A hare on them perhaps, sitting as though + they were his, then lolloping slowly away. It didn’t seem from the way he + told of those old valleys that he thought they could ever be to other folk + what they were to the Daleswood men in the days he remembered. He spoke of + them as though there were something in them, besides the mint and the + thyme and the twilight and hares, that would not stay after these men were + gone, though he did not say what it was. Scarcely hinted it even. + </p> + <p> + “And still the Boche did nothing to the Daleswood men. The bullets had + ceased altogether. That made it much quieter. The shells still snarled + over, bursting far, far away. + </p> + <p> + “And Bob said tell of Daleswood itself, the old village, with queer + chimneys, of red brick, in the wood. There weren’t houses like that + nowadays. They’d be building new ones and spoiling it, likely, after the + war. And that was all he had to say. + </p> + <p> + “And nobody was for not putting down anything any one said. It was all to + go in on the chalk, as much as would go in the time. For they all sort of + understood that the Daleswood of what they called the good old time was + just the memories that those few men had of the days they had spent there + together. And that was the Daleswood they loved, and wanted folks to + remember. They were all agreed as to that. And then they said how was they + to write it down. And when it came to writing there was so much to be + said, not spread over a lot of paper I don’t mean, but going down so deep + like, that it seemed to them how their own talk wouldn’t be good enough to + say it. And they knew no other, and didn’t know what to do. I reckon + they’d been reading magazines and thought that writing had to be like that + muck. Anyway, they didn’t know what to do. I reckon their talk would be + good enough for Daleswood when they loved Daleswood like that. But they + didn’t, and they were puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “The Boche was miles away behind them now, and his barrage with him. Still + in front he did nothing. + </p> + <p> + “They talked it all over and over, did the Daleswood men. They tried + everything. But somehow or other they couldn’t get near what they wanted + to say about old summer evenings. Time wore on. The bowlder was smooth and + ready, and that whole generation of Daleswood men could find no words to + say what was in their hearts about Daleswood. There wasn’t time to waste. + And the only thing they thought of in the end was ‘Please, God, remember + Daleswood just like it used to be.’ And Bill and Harry carved that on the + chalk between them. + </p> + <p> + “What happened to the Daleswood men? Why, nothing. There come one of them + counter-attacks, a regular bastard for Jerry. The French made it and did + the Boche in proper. I got the story from a man with a hell of a great big + hammer, long afterwards when that trench was well behind our line. He was + smashing up a huge great chunk of chalk because he said they all felt it + was so damn silly.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Road + </h2> + <p> + The battery Sergeant-Major was practically asleep. He was all worn out by + the continuous roar of bombardments that had been shaking the dugouts and + dazing his brains for weeks. He was pretty well fed up. + </p> + <p> + The officer commanding the battery, a young man in a very neat uniform and + of particularly high birth, came up and spat in his face. The + Sergeant-Major sprang to attention, received an order, and took a stick at + once and beat up the tired men. For a message had come to the battery that + some English (God punish them!) were making a road at X. + </p> + <p> + The gun was fired. It was one of those unlucky shots that come on days + when our luck is out. The shell, a 5.9, lit in the midst of the British + working party. It did the Germans little good. It did not stop the deluge + of shells that was breaking up their guns and was driving misery down like + a wedge into their spirits. It did not improve the temper of the officer + commanding the battery, so that the men suffered as acutely as ever under + the Sergeant-Major. But it stopped the road for that day. + </p> + <p> + I seemed to see that road going on in a dream. + </p> + <p> + Another working party came along next day, with clay pipes and got to + work; and next day and the day after. Shells came, but went short or over; + the shell holes were neatly patched up; the road went on. Here and there a + tree had to be cut, but not often, not many of them were left; it was + mostly digging and grubbing up roots, and pushing wheelbarrows along + planks and duck-boards, and filling up with stones. Sometimes the + engineers would come: that was when streams were crossed. The engineers + made their bridges, and the infantry working party went on with the + digging and laying down stones. It was monotonous work. Contours altered, + soil altered, even the rock beneath it, but the desolation never; they + always worked in desolation and thunder. And so the road went on. + </p> + <p> + They came to a wide river. They went through a great forest. They passed + the ruins of what must have been quite fine towns, big prosperous towns + with universities in them. I saw the infantry working party with their + stumpy clay pipes, in my dream, a long way on from where that shell had + lit, which stopped the road for a day. And behind them curious changes + came over the road at X. You saw the infantry going up to the trenches, + and going back along it into reserve. They marched at first, but in a few + days they were going up in motors, grey busses with shuttered windows. And + then the guns came along it, miles and miles of guns, following after the + thunder which was further off over the hills. And then one day the cavalry + came by. Then stores in wagons, the thunder muttering further and further + away. I saw farm-carts going down the road at X. And then one day all + manner of horses and traps and laughing people, farmers and women and boys + all going by to X. There was going to be a fair. + </p> + <p> + And far away the road was growing longer and longer amidst, as always, + desolation and thunder. And one day far away from X the road grew very + fine indeed. It was going proudly through a mighty city, sweeping in like + a river; you would not think that it ever remembered duck-boards. There + were great palaces there, with huge armorial eagles blazoned in stone, and + all along each side of the road was a row of statues of kings. And going + down the road towards the palace, past the statues of the kings, a tired + procession was riding, full of the flags of the Allies. And I looked at + the flags in my dream, out of national pride to see whether we led, or + whether France or America. America went before us, but I could not see the + Union Jack in the van nor the Tricolour either, nor the Stars and Stripes: + Belgium led and then Serbia, they that had suffered most. + </p> + <p> + And before the flags, and before the generals, I saw marching along on + foot the ghosts of the working party that were killed at X, gazing about + them in admiration as they went, at the great city and at the palaces. And + one man, wondering at the Sièges Allée, turned round to the Lance Corporal + in charge of the party: “That is a fine road that we made, Frank,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + An Imperial Monument + </h2> + <p> + It is an early summer’s morning: the dew is all over France: the train is + going eastwards. They are quite slow, those troop trains, and there are + few embankments or cuttings in those flat plains, so that you seem to be + meandering along through the very life of the people. The roads come right + down to the railways, and the sun is shining brightly over the farms and + the people going to work along the roads, so that you can see their faces + clearly as the slow train passes them by. + </p> + <p> + They are all women and boys that work on the farms; sometimes perhaps you + see a very old man, but nearly always women and boys; they are out working + early. They straighten up from their work as we go by and lift their hands + to bless us. + </p> + <p> + We pass by long rows of the tall French poplars, their branches cut away + all up the trunk, leaving only an odd round tuft at the top of the tree; + but little branches are growing all up the trunk now, and the poplars are + looking unkempt. It would be the young men who would cut the branches of + the poplars. They would cut them for some useful thrifty purpose that I do + not know; and then they would cut them because they were always cut that + way, as long ago as the times of the old men’s tales about France; but + chiefly, I expect, because youth likes to climb difficult trees; that is + why they are clipped so very high. And the trunks are all unkempt now. + </p> + <p> + We go on by many farms with their shapely red-roofed houses; they stand + there, having the air of the homes of an ancient people; they would not be + out of keeping with any romance that might come, or any romance that has + come in the long story of France, and the girls of those red-roofed houses + work all alone in the fields. + </p> + <p> + We pass by many willows and come to a great marsh. In a punt on some open + water an old man is angling. We come to fields again, and then to a deep + wood. France smiles about us in the open sunlight. + </p> + <p> + But towards evening we pass over the border of this pleasant country into + a tragical land of destruction and gloom. It is not only that murder has + walked here to and fro for years, until all the fields are ominous with + it, but the very fields themselves have been mutilated until they are + unlike fields, the woods have been shattered right down to the anemones, + and the houses have been piled in heaps of rubbish, and the heaps of + rubbish have been scattered by shells. We see no more trees, no more + houses, no more women, no cattle even now. We have come to the abomination + of desolation. And over it broods, and will probably brood for ever, + accursed by men and accursed by the very fields, the hyena-like memory of + the Kaiser, who has whitened so many bones. + </p> + <p> + It may be some satisfaction to his selfishness to know that the monument + to it cannot pass away, to know that the shell holes go too deep to be + washed away by the healing rains of years, to know that the wasted German + generations will not in centuries gather up what has been spilt on the + Somme, or France recover in the sunshine of many summers from all the + misery that his devilish folly has caused. It is likely to be to such as + him a source of satisfaction, for the truly vain care only to be talked of + in many mouths; they hysterically love to be thought of, and the notice of + mankind is to them a mirror which reflects their futile postures. The + admiration of fools they love, and the praise of a slavelike people, but + they would sooner be hated by mankind than be ignored and forgotten as is + their due. And the truly selfish care only for their imperial selves. + </p> + <p> + Let us leave him to pass in thought from ruin to ruin, from wasted field + to field, from crater to crater; let us leave his fancy haunting + cemeteries in the stricken lands of the world, to find what glee he can in + this huge manifestation of his imperial will. + </p> + <p> + We neither know to what punishment he moves nor can even guess what + fitting one is decreed. But the time is surely appointed and the place. + Poor trifler with Destiny, who ever had so much to dread? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Walk to the Trenches + </h2> + <p> + To stand at the beginning of a road is always wonderful; for on all roads + before they end experience lies, sometimes adventure. And a trench, even + as a road, has its beginnings somewhere. In the heart of a very strange + country you find them suddenly. A trench may begin in the ruins of a + house, may run up out of a ditch; may be cut into a rise of ground + sheltered under a hill, and is built in many ways by many men. As to who + is the best builder of trenches there can be little doubt, and any British + soldier would probably admit that for painstaking work and excellence of + construction there are few to rival Von Hindenburg. His Hindenburg line is + a model of neatness and comfort, and it would be only a very ungrateful + British soldier who would deny it. + </p> + <p> + You come to the trenches out of strangely wasted lands, you come perhaps + to a wood in an agony of contortions, black, branchless, sepulchral trees, + and then no more trees at all. The country after that is still called + Picardy or Belgium, still has its old name on the map as though it smiled + there yet, sheltering cities and hamlet and radiant with orchards and + gardens, but the country named Belgium—or whatever it be—is + all gone away, and there stretches for miles instead one of the world’s + great deserts, a thing to take its place no longer with smiling lands, but + with Sahara, Gobi, Kalahari, and the Karoo; not to be thought of as + Picardy, but more suitably to be named the Desert of Wilhelm. Through + these sad lands one goes to come to the trenches. Overhead floats until it + is chased away an aëroplane with little black crosses, that you can + scarcely see at his respectful height, peering to see what more harm may + be done in the desolation and ruin. Little flashes sparkle near him, white + puffs spread out round the flashes: and he goes, and our airmen go away + after him; black puffs break out round our airmen. Up in the sky you hear + a faint tap-tapping. They have got their machine guns working. + </p> + <p> + You see many things there that are unusual in deserts: a good road, a + railway, perhaps a motor bus; you see what was obviously once a village, + and hear English songs, but no one who has not seen it can imagine the + country in which the trenches lie, unless he bear a desert clearly in + mind, a desert that has moved from its place on the map by some + enchantment of wizardry, and come down on a smiling country. Would it not + be glorious to be a Kaiser and be able to do things like that? + </p> + <p> + Past all manner of men, past no trees, no hedges, no fields, but only one + field from skyline to skyline that has been harrowed by war, one goes with + companions that this event in our history has drawn from all parts of the + earth. On that road you may hear all in one walk where is the best place + to get lunch in the City; you may hear how they laid a drag for some Irish + pack, and what the Master said; you may hear a farmer lamenting over the + harm that rhinoceroses do to his coffee crop; you may hear Shakespeare + quoted and La vie Parisienne. + </p> + <p> + In the village you see a lot of German orders, with their silly notes of + exclamation after them, written up on notice boards among the ruins. Ruins + and German orders. That turning movement of Von Kluck’s near Paris in 1914 + was a mistake. Had he not done it we might have had ruins and German + orders everywhere. And yet Von Kluck may comfort himself with the thought + that it is not by his mistakes that Destiny shapes the world: such a + nightmare as a world-wide German domination can have had no place amongst + the scheme of things. + </p> + <p> + Beyond the village the batteries are thick. A great howitzer near the road + lifts its huge muzzle slowly, fires and goes down again, and lifts again + and fires. It is as though Polyphemus had lifted his huge shape slowly, + leisurely, from the hillside where he was sitting, and hurled the mountain + top, and sat down again. If he is firing pretty regularly you are sure to + get the blast of one of them as you go by, and it can be a very strong + wind indeed. One’s horse, if one is riding, does not very much like it, + but I have seen horses far more frightened by a puddle on the road when + coming home from hunting in the evening: one 12-inch howitzer more or less + in France calls for no great attention from man or beast. + </p> + <p> + And so we come in sight of the support trenches where we are to dwell for + a week before we go on for another mile over the hills, where the black + fountains are rising. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Walk in Picardy + </h2> + <p> + Picture any village you know. In such a village as that the trench begins. + That is to say, there are duck-boards along a ditch, and the ditch runs + into a trench. Only the village is no longer there. It was like some + village you know, though perhaps a little merrier, because it was further + south and nearer the sun; but it is all gone now. And the trench runs out + of the ruins, and is called Windmill Avenue. There must have been a + windmill standing there once. + </p> + <p> + When you come from the ditch to the trench you leave the weeds and soil + and trunks of willows and see the bare chalk. At the top of those two + white walls is a foot or so of brown clay. The brown clay grows deeper as + you come to the hills, until the chalk has disappeared altogether. Our + alliance with France is new in the history of man, but it is an old, old + union in the history of the hills. White chalk with brown clay on top has + dipped and gone under the sea; and the hills of Sussex and Kent are one + with the hills of Picardy. + </p> + <p> + And so you may pass through the chalk that lies in that desolate lane with + memories of more silent and happier hills; it all depends on what the + chalk means to you: you may be unfamiliar with it and in that case you + will not notice it; or you may have been born among those thyme-scented + hills and yet have no errant fancies, so that you will not think of the + hills that watched you as a child, but only keep your mind on the business + in hand; that is probably best. + </p> + <p> + You come after a while to other trenches: notice boards guide you, and you + keep to Windmill Avenue. You go by Pear Lane, Cherry Lane, and Plum Lane. + Pear trees, cherry trees and plum trees must have grown there. You are + passing through either wild lanes banked with briar, over which these + various trees peered one by one and showered their blossoms down at the + end of spring, and girls would have gathered the fruit when it ripened, + with the help of tall young men; or else you are passing through an old + walled garden, and the pear and the cherry and plum were growing against + the wall, looking southwards all through the summer. There is no way + whatever of telling which it was; it is all one in war; whatever was there + is gone; there remain to-day, and survive, the names of those three trees + only. We come next to Apple Lane. You must not think that an apple tree + ever grew there, for we trace here the hand of the wit, who by naming Plum + Lane’s neighbour “Apple Lane” merely commemorates the inseparable + connection that plum has with apple forever in the minds of all who go to + modern war. For by mixing apple with plum the manufacturer sees the + opportunity of concealing more turnip in the jam, as it were, at the + junction of the two forces, than he might be able to do without this + unholy alliance. + </p> + <p> + We come presently to the dens of those who trouble us (but only for our + own good), the dugouts of the trench mortar batteries. It is noisy when + they push up close to the front line and play for half an hour or so with + their rivals: the enemy sends stuff back, our artillery join in; it is as + though, while you were playing a game of croquet, giants hundreds of feet + high, some of them friendly, some unfriendly, carnivorous and hungry, came + and played football on your croquet lawn. + </p> + <p> + We go on past Battalion Headquarters, and past the dugouts and shelters of + various people having business with History, past stores of bombs and the + many other ingredients with which history is made, past men coming down + who are very hard to pass, for the width of two men and two packs is the + width of a communication trench and sometimes an inch over; past two men + carrying a flying pig slung on a pole between them; by many turnings; and + Windmill Avenue brings you at last to Company Headquarters in a dugout + that Hindenburg made with his German thoroughness. + </p> + <p> + And there, after a while, descends the Tok Emma man, the officer + commanding a trench mortar battery, and is given perchance a whiskey and + water, and sits on the best empty box that we have to offer, and lights + one of our cigarettes. + </p> + <p> + “There’s going to be a bit of a strafe at 5.30,” he says. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + What Happened on the Night of the Twenty-Seventh + </h2> + <p> + The night of the twenty-seventh was Dick Cheeser’s first night on sentry. + The night was far gone when he went on duty; in another hour they would + stand to. Dick Cheeser had camouflaged his age when he enlisted: he was + barely eighteen. A wonderfully short time ago he was quite a little boy; + now he was in a frontline trench. It hadn’t seemed that things were going + to alter like that. Dick Cheeser was a plowboy: long brown furrows over + haughty, magnificent downs seemed to stretch away into the future as far + as his mind could see. No narrow outlook either, for the life of nations + depends upon those brown furrows. But there are the bigger furrows that + Mars makes, the long brown trenches of war; the life of nations depends on + these too; Dick Cheeser had never pictured these. He had heard talk about + a big navy and a lot of Dreadnoughts; silly nonsense he called it. What + did one want a big navy for? To keep the Germans out, some people said. + But the Germans weren’t coming. If they wanted to come, why didn’t they + come? Anybody could see that they never did come. Some of Dick Cheeser’s + pals had votes. + </p> + <p> + And so he had never pictured any change from plowing the great downs; and + here was war at last, and here was he. The Corporal showed him where to + stand, told him to keep a good lookout and left him. + </p> + <p> + And there was Dick Cheeser alone in the dark with an army in front of him, + eighty yards away: and, if all tales were true, a pretty horrible army. + </p> + <p> + The night was awfully still. I use the adverb not as Dick Cheeser would + have used it. The stillness awed him. There had not been a shell all + night. He put his head up over the parapet and waited. Nobody fired at + him. He felt that the night was waiting for him. He heard voices going + along the trench: some one said it was a black night: the voices died + away. A mere phrase; the night wasn’t black at all, it was grey. Dick + Cheeser was staring at it, and the night was staring back at him, and + seemed to be threatening him; it was grey, grey as an old cat that they + used to have at home, and as artful. Yes, thought Dick Cheeser, it was an + artful night; that was what was wrong with it. If shells had come or the + Germans, or anything at all, you would know how to take it; but that quiet + mist over huge valleys, and stillness! Anything might happen. Dick waited + and waited, and the night waited too. He felt they were watching each + other, the night and he. He felt that each was crouching. His mind slipped + back to the woods on hills he knew. He was watching with eyes and ears and + imagination to see what would happen in No Man’s Land under that ominous + mist: but his mind took a peep for all that at the old woods that he knew. + He pictured himself, he and a band of boys, chasing squirrels again in the + summer. They used to chase a squirrel from tree to tree, throwing stones, + till they tired it: and then they might hit it with a stone: usually not. + Sometimes the squirrel would hide, and a boy would have to climb after it. + It was great sport, thought Dick Cheeser. What a pity he hadn’t had a + catapult in those days, he thought. Somehow the years when he had not had + a catapult seemed all to be wasted years. With a catapult one might get + the squirrel almost at once, with luck: and what a great thing that would + be. All the other boys would come round to look at the squirrel, and to + look at the catapult, and ask him how he did it. He wouldn’t have to say + much, there would be the squirrel; no boasting would be necessary with the + squirrel lying dead. It might spread to other things, even rabbits; almost + anything, in fact. He would certainly get a catapult first thing when he + got home. A little wind blew in the night, too cold for summer. It blew + away, as it were, the summer of Dick’s memories; blew away hills and woods + and squirrel. It made for a moment a lane in the mist over No Man’s Land. + Dick Cheeser peered down it, but it closed again. “No,” Night seemed to + say, “you don’t guess my secret.” And the awful hush intensified. “What + would they do?” thought the sentry. “What were they planning in all those + miles of silence?” Even the Verys were few. When one went up, far hills + seemed to sit and brood over the valley: their black shapes seemed to know + what would happen in the mist and seemed sworn not to say. The rocket + faded, and the hills went back into mystery again, and Dick Cheeser peered + level again over the ominous valley. + </p> + <p> + All the dangers and sinister shapes and evil destinies, lurking between + the armies in that mist, that the sentry faced that night cannot be told + until the history of the war is written by a historian who can see the + mind of the soldier. Not a shell fell all night, no German stirred; Dick + Cheeser was relieved at “Stand to” and his comrades stood to beside him, + and soon it was wide, golden, welcome dawn. + </p> + <p> + And for all the threats of night the thing that happened was one that the + lonely sentry had never foreseen: in the hour of his watching Dick + Cheeser, though scarcely eighteen, became a full-grown man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Standing To + </h2> + <p> + One cannot say that one time in the trenches is any more tense than + another. One cannot take any one particular hour and call it, in modern + nonsensical talk, “typical hour in the trenches.” The routine of the + trenches has gone on too long for that. The tensest hour ought to be half + an hour before dawn, the hour when attacks are expected and men stand to. + It is an old convention of war that that is the dangerous hour, the hour + when defenders are weakest and attack most to be feared. For darkness + favours the attackers then as night favours the lion, and then dawn comes + and they can hold their gains in the light. Therefore in every trench in + every war the garrison is prepared in that menacing hour, watching in + greater numbers than they do the whole night through. As the first lark + lifts from meadows they stand there in the dark. Whenever there is any war + in any part of the world you may be sure that at that hour men crowd to + their parapets: when sleep is deepest in cities they are watching there. + </p> + <p> + When the dawn shimmers a little, and a grey light comes, and widens, and + all of a sudden figures become distinct, and the hour of the attack that + is always expected is gone, then perhaps some faint feeling of gladness + stirs the newest of the recruits; but chiefly the hour passes like all the + other hours there, an unnoticed fragment of the long, long routine that is + taken with resignation mingled with jokes. + </p> + <p> + Dawn comes shy with a wind scarce felt, dawn faint and strangely + perceptible, feeble and faint in the east while men still watch the + darkness. When did the darkness go? When did the dawn grow golden? It + happened as in a moment, a moment you did not see. Guns flash no longer: + the sky is gold and serene; dawn stands there like Victory that will + shine, on one of these years when the Kaiser goes the way of the older + curses of earth. Dawn, and the men unfix bayonets as they step down from + the fire-step and clean their rifles with pull-throughs. Not all together, + but section by section, for it would not do for a whole company to be + caught cleaning their rifles at dawn, or at any other time. + </p> + <p> + They rub off the mud or the rain that has come at night on their rifles, + they detach the magazine and see that its spring is working, they take out + the breechblock and oil it, and put back everything clean: and another + night is gone; it is one day nearer victory. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Splendid Traveller + </h2> + <p> + A traveller threw his cloak over his shoulder and came down slopes of gold + in El Dorado. From incredible heights he came. He came from where the + peaks of the pure gold mountain shone a little red with the sunset; from + crag to crag of gold he stepped down slowly. Sheer out of romance he came + through the golden evening. + </p> + <p> + It was only an incident of every day; the sun had set or was setting, the + air turned chill, and a battalion’s bugles were playing “Retreat” when + this knightly stranger, a British aëroplane, dipped, and went homeward + over the infantry. That beautiful evening call, and the golden cloud bank + towering, and that adventurer coming home in the cold, happening all + together, revealed in a flash the fact (which hours of thinking sometimes + will not bring) that we live in such a period of romance as the + troubadours would have envied. + </p> + <p> + He came, that British airman, over the border, sheer over No Man’s Land + and the heads of the enemy and the mysterious land behind, snatching the + secrets that the enemy would conceal. Either he had defeated the German + airmen who would have stopped his going, or they had not dared to try. Who + knows what he had done? He had been abroad and was coming home in the + evening, as he did every day. + </p> + <p> + Even when all its romance has been sifted from an age (as the centuries + sift) and set apart from the trivial, and when all has been stored by the + poets; even then what has any of them more romantic than these adventurers + in the evening air, coming home in the twilight with the black shells + bursting below? + </p> + <p> + The infantry look up with the same vague wonder with which children look + at dragon flies; sometimes they do not look at all, for all that comes in + France has its part with the wonder of a terrible story as well as with + the incidents of the day, incidents that recur year in and year out, too + often for us to notice them. If a part of the moon were to fall off in the + sky and come tumbling to earth, the comment on the lips of the + imperturbable British watchers that have seen so much would be, “Hullo, + what is Jerry up to now?” + </p> + <p> + And so the British aëroplane glides home in the evening, and the light + fades from the air, and what is left of the poplars grows dark against the + sky, and what is left of the houses grows more mournful in the gloaming, + and night comes, and with it the sounds of thunder, for the airman has + given his message to the artillery. It is as though Hermes had gone abroad + sailing upon his sandals, and had found some bad land below those winged + feet wherein men did evil and kept not the laws of gods or men; and he had + brought this message back and the gods were angry. + </p> + <p> + For the wars we fight to-day are not like other wars, and the wonders of + them are unlike other wonders. If we do not see in them the saga and epic, + how shall we tell of them? + </p> + <p> + England + </p> + <p> + “And then we used to have sausages,” said the Sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “And mashed?” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Sergeant, “and beer. And then we used to go home. It was + grand in the evenings. We used to go along a lane that was full of them + wild roses. And then we come to the road where the houses were. They all + had their bit of a garden, every house.” + </p> + <p> + “Nice, I calls it, a garden,” the Private said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Sergeant, “they all had their garden. It came right down + to the road. Wooden palings: none of that there wire.” + </p> + <p> + “I hates wire,” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “They didn’t have none of it,” the N. C. O. went on. “The gardens came + right down to the road, looking lovely. Old Billy Weeks he had them tall + pale-blue flowers in his garden nearly as high as a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Hollyhocks?” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “No, they wasn’t hollyhocks. Lovely they were. We used to stop and look at + them, going by every evening. He had a path up the middle of his garden + paved with red tiles, Billy Weeks had; and these tall blue flowers growing + the whole way along it, both sides like. They was a wonder. Twenty gardens + there must have been, counting them all; but none to touch Billy Weeks + with his pale-blue flowers. There was an old windmill away to the left. + Then there were the swifts sailing by overhead and screeching: just about + as high again as the houses. Lord, how them birds did fly. And there was + the other young fellows, what were not out walking, standing about by the + roadside, just doing nothing at all. One of them had a flute: Jim Booker, + he was. Those were great days. The bats used to come out, flutter, + flutter, flutter; and then there’d be a star or two; and the smoke from + the chimneys going all grey; and a little cold wind going up and down like + the bats; and all the colour going out of things; and the woods looking + all strange, and a wonderful quiet in them, and a mist coming up from the + stream. It’s a queer time that. It’s always about that time, the way I see + it: the end of the evening in the long days, and a star or two, and me and + my girl going home. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t you like to talk about things for a bit the way you remember + them?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, Sergeant,” said the other, “you go on. You do bring it all back + so.” + </p> + <p> + “I used to bring her home,” the Sergeant said, “to her father’s house. Her + father was keeper there, and they had a house in the wood. A fine house + with queer old tiles on it, and a lot of large friendly dogs. I knew them + all by name, same as they knew me. I used to walk home then along the side + of the wood. The owls would be about; you could hear them yelling. They’d + float out of the wood like, sometimes: all large and white.” + </p> + <p> + “I knows them,” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “I saw a fox once so close I could nearly touch him, walking like he was + on velvet. He just slipped out of the wood.” + </p> + <p> + “Cunning old brute,” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the time to be out,” said the Sergeant. “Ten o’clock on a summer’s + night, and the night full of noises, not many of them, but what there is, + strange, and coming from a great way off, through the quiet, with nothing + to stop them. Dogs barking, owls hooting, an old cart; and then just once + a sound that you couldn’t account for at all, not anyhow. I’ve heard + sounds on nights like that that nobody ‘ud think you’d heard, nothing like + the flute that young Booker had, nothing like anything on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “I never told any one before, because they wouldn’t believe you. But it + doesn’t matter now. There’d be a light in the window to guide me when I + got home. I’d walk up through the flowers of our garden. We had a lovely + garden. Wonderful white and strange the flowers looked of a nighttime.” + </p> + <p> + “You bring it all back wonderful,” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a great thing to have lived,” said the Sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sergeant,” said the other, “I wouldn’t have missed it, not for + anything.” + </p> + <p> + For five days the barrage had rained down behind them: they were utterly + cut off and had no hope of rescue: their food was done, and they did not + know where they were. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Shells + </h2> + <p> + When the aëroplanes are home and the sunset has flared away, and it is + cold, and night comes down over France, you notice the guns more than you + do by day, or else they are actually more active then, I do not know which + it is. + </p> + <p> + It is then as though a herd of giants, things of enormous height, came out + from lairs in the earth and began to play with the hills. It is as though + they picked up the tops of the hills in their hands and then let them drop + rather slowly. It is exactly like hills falling. You see the flashes all + along the sky, and then that lumping thump as though the top of the hill + had been let drop, not all in one piece, but crumbled a little as it would + drop from your hands if you were three hundred feet high and were fooling + about in the night, spoiling what it had taken so long to make. That is + heavy stuff bursting, a little way off. + </p> + <p> + If you are anywhere near a shell that is bursting, you can hear in it a + curious metallic ring. That applies to the shells of either side, provided + that you are near enough, though usually of course it is the hostile shell + and not your own that you are nearest to, and so one distinguishes them. + It is curious, after such a colossal event as this explosion must be in + the life of a bar of steel, that anything should remain at all of the old + bell-like voice of the metal, but it appears to, if you listen + attentively; it is perhaps its last remonstrance before leaving its shape + and going back to rust in the earth again for ages. + </p> + <p> + Another of the voices of the night is the whine the shell makes in coming; + it is not unlike the cry the hyena utters as soon as it’s dark in Africa: + “How nice traveller would taste,” the hyena seems to say, and “I want dead + White Man.” It is the rising note of the shell as it comes nearer, and its + dying away when it has gone over, that make it reminiscent of the hyena’s + method of diction. If it is not going over then it has something quite + different to say. It begins the same as the other, it comes up, talking of + the back areas with the same long whine as the other. I have heard old + hands say “That one is going well over.” “Whee-oo,” says the shell; but + just where the “oo” should be long drawn out and turn into the hyena’s + final syllable, it says something quite different. “Zarp,” it says. That + is bad. Those are the shells that are looking for you. + </p> + <p> + And then of course there is the whizz-bang coming from close, along his + flat trajectory: he has little to say, but comes like a sudden wind, and + all that he has to do is done and over at once. + </p> + <p> + And then there is the gas shell, who goes over gurgling gluttonously, + probably in big herds, putting down a barrage. It is the liquid inside + that gurgles before it is turned to gas by the mild explosion; that is the + explanation of it; yet that does not prevent one picturing a tribe of + cannibals who have winded some nice juicy men and are smacking their chops + and dribbling in anticipation. + </p> + <p> + And a wonderful thing to see, even in those wonderful nights, is our + thermite bursting over the heads of the Germans. The shell breaks into a + shower of golden rain; one cannot judge easily at night how high from the + ground it breaks, but about as high as the tops of trees seen at a hundred + yards. It spreads out evenly all round and rains down slowly; it is a bad + shower to be out in, and for a long time after it has fallen, the sodden + grass of winter, and the mud and old bones beneath it, burn quietly in a + circle. On such a night as this, and in such showers, the flying pigs will + go over, which take two men to carry each of them; they go over and root + right down to the German dugout, where the German has come in out of the + golden rain, and they fling it all up in the air. + </p> + <p> + These are such nights as Scheherazade with all her versatility never + dreamed of; or if such nightmares came she certainly never told of them, + or her august master, the Sultan, light of the age, would have had her at + once beheaded; and his people would have deemed that he did well. It has + been reserved for a modern autocrat to dream such a nightmare, driven to + it perhaps by the tales of a white-whiskered Scheherazade, the Lord of the + Kiel Canal; and being an autocrat he has made the nightmare a reality for + the world. But the nightmare is stronger than its master, and grows + mightier every night; and the All-Highest War Lord learns that there are + powers in Hell that are easily summoned by the rulers of earth, but that + go not easily home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Two Degrees of Envy + </h2> + <p> + It was night in the front line and no moon, or the moon was hidden. There + was a strafe going on. The Tok Emmas were angry. And the artillery on both + sides were looking for the Tok Emmas. + </p> + <p> + Tok Emma, I may explain for the blessed dwellers in whatever far happy + island there be that has not heard of these things, is the crude language + of Mars. He has not time to speak of a trunk mortar battery, for he is + always in a hurry, and so he calls them T. M.‘s. But Bellona might not + hear him saying T. M., for all the din that she makes: might think that he + said D. N; and so he calls it Tok Emma. Ak, Beer, C, Don: this is the + alphabet of Mars. + </p> + <p> + And the huge minnies were throwing old limbs out of No Man’s Land into the + frontline trench, and shells were rasping down through the air that seemed + to resist them until it was torn to pieces: they burst and showers of mud + came down from heaven. Aimlessly, as it seemed, shells were bursting now + and then in the air, with a flash intensely red: the smell of them was + drifting down the trenches. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of all this Bert Butterworth was hit. “Only in the foot,” + his pals said. “Only!” said Bert. They put him on a stretcher and carried + him down the trench. They passed Bill Britterling, standing in the mud, an + old friend of Bert’s. Bert’s face, twisted with pain, looked up to Bill + for some sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “Lucky devil,” said Bill. + </p> + <p> + Across the way on the other side of No Man’s Land there was mud the same + as on Bill’s side: only the mud over there stank; it didn’t seem to have + been kept clean somehow. And the parapet was sliding away in places, for + working parties had not had much of a chance. They had three Tok Emmas + working in that battalion front line, and the British batteries did not + quite know where they were, and there were eight of them looking. + </p> + <p> + Fritz Groedenschasser, standing in that unseemly mud, greatly yearned for + them to find soon what they were looking for. Eight batteries searching + for something they can’t find, along a trench in which you have to be, + leaves the elephant hunter’s most desperate tale a little dull and + insipid. Not that Fritz Groedenschasser knew anything about elephant + hunting: he hated all things sporting, and cordially approved of the + execution of Nurse Cavell. And there was thermite too. Flammenwerfer was + all very well, a good German weapon: it could burn a man alive at twenty + yards. But this accursed flaming English thermite could catch you at four + miles. It wasn’t fair. + </p> + <p> + The three German trench mortars were all still firing. When would the + English batteries find what they were looking for, and this awful thing + stop? The night was cold and smelly. + </p> + <p> + Fritz shifted his feet in the foul mud, but no warmth came to him that + way. + </p> + <p> + A gust of shells was coming along the trench. Still they had not found the + minnewerfer! Fritz moved from his place altogether to see if he could find + some place where the parapet was not broken. And as he moved along the + sewerlike trench he came on a wooden cross that marked the grave of a man + he once had known, now buried some days in the parapet, old Ritz + Handelscheiner. + </p> + <p> + “Lucky devil,” said Fritz. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Master of No Man’s Land + </h2> + <p> + When the last dynasty has fallen and the last empire passed away, when man + himself has gone, there will probably still remain the swede. [The + rutabaga or Swedish turnip.] + </p> + <p> + There grew a swede in No Man’s Land by Croisille near the Somme, and it + had grown there for a long while free from man. + </p> + <p> + It grew as you never saw a swede grow before. It grew tall and strong and + weedy. It lifted its green head and gazed round over No Man’s Land. Yes, + man was gone, and it was the day of the swede. + </p> + <p> + The storms were tremendous. Sometimes pieces of iron sang through its + leaves. But man was gone and it was the day of the swede. + </p> + <p> + A man used to come there once, a great French farmer, an oppressor of + swedes. Legends were told of him and his herd of cattle, dark traditions + that passed down vegetable generations. It was somehow known in those + fields that the man ate swedes. + </p> + <p> + And now his house was gone and he would come no more. + </p> + <p> + The storms were terrible, but they were better than man. The swede nodded + to his companions: the years of freedom had come. + </p> + <p> + They had always known among them that these years would come. Man had not + been there always, but there had always been swedes. He would go some day, + suddenly, as he came. That was the faith of the swedes. And when the trees + went the swede believed that the day was come. When hundreds of little + weeds arrived that were never allowed before, and grew unchecked, he knew + it. + </p> + <p> + After that he grew without any care, in sunlight, moonlight and rain; grew + abundantly and luxuriantly in the freedom, and increased in arrogance till + he felt himself greater than man. And indeed in those leaden storms that + sang often over his foliage all living things seemed equal. + </p> + <p> + There was little that the Germans left when they retreated from the Somme + that was higher than this swede. He grew the tallest thing for miles and + miles. He dominated the waste. Two cats slunk by him from a shattered + farm: he towered above them contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + A partridge ran by him once, far, far below his lofty leaves. The night + winds mourning in No Man’s Land seemed to sing for him alone. + </p> + <p> + It was surely the hour of the swede. For him, it seemed, was No Man’s + Land. And there I met him one night by the light of a German rocket and + brought him back to our company to cook. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Weeds and Wire + </h2> + <p> + Things had been happening. Divisions were moving. There had been, there + was going to be, a stunt. A battalion marched over the hill and sat down + by the road. They had left the trenches three days march to the north and + had come to a new country. The officers pulled their maps out; a mild + breeze fluttered them; yesterday had been winter and to-day was spring; + but spring in a desolation so complete and far-reaching that you only knew + of it by that little wind. It was early March by the calendar, but the + wind was blowing out of the gates of April. A platoon commander, feeling + that mild wind blowing, forgot his map and began to whistle a tune that + suddenly came to him out of the past with the wind. Out of the past it + blew and out of the South, a merry vernal tune of a Southern people. + Perhaps only one of those that noticed the tune had ever heard it before. + An officer sitting near had heard it sung; it reminded him of a holiday + long ago in the South. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you hear that tune?” he asked the platoon commander. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the hell of a long way from here,” the platoon commander said. + </p> + <p> + He did not remember quite where it was he had heard it, but he remembered + a sunny day in France and a hill all dark with pine woods, and a man + coming down at evening out of the woods, and down the slope to the + village, singing this song. Between the village and the slope there were + orchards in blossom. So that he came with his song for hundreds of yards + through orchards. “The hell of a way from here,” he said. + </p> + <p> + For a long while then they sat silent. + </p> + <p> + “It mightn’t have been so very far from here,” said the platoon commander. + “It was in France, now I come to think of it. But it was a lovely part of + France, all woods and orchards. Nothing like this, thank God.” And he + glanced with a tired look at the unutterable desolation. + </p> + <p> + “Where was it?” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “In Picardy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t we in Picardy now?” said his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Are we?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. The maps don’t call it Picardy.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a fine place, anyway,” the platoon commander said. “There seemed + always to be a wonderful light on the hills. A kind of short grass grew on + them, and it shone in the sun at evening. There were black woods above + them. A man used to come out of them singing at evening.” + </p> + <p> + He looked wearily round at the brown desolation of weeds. As far as the + two officers could see there was nothing but brown weeds and bits of brown + barbed wire. He turned from the desolate scene back to his reminiscences. + </p> + <p> + “He came singing through the orchards into the village,” he said. “A + quaint old place with queer gables, called Ville-en-Bois.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where we are?” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “No, said the platoon commander.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought not,” he said. “Hadn’t you better take a look at the map?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” said the platoon commander, and he smoothed out his map + and wearily got to the business of finding out where he was. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” he said. “Ville-en-Bois!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Spring in England and Flanders + </h2> + <p> + Very soon the earliest primroses will be coming out in woods wherever they + have been sheltered from the north. They will grow bolder as the days go + by, and spread and come all down the slopes of sunny hills. Then the + anemones will come, like a shy pale people, one of the tribes of the + elves, who dare not leave the innermost deeps of the wood: in those days + all the trees will be in leaf, the bluebells will follow, and certain + fortunate woods will shelter such myriads of them that the bright fresh + green of the beech trees will flash between two blues, the blue of the sky + and the deeper blue of the bluebells. Later the violets come, and such a + time as this is the perfect time to see England: when the cuckoo is heard + and he surprises his hearers; when evenings are lengthening out and the + bat is abroad again; and all the flowers are out and all the birds sing. + At such a time not only Nature smiles but our quiet villages and grave old + spires wake up from winter in the mellow air and wear their centuries + lightly. At such a time you might come just at evening on one of those old + villages in a valley and find it in the mood to tell you the secret of the + ages that it hid and treasured there before the Normans came. Who knows? + For they are very old, very wise, very friendly; they might speak to you + one warm evening. If you went to them after great suffering they might + speak to you; after nights and nights of shelling over in France, they + might speak to you and you might hear them clearly. + </p> + <p> + It would be a long, long story that they would tell, all about the ages; + and it would vary wonderfully little, much less perhaps than we think; and + the repetitions rambling on and on in the evening, as the old belfry spoke + and the cottages gathered below it, might sound so soothing after the boom + of shells that perhaps you would nearly sleep. And then with one’s memory + tired out by the war one might never remember the long story they told, + when the belfry and the brown-roofed houses all murmured at evening, might + never remember even that they had spoken all through that warm spring and + evening. We may have heard them speak and forgotten that they have spoken. + Who knows? We are at war, and see so many strange things: some we must + forget, some we must remember; and we cannot choose which. + </p> + <p> + To turn from Kent to Flanders is to turn to a time of mourning through all + seasons alike. Spring there brings out no leaf on myriad oaks, nor the + haze of green that floats like a halo above the heads of the birch trees, + that stand with their fairylike trunks haunting the deeps of the woods. + For miles and miles and miles summer ripens no crops, leads out no maidens + laughing in the moonlight, and brings no harvest home. When Autumn looks + on orchards in all that region of mourning he looks upon barren trees that + will never blossom again. Winter drives in no sturdy farmers at evening to + sit before cheery fires, families meet not at Christmas, and the bells are + dumb in belfries; for all by which a man might remember his home has been + utterly swept away: has been swept away to make a maniacal dancing ground + on which a murderous people dance to their death led by a shallow, clever, + callous, imperial clown. + </p> + <p> + There they dance to their doom till their feet shall find the precipice + that was prepared for them on the day that they planned the evil things + they have done. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Nightmare Countries + </h2> + <p> + There are certain lands in the darker dreams of poetry that stand out in + the memory of generations. There is for instance Poe’s “Dark tarn of + Auber, the ghoul-haunted region of Weir”; there are some queer twists in + the river Alph as imagined by Coleridge; two lines of Swinburne: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + By the tideless dolorous inland sea + In a land of sand and ruin and gold +</pre> + <p> + are as haunting as any. There are in literature certain regions of gloom, + so splendid that whenever you come on them they leave in the mind a sort + of nightmare country which one’s thoughts revisit on hearing the lines + quoted. + </p> + <p> + It is pleasant to picture such countries sometimes when sitting before the + fire. It is pleasant because you can banish them by the closing of a book; + a puff of smoke from a pipe will hide them altogether, and back come the + pleasant, wholesome, familiar things. But in France they are there always. + In France the nightmare countries stand all night in the starlight; dawn + comes and they still are there. The dead are buried out of sight and + others take their places among men; but the lost lands lie unburied gazing + up at the winds; and the lost woods stand like skeletons all grotesque in + the solitude; the very seasons have fled from them. The very seasons have + fled; so that if you look up to see whether summer has turned to autumn, + or if autumn has turned to winter yet, nothing remains to show you. It is + like the eccentric dream of some strange man, very arresting and + mysterious, but lacking certain things that should be there before you can + recognize it as earthly. It is a mad, mad landscape. There are miles and + miles and miles of it. It is the biggest thing man has done. It looks as + though man in his pride, with all his clever inventions, had made for + himself a sorry attempt at creation. + </p> + <p> + Indeed when we trace it all back to its origin we find at the beginning of + this unhappy story a man who was only an emperor and wished to be + something more. He would have ruled the world but has only meddled with + it; and his folly has brought misery to millions, and there lies his + broken dream on the broken earth. He will never take Paris now. He will + never be crowned at Versailles as Emperor of Europe; and after that, most + secret dream of all, did not the Cæsars proclaim themselves divine? Was it + not whispered among Macedonian courtiers that Alexander was the child of + God? And was the Hohenzollern less than these? + </p> + <p> + What might not force accomplish? All gone now, that dream and the + Hohenzollern line broken. A maniacal dream and broken farms all mixed up + together: they make a pretty nightmare and the clouds still gleam at night + with the flashes of shells, and the sky is still troubled by day with + uncouth balloons and the black bursts of the German shells and the white + of our anti-aircraft. + </p> + <p> + And below there lies this wonderful waste land where no girls sing, and + where no birds come but starlings; where no hedgerows stand, and no lanes + with wild roses, and where no pathways run through fields of wheat, and + there are no fields at all and no farms and no farmers; and two haystacks + stand on a hill I know, undestroyed in the desolation, and nobody touches + them for they know the Germans too well; and the tops have been blown off + hills down to the chalk. And men say of this place that it is Pozières and + of that place that it is Ginchy; nothing remains to show that hamlets + stood there at all, and a brown, brown weed grows over it all for ever; + and a mighty spirit has arisen in man, and no one bows to the War Lord + though many die. And Liberty is she who sang her songs of old, and is fair + as she ever was, when men see her in visions, at night in No Man’s Land + when they have the strength to crawl in: still she walks of a night in + Pozières and in Ginchy. + </p> + <p> + A fanciful man once called himself the Emperor of the Sahara: the German + Kaiser has stolen into a fair land and holds with weakening hands a land + of craters and weed, and wire and wild cabbages and old German bones. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Spring and the Kaiser + </h2> + <p> + While all the world is waiting for Spring there lie great spaces in one of + the pleasantest lands to which Spring cannot come. + </p> + <p> + Pear trees and cherry and orchards flash over other lands, blossoming as + abundantly as though their wonder were new, with a beauty as fresh and + surprising as though nothing like it before had ever adorned countless + centuries. Now with the larch and soon with the beech trees and hazel, a + bright green blazes forth to illumine the year. The slopes are covered + with violets. Those who have gardens are beginning to be proud of them and + to point them out to their neighbours. Almond and peach in blossom peep + over old brick walls. The land dreams of summer all in the youth of the + year. + </p> + <p> + But better than all this the Germans have found war. The simple content of + a people at peace in pleasant countries counted for nothing with them. + Their Kaiser prepared for war, made speeches about war, and, when he was + ready, made war. And now the hills that should be covered with violets are + full of murderous holes, and the holes are half full of empty meat tins, + and the garden walls have gone and the gardens with them, and there are no + woods left to shelter anemones. Boundless masses of brown barbed wire + straggle over the landscape. All the orchards there are cut down out of + ruthless spite to hurt France whom they cannot conquer. All the little + trees that grow near gardens are gone, aspen, laburnum and lilac. It is + like this for hundreds of miles. Hundreds of ruined towns gaze at it with + vacant windows and see a land from which even Spring is banished. And not + a ruined house in all the hundred towns but mourns for some one, man, + woman or child; for the Germans make war equally on all in the land where + Spring comes no more. + </p> + <p> + Some day Spring will come back; some day she will shine all April in + Picardy again, for Nature is never driven utterly forth, but comes back + with her seasons to cover up even the vilest things. + </p> + <p> + She shall hide the raw earth of the shell holes till the violets come + again; she shall bring back even the orchards for Spring to walk in once + more; the woods will grow tall again above the southern anemones; and the + great abandoned guns of the Germans will rust by the rivers of France. + Forgotten like them, the memory of the War Lord will pass with his evil + deeds. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Two Songs + </h2> + <p> + Over slopes of English hills looking south in the time of violets, evening + was falling. + </p> + <p> + Shadows at edges of woods moved, and then merged in the gloaming. + </p> + <p> + The bat, like a shadow himself, finding that spring was come, slipped from + the dark of the wood as far as a clump of beech trees and fluttered back + again on his wonderful quiet wings. + </p> + <p> + Pairing pigeons were home. + </p> + <p> + Very young rabbits stole out to gaze at the calm still world. They came + out as the stars come. At one time they were not there, and then you saw + them, but you did not see them come. + </p> + <p> + Towering clouds to the west built palaces, cities and mountains; bastions + of rose and precipices of gold; giants went home over them draped in mauve + by steep rose-pink ravines into emerald-green empires. Turbulences of + colour broke out above the departed sun; giants merged into mountains, and + cities became seas, and new processions of other fantastic things sailed + by. But the chalk slopes facing south smiled on with the same calm light, + as though every blade of grass gathered a ray from the gloaming. All the + hills faced the evening with that same quiet glow, which faded softly as + the air grew colder; and the first star appeared. + </p> + <p> + Voices came up in the hush, clear from the valley, and ceased. A light was + lit, like a spark, in a distant window: more stars appeared and the woods + were all dark now, and shapes even on the hill slopes began to grow + indistinct. + </p> + <p> + Home by a laneway in the dim, still evening a girl was going, singing the + Marseillaise. + </p> + <p> + In France where the downs in the north roll away without hedges, as though + they were great free giants that man had never confined, as though they + were stretching their vast free limbs in the evening, the same light was + smiling and glimmering softly away. + </p> + <p> + A road wound over the downs and away round one of their shoulders. A hush + lay over them as though the giants slept, or as though they guarded in + silence their ancient, wonderful history. + </p> + <p> + The stillness deepened and the dimness of twilight; and just before + colours fade, while shapes can still be distinguished, there came by the + road a farmer leading his Norman horse. High over the horse’s withers his + collar pointed with brass made him fantastic and huge and strange to see + in the evening. + </p> + <p> + They moved together through that mellow light towards where unseen among + the clustered downs the old French farmer’s house was sheltered away. + </p> + <p> + He was going home at evening humming “God Save the King.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Punishment + </h2> + <p> + An exhalation arose, drawn up by the moon, from an old battlefield after + the passing of years. It came out of very old craters and gathered from + trenches, smoked up from No Man’s Land, and the ruins of farms; it rose + from the rottenness of dead brigades, and lay for half the night over two + armies; but at midnight the moon drew it up all into one phantom and it + rose and trailed away eastwards. + </p> + <p> + It passed over men in grey that were weary of war; it passed over a land + once prosperous, happy and mighty, in which were a people that were + gradually starving; it passed by ancient belfries in which there were no + bells now; it passed over fear and misery and weeping, and so came to the + palace at Potsdam. It was the dead of the night between midnight and dawn, + and the palace was very still that the Emperor might sleep, and sentries + guarded it who made no noise and relieved others in silence. Yet it was + not so easy to sleep. Picture to yourself a murderer who had killed a man. + Would you sleep? Picture yourself the man that planned this war! Yes, you + sleep, but nightmares come. + </p> + <p> + The phantom entered the chamber. “Come,” it said. + </p> + <p> + The Kaiser leaped up at once as obediently as when he came to attention on + parade, years ago, as a subaltern in the Prussian Guard, a man whom no + woman or child as yet had ever cursed; he leaped up and followed. They + passed the silent sentries; none challenged and none saluted; they were + moving swiftly over the town as the felon Gothas go; they came to a + cottage in the country. They drifted over a little garden gate, and there + in a neat little garden the phantom halted like a wind that has suddenly + ceased. “Look,” it said. + </p> + <p> + Should he look? Yet he must look. The Kaiser looked; and saw a window + shining and a neat room in the cottage: there was nothing dreadful there; + thank the good German God for that; it was all right, after all. The + Kaiser had had a fright, but it was all right; there was only a woman with + a baby sitting before the fire, and two small children and a man. And it + was quite a jolly room. And the man was a young soldier; and, why, he was + a Prussian Guardsman,—there was his helmet hanging on the wall,—so + everything was all right. They were jolly German children; that was well. + How nice and homely the room was. There shone before him, and showed far + off in the night, the visible reward of German thrift and industry. It was + all so tidy and neat, and yet they were quite poor people. The man had + done his work for the Fatherland, and yet beyond all that had been able to + afford all those little knickknacks that make a home so pleasant and that + in their humble little way were luxury. And while the Kaiser looked the + two young children laughed as they played on the floor, not seeing that + face at the window. + </p> + <p> + Why! Look at the helmet. That was lucky. A bullet hole right through the + front of it. That must have gone very close to the man’s head. How ever + did it get through? It must have glanced upwards as bullets sometimes do. + The hole was quite low in the helmet. It would be dreadful to have bullets + coming by close like that. The firelight flickered, and the lamp shone on, + and the children played on the floor, and the man was smoking out of a + china pipe; he was strong and able and young, one of the wealth-winners of + Germany. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen?” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Kaiser. It was well, he thought, that a Kaiser should see + how his people lived. + </p> + <p> + At once the fire went out and the lamp faded away, the room fell sombrely + into neglect and squalor, and the soldier and the children faded away with + the room; all disappeared phantasmally, and nothing remained but the + helmet in a kind of glow on the wall, and the woman sitting all by herself + in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “It has all gone,” said the Kaiser. + </p> + <p> + “It has never been,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + The Kaiser looked again. Yes, there was nothing there, it was just a + vision. There were the grey walls all damp and uncared for, and that + helmet standing out solid and round, like the only real thing among + fancies. No, it had never been. It was just a vision. + </p> + <p> + “It might have been,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + Might have been? How might it have been? + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + They drifted away down a little lane that in summer would have had roses, + and came to an Uhlan’s house; in times of peace a small farmer. Farm + buildings in good repair showed even in the night, and the black shapes of + haystacks; again a well-kept garden lay by the house. The phantom and the + Kaiser stood in the garden; before them a window glowed in a lamplit room. + </p> + <p> + “Look,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + The Kaiser looked again and saw a young couple; the woman played with a + baby, and all was prosperous in the merry room. Again the hard-won wealth + of Germany shone out for all to see, the cosy comfortable furniture spoke + of acres well cared for, spoke of victory in the struggle with the seasons + on which wealth of nations depends. + </p> + <p> + “It might have been,” said the phantom. Again the fire died out and the + merry scene faded away, leaving a melancholy, ill-kept room, with poverty + and mourning haunting dusty corners and the woman sitting alone. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you show me this?” said the Kaiser. “Why do you show me these + visions?” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said the Kaiser. “Where are you bringing me?” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + They went from window to window, from land to land. You had seen, had you + been out that night in Germany, and able to see visions, an imperious + figure passing from place to place, looking on many scenes. He looked on + them, and families withered away, and happy scenes faded, and the phantom + said to him “Come.” He expostulated but obeyed; and so they went from + window to window of hundreds of farms in Prussia, till they came to the + Prussian border and went on into Saxony; and always you would have heard, + could you hear spirits speak, “It might have been,” “It might have been,” + repeated from window to window. + </p> + <p> + They went down through Saxony, heading for Austria. And for long the + Kaiser kept that callous, imperious look. But at last he, even he, at last + he nearly wept. And the phantom turned then and swept him back over + Saxony, and into Prussia again and over the sentries’ heads, back to his + comfortable bed where it was so hard to sleep. + </p> + <p> + And though they had seen thousands of merry homes, homes that can never be + merry now, shrines of perpetual mourning; though they had seen thousands + of smiling German children, who will never be born now, but were only the + visions of hopes blasted by him; for all the leagues over which he had + been so ruthlessly hurried, dawn was yet barely breaking. + </p> + <p> + He had looked on the first few thousand homes of which he had robbed all + time, and which he must see with his eyes before he may go hence. The + first night of the Kaiser’s punishment was accomplished. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The English Spirit + </h2> + <p> + By the end of the South African war Sergeant Cane had got one thing very + well fixed in his mind, and that was that war was an overrated amusement. + He said he “was fed up with it,” partly because that misused metaphor was + then new, partly because every one was saying it: he felt it right down in + his bones, and he had a long memory. So when wonderful rumours came to the + East Anglian village where he lived, on August 1, 1914, Sergeant Cane + said: “That means war,” and decided then and there to have nothing to do + with it: it was somebody else’s turn; he felt he had done enough. Then + came August 4th, and England true to her destiny, and then Lord + Kitchener’s appeal for men. Sergeant Cane had a family to look after and a + nice little house: he had left the army ten years. + </p> + <p> + In the next week all the men went who had been in the army before, all + that were young enough, and a good sprinkling of the young men too who had + never been in the army. Men asked Cane if he was going, and he said + straight out “No.” + </p> + <p> + By the middle of August Cane was affecting the situation. He was a little + rallying point for men who did not want to go. “He knows what it’s like,” + they said. + </p> + <p> + In the smoking room of the Big House sat the Squire and his son, Arthur + Smith; and Sir Munion Boomer-Platt, the Member for the division. The + Squire’s son had been in the last war as a boy, and like Sergeant Cane had + left the army since. All the morning he had been cursing an imaginary + general, seated in the War Office at an imaginary desk with Smith’s own + letter before him, in full view but unopened. Why on earth didn’t he + answer it, Smith thought. But he was calmer now, and the Squire and Sir + Munion were talking of Sergeant Cane. + </p> + <p> + “Leave him to me,” said Sir Munion. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the Squire. So Sir Munion Boomer-Platt went off and + called on Sergeant Cane. + </p> + <p> + Mrs Cane knew what he had come for. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let him talk you over, Bill,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Not he,” said Sergeant Cane. + </p> + <p> + Sir Munion came on Sergeant Cane in his garden. + </p> + <p> + “A fine day,” said Sir Munion. And from that he went on to the war. “If + you enlist,” he said, “they will make you a sergeant again at once. You + will get a sergeant’s pay, and your wife will get the new separation + allowance.” + </p> + <p> + “Sooner have Cane,” said Mrs Cane. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, of course,” said Sir Munion. “But then there is the medal, + probably two or three medals, and the glory of it, and it is such a + splendid life.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Munion did warm to a thing whenever he began to hear his own words. He + painted war as it has always been painted, one of the most beautiful + things you could imagine. And then it mustn’t be supposed that it was like + those wars that there used to be, a long way off. There would be houses + where you would be billeted, and good food, and shady trees and villages + wherever you went. And it was such an opportunity of seeing the Continent + (“the Continent as it really is,” Sir Munion called it) as would never + come again, and he only wished he were younger. Sir Munion really did wish + it, as he spoke, for his own words stirred him profoundly; but somehow or + other they did not stir Sergeant Cane. No, he had done his share, and he + had a family to look after. + </p> + <p> + Sir Munion could not understand him: he went back to the Big House and + said so. He had told him all the advantages he could think of that were + there to be had for the asking, and Sergeant Cane merely neglected them. + </p> + <p> + “Let me have a try,” said Arthur Smith. “He soldiered with me before.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Munion shrugged his shoulders. He had all the advantages at his + fingers’ ends, from pay to billeting: there was nothing more to be said. + Nevertheless young Smith went. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Sergeant Cane,” said Smith. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, sir,” said the sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember that night at Reit River?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t I, sir,” said Cane. + </p> + <p> + “One blanket each and no ground sheet?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember, sir,” said Cane. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t it rain,” said Smith. + </p> + <p> + “It rained that night, proper.” + </p> + <p> + “Drowned a few of the lice, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Not many,” said Cane. + </p> + <p> + “No, not many,” Smith reflected. “The Boers had the range all right that + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Gave it us proper,” said Cane. + </p> + <p> + “We were hungry that night,” said Smith. “I could have eaten biltong.” + </p> + <p> + “I did eat some of it,” said Cane. “Not bad stuff, what there was of it, + only not enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think,” said Smith, “that I’ve ever slept on the bare earth + since.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir?” said Cane. “It’s hard. You get used to it. But it will always + be hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it will always be hard,” said Smith. “Do you remember the time we + were thirsty?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, sir,” said Cane, “I remember that. One doesn’t forget that.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I still dream of it sometimes,” said Smith. “It makes a nasty dream. + I wake with my mouth all dry too, when I dream that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cane, “one doesn’t forget being thirsty.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Smith, “I suppose we’re for it all over again?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so, sir,” said Cane. + </p> + <p> + An Investigation Into the Causes and Origin of the War + </p> + <p> + The German imperial barber has been called up. He must have been called up + quite early in the war. I have seen photographs in papers that leave no + doubt of that. Who he is I do not know: I once read his name in an article + but have forgotten it; few even know if he still lives. And yet what harm + he has done! What vast evils he has unwittingly originated! Many years ago + he invented a frivolity, a jeu d’esprit easily forgivable to an artist in + the heyday of his youth, to whom his art was new and even perhaps + wonderful. A craft, of course, rather than an art, and a humble craft at + that; but then, the man was young, and what will not seem wonderful to + youth? + </p> + <p> + He must have taken the craft very seriously, but as youth takes things + seriously, fantastically and with laughter. He must have determined to + outshine rivals: he must have gone away and thought, burning candles late + perhaps, when all the palace was still. But how can youth think seriously? + And there had come to him this absurd, this fantastical conceit. What else + would have come? The more seriously he took the tonsorial art, the more he + studied its tricks and phrases and heard old barbers lecture, the more + sure were the imps of youth to prompt him to laughter and urge him to + something outrageous and ridiculous. The background of the dull pomp of + Potsdam must have made all this more certain. It was bound to come. + </p> + <p> + And so one day, or, as I have suggested, suddenly late one night, there + came to the young artist bending over tonsorial books that quaint, mad, + odd, preposterous inspiration. Ah, what pleasure there is in the madness + of youth; it is not like the madness of age, clinging to outworn formulæ; + it is the madness of breaking away, of galloping among precipices, of + dallying with the impossible, of courting the absurd. And this + inspiration, it was in none of the books; the lecturer barbers had not + lectured on it, could not dream of it and did not dare to; there was no + tradition for it, no precedent; it was mad; and to introduce it into the + pomp of Potsdam, that was the daring of madness. And this preposterous + inspiration of the absurd young barber-madman was nothing less than a + moustache that without any curve at all, or any suggestion of sanity, + should go suddenly up at the ends very nearly as high as the eyes! + </p> + <p> + He must have told his young fellow craftsmen first, for youth goes first + to youth with its hallucinations. And they, what could they have said? You + cannot say of madness that it is mad, you cannot call absurdity absurd. To + have criticized would have revealed jealousy; and as for praise you could + not praise a thing like that. They probably shrugged, made gestures; and + perhaps one friend warned him. But you cannot warn a man against a + madness; if the madness is in possession it will not be warned away: why + should it? And then perhaps he went to the old barbers of the Court. You + can picture their anger. Age does not learn from youth in any case. But + there was the insult to their ancient craft, bad enough if only imagined, + but here openly spoken of. And what would come of it? They must have + feared, on the one hand, dishonour to their craft if this young barber + were treated as his levity deserved; and, on the other hand, could they + have feared his success? I think they could not have guessed it. + </p> + <p> + And then the young idiot with his preposterous inspiration must have + looked about to see where he could practise his new absurdity. It should + have been enough to have talked about it among his fellow barbers; they + would have gone with new zest to their work next day for this delirious + interlude, and no harm would have been done. “Fritz,” (or Hans) they would + have said, “was a bit on last night, a bit full up,” or whatever phrase + they use to touch on drunkenness; and the thing would have been forgotten. + We all have our fancies. But this young fool wanted to get his fancy mixed + up with practice: that’s where he was mad. And in Potsdam, of all places. + </p> + <p> + He probably tried his friends first, young barbers at the Court and others + of his own standing. None of them were fools enough to be seen going about + like that. They had jobs to lose. A Court barber is one thing, a man who + cuts ordinary hair is quite another. Why should they become outcasts + because their friend chose to be mad? + </p> + <p> + He probably tried his inferiors then, but they would have been timid folk; + they must have seen the thing was absurd, and of course daren’t risk it. + Again, why should they? + </p> + <p> + Did he try to get some noble then to patronize his invention? Probably the + first refusals he had soon inflamed his madness more, and he threw caution + insanely to the winds, and went straight to the Emperor. + </p> + <p> + It was probably about the time that the Emperor dismissed Bismarck; + certainly the drawings of that time show him still with a sane moustache. + </p> + <p> + The young barber probably chanced on him in this period, finding him + bereft of an adviser, and ready to be swayed by whatever whim should come. + Perhaps he was attracted by the barber’s hardihood, perhaps the absurdity + of his inspiration had some fascination for him, perhaps he merely saw + that the thing was new and, feeling jaded, let the barber have his way. + And so the frivolity became a fact, the absurdity became visible, and + honour and riches came the way of the barber. + </p> + <p> + A small thing, you might say, however fantastical. And yet I believe the + absurdity of that barber to be among the great evils that have brought + death nearer to man; whimsical and farcical as it was, yet a thing + deadlier than Helen’s beauty or Tamerlane’s love of skulls. For just as + character is outwardly shown so outward things react upon the character; + and who, with that daring barber’s ludicrous fancy visible always on his + face, could quite go the sober way of beneficent monarchs? The fantasy + must be mitigated here, set off there; had you such a figure to dress, say + for amateur theatricals, you would realize the difficulty. The heavy + silver eagle to balance it; the glittering cuirass lower down, preventing + the eye from dwelling too long on the barber’s absurdity. And then the + pose to go with the cuirass and to carry off the wild conceit of that mad, + mad barber. He has much to answer for, that eccentric man whose name so + few remember. For pose led to actions; and just when Europe most needed a + man of wise counsels, restraining the passions of great empires, just then + she had ruling over Germany and, unhappily, dominating Austria, a man who + every year grew more akin to the folly of that silly barber’s youthful + inspiration. + </p> + <p> + Let us forgive the barber. For long I have known from pictures that I have + seen of the Kaiser that he has gone to the trenches. Probably he is dead. + Let us forgive the barber. But let us bear in mind that the futile fancies + of youth may be deadly things, and that one of them falling on a fickle + mind may so stir its shallows as to urge it to disturb and set in motion + the avalanches of illimitable grief. + </p> + <p> + Lost + </p> + <p> + Describing a visit, say the papers of March 28th, which the Kaiser paid + incognito to Cologne Cathedral on March 18th before the great battle, the + Cologne correspondent of the Tyd says: + </p> + <p> + There were only a few persons in the building. Under high arches and in + spacious solitude the Kaiser sat, as if in deep thought, before the + priests’ choir. Behind him his military staff stood respectfully at a + distance. Still musing as he rose, the monarch resting both hands on his + walking-stick remains standing immovable for some minutes... I shall never + forget this picture of the musing monarch praying in Cologne Cathedral on + the eve of the great battle. + </p> + <p> + Probably he won’t forget it. The German casualty lists will help to remind + him. But what is more to the point is that this expert propagandist has + presumably received orders that we are not to forget it, and that the + sinister originator of the then impending holocaust should be toned down a + little in the eyes at least of the Tyd to something a little more amiable. + </p> + <p> + And no doubt the little piece of propaganda gave every satisfaction to + those who ordered it, or they would not have passed it out to the Tyd, and + the touching little scene would never have reached our eyes. At the same + time the little tale would have been better suited to the psychology of + other countries if he had made the War Lord kneel when he prayed in + Cologne Cathedral, and if he had represented the Military Staff as + standing out of respect to One who, outside Germany, is held in greater + respect than the All Highest. + </p> + <p> + And had the War Lord really knelt is it not possible that he might have + found pity, humility, or even contrition? Things easily overlooked in so + large a cathedral when sitting erect, as a War Lord, before the priests’ + choir, but to be noticed perhaps with one’s eyes turned to the ground. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he nearly found one of those things. Perhaps he felt (who knows?) + just for a moment, that in the dimness of those enormous aisles was + something he had lost a long, long while ago. + </p> + <p> + One is not mistaken to credit the very bad with feeling far, faint appeals + from things of glory like Cologne Cathedral; it is that the appeals come + to them too far and faint on their headlong descent to ruin. + </p> + <p> + For what was the War Lord seeking? Did he know that pity for his poor + slaughtered people, huddled by him on to our ceaseless machine guns, might + be found by seeking there? Or was it only that the lost thing, whatever it + was, made that faint appeal to him, passing the door by chance, and drew + him in, as the scent of some herb or flower in a moment draws us back + years to look for something lost in our youth; we gaze back, wondering, + and do not find it. + </p> + <p> + And to think that perhaps he lost it by very little! That, but for that + proud attitude and the respectful staff, he might have seen what was lost, + and have come out bringing pity for his people. Might have said to the + crowd that gave him that ovation, as we read, outside the door: “My pride + has driven you to this needless war, my ambition has made a sacrifice of + millions, but it is over, and it shall be no more; I will make no more + conquests.” + </p> + <p> + They would have killed him. But for that renunciation, perhaps, however + late, the curses of the widows of his people might have kept away from his + grave. + </p> + <p> + But he did not find it. He sat at prayer. Then he stood. Then he marched + out: and his staff marched out behind him. And in the gloom of the floor + of the vast Cologne Cathedral lie the things that the Kaiser did not find + and never will find now. Unnoticed thus, and in some silent moment, passes + a man’s last chance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Last Mirage + </h2> + <p> + The desolation that the German offensive has added to the dominions of the + Kaiser cannot easily be imagined by any one who has never seen a desert. + Look at it on the map and it is full of the names of towns and villages; + it is in Europe, where there are no deserts; it is a fertile province + among places of famous names. Surely it is a proud addition to an + ambitious monarch’s possessions. Surely there is something there that it + is worth while to have conquered at the cost of army corps. No, nothing. + They are mirage towns. The farms grow Dead Sea fruit. France recedes + before the imperial clutch. France smiles, but not for him. His new towns + seem to be his because their names have not yet been removed from any map, + but they crumble at his approach because France is not for him. His deadly + ambition makes a waste before it as it goes, clutching for cities. It + comes to them and the cities are not there. + </p> + <p> + I have seen mirages and have heard others told of, but the best mirages of + all we never hear described; the mirage that waterless travellers see at + the last. Those fountains rising out of onyx basins, blue and straight + into incredible heights, and falling and flooding cool white marble; the + haze of spray above their feathery heads through which the pale green + domes of weathered copper shimmer and shake a little; mysterious temples, + the tombs of unknown kings; the cataracts coming down from rose-quartz + cliffs, far off but seen quite clearly, growing to rivers bearing curious + barges to the golden courts of Sahara. These things we never see; they are + seen at the last by men who die of thirst. + </p> + <p> + Even so has the Kaiser looked at the smiling plains of France. Even so has + he looked on her famous ancient cities and the farms and the fertile + fields and the woods and orchards of Picardy. With effort and trouble he + has moved towards them. As he comes near to them the cities crumble, the + woods shrivel and fall, the farms fade out of Picardy, even the hedgerows + go; it is bare, bare desert. He had been sure of Paris, he had dreamed of + Versailles and some monstrous coronation, he had thought his insatiable + avarice would be sated. For he had plotted for conquest of the world, that + boundless greed of his goading him on as a man in the grip of thirst + broods upon lakes. + </p> + <p> + He sees victory near him now. That also will fade in the desert of old + barbed wire and weeds. When will he see that a doom is over all his + ambitions? For his dreams of victory are like those last dreams that come + in deceptive deserts to dying men. + </p> + <p> + There is nothing good for him in the desert of the Somme. Bapaume is not + really there, though it be marked on his maps; it is only a wilderness of + slates and brick. Peronne looks like a city a long way off, but when you + come near it is only the shells of houses. Pozière, Le Sars, Sapigny, are + gone altogether. + </p> + <p> + And all is Dead Sea fruit in a visible desert. The reports of German + victories there are mirage like all the rest; they too will fade into + weeds and old barbed wire. + </p> + <p> + And the advances that look like victories, and the ruins that look like + cities, and the shell-beaten broken fields that look like farms,—they + and the dreams of conquest and all the plots and ambitions, they are all + the mirage of a dying dynasty in a desert it made for its doom. + </p> + <p> + Bones lead up to the desert, bones are scattered about it, it is the most + menacing and calamitous waste of all the deadly places that have been + inclement to man. It flatters the Hohenzollerns with visions of victory + now because they are doomed by it and are about to die. When their race + has died the earth shall smile again, for their deadly mirage shall + oppress us no more. The cities shall rise again and the farms come back; + hedgerows and orchards shall be seen again; the woods shall slowly lift + their heads from the dust; and gardens shall come again where the desert + was, to bloom in happier ages that forget the Hohenzollerns. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Famous Man + </h2> + <p> + Last winter a famous figure walked in Behagnies. Soldiers came to see him + from their billets all down the Arras road, from Ervillers and from + Sapigny, and from the ghosts of villages back from the road, places that + once were villages but are only names now. They would walk three or four + miles, those who could not get lorries, for his was one of those names + that all men know, not such a name as a soldier or poet may win, but a + name that all men know. They used to go there at evening. + </p> + <p> + Four miles away on the left as you went from Ervillers, the guns mumbled + over the hills, low hills over which the Verys from the trenches put up + their heads and peered around,—greeny, yellowy heads that turned the + sky sickly, and the clouds lit up and went grey again all the night long. + As you got near to Behagnies you lost sight of the Verys, but the guns + mumbled on. A silly little train used to run on one’s left, which used to + whistle loudly, as though it asked to be shelled, but I never saw a shell + coming its way; perhaps it knew that the German gunners could not + calculate how slow it went. It crossed the road as you got down to + Behagnies. + </p> + <p> + You passed the graves of two or three German soldiers with their names on + white wooden crosses,—men killed in 1914; and then a little cemetery + of a French cavalry regiment, where a big cross stood in the middle with a + wreath and a tricolor badge, and the names of the men. And then one saw + trees. That was always a wonder, whether one saw their dark shapes in the + evening, or whether one saw them by day, and knew from the look of their + leaves whether autumn had come yet, or gone. In winter at evening one just + saw the black bulk of them, but that was no less marvellous than seeing + them green in summer; trees by the side of the Arras-Bapaume road, trees + in mid-desert in the awful region of Somme. There were not many of them, + just a cluster, fewer than the date palms in an oasis in Sahara, but an + oasis is an oasis wherever you find it, and a few trees make it. There are + little places here and there, few enough as the Arabs know, that the + Sahara’s deadly sand has never been able to devastate; and there are + places even in the Somme that German malice, obeying the Kaiser as the + sand of Sahara obeys the accursed sirocco, has not been able to destroy + quite to the uttermost. That little cluster of trees at Behagnies is one + of these; Divisional Headquarters used to shelter beneath them; and near + them was a statue on a lawn which probably stood by the windows of some + fine house, though there is no trace of the house but the lawn and that + statue now. + </p> + <p> + And over the way on the left a little further on, just past the officers’ + club, a large hall stood where one saw that famous figure, whom officers + and men alike would come so far to see. + </p> + <p> + The hall would hold perhaps four or five hundred seats in front of a stage + fitted up very simply with red, white and blue cloths, but fitted up by + some one that understood the job; and at the back of that stage on those + winter evenings walked on his flat and world-renowned feet the figure of + Charlie Chaplin. + </p> + <p> + When aëroplanes came over bombing, the dynamos used to stop for they + supplied light to other places besides the cinema, and the shade of + Charlie Chaplin would fade away. But the men would wait till the + aëroplanes had gone and that famous figure came waddling back to the + screen. There he amused tired men newly come from the trenches, there he + brought laughter to most of the twelve days that they had out of the line. + </p> + <p> + He is gone from Behagnies now. He did not march in the retreat a little + apart from the troops, with head bent forward and hand thrust in jacket, a + flat-footed Napoleon: yet he is gone; for no one would have left behind + for the enemy so precious a thing as a Charlie Chaplin film. He is gone + but he will return. He will come with his cane one day along that Arras + road to the old hut in Behagnies; and men dressed in brown will welcome + him there again. + </p> + <p> + He will pass beyond it through those desolate plains, and over the hills + beyond them, beyond Bapaume. Far hamlets to the east will know his antics. + </p> + <p> + And one day surely, in old familiar garb, without court dress, without + removing his hat, armed with that flexible cane, he will walk over the + faces of the Prussian Guard and, picking up the Kaiser by the collar, with + infinite nonchalance in finger and thumb, will place him neatly in a prone + position and solemnly sit on his chest. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Oases of Death + </h2> + <p> + While the German guns were pounding Amiens and the battle of dull + Prussianism against Liberty raged on, they buried Richthofen in the + British lines. + </p> + <p> + They had laid him in a large tent with his broken machine outside it. + Thence British airmen carried him to the quiet cemetery, and he was buried + among the cypresses in this old resting place of French generations just + as though he had come there bringing no harm to France. + </p> + <p> + Five wreaths were on his coffin, placed there by those who had fought + against him up in the air. And under the wreaths on the coffin was spread + the German flag. + </p> + <p> + When the funeral service was over three volleys were fired by the escort, + and a hundred aviators paid their last respects to the grave of their + greatest enemy; for the chivalry that the Prussians have driven from earth + and sea lives on in the blue spaces of the air. + </p> + <p> + They buried Richthofen at evening, and the planes came droning home as + they buried him, and the German guns roared on and guns answered, + defending Amiens. And in spite of all, the cemetery had the air of quiet, + remaining calm and aloof, as all French graveyards are. For they seem to + have no part in the cataclysm that shakes all the world but them; they + seem to withdraw amongst memories and to be aloof from time, and, above + all, to be quite untroubled by the war that rages to-day, upon which they + appear to look out listlessly from among their cypress and yew, and dimly, + down a vista of centuries. They are very strange, these little oases of + death that remain unmoved and green with their trees still growing, in the + midst of a desolation as far as the eye can see, in which cities and + villages and trees and hedges and farms and fields and churches are all + gone, and where hugely broods a desert. It is as though Death, stalking up + and down through France for four years, sparing nothing, had recognized + for his own his little gardens, and had spared only them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Anglo-Saxon Tyranny + </h2> + <p> + “We need a sea,” says Big-Admiral von Tirpitz, “freed of Anglo-Saxon + tyranny.” Unfortunately neither the British Admiralty nor the American + Navy permit us to know how much of the Anglo-Saxon tyranny is done by + American destroyers and how much by British ships and even trawler. It + would interest both countries to know, if it could be known. But the + Big-Admiral is unjust to France, for the French navy exerts a tyranny at + sea that can by no means be overlooked, although naturally from her + position in front of the mouth of the Elbe England practises the + culminating insupportable tyranny of keeping the High Seas Fleet in the + Kiel Canal. + </p> + <p> + It is not I, but the Big-Admiral, who chose the word tyranny as + descriptive of the activities of the Anglo-Saxon navies. He was making a + speech at Dusseldorf on May 25th and was reported in the Dusseldorfer + Nachrichten on May 27th. + </p> + <p> + Naturally it does not seem like tyranny to us, even the contrary; but for + an admiral, ein Grosse-Admiral, lately commanding a High Seas Fleet, it + must have been more galling than we perhaps can credit to be confined in a + canal. There was he, who should have been breasting the blue, or at any + rate doing something salty and nautical, far out in the storms of that sea + that the Germans call an Ocean, with the hurricane raging angrily in his + whiskers and now and then wafting tufts of them aloft to white the + halyards; there was he constrained to a command the duties of which + however nobly he did them could be equally well carried out by any + respectable bargee. He hoped for a piracy of which the Lusitania was + merely a beginning; he looked for the bombardment of innumerable towns; he + pictured slaughter in many a hamlet of fishermen; he planned more than all + those things of which U-boat commanders are guilty; he saw himself a + murderous old man, terrible to seafarers, and a scourge of the coasts, and + fancied himself chronicled in after years by such as told dark tales of + Captain Kidd or the awful buccaneers; but he followed in the end no more + desperate courses than to sit and watch his ships on a wharf near Kiel + like one of Jacob’s night watchmen. + </p> + <p> + No wonder that what appears to us no more than the necessary protection of + women and children in seacoast towns from murder should be to him an + intolerable tyranny. No wonder that the guarding of travellers of the + allied countries at sea, and even those of the neutrals, should be a most + galling thing to the Big-Admiral’s thwarted ambition, looking at it from + the point of view of one who to white-whiskered age has retained the + schoolboy’s natural love of the black and yellow flag. A pirate, he would + say, has as much right to live as wasps or tigers. The Anglo-Saxon navies, + he might argue, have a certain code of rules for use at sea; they let + women get first into the boats, for instance, when ships are sinking, and + they rescue drowning mariners when they can: no actual harm in all this, + he would feel, though it would weaken you, as Hindenburg said of poetry; + but if all these little rules are tyrannously enforced on those who may + think them silly, what is to become of the pirate? Where, if people like + Beattie and Sims had always had their way, would be those rollicking tales + of the jolly Spanish Main, and men walking the plank into the big blue + sea, and long, low, rakish craft putting in to Indian harbours with a + cargo of men and women all hung from the yard-arm? A melancholy has come + over the spirit of Big-Admiral von Tirpitz in the years he has spent in + the marshes between the Elbe and Kiel, and in that melancholy he sees + romance crushed; he sees no more pearl earrings and little gold rings in + the hold, he sees British battleships spoiling the Spanish Main, and + hateful American cruisers in the old Sargasso Sea; he sees himself, alas, + the last of all the pirates. + </p> + <p> + Let him take comfort. There were always pirates. And in spite of the + tyranny of England and America, and of France, which the poor old man + perplexed with his troubles forgot, there will be pirates still. Not many + perhaps, but enough U-boats will always be able to slip through that + tyrannous blockade to spread indiscriminate slaughter amongst the + travellers of any nation, enough to hand on the old traditions of murder + at sea. And one day Captain Kidd, with such a bow as they used to make in + ports of the Spanish Main, will take off his ancient hat, sweeping it low + in Hell, and be proud to clasp the hand of the Lord of the Kiel Canal. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Memories + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ... far-off things + And battles long ago. +</pre> + <p> + Those who live in an old house are necessarily more concerned with paying + the plumber, should his art be required, or choosing wall paper that does + not clash with the chintzes, than with the traditions that may haunt its + corridors. In Ireland,—and no one knows how old that is, for the + gods that lived there before the Red Branch came wrote few chronicles on + the old grey Irish stones and wrote in their own language,—in + Ireland we are more concerned with working it so that Tim Flanagan gets + the job he does be looking for. + </p> + <p> + But in America those who remember Ireland remember her, very often, from + old generations; maybe their grandfather migrated, perhaps his + grandfather, and Ireland is remembered by old tales treasured among them. + Now Tim Flanagan will not be remembered in a year’s time when he has the + job for which he has got us to agitate, and the jobberies that stir us + move not the pen of History. + </p> + <p> + But the tales that Irish generations hand down beyond the Atlantic have to + be tales that are worth remembering. They are tales that have to stand the + supreme test, tales that a child will listen to by the fireside of an + evening, so that they go down with those early remembered evenings that + are last of all to go of the memories of a lifetime. A tale that a child + will listen to must have much grandeur. Any cheap stuff will do for us, + bad journalism, and novels by girls that could get no other jobs; but a + child looks for those things in a tale that are simple and noble and epic, + the things that Earth remembers. And so they tell, over there, tales of + Sarsfield and of the old Irish Brigade; they tell, of an evening, of Owen + Roe O’Neill. And into those tales come the plains of Flanders again and + the ancient towns of France, towns famous long ago and famous yet: let us + rather think of them as famous names and not as the sad ruins we have + seen, melancholy by day and monstrous in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + Many an Irishman who sails from America for those historic lands knows + that the old trees that stand there have their roots far down in soil once + richened by Irish blood. When the Boyne was lost and won, and Ireland had + lost her King, many an Irishman with all his wealth in a scabbard looked + upon exile as his sovereign’s court. And so they came to the lands of + foreign kings, with nothing to offer for the hospitality that was given + them but a sword; and it usually was a sword with which kings were well + content. Louis XV had many of them, and was glad to have them at Fontenoy; + the Spanish King admitted them to the Golden Fleece; they defended Maria + Theresa. Landen in Flanders and Cremona knew them. A volume were needed to + tell of all those swords; more than one Muse has remembered them. It was + not disloyalty that drove them forth; their King was gone, they followed, + the oak was smitten and brown were the leaves of the tree. + </p> + <p> + But no such mournful metaphor applies to the men who march to-day towards + the plains where the “Wild Geese” were driven. They go with no country + mourning them, but their whole land cheers them on; they go to the + inherited battlefields. And there is this difference in their attitude to + kings, that those knightly Irishmen of old, driven homeless over-sea, + appeared as exiles suppliant for shelter before the face of the Grand + Monarch, and he, no doubt with exquisite French grace, gave back to them + all they had lost except what was lost forever, salving so far as he could + the injustice suffered by each. But to-day when might, for its turn, is in + the hands of democracies, the men whose fathers built the Statue of + Liberty have left their country to bring back an exiled king to his home, + and to right what can be righted of the ghastly wrongs of Flanders. + </p> + <p> + And if men’s prayers are heard, as many say, old saints will hear old + supplications going up by starlight with a certain wistful, musical + intonation that has linked the towns of Limerick and Cork with the fields + of Flanders before. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Movement + </h2> + <p> + For many years Eliphaz Griggs was comparatively silent. Not that he did + not talk on all occasions whenever he could find hearers, he did that at + great length; but for many years he addressed no public meeting, and was + no part of the normal life of the northeast end of Hyde Park or Trafalgar + Square. And then one day he was talking in a public house where he had + gone to talk on the only subject that was dear to him. He waited, as was + his custom, until five or six men were present, and then he began. “Ye’re + all damned, I’m saying, damned from the day you were born. Your portion is + Tophet.” + </p> + <p> + And on that day there happened what had never happened in his experience + before. Men used to listen in a tolerant way, and say little over their + beer, for that is the English custom; and that would be all. But to-day a + man rose up with flashing eyes and went over to Eliphaz and gripped him by + the hand: “They’re all damned,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + That was the turning point in the life of Eliphaz. Up to that moment he + had been a lonely crank, and men thought he was queer; but now there were + two of them and he became a Movement. A Movement in England may do what it + likes: there was a Movement, before the War, for spoiling tulips in Kew + Gardens and breaking church windows; it had its run like the rest. + </p> + <p> + The name of Eliphaz’s new friend was Ezekiel Pim: and they drew up rules + for their Movement almost at once; and very soon country inns knew Eliphaz + no more. And for some while they missed him where he used to drop in of an + evening to tell them they were all damned: and then a man proved one day + that the earth was flat, and they all forgot Eliphaz. + </p> + <p> + But Eliphaz went to Hyde Park and Ezekiel Pim went with him, and there you + would see them close to the Marble Arch on any fine Sunday afternoon, + preaching their Movement to the people of London. “You are all damned,” + said Eliphaz. “Your portion shall be damnation for everlasting.” + </p> + <p> + “All damned,” added Ezekiel. + </p> + <p> + Eliphaz was the orator. He would picture Hell to you as it really is. He + made you see pretty much what it will be like to wriggle and turn and + squirm, and never escape from burning. But Ezekiel Pim, though he seldom + said more than three words, uttered those words with such alarming + sincerity and had such a sure conviction shining in his eyes that searched + right in your face as he said them, and his long hair waved so weirdly as + his head shot forward when he said “You’re all damned,” that Ezekiel Pim + brought home to you that the vivid descriptions of Eliphaz really applied + to you. + </p> + <p> + People who lead bad lives get their sensibilities hardened. These did not + care very much what Eliphaz said. But girls at school, and several + governesses, and even some young clergy, were very much affected. Eliphaz + Griggs and Ezekiel Pim seemed to bring Hell so near to you. You could + almost feel it baking the Marble Arch from two to four on Sundays. And at + four o’clock the Surbiton Branch of the International Anarchists used to + come along, and Eliphaz Griggs and Ezekiel Pim would pack up their flag + and go, for the pitch belonged to the Surbiton people till six; and the + crank Movements punctiliously recognize each other’s rights. If they + fought among themselves, which is quite unthinkable, the police would run + them in; it is the one thing that an anarchist in England may never do. + </p> + <p> + When the War came the two speakers doubled their efforts. The way they + looked at it was that here was a counter-attraction taking people’s minds + off the subject of their own damnation just as they had got them to think + about it. Eliphaz worked as he had never worked before; he spared nobody; + but it was still Ezekiel Pim who somehow brought it most home to them. + </p> + <p> + One fine spring afternoon Eliphaz Griggs was speaking at his usual place + and time; he had wound himself up wonderfully. “You are damned,” he was + saying, “for ever and ever and ever. Your sins have found you out. Your + filthy lives will be as fuel round you and shall burn for ever and ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said a Canadian soldier in the crowd, “we shouldn’t allow + that in Ottawa.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked an English girl. + </p> + <p> + “Why, telling us we’re all damned like that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, this is England,” she said. “They may all say what they like here.” + </p> + <p> + “You are all damned,” said Ezekiel, jerking forward his head and shoulders + till his hair flapped out behind. “All, all, all damned.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m damned if I am,” said the Canadian soldier. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Ezekiel, and a sly look came into his face. + </p> + <p> + Eliphaz flamed on. “Your sins are remembered. Satan shall grin at you. He + shall heap cinders on you for ever and ever. Woe to you, filthy livers. + Woe to you, sinners. Hell is your portion. There shall be none to grieve + for you. You shall dwell in torment for ages. None shall be spared, not + one. Woe everlasting... Oh, I beg pardon, gentlemen, I’m sure.” For the + Pacifists’ League had been kept waiting three minutes. It was their turn + to-day at four. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Nature’s Cad + </h2> + <p> + The claim of Professor Grotius Jan Beek to have discovered, or learned, + the language of the greater apes has been demonstrated clearly enough. He + is not the original discoverer of the fact that they have what may be said + to correspond with a language; nor is he the first man to have lived for + some while in the jungle protected by wooden bars, with a view to + acquiring some knowledge of the meaning of the various syllables that + gorillas appear to utter. If so crude a collection of sounds, amounting to + less than a hundred words, if words they are, may be called a language, it + may be admitted that the Professor has learned it, as his recent + experiments show. What he has not proved is his assertion that he has + actually conversed with a gorilla, or by signs, or grunts, or any means + whatever obtained an insight, as he put it, into its mentality, or, as we + should put it, its point of view. This Professor Beek claims to have done; + and though he gives us a certain plausible corroboration of a kind which + makes his story appear likely, it should be borne in mind that it is not + of the nature of proof. + </p> + <p> + The Professor’s story is briefly that having acquired this language, which + nobody that has witnessed his experiments will call in question, he went + back to the jungle for a week, living all the time in the ordinary + explorer’s cage of the Blik pattern. Towards the very end of the week a + big male gorilla came by, and the Professor attracted it by the one word + “Food.” It came, he says, close to the cage, and seemed prepared to talk + but became very angry on seeing a man there, and beat the cage and would + say nothing. The Professor says that he asked it why it was angry. He + admits that he had learned no more than forty words of this language, but + believes that there are perhaps thirty more. Much however is expressed, as + he says, by mere intonation. Anger, for instance; and scores of allied + words, such as terrible, frightful, kill, whether noun, verb or adjective, + are expressed, he says, by a mere growl. Nor is there any word for “Why,” + but queries are signified by the inflexion of the voice. + </p> + <p> + When he asked it why it was angry the gorilla said that men killed him, + and added a noise that the professor said was evidently meant to allude to + guns. The only word used, he says, in this remark of the gorilla’s was the + word that signified “man.” The sentence as understood by the professor + amounted to “Man kill me. Guns.” But the word “kill” was represented + simply by a snarl, “me” by slapping its chest, and “guns” as I have + explained was only represented by a noise. The Professor believes that + ultimately a word for guns may be evolved out of that noise, but thinks + that it will take many centuries, and that if during that time guns should + cease to be in use, this stimulus being withdrawn, the word will never be + evolved at all, nor of course will it be needed. + </p> + <p> + The Professor tried, by evincing interest, ignorance, and incredulity, and + even indignation, to encourage the gorilla to say more; but to his + disappointment, all the more intense after having exchanged that one word + of conversation with one of the beasts, the gorilla only repeated what it + had said, and beat on the cage again. For half an hour this went on, the + Professor showing every sign of sympathy, the gorilla raging and beating + upon the cage. + </p> + <p> + It was half an hour of the most intense excitement to the Professor, + during which time he saw the realization of dreams that many considered + crazy, glittering as it were within his grasp, and all the while this + ridiculous gorilla would do nothing but repeat the mere shred of a + sentence and beat the cage with its great hands; and the heat of course + was intense. And by the end of the half hour the excitement and the heat + seem to have got the better of the Professor’s temper, and he waved the + disgusting brute angrily away with a gesture that probably was not much + less impatient than the gorilla’s own. And at that the animal suddenly + became voluble. He beat more furiously than ever upon the cage and slipped + his great fingers through the bars, trying to reach the Professor, and + poured out volumes of ape-chatter. + </p> + <p> + Why, why did men shoot at him, he asked. He made himself terrible, + therefore men ought to love him. That was the whole burden of what the + Professor calls its argument. “Me, me terrible,” two slaps on the chest + and then a growl. “Man love me.” And then the emphatic negative word, and + the sound that meant guns, and sudden furious rushes at the cage to try to + get at the Professor. + </p> + <p> + The gorilla, Professor Beek explains, evidently admired only strength; + whenever he said “I make myself terrible to Man,” a sentence he often + repeated, he drew himself up and thrust out his huge chest and bared his + frightful teeth; and certainly, the Professor says, there was something + terribly grand about the menacing brute. “Me terrible,” he repeated again + and again, “Me terrible. Sky, sun, stars with me. Man love me. Man love + me. No?” It meant that all the great forces of nature assisted him and his + terrible teeth, which he gnashed repeatedly, and that therefore man should + love him, and he opened his great jaws wide as he said this, showing all + the brutal force of them. + </p> + <p> + There was to my mind a genuine ring in Professor Beek’s story, because he + was obviously so much more concerned, and really troubled, by the dreadful + depravity of this animal’s point of view, or mentality as he called it, + than he was concerned with whether or not we believed what he had said. + </p> + <p> + And I mentioned that there was a circumstance in his story of a plausible + and even corroborative nature. It is this. Professor Beek, who noticed at + the time a bullet wound in the tip of the gorilla’s left ear, by means of + which it was luckily identified, put his analysis of its mentality in + writing and showed it to several others, before he had any way of + accounting for the beast having such a mind. + </p> + <p> + Long afterwards it was definitely ascertained that this animal had been + caught when young on the slopes of Kilimanjaro and trained and even + educated, so far as such things are possible, by an eminent German + Professor, a persona grata at the Court of Berlin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Home of Herr Schnitzelhaaser + </h2> + <p> + The guns in the town of Greinstein were faintly audible. The family of + Schnitzelhaaser lived alone there in mourning, an old man and old woman. + They never went out or saw any one, for they knew they could not speak as + though they did not mourn. They feared that their secret would escape + them. They had never cared for the war that the War Lord made. They no + longer cared what he did with it. They never read his speeches; they never + hung out flags when he ordered flags: they hadn’t the heart to. + </p> + <p> + They had had four sons. + </p> + <p> + The lonely old couple would go as far as the shop for food. Hunger stalked + behind them. They just beat hunger every day, and so saw evening: but + there was nothing to spare. Otherwise they did not go out at all. Hunger + had been coming slowly nearer of late. They had nothing but the ration, + and the ration was growing smaller. They had one pig of their own, but the + law said you might not kill it. So the pig was no good to them. + </p> + <p> + They used to go and look at that pig sometimes when hunger pinched. But + more than that they did not dare to contemplate. + </p> + <p> + Hunger came nearer and nearer. The war was going to end by the first of + July. The War Lord was going to take Paris on this day and that would end + the war at once. But then the war was always going to end. It was going to + end in 1914, and their four sons were to have come home when the leaves + fell. The War Lord had promised that. And even if it did end, that would + not bring their four sons home now. So what did it matter what the War + Lord said. + </p> + <p> + It was thoughts like these that they knew they had to conceal. It was + because of thoughts like these that they did not trust themselves to go + out and see other people, for they feared that by their looks if by + nothing else, or by their silence or perhaps their tears, they might imply + a blasphemy against the All Highest. And hunger made one so hasty. What + might one not say? And so they stayed indoors. + </p> + <p> + But now. What would happen now? The War Lord was coming to Greinstein in + order to hear the guns. One officer of the staff was to be billeted in + their house. And what would happen now? + </p> + <p> + They talked the whole thing over. They must struggle and make an effort. + The officer would be there for one evening. He would leave in the morning + quite early in order to make things ready for the return to Potsdam: he + had charge of the imperial car. So for one evening they must be merry. + They would suppose, it was Herr Schnitzelhaaser’s suggestion, they would + think all the evening that Belgium and France and Luxemburg all attacked + the Fatherland, and that the Kaiser, utterly unprepared, quite unprepared, + called on the Germans to defend their land against Belgium. + </p> + <p> + Yes, the old woman could imagine that; she could think it all the evening. + </p> + <p> + And then,—it was no use not being cheerful altogether,—then + one must imagine a little more, just for the evening: it would come quite + easy; one must think that the four boys were alive. + </p> + <p> + Hans too? (Hans was the youngest). + </p> + <p> + Yes, all four. Just for the evening. + </p> + <p> + But if the officer asks? + </p> + <p> + He will not ask. What are four soldiers? + </p> + <p> + So it was all arranged; and at evening the officer came. He brought his + own rations, so hunger came no nearer. Hunger just lay down outside the + door and did not notice the officer. + </p> + <p> + A this supper the officer began to talk. The Kaiser himself, he said, was + at the Schartzhaus. + </p> + <p> + “So,” said Herr Schnitzelhaaser; “just over the way.” So close. Such an + honour. + </p> + <p> + And indeed the shadow of the Schartzhaus darkened their garden in the + morning. + </p> + <p> + It was such an honour, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser too. And they began to + praise the Kaiser. So great a War Lord, she said; the most glorious war + there had ever been. + </p> + <p> + Of course, said the officer, it would end on the first of July. + </p> + <p> + Of course, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser. And so great an admiral, too. One + must remember that also. And how fortunate we were to have him: one must + not forget that. Had it not been for him the crafty Belgians would have + attacked the Fatherland, but they were struck down before they could do + it. So much better to prevent a bad deed like that than merely to punish + after. So wise. And had it not been for him, if it had not been for him... + </p> + <p> + The old man saw that she was breaking down and hastily he took up that + feverish praise. Feverish it was, for their hunger and bitter loss + affected their minds no less than illness does, and the things they did + they did hastily and intemperately. His praise of the War Lord raced on as + the officer ate. He spoke of him as of those that benefit man, as of + monarchs who bring happiness to their people. And now, he said, he is here + in the Schartzhaus beside us, listening to the guns just like a common + soldier. + </p> + <p> + Finally the guns, as he spoke, coughed beyond ominous hills. Contentedly + the officer went on eating. He suspected nothing of the thoughts his host + and hostess were hiding. At last he went upstairs to bed. + </p> + <p> + As fierce exertion is easy to the fevered, so they had spoken; and it + wears them, so they were worn. The old woman wept when the officer went + out of hearing. But old Herr Schnitzelhaaser picked up a big butcher’s + knife. “I will bear it no more,” he said. + </p> + <p> + His wife watched him in silence as he went away with his knife. Out of the + house he went and into the night. Through the open door she saw nothing; + all was dark; even the Schartzhaus, where all was gay to-night, stood dark + for fear of aëroplanes. The old woman waited in silence. + </p> + <p> + When Herr Schnitzelhaaser returned there was blood on his knife. + </p> + <p> + “What have you done?” the old woman asked him quite calmly. “I have killed + our pig,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She broke out then, all the more recklessly for the long restraint of the + evening; the officer must have heard her. + </p> + <p> + “We are lost! We are lost!” she cried. “We may not kill our pig. Hunger + has made you mad. You have ruined us.” + </p> + <p> + “I will bear it no longer,” he said. “I have killed our pig.” + </p> + <p> + “But they will never let us eat it,” she cried. “Oh, you have ruined us!” + </p> + <p> + “If you did not dare to kill our pig,” he said, “why did you not stop me + when you saw me go? You saw me go with the knife?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” she said, “you were going to kill the Kaiser.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Deed of Mercy + </h2> + <p> + As Hindenburg and the Kaiser came down, as we read, from Mont d’Hiver, + during the recent offensive, they saw on the edge of a crater two wounded + British soldiers. The Kaiser ordered that they should be cared for: their + wounds were bound up and they were given brandy, and brought round from + unconsciousness. That is the German account of it, and it may well be + true. It was a kindly act. + </p> + <p> + Probably had it not been for this the two men would have died among those + desolate craters; no one would have known, and no one could have been + blamed for it. + </p> + <p> + The contrast of this spark of imperial kindness against the gloom of the + background of the war that the Kaiser made is a pleasant thing to see, + even though it illuminates for only a moment the savage darkness in which + our days are plunged. It was a kindness that probably will long be + remembered to him. Even we, his enemies, will remember it. And who knows + but that when most he needs it his reward for the act will be given him. + </p> + <p> + For Judas, they say, once in his youth, gave his cloak, out of compassion, + to a shivering beggar, who sat shaken with ague, in rags, in bitter need. + And the years went by and Judas forgot his deed. And long after, in Hell, + Judas they say was given one day’s respite at the end of every year + because of this one kindness he had done so long since in his youth. And + every year he goes, they say, for a day and cools himself among the Arctic + bergs; once every year for century after century. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps some sailor on watch on a misty evening blown far out of his + course away to the north saw something ghostly once on an iceberg floating + by, or heard some voice in the dimness that seemed like the voice of man, + and came home with this weird story. And perhaps, as the story passed from + lip to lip, men found enough justice in it to believe it true. So it came + down the centuries. + </p> + <p> + Will seafarers ages hence on dim October evenings, or on nights when the + moon is ominous through mist, red and huge and uncanny, see a lonely + figure sometimes on the loneliest part of the sea, far north of where the + Lusitania sank, gathering all the cold it can? Will they see it hugging a + crag of iceberg wan as itself, helmet, cuirass and ice pale-blue in the + mist together? Will it look towards them with ice-blue eyes through the + mist, and will they question it, meeting on those bleak seas? Will it + answer—or will the North wind howl like voices? Will the cry of + seals be heard, and ice floes grinding, and strange birds lost upon the + wind that night, or will it speak to them in those distant years and tell + them how it sinned, betraying man? + </p> + <p> + It will be a grim, dark story in that lonely part of the sea, when he + confesses to sailors, blown too far north, the dreadful thing he plotted + against man. The date on which he is seen will be told from sailor to + sailor. Queer taverns of distant harbours will know it well. Not many will + care to be at sea that day, and few will risk being driven by stress of + weather on the Kaiser’s night to the bergs of the haunted part of sea. + </p> + <p> + And yet for all the grimness of the pale-blue phantom, with cuirass and + helmet and eyes shimmering on deadly icebergs, and yet for all the sorrow + of the wrong he did against man, the women drowned and the children, and + all the good ships gone, yet will the horrified mariners meeting him in + the mist grudge him no moment of the day he has earned, or the coolness he + gains from the bergs, because of the kindness he did to the wounded men. + For the mariners in their hearts are kindly men, and what a soul gains + from kindness will seem to them well deserved. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Last Scene of All + </h2> + <p> + After John Calleron was hit he carried on in a kind of twilight of the + mind. Things grew dimmer and calmer; harsh outlines of events became + blurred; memories came to him; there was a singing in his ears like + far-off bells. Things seemed more beautiful than they had a while ago; to + him it was for all the world like evening after some quiet sunset, when + lawns and shrubs and woods and some old spire look lovely in the late + light, and one reflects on past days. Thus he carried on, seeing things + dimly. And what is sometimes called “the roar of battle,” those aërial + voices that snarl and moan and whine and rage at soldiers, had grown + dimmer too. It all seemed further away, and littler, as far things are. He + still heard the bullets: there is something so violently and intensely + sharp in the snap of passing bullets at short ranges that you hear them in + deepest thought, and even in dreams. He heard them, tearing by, above all + things else. The rest seemed fainter and dimmer, and smaller and further + away. + </p> + <p> + He did not think he was very badly hit, but nothing seemed to matter as it + did a while ago. Yet he carried on. + </p> + <p> + And then he opened his eyes very wide and found he was back in London + again in an underground train. He knew it at once by the look of it. He + had made hundreds of journeys, long ago, by those trains. He knew by the + dark, outside, that it had not yet left London; but what was odder than + that, if one stopped to think of it, was that he knew exactly where it was + going. It was the train that went away out into the country where he used + to live as a boy. He was sure of that without thinking. + </p> + <p> + When he began to think how he came to be there he remembered the war as a + very far-off thing. He supposed he had been unconscious a very long time. + He was all right now. + </p> + <p> + Other people were sitting beside him on the same seat. They all seemed + like people he remembered a very long time ago. In the darkness opposite, + beyond the windows of the train, he could see their reflections clearly. + He looked at the reflections but could not quite remember. + </p> + <p> + A woman was sitting on his left. She was quite young. She was more like + some one that he most deeply remembered than all the others were. He gazed + at her, and tried to clear his mind. + </p> + <p> + He did not turn and stare at her, but he quietly watched her reflection + before him in the dark. Every detail of her dress, her young face, her + hat, the little ornaments she wore, were minutely clear before him, + looking out of the dark. So contented she looked you would say she was + untouched by war. + </p> + <p> + As he gazed at the clear calm face and the dress that seemed neat though + old and, like all things, so faraway, his mind grew clearer and clearer. + It seemed to him certain it was the face of his mother, but from thirty + years ago, out of old memories and one picture. He felt sure it was his + mother as she had been when he was very small. And yet after thirty years + how could he know? He puzzled to try and be quite sure. But how she came + to be there, looking like that, out of those oldest memories, he did not + think of at all. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to be hugely tired by many things and did not want to think. Yet + he was very happy, more happy even than tired men just come home all new + to comfort. + </p> + <p> + He gazed and gazed at the face in the dark. And then he felt quite sure. + </p> + <p> + He was about to speak. Was she looking at him? Was she watching him, he + wondered. He glanced for the first time to his own reflection in that + clear row of faces. + </p> + <p> + His own reflection was not there, but blank dark showed between his two + neighbours. And then he knew he was dead. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Old England + </h2> + <p> + Towards winter’s end on a high, big, bare down, in the south of England, + John Plowman was plowing. He was plowing the brown field at the top of the + hill, good soil of the clay; a few yards lower down was nothing but chalk, + with shallow flinty soil and steep to plow; so they let briars grow there. + For generations his forbears had plowed on the top of that hill. John did + not know how many. The hills were very old; it might have been always. + </p> + <p> + He scarcely looked to see if his furrow was going straight. The work he + was doing was so much in his blood that he could almost feel if furrows + were straight or not. Year after year they moved on the same old + landmarks; thorn trees and briars mostly guided the plow, where they stood + on the untamed land beyond; the thorn trees grew old at their guiding, and + still the furrows varied not by the breadth of a hoof-mark. + </p> + <p> + John, as he plowed, had leisure to meditate on much besides the crops; he + knew so much of the crops that his thoughts could easily run free from + them; he used to meditate on who they were that lived in briar and thorn + tree, and danced as folk said all through midsummer night, and sometimes + blessed and sometimes harmed the crops; for he knew that in Old England + were wonderful ancient things, odder and older things than many folks + knew. And his eyes had leisure to see much beside the furrows, for he + could almost feel the furrows going straight. + </p> + <p> + One day at his plowing, as he watched the thorn ahead, he saw the whole + big hill besides, looking south, and the lands below it; one day he saw in + the bright sun of late winter a horseman riding the road through the wide + lands below. The horseman shone as he rode, and wore white linen over what + was shining, and on the linen was a big red cross. “One of them knights,” + John Plowman said to himself or his horse, “going to them crusades.” And + he went on with his plowing all that day satisfied, and remembered what he + had seen for years, and told his son. + </p> + <p> + For there is in England, and there always was, mixed with the needful + things that feed or shelter the race, the wanderer-feeling for romantic + causes that runs deep and strange through the other thoughts, as the Gulf + Stream runs through the sea. Sometimes generations of John Plowman’s + family would go by and no high romantic cause would come to sate that + feeling. They would work on just the same though a little sombrely, as + though some good thing had been grudged them. And then the Crusades had + come, and John Plowman had seen the Red Cross knight go by, riding towards + the sea in the morning, and Jon Plowman was satisfied. + </p> + <p> + Some generations later a man of the same name was plowing the same hill. + They still plowed the brown clay at the top and left the slope wild, + though there were many changes. And the furrows were wonderfully straight + still. And half he watched a thorn tree ahead as he plowed and half he + took in the whole hill sloping south and the wide lands below it, far + beyond which was the sea. They had a railway now down in the valley. The + sunlight glittering near the end of winter shone on a train that was + marked with great white squares and red crosses on them. + </p> + <p> + John Plowman stopped his horses and looked at the train. “An ambulance + train,” he said, “coming up from the coast.” He thought of the lads he + knew and wondered if any were there. He pitied the men in that train and + envied them. And then there came to him the thought of England’s cause and + of how those men had upheld it, at sea and in crumbling cities. He thought + of the battle whose echoes reached sometimes to that field, whispering to + furrows and thorn trees that had never heard them before. He thought of + the accursed tyrant’s cruel might, and of the lads that had faced it. He + saw the romantic splendour of England’s cause. He was old but had seen the + glamour for which each generation looked. Satisfied in his heart and + cheered with a new content he went on with his age-old task in the + business of man with the hills. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WAR *** + +***** This file should be named 5713-h.htm or 5713-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/1/5713/ + +Produced by William McClain and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation’s web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/5713.txt b/5713.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..19a685e --- /dev/null +++ b/5713.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3176 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales of War + +Author: Lord Dunsany + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5713] +Last Updated: August 18, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WAR *** + + + + +Produced by William McClain + + + + + + +TALES OF WAR + +By Lord Dunsany + + +1918 + + + + +The Prayer of the Men of Daleswood + + +He said: "There were only twenty houses in Daleswood. A place you +would scarcely have heard of. A village up top of the hills. + +"When the war came there was no more than thirty men there between +sixteen and forty-five. They all went. + +"They all kept together; same battalion, same platoon. They was like +that in Daleswood. Used to call the hop pickers foreigners, the ones +that come from London. They used to go past Daleswood, some of them, +every year, on their way down to the hop fields. Foreigners they used +to call them. Kept very much to themselves, did the Daleswood people. +Big woods all round them. + +"Very lucky they was, the Daleswood men. They'd lost no more than +five killed and a good sprinkling of wounded. But all the wounded was +back again with the platoon. This was up to March when the big +offensive started. + +"It came very sudden. No bombardment to speak of. Just a burst of Tok +Emmas going off all together and lifting the front trench clean out of +it; then a barrage behind, and the Boche pouring over in thousands. +'Our luck is holding good,' the Daleswood men said, for their trench +wasn't getting it at all. But the platoon on their right got it. And +it sounded bad too a long way beyond that. No one could be quite sure. +But the platoon on their right was getting it: that was sure enough. + +"And then the Boche got through them altogether. A message came to +say so. 'How are things on the right?' they said to the runner. 'Bad,' +said the runner, and he went back, though Lord knows what he went back +to. The Boche was through right enough. 'We'll have to make a +defensive flank,' said the platoon commander. He was a Daleswood man +too. Came from the big farm. He slipped down a communication trench +with a few men, mostly bombers. And they reckoned they wouldn't see +any of them any more, for the Boche was on the right, thick as +starlings. + +"The bullets were snapping over thick to keep them down while the +Boche went on, on the right: machine guns, of course. The barrage was +screaming well over and dropping far back, and their wire was still +all right just in front of them, when they put up a head to look. +There was the left platoon of the battalion. One doesn't bother, +somehow, so much about another battalion as one's own. One's own gets +sort of homely. And there they were wondering how their own officer +was getting on, and the few fellows with them, on his defensive flank. +The bombs were going off thick. All the Daleswood men were firing half +right. It sounded from the noise as if it couldn't last long, as if it +would soon be decisive, and the battle be won, or lost, just there on +the right, and perhaps the war ended. They didn't notice the left. +Nothing to speak of. + +"Then a runner came from the left. 'Hullo!' they said, 'How are +things over there?' + +"'The Boche is through,' he said. 'Where's the officer?' 'Through!' +they said. It didn't seem possible. However did he do that? they +thought. And the runner went on to the right to look for the officer. + +"And then the barrage shifted further back. The shells still screamed +over them, but the bursts were further away. That is always a relief. +Probably they felt it. But it was bad for all that. Very bad. It meant +the Boche was well past them. They realized it after a while. + +"They and their bit of wire were somehow just between two waves of +attack. Like a bit of stone on the beach with the sea coming in. A +platoon was nothing to the Boche; nothing much perhaps just then to +anybody. But it was the whole of Daleswood for one long generation. + +"The youngest full-grown man they had left behind was fifty, and some +one had heard that he had died since the war. There was no one else in +Daleswood but women and children, and boys up to seventeen. + +"The bombing had stopped on their right; everything was quieter, and +the barrage further away. When they began to realize what that meant +they began to talk of Daleswood. And then they thought that when all +of them were gone there would be nobody who would remember Daleswood +just as it used to be. For places alter a little, woods grow, and +changes come, trees get cut down, old people die; new houses are built +now and then in place of a yew tree, or any old thing, that used to be +there before; and one way or another the old things go; and all the +time you have people thinking that the old times were best, and the +old ways when they were young. And the Daleswood men were beginning to +say, 'Who would there be to remember it just as it was?' + +"There was no gas, the wind being wrong for it, so they were able to +talk, that is if they shouted, for the bullets alone made as much +noise as breaking up an old shed, crisper like, more like new timber +breaking; and the shells of course was howling all the time, that is +the barrage that was bursting far back. The trench still stank of +them. + +"They said that one of them must go over and put his hands up, or run +away if he could, whichever he liked, and when the war was over he +would go to some writing fellow, one of those what makes a living by +it, and tell him all about Daleswood, just as it used to be, and he +would write it out proper and there it would be for always. They all +agreed to that. And then they talked a bit, as well as they could +above that awful screeching, to try and decide who it should be. The +eldest, they said, would know Daleswood best. But he said, and they +came to agree with him, that it would be a sort of waste to save the +life of a man what had had his good time, and they ought to send the +youngest, and they would tell him all they knew of Daleswood before +his time, and everything would be written down just the same and the +old time remembered. + +"They had the idea somehow that the women thought more of their own +man and their children and the washing and what-not; and that the deep +woods and the great hills beyond, and the plowing and the harvest and +snaring rabbits in winter and the sports in the village in summer, and +the hundred things that pass the time of one generation in an old, old +place like Daleswood, meant less to them than the men. Anyhow they did +not quite seem to trust them with the past. + +"The youngest of them was only just eighteen. That was Dick. They +told him to get out and put his hands up and be quick getting across, +as soon as they had told him one or two things about the old time in +Daleswood that a youngster like him wouldn't know. + +"Well, Dick said he wasn't going, and was making trouble about it, so +they told Fred to go. Back, they told him, was best, and come up +behind the Boche with his hands up; they would be less likely to shoot +when it was back towards their own supports. + +"Fred wouldn't go, and so on with the rest. Well, they didn't waste +time quarrelling, time being scarce, and they said what was to be +done? There was chalk where they were, low down in the trench, a +little brown clay on the top of it. There was a great block of it +loose near a shelter. They said they would carve with their knives on +the big bowlder of chalk all that they knew about Daleswood. They +would write where it was and just what it was like, and they would +write something of all those little things that pass with a +generation. They reckoned on having the time for it. It would take a +direct hit with something large, what they call big stuff, to do any +harm to that bowlder. They had no confidence in paper, it got so +messed up when you were hit; besides, the Boche had been using +thermite. Burns, that does. + +"They'd one or two men that were handy at carving chalk; used to do +the regimental crest and pictures of Hindenburg, and all that. They +decided they'd do it in reliefs. + +"They started smoothing the chalk. They had nothing more to do but +just to think what to write. It was a great big bowlder with plenty of +room on it. The Boche seemed not to know that they hadn't killed the +Daleswood men, just as the sea mightn't know that one stone stayed dry +at the coming in of the tide. A gap between two divisions probably. + +"Harry wanted to tell of the woods more than anything. He was afraid +they might cut them down because of the war, and no one would know of +the larks they had had there as boys. Wonderful old woods they were, +with a lot of Spanish chestnut growing low, and tall old oaks over it. +Harry wanted them to write down what the foxgloves were like in the +wood at the end of summer, standing there in the evening, 'Great +solemn rows,' he said, 'all odd in the dusk. All odd in the evening, +going there after work; and makes you think of fairies.' There was +lots of things about those woods, he said, that ought to be put down +if people were to remember Daleswood as it used to be when they knew +it. What were the good old days without those woods? he said. + +"But another wanted to tell of the time when they cut the hay with +scythes, working all those long days at the end of June; there would +be no more of that, he said, with machines come in and all. + +"There was room to tell of all that and the woods too, said the +others, so long as they put it short like. + +"And another wanted to tell of the valleys beyond the wood, far +afield where the men went working; the women would remember the hay. +The great valleys he'd tell of. It was they that made Daleswood. The +valleys beyond the wood and the twilight on them in summer. Slopes +covered with mint and thyme, all solemn at evening. A hare on them +perhaps, sitting as though they were his, then lolloping slowly away. +It didn't seem from the way he told of those old valleys that he +thought they could ever be to other folk what they were to the +Daleswood men in the days he remembered. He spoke of them as though +there were something in them, besides the mint and the thyme and the +twilight and hares, that would not stay after these men were gone, +though he did not say what it was. Scarcely hinted it even. + +"And still the Boche did nothing to the Daleswood men. The bullets +had ceased altogether. That made it much quieter. The shells still +snarled over, bursting far, far away. + +"And Bob said tell of Daleswood itself, the old village, with queer +chimneys, of red brick, in the wood. There weren't houses like that +nowadays. They'd be building new ones and spoiling it, likely, after +the war. And that was all he had to say. + +"And nobody was for not putting down anything any one said. It was +all to go in on the chalk, as much as would go in the time. For they +all sort of understood that the Daleswood of what they called the good +old time was just the memories that those few men had of the days they +had spent there together. And that was the Daleswood they loved, and +wanted folks to remember. They were all agreed as to that. And then +they said how was they to write it down. And when it came to writing +there was so much to be said, not spread over a lot of paper I don't +mean, but going down so deep like, that it seemed to them how their +own talk wouldn't be good enough to say it. And they knew no other, +and didn't know what to do. I reckon they'd been reading magazines and +thought that writing had to be like that muck. Anyway, they didn't +know what to do. I reckon their talk would be good enough for +Daleswood when they loved Daleswood like that. But they didn't, and +they were puzzled. + +"The Boche was miles away behind them now, and his barrage with him. +Still in front he did nothing. + +"They talked it all over and over, did the Daleswood men. They tried +everything. But somehow or other they couldn't get near what they +wanted to say about old summer evenings. Time wore on. The bowlder was +smooth and ready, and that whole generation of Daleswood men could +find no words to say what was in their hearts about Daleswood. There +wasn't time to waste. And the only thing they thought of in the end +was 'Please, God, remember Daleswood just like it used to be.' And +Bill and Harry carved that on the chalk between them. + +"What happened to the Daleswood men? Why, nothing. There come one of +them counter-attacks, a regular bastard for Jerry. The French made it +and did the Boche in proper. I got the story from a man with a hell of +a great big hammer, long afterwards when that trench was well behind +our line. He was smashing up a huge great chunk of chalk because he +said they all felt it was so damn silly." + + + + +The Road + + +The battery Sergeant-Major was practically asleep. He was all worn out +by the continuous roar of bombardments that had been shaking the +dugouts and dazing his brains for weeks. He was pretty well fed up. + +The officer commanding the battery, a young man in a very neat uniform +and of particularly high birth, came up and spat in his face. The +Sergeant-Major sprang to attention, received an order, and took a +stick at once and beat up the tired men. For a message had come to the +battery that some English (God punish them!) were making a road at X. + +The gun was fired. It was one of those unlucky shots that come on days +when our luck is out. The shell, a 5.9, lit in the midst of the British +working party. It did the Germans little good. It did not stop the +deluge of shells that was breaking up their guns and was driving +misery down like a wedge into their spirits. It did not improve the +temper of the officer commanding the battery, so that the men suffered +as acutely as ever under the Sergeant-Major. But it stopped the road +for that day. + +I seemed to see that road going on in a dream. + +Another working party came along next day, with clay pipes and got to +work; and next day and the day after. Shells came, but went short or +over; the shell holes were neatly patched up; the road went on. Here +and there a tree had to be cut, but not often, not many of them were +left; it was mostly digging and grubbing up roots, and pushing +wheelbarrows along planks and duck-boards, and filling up with stones. +Sometimes the engineers would come: that was when streams were +crossed. The engineers made their bridges, and the infantry working +party went on with the digging and laying down stones. It was +monotonous work. Contours altered, soil altered, even the rock beneath +it, but the desolation never; they always worked in desolation and +thunder. And so the road went on. + +They came to a wide river. They went through a great forest. They +passed the ruins of what must have been quite fine towns, big +prosperous towns with universities in them. I saw the infantry working +party with their stumpy clay pipes, in my dream, a long way on from +where that shell had lit, which stopped the road for a day. And behind +them curious changes came over the road at X. You saw the infantry +going up to the trenches, and going back along it into reserve. They +marched at first, but in a few days they were going up in motors, grey +busses with shuttered windows. And then the guns came along it, miles +and miles of guns, following after the thunder which was further off +over the hills. And then one day the cavalry came by. Then stores in +wagons, the thunder muttering further and further away. I saw +farm-carts going down the road at X. And then one day all manner of +horses and traps and laughing people, farmers and women and boys all +going by to X. There was going to be a fair. + +And far away the road was growing longer and longer amidst, as always, +desolation and thunder. And one day far away from X the road grew very +fine indeed. It was going proudly through a mighty city, sweeping in +like a river; you would not think that it ever remembered duck-boards. +There were great palaces there, with huge armorial eagles blazoned in +stone, and all along each side of the road was a row of statues of +kings. And going down the road towards the palace, past the statues of +the kings, a tired procession was riding, full of the flags of the +Allies. And I looked at the flags in my dream, out of national pride +to see whether we led, or whether France or America. America went +before us, but I could not see the Union Jack in the van nor the +Tricolour either, nor the Stars and Stripes: Belgium led and then +Serbia, they that had suffered most. + +And before the flags, and before the generals, I saw marching along on +foot the ghosts of the working party that were killed at X, gazing +about them in admiration as they went, at the great city and at the +palaces. And one man, wondering at the Sieges Allee, turned round to +the Lance Corporal in charge of the party: "That is a fine road that +we made, Frank," he said. + + + + +An Imperial Monument + + +It is an early summer's morning: the dew is all over France: the train +is going eastwards. They are quite slow, those troop trains, and there +are few embankments or cuttings in those flat plains, so that you seem +to be meandering along through the very life of the people. The roads +come right down to the railways, and the sun is shining brightly over +the farms and the people going to work along the roads, so that you +can see their faces clearly as the slow train passes them by. + +They are all women and boys that work on the farms; sometimes perhaps +you see a very old man, but nearly always women and boys; they are out +working early. They straighten up from their work as we go by and lift +their hands to bless us. + +We pass by long rows of the tall French poplars, their branches cut +away all up the trunk, leaving only an odd round tuft at the top of +the tree; but little branches are growing all up the trunk now, and +the poplars are looking unkempt. It would be the young men who would +cut the branches of the poplars. They would cut them for some useful +thrifty purpose that I do not know; and then they would cut them +because they were always cut that way, as long ago as the times of the +old men's tales about France; but chiefly, I expect, because youth +likes to climb difficult trees; that is why they are clipped so very +high. And the trunks are all unkempt now. + +We go on by many farms with their shapely red-roofed houses; they +stand there, having the air of the homes of an ancient people; they +would not be out of keeping with any romance that might come, or any +romance that has come in the long story of France, and the girls of +those red-roofed houses work all alone in the fields. + +We pass by many willows and come to a great marsh. In a punt on some +open water an old man is angling. We come to fields again, and then to +a deep wood. France smiles about us in the open sunlight. + +But towards evening we pass over the border of this pleasant country +into a tragical land of destruction and gloom. It is not only that +murder has walked here to and fro for years, until all the fields are +ominous with it, but the very fields themselves have been mutilated +until they are unlike fields, the woods have been shattered right down +to the anemones, and the houses have been piled in heaps of rubbish, +and the heaps of rubbish have been scattered by shells. We see no more +trees, no more houses, no more women, no cattle even now. We have come +to the abomination of desolation. And over it broods, and will +probably brood for ever, accursed by men and accursed by the very +fields, the hyena-like memory of the Kaiser, who has whitened so many +bones. + +It may be some satisfaction to his selfishness to know that the +monument to it cannot pass away, to know that the shell holes go too +deep to be washed away by the healing rains of years, to know that the +wasted German generations will not in centuries gather up what has +been spilt on the Somme, or France recover in the sunshine of many +summers from all the misery that his devilish folly has caused. It is +likely to be to such as him a source of satisfaction, for the truly +vain care only to be talked of in many mouths; they hysterically love +to be thought of, and the notice of mankind is to them a mirror which +reflects their futile postures. The admiration of fools they love, and +the praise of a slavelike people, but they would sooner be hated by +mankind than be ignored and forgotten as is their due. And the truly +selfish care only for their imperial selves. + +Let us leave him to pass in thought from ruin to ruin, from wasted +field to field, from crater to crater; let us leave his fancy haunting +cemeteries in the stricken lands of the world, to find what glee he +can in this huge manifestation of his imperial will. + +We neither know to what punishment he moves nor can even guess what +fitting one is decreed. But the time is surely appointed and the +place. Poor trifler with Destiny, who ever had so much to dread? + + + + +A Walk to the Trenches + + +To stand at the beginning of a road is always wonderful; for on all +roads before they end experience lies, sometimes adventure. And a +trench, even as a road, has its beginnings somewhere. In the heart of +a very strange country you find them suddenly. A trench may begin in +the ruins of a house, may run up out of a ditch; may be cut into a +rise of ground sheltered under a hill, and is built in many ways by +many men. As to who is the best builder of trenches there can be +little doubt, and any British soldier would probably admit that for +painstaking work and excellence of construction there are few to rival +Von Hindenburg. His Hindenburg line is a model of neatness and +comfort, and it would be only a very ungrateful British soldier who +would deny it. + +You come to the trenches out of strangely wasted lands, you come +perhaps to a wood in an agony of contortions, black, branchless, +sepulchral trees, and then no more trees at all. The country after +that is still called Picardy or Belgium, still has its old name on the +map as though it smiled there yet, sheltering cities and hamlet and +radiant with orchards and gardens, but the country named Belgium--or +whatever it be--is all gone away, and there stretches for miles +instead one of the world's great deserts, a thing to take its place no +longer with smiling lands, but with Sahara, Gobi, Kalahari, and the +Karoo; not to be thought of as Picardy, but more suitably to be named +the Desert of Wilhelm. Through these sad lands one goes to come to the +trenches. Overhead floats until it is chased away an aeroplane with +little black crosses, that you can scarcely see at his respectful +height, peering to see what more harm may be done in the desolation +and ruin. Little flashes sparkle near him, white puffs spread out +round the flashes: and he goes, and our airmen go away after him; +black puffs break out round our airmen. Up in the sky you hear a faint +tap-tapping. They have got their machine guns working. + +You see many things there that are unusual in deserts: a good road, a +railway, perhaps a motor bus; you see what was obviously once a +village, and hear English songs, but no one who has not seen it can +imagine the country in which the trenches lie, unless he bear a desert +clearly in mind, a desert that has moved from its place on the map by +some enchantment of wizardry, and come down on a smiling country. +Would it not be glorious to be a Kaiser and be able to do things like +that? + +Past all manner of men, past no trees, no hedges, no fields, but only +one field from skyline to skyline that has been harrowed by war, one +goes with companions that this event in our history has drawn from all +parts of the earth. On that road you may hear all in one walk where is +the best place to get lunch in the City; you may hear how they laid a +drag for some Irish pack, and what the Master said; you may hear a +farmer lamenting over the harm that rhinoceroses do to his coffee +crop; you may hear Shakespeare quoted and La vie Parisienne. + +In the village you see a lot of German orders, with their silly notes +of exclamation after them, written up on notice boards among the +ruins. Ruins and German orders. That turning movement of Von Kluck's +near Paris in 1914 was a mistake. Had he not done it we might have had +ruins and German orders everywhere. And yet Von Kluck may comfort +himself with the thought that it is not by his mistakes that Destiny +shapes the world: such a nightmare as a world-wide German domination +can have had no place amongst the scheme of things. + +Beyond the village the batteries are thick. A great howitzer near the +road lifts its huge muzzle slowly, fires and goes down again, and +lifts again and fires. It is as though Polyphemus had lifted his huge +shape slowly, leisurely, from the hillside where he was sitting, and +hurled the mountain top, and sat down again. If he is firing pretty +regularly you are sure to get the blast of one of them as you go by, +and it can be a very strong wind indeed. One's horse, if one is +riding, does not very much like it, but I have seen horses far more +frightened by a puddle on the road when coming home from hunting in +the evening: one 12-inch howitzer more or less in France calls for no +great attention from man or beast. + +And so we come in sight of the support trenches where we are to dwell +for a week before we go on for another mile over the hills, where the +black fountains are rising. + + + + +A Walk in Picardy + + +Picture any village you know. In such a village as that the trench +begins. That is to say, there are duck-boards along a ditch, and the +ditch runs into a trench. Only the village is no longer there. It was +like some village you know, though perhaps a little merrier, because +it was further south and nearer the sun; but it is all gone now. And +the trench runs out of the ruins, and is called Windmill Avenue. There +must have been a windmill standing there once. + +When you come from the ditch to the trench you leave the weeds and +soil and trunks of willows and see the bare chalk. At the top of those +two white walls is a foot or so of brown clay. The brown clay grows +deeper as you come to the hills, until the chalk has disappeared +altogether. Our alliance with France is new in the history of man, but +it is an old, old union in the history of the hills. White chalk with +brown clay on top has dipped and gone under the sea; and the hills of +Sussex and Kent are one with the hills of Picardy. + +And so you may pass through the chalk that lies in that desolate lane +with memories of more silent and happier hills; it all depends on what +the chalk means to you: you may be unfamiliar with it and in that case +you will not notice it; or you may have been born among those +thyme-scented hills and yet have no errant fancies, so that you will +not think of the hills that watched you as a child, but only keep your +mind on the business in hand; that is probably best. + +You come after a while to other trenches: notice boards guide you, and +you keep to Windmill Avenue. You go by Pear Lane, Cherry Lane, and +Plum Lane. Pear trees, cherry trees and plum trees must have grown +there. You are passing through either wild lanes banked with briar, +over which these various trees peered one by one and showered their +blossoms down at the end of spring, and girls would have gathered the +fruit when it ripened, with the help of tall young men; or else you +are passing through an old walled garden, and the pear and the cherry +and plum were growing against the wall, looking southwards all through +the summer. There is no way whatever of telling which it was; it is +all one in war; whatever was there is gone; there remain to-day, and +survive, the names of those three trees only. We come next to Apple +Lane. You must not think that an apple tree ever grew there, for we +trace here the hand of the wit, who by naming Plum Lane's neighbour +"Apple Lane" merely commemorates the inseparable connection that +plum has with apple forever in the minds of all who go to modern war. +For by mixing apple with plum the manufacturer sees the opportunity of +concealing more turnip in the jam, as it were, at the junction of the +two forces, than he might be able to do without this unholy alliance. + +We come presently to the dens of those who trouble us (but only for +our own good), the dugouts of the trench mortar batteries. It is noisy +when they push up close to the front line and play for half an hour or +so with their rivals: the enemy sends stuff back, our artillery join +in; it is as though, while you were playing a game of croquet, giants +hundreds of feet high, some of them friendly, some unfriendly, +carnivorous and hungry, came and played football on your croquet lawn. + +We go on past Battalion Headquarters, and past the dugouts and +shelters of various people having business with History, past stores +of bombs and the many other ingredients with which history is made, +past men coming down who are very hard to pass, for the width of two +men and two packs is the width of a communication trench and sometimes +an inch over; past two men carrying a flying pig slung on a pole +between them; by many turnings; and Windmill Avenue brings you at last +to Company Headquarters in a dugout that Hindenburg made with his +German thoroughness. + +And there, after a while, descends the Tok Emma man, the officer +commanding a trench mortar battery, and is given perchance a whiskey +and water, and sits on the best empty box that we have to offer, and +lights one of our cigarettes. + +"There's going to be a bit of a strafe at 5.30," he says. + + + + +What Happened on the Night of the Twenty-Seventh + + +The night of the twenty-seventh was Dick Cheeser's first night on +sentry. The night was far gone when he went on duty; in another hour +they would stand to. Dick Cheeser had camouflaged his age when he +enlisted: he was barely eighteen. A wonderfully short time ago he was +quite a little boy; now he was in a frontline trench. It hadn't seemed +that things were going to alter like that. Dick Cheeser was a plowboy: +long brown furrows over haughty, magnificent downs seemed to stretch +away into the future as far as his mind could see. No narrow outlook +either, for the life of nations depends upon those brown furrows. But +there are the bigger furrows that Mars makes, the long brown trenches +of war; the life of nations depends on these too; Dick Cheeser had +never pictured these. He had heard talk about a big navy and a lot of +Dreadnoughts; silly nonsense he called it. What did one want a big +navy for? To keep the Germans out, some people said. But the Germans +weren't coming. If they wanted to come, why didn't they come? Anybody +could see that they never did come. Some of Dick Cheeser's pals had +votes. + +And so he had never pictured any change from plowing the great downs; +and here was war at last, and here was he. The Corporal showed him +where to stand, told him to keep a good lookout and left him. + +And there was Dick Cheeser alone in the dark with an army in front of +him, eighty yards away: and, if all tales were true, a pretty horrible +army. + +The night was awfully still. I use the adverb not as Dick Cheeser +would have used it. The stillness awed him. There had not been a shell +all night. He put his head up over the parapet and waited. Nobody +fired at him. He felt that the night was waiting for him. He heard +voices going along the trench: some one said it was a black night: the +voices died away. A mere phrase; the night wasn't black at all, it was +grey. Dick Cheeser was staring at it, and the night was staring back +at him, and seemed to be threatening him; it was grey, grey as an old +cat that they used to have at home, and as artful. Yes, thought Dick +Cheeser, it was an artful night; that was what was wrong with it. If +shells had come or the Germans, or anything at all, you would know how +to take it; but that quiet mist over huge valleys, and stillness! +Anything might happen. Dick waited and waited, and the night waited +too. He felt they were watching each other, the night and he. He felt +that each was crouching. His mind slipped back to the woods on hills +he knew. He was watching with eyes and ears and imagination to see +what would happen in No Man's Land under that ominous mist: but his +mind took a peep for all that at the old woods that he knew. He +pictured himself, he and a band of boys, chasing squirrels again in +the summer. They used to chase a squirrel from tree to tree, throwing +stones, till they tired it: and then they might hit it with a stone: +usually not. Sometimes the squirrel would hide, and a boy would have +to climb after it. It was great sport, thought Dick Cheeser. What a +pity he hadn't had a catapult in those days, he thought. Somehow the +years when he had not had a catapult seemed all to be wasted years. +With a catapult one might get the squirrel almost at once, with luck: +and what a great thing that would be. All the other boys would come +round to look at the squirrel, and to look at the catapult, and ask +him how he did it. He wouldn't have to say much, there would be the +squirrel; no boasting would be necessary with the squirrel lying dead. +It might spread to other things, even rabbits; almost anything, in +fact. He would certainly get a catapult first thing when he got home. +A little wind blew in the night, too cold for summer. It blew away, as +it were, the summer of Dick's memories; blew away hills and woods and +squirrel. It made for a moment a lane in the mist over No Man's Land. +Dick Cheeser peered down it, but it closed again. "No," Night seemed +to say, "you don't guess my secret." And the awful hush intensified. +"What would they do?" thought the sentry. "What were they planning +in all those miles of silence?" Even the Verys were few. When one +went up, far hills seemed to sit and brood over the valley: their +black shapes seemed to know what would happen in the mist and seemed +sworn not to say. The rocket faded, and the hills went back into +mystery again, and Dick Cheeser peered level again over the ominous +valley. + +All the dangers and sinister shapes and evil destinies, lurking +between the armies in that mist, that the sentry faced that night +cannot be told until the history of the war is written by a historian +who can see the mind of the soldier. Not a shell fell all night, no +German stirred; Dick Cheeser was relieved at "Stand to" and his +comrades stood to beside him, and soon it was wide, golden, welcome +dawn. + +And for all the threats of night the thing that happened was one that +the lonely sentry had never foreseen: in the hour of his watching Dick +Cheeser, though scarcely eighteen, became a full-grown man. + + + + +Standing To + + +One cannot say that one time in the trenches is any more tense than +another. One cannot take any one particular hour and call it, in +modern nonsensical talk, "typical hour in the trenches." The routine +of the trenches has gone on too long for that. The tensest hour ought +to be half an hour before dawn, the hour when attacks are expected and +men stand to. It is an old convention of war that that is the +dangerous hour, the hour when defenders are weakest and attack most to +be feared. For darkness favours the attackers then as night favours +the lion, and then dawn comes and they can hold their gains in the +light. Therefore in every trench in every war the garrison is prepared +in that menacing hour, watching in greater numbers than they do the +whole night through. As the first lark lifts from meadows they stand +there in the dark. Whenever there is any war in any part of the world +you may be sure that at that hour men crowd to their parapets: when +sleep is deepest in cities they are watching there. + +When the dawn shimmers a little, and a grey light comes, and widens, +and all of a sudden figures become distinct, and the hour of the +attack that is always expected is gone, then perhaps some faint +feeling of gladness stirs the newest of the recruits; but chiefly the +hour passes like all the other hours there, an unnoticed fragment of +the long, long routine that is taken with resignation mingled with +jokes. + +Dawn comes shy with a wind scarce felt, dawn faint and strangely +perceptible, feeble and faint in the east while men still watch the +darkness. When did the darkness go? When did the dawn grow golden? It +happened as in a moment, a moment you did not see. Guns flash no +longer: the sky is gold and serene; dawn stands there like Victory +that will shine, on one of these years when the Kaiser goes the way of +the older curses of earth. Dawn, and the men unfix bayonets as they +step down from the fire-step and clean their rifles with +pull-throughs. Not all together, but section by section, for it would +not do for a whole company to be caught cleaning their rifles at dawn, +or at any other time. + +They rub off the mud or the rain that has come at night on their +rifles, they detach the magazine and see that its spring is working, +they take out the breechblock and oil it, and put back everything +clean: and another night is gone; it is one day nearer victory. + + + + +The Splendid Traveller + + +A traveller threw his cloak over his shoulder and came down slopes of +gold in El Dorado. From incredible heights he came. He came from where +the peaks of the pure gold mountain shone a little red with the +sunset; from crag to crag of gold he stepped down slowly. Sheer out of +romance he came through the golden evening. + +It was only an incident of every day; the sun had set or was setting, +the air turned chill, and a battalion's bugles were playing +"Retreat" when this knightly stranger, a British aeroplane, dipped, +and went homeward over the infantry. That beautiful evening call, and +the golden cloud bank towering, and that adventurer coming home in the +cold, happening all together, revealed in a flash the fact (which +hours of thinking sometimes will not bring) that we live in such a +period of romance as the troubadours would have envied. + +He came, that British airman, over the border, sheer over No Man's +Land and the heads of the enemy and the mysterious land behind, +snatching the secrets that the enemy would conceal. Either he had +defeated the German airmen who would have stopped his going, or they +had not dared to try. Who knows what he had done? He had been abroad +and was coming home in the evening, as he did every day. + +Even when all its romance has been sifted from an age (as the +centuries sift) and set apart from the trivial, and when all has been +stored by the poets; even then what has any of them more romantic than +these adventurers in the evening air, coming home in the twilight with +the black shells bursting below? + +The infantry look up with the same vague wonder with which children +look at dragon flies; sometimes they do not look at all, for all that +comes in France has its part with the wonder of a terrible story as +well as with the incidents of the day, incidents that recur year in +and year out, too often for us to notice them. If a part of the moon +were to fall off in the sky and come tumbling to earth, the comment on +the lips of the imperturbable British watchers that have seen so much +would be, "Hullo, what is Jerry up to now?" + +And so the British aeroplane glides home in the evening, and the light +fades from the air, and what is left of the poplars grows dark against +the sky, and what is left of the houses grows more mournful in the +gloaming, and night comes, and with it the sounds of thunder, for the +airman has given his message to the artillery. It is as though Hermes +had gone abroad sailing upon his sandals, and had found some bad land +below those winged feet wherein men did evil and kept not the laws of +gods or men; and he had brought this message back and the gods were +angry. + +For the wars we fight to-day are not like other wars, and the wonders +of them are unlike other wonders. If we do not see in them the saga +and epic, how shall we tell of them? + +England + +"And then we used to have sausages," said the Sergeant. + +"And mashed?" said the Private. + +"Yes," said the Sergeant, "and beer. And then we used to go home. +It was grand in the evenings. We used to go along a lane that was full +of them wild roses. And then we come to the road where the houses +were. They all had their bit of a garden, every house." + +"Nice, I calls it, a garden," the Private said. + +"Yes," said the Sergeant, "they all had their garden. It came right +down to the road. Wooden palings: none of that there wire." + +"I hates wire," said the Private. + +"They didn't have none of it," the N. C. O. went on. "The gardens +came right down to the road, looking lovely. Old Billy Weeks he had +them tall pale-blue flowers in his garden nearly as high as a man." + +"Hollyhocks?" said the Private. + +"No, they wasn't hollyhocks. Lovely they were. We used to stop and +look at them, going by every evening. He had a path up the middle of +his garden paved with red tiles, Billy Weeks had; and these tall blue +flowers growing the whole way along it, both sides like. They was a +wonder. Twenty gardens there must have been, counting them all; but +none to touch Billy Weeks with his pale-blue flowers. There was an old +windmill away to the left. Then there were the swifts sailing by +overhead and screeching: just about as high again as the houses. Lord, +how them birds did fly. And there was the other young fellows, what +were not out walking, standing about by the roadside, just doing +nothing at all. One of them had a flute: Jim Booker, he was. Those +were great days. The bats used to come out, flutter, flutter, flutter; +and then there'd be a star or two; and the smoke from the chimneys +going all grey; and a little cold wind going up and down like the +bats; and all the colour going out of things; and the woods looking +all strange, and a wonderful quiet in them, and a mist coming up from +the stream. It's a queer time that. It's always about that time, the +way I see it: the end of the evening in the long days, and a star or +two, and me and my girl going home. + +"Wouldn't you like to talk about things for a bit the way you +remember them?" + +"Oh, no, Sergeant," said the other, "you go on. You do bring it all +back so." + +"I used to bring her home," the Sergeant said, "to her father's +house. Her father was keeper there, and they had a house in the wood. +A fine house with queer old tiles on it, and a lot of large friendly +dogs. I knew them all by name, same as they knew me. I used to walk +home then along the side of the wood. The owls would be about; you +could hear them yelling. They'd float out of the wood like, sometimes: +all large and white." + +"I knows them," said the Private. + +"I saw a fox once so close I could nearly touch him, walking like he +was on velvet. He just slipped out of the wood." + +"Cunning old brute," said the Private. + +"That's the time to be out," said the Sergeant. "Ten o'clock on a +summer's night, and the night full of noises, not many of them, but +what there is, strange, and coming from a great way off, through the +quiet, with nothing to stop them. Dogs barking, owls hooting, an old +cart; and then just once a sound that you couldn't account for at all, +not anyhow. I've heard sounds on nights like that that nobody 'ud +think you'd heard, nothing like the flute that young Booker had, +nothing like anything on earth." + +"I know," said the Private. + +"I never told any one before, because they wouldn't believe you. But +it doesn't matter now. There'd be a light in the window to guide me +when I got home. I'd walk up through the flowers of our garden. We had +a lovely garden. Wonderful white and strange the flowers looked of a +nighttime." + +"You bring it all back wonderful," said the Private. + +"It's a great thing to have lived," said the Sergeant. + +"Yes, Sergeant," said the other, "I wouldn't have missed it, not +for anything." + +For five days the barrage had rained down behind them: they were +utterly cut off and had no hope of rescue: their food was done, and +they did not know where they were. + + + + +Shells + + +When the aeroplanes are home and the sunset has flared away, and it is +cold, and night comes down over France, you notice the guns more than +you do by day, or else they are actually more active then, I do not +know which it is. + +It is then as though a herd of giants, things of enormous height, came +out from lairs in the earth and began to play with the hills. It is as +though they picked up the tops of the hills in their hands and then +let them drop rather slowly. It is exactly like hills falling. You see +the flashes all along the sky, and then that lumping thump as though +the top of the hill had been let drop, not all in one piece, but +crumbled a little as it would drop from your hands if you were three +hundred feet high and were fooling about in the night, spoiling what +it had taken so long to make. That is heavy stuff bursting, a little +way off. + +If you are anywhere near a shell that is bursting, you can hear in it +a curious metallic ring. That applies to the shells of either side, +provided that you are near enough, though usually of course it is the +hostile shell and not your own that you are nearest to, and so one +distinguishes them. It is curious, after such a colossal event as this +explosion must be in the life of a bar of steel, that anything should +remain at all of the old bell-like voice of the metal, but it appears +to, if you listen attentively; it is perhaps its last remonstrance +before leaving its shape and going back to rust in the earth again for +ages. + +Another of the voices of the night is the whine the shell makes in +coming; it is not unlike the cry the hyena utters as soon as it's dark +in Africa: "How nice traveller would taste," the hyena seems to say, +and "I want dead White Man." It is the rising note of the shell as +it comes nearer, and its dying away when it has gone over, that make +it reminiscent of the hyena's method of diction. If it is not going +over then it has something quite different to say. It begins the same +as the other, it comes up, talking of the back areas with the same +long whine as the other. I have heard old hands say "That one is +going well over." "Whee-oo," says the shell; but just where the +"oo" should be long drawn out and turn into the hyena's final +syllable, it says something quite different. "Zarp," it says. That +is bad. Those are the shells that are looking for you. + +And then of course there is the whizz-bang coming from close, along +his flat trajectory: he has little to say, but comes like a sudden +wind, and all that he has to do is done and over at once. + +And then there is the gas shell, who goes over gurgling gluttonously, +probably in big herds, putting down a barrage. It is the liquid inside +that gurgles before it is turned to gas by the mild explosion; that is +the explanation of it; yet that does not prevent one picturing a tribe +of cannibals who have winded some nice juicy men and are smacking +their chops and dribbling in anticipation. + +And a wonderful thing to see, even in those wonderful nights, is our +thermite bursting over the heads of the Germans. The shell breaks into +a shower of golden rain; one cannot judge easily at night how high +from the ground it breaks, but about as high as the tops of trees seen +at a hundred yards. It spreads out evenly all round and rains down +slowly; it is a bad shower to be out in, and for a long time after it +has fallen, the sodden grass of winter, and the mud and old bones +beneath it, burn quietly in a circle. On such a night as this, and in +such showers, the flying pigs will go over, which take two men to +carry each of them; they go over and root right down to the German +dugout, where the German has come in out of the golden rain, and they +fling it all up in the air. + +These are such nights as Scheherazade with all her versatility never +dreamed of; or if such nightmares came she certainly never told of +them, or her august master, the Sultan, light of the age, would have +had her at once beheaded; and his people would have deemed that he did +well. It has been reserved for a modern autocrat to dream such a +nightmare, driven to it perhaps by the tales of a white-whiskered +Scheherazade, the Lord of the Kiel Canal; and being an autocrat he has +made the nightmare a reality for the world. But the nightmare is +stronger than its master, and grows mightier every night; and the +All-Highest War Lord learns that there are powers in Hell that are +easily summoned by the rulers of earth, but that go not easily home. + + + + +Two Degrees of Envy + + +It was night in the front line and no moon, or the moon was hidden. +There was a strafe going on. The Tok Emmas were angry. And the +artillery on both sides were looking for the Tok Emmas. + +Tok Emma, I may explain for the blessed dwellers in whatever far happy +island there be that has not heard of these things, is the crude +language of Mars. He has not time to speak of a trunk mortar battery, +for he is always in a hurry, and so he calls them T. M.'s. But Bellona +might not hear him saying T. M., for all the din that she makes: might +think that he said D. N; and so he calls it Tok Emma. Ak, Beer, C, +Don: this is the alphabet of Mars. + +And the huge minnies were throwing old limbs out of No Man's Land into +the frontline trench, and shells were rasping down through the air +that seemed to resist them until it was torn to pieces: they burst and +showers of mud came down from heaven. Aimlessly, as it seemed, shells +were bursting now and then in the air, with a flash intensely red: the +smell of them was drifting down the trenches. + +In the middle of all this Bert Butterworth was hit. "Only in the +foot," his pals said. "Only!" said Bert. They put him on a +stretcher and carried him down the trench. They passed Bill +Britterling, standing in the mud, an old friend of Bert's. Bert's +face, twisted with pain, looked up to Bill for some sympathy. + +"Lucky devil," said Bill. + +Across the way on the other side of No Man's Land there was mud the +same as on Bill's side: only the mud over there stank; it didn't seem +to have been kept clean somehow. And the parapet was sliding away in +places, for working parties had not had much of a chance. They had +three Tok Emmas working in that battalion front line, and the British +batteries did not quite know where they were, and there were eight of +them looking. + +Fritz Groedenschasser, standing in that unseemly mud, greatly yearned +for them to find soon what they were looking for. Eight batteries +searching for something they can't find, along a trench in which you +have to be, leaves the elephant hunter's most desperate tale a little +dull and insipid. Not that Fritz Groedenschasser knew anything about +elephant hunting: he hated all things sporting, and cordially approved +of the execution of Nurse Cavell. And there was thermite too. +Flammenwerfer was all very well, a good German weapon: it could burn a +man alive at twenty yards. But this accursed flaming English thermite +could catch you at four miles. It wasn't fair. + +The three German trench mortars were all still firing. When would the +English batteries find what they were looking for, and this awful +thing stop? The night was cold and smelly. + +Fritz shifted his feet in the foul mud, but no warmth came to him that +way. + +A gust of shells was coming along the trench. Still they had not found +the minnewerfer! Fritz moved from his place altogether to see if he +could find some place where the parapet was not broken. And as he +moved along the sewerlike trench he came on a wooden cross that marked +the grave of a man he once had known, now buried some days in the +parapet, old Ritz Handelscheiner. + +"Lucky devil," said Fritz. + + + + +The Master of No Man's Land + + +When the last dynasty has fallen and the last empire passed away, when +man himself has gone, there will probably still remain the swede. [The +rutabaga or Swedish turnip.] + +There grew a swede in No Man's Land by Croisille near the Somme, and +it had grown there for a long while free from man. + +It grew as you never saw a swede grow before. It grew tall and strong +and weedy. It lifted its green head and gazed round over No Man's +Land. Yes, man was gone, and it was the day of the swede. + +The storms were tremendous. Sometimes pieces of iron sang through its +leaves. But man was gone and it was the day of the swede. + +A man used to come there once, a great French farmer, an oppressor of +swedes. Legends were told of him and his herd of cattle, dark +traditions that passed down vegetable generations. It was somehow +known in those fields that the man ate swedes. + +And now his house was gone and he would come no more. + +The storms were terrible, but they were better than man. The swede +nodded to his companions: the years of freedom had come. + +They had always known among them that these years would come. Man had +not been there always, but there had always been swedes. He would go +some day, suddenly, as he came. That was the faith of the swedes. And +when the trees went the swede believed that the day was come. When +hundreds of little weeds arrived that were never allowed before, and +grew unchecked, he knew it. + +After that he grew without any care, in sunlight, moonlight and rain; +grew abundantly and luxuriantly in the freedom, and increased in +arrogance till he felt himself greater than man. And indeed in those +leaden storms that sang often over his foliage all living things +seemed equal. + +There was little that the Germans left when they retreated from the +Somme that was higher than this swede. He grew the tallest thing for +miles and miles. He dominated the waste. Two cats slunk by him from a +shattered farm: he towered above them contemptuously. + +A partridge ran by him once, far, far below his lofty leaves. The +night winds mourning in No Man's Land seemed to sing for him alone. + +It was surely the hour of the swede. For him, it seemed, was No Man's +Land. And there I met him one night by the light of a German rocket +and brought him back to our company to cook. + + + + +Weeds and Wire + + +Things had been happening. Divisions were moving. There had been, +there was going to be, a stunt. A battalion marched over the hill and +sat down by the road. They had left the trenches three days march to +the north and had come to a new country. The officers pulled their +maps out; a mild breeze fluttered them; yesterday had been winter and +to-day was spring; but spring in a desolation so complete and +far-reaching that you only knew of it by that little wind. It was +early March by the calendar, but the wind was blowing out of the gates +of April. A platoon commander, feeling that mild wind blowing, forgot +his map and began to whistle a tune that suddenly came to him out of +the past with the wind. Out of the past it blew and out of the South, +a merry vernal tune of a Southern people. Perhaps only one of those +that noticed the tune had ever heard it before. An officer sitting +near had heard it sung; it reminded him of a holiday long ago in the +South. + +"Where did you hear that tune?" he asked the platoon commander. + +"Oh, the hell of a long way from here," the platoon commander said. + +He did not remember quite where it was he had heard it, but he +remembered a sunny day in France and a hill all dark with pine woods, +and a man coming down at evening out of the woods, and down the slope +to the village, singing this song. Between the village and the slope +there were orchards in blossom. So that he came with his song for +hundreds of yards through orchards. "The hell of a way from here," +he said. + +For a long while then they sat silent. + +"It mightn't have been so very far from here," said the platoon +commander. "It was in France, now I come to think of it. But it was a +lovely part of France, all woods and orchards. Nothing like this, +thank God." And he glanced with a tired look at the unutterable +desolation. + +"Where was it?" said the other. + +"In Picardy," he said. + +"Aren't we in Picardy now?" said his friend. + +"Are we?" he said. + +"I don't know. The maps don't call it Picardy." + +"It was a fine place, anyway," the platoon commander said. "There +seemed always to be a wonderful light on the hills. A kind of short +grass grew on them, and it shone in the sun at evening. There were +black woods above them. A man used to come out of them singing at +evening." + +He looked wearily round at the brown desolation of weeds. As far as +the two officers could see there was nothing but brown weeds and bits +of brown barbed wire. He turned from the desolate scene back to his +reminiscences. + +"He came singing through the orchards into the village," he said. +"A quaint old place with queer gables, called Ville-en-Bois." + +"Do you know where we are?" said the other. + +"No, said the platoon commander." + +"I thought not," he said. "Hadn't you better take a look at the +map?" + +"I suppose so," said the platoon commander, and he smoothed out his +map and wearily got to the business of finding out where he was. + +"Good Lord!" he said. "Ville-en-Bois!" + + + + +Spring in England and Flanders + + +Very soon the earliest primroses will be coming out in woods wherever +they have been sheltered from the north. They will grow bolder as the +days go by, and spread and come all down the slopes of sunny hills. +Then the anemones will come, like a shy pale people, one of the tribes +of the elves, who dare not leave the innermost deeps of the wood: in +those days all the trees will be in leaf, the bluebells will follow, +and certain fortunate woods will shelter such myriads of them that the +bright fresh green of the beech trees will flash between two blues, +the blue of the sky and the deeper blue of the bluebells. Later the +violets come, and such a time as this is the perfect time to see +England: when the cuckoo is heard and he surprises his hearers; when +evenings are lengthening out and the bat is abroad again; and all the +flowers are out and all the birds sing. At such a time not only Nature +smiles but our quiet villages and grave old spires wake up from winter +in the mellow air and wear their centuries lightly. At such a time you +might come just at evening on one of those old villages in a valley +and find it in the mood to tell you the secret of the ages that it hid +and treasured there before the Normans came. Who knows? For they are +very old, very wise, very friendly; they might speak to you one warm +evening. If you went to them after great suffering they might speak to +you; after nights and nights of shelling over in France, they might +speak to you and you might hear them clearly. + +It would be a long, long story that they would tell, all about the +ages; and it would vary wonderfully little, much less perhaps than we +think; and the repetitions rambling on and on in the evening, as the +old belfry spoke and the cottages gathered below it, might sound so +soothing after the boom of shells that perhaps you would nearly sleep. +And then with one's memory tired out by the war one might never +remember the long story they told, when the belfry and the +brown-roofed houses all murmured at evening, might never remember even +that they had spoken all through that warm spring and evening. We may +have heard them speak and forgotten that they have spoken. Who knows? +We are at war, and see so many strange things: some we must forget, +some we must remember; and we cannot choose which. + +To turn from Kent to Flanders is to turn to a time of mourning through +all seasons alike. Spring there brings out no leaf on myriad oaks, nor +the haze of green that floats like a halo above the heads of the birch +trees, that stand with their fairylike trunks haunting the deeps of +the woods. For miles and miles and miles summer ripens no crops, leads +out no maidens laughing in the moonlight, and brings no harvest home. +When Autumn looks on orchards in all that region of mourning he looks +upon barren trees that will never blossom again. Winter drives in no +sturdy farmers at evening to sit before cheery fires, families meet +not at Christmas, and the bells are dumb in belfries; for all by which +a man might remember his home has been utterly swept away: has been +swept away to make a maniacal dancing ground on which a murderous +people dance to their death led by a shallow, clever, callous, +imperial clown. + +There they dance to their doom till their feet shall find the +precipice that was prepared for them on the day that they planned the +evil things they have done. + + + + +The Nightmare Countries + + +There are certain lands in the darker dreams of poetry that stand out +in the memory of generations. There is for instance Poe's "Dark tarn +of Auber, the ghoul-haunted region of Weir"; there are some queer +twists in the river Alph as imagined by Coleridge; two lines of +Swinburne: + + By the tideless dolorous inland sea + In a land of sand and ruin and gold + +are as haunting as any. There are in literature certain regions of +gloom, so splendid that whenever you come on them they leave in the +mind a sort of nightmare country which one's thoughts revisit on +hearing the lines quoted. + +It is pleasant to picture such countries sometimes when sitting before +the fire. It is pleasant because you can banish them by the closing of +a book; a puff of smoke from a pipe will hide them altogether, and +back come the pleasant, wholesome, familiar things. But in France they +are there always. In France the nightmare countries stand all night in +the starlight; dawn comes and they still are there. The dead are +buried out of sight and others take their places among men; but the +lost lands lie unburied gazing up at the winds; and the lost woods +stand like skeletons all grotesque in the solitude; the very seasons +have fled from them. The very seasons have fled; so that if you look +up to see whether summer has turned to autumn, or if autumn has turned +to winter yet, nothing remains to show you. It is like the eccentric +dream of some strange man, very arresting and mysterious, but lacking +certain things that should be there before you can recognize it as +earthly. It is a mad, mad landscape. There are miles and miles and +miles of it. It is the biggest thing man has done. It looks as though +man in his pride, with all his clever inventions, had made for himself +a sorry attempt at creation. + +Indeed when we trace it all back to its origin we find at the +beginning of this unhappy story a man who was only an emperor and +wished to be something more. He would have ruled the world but has +only meddled with it; and his folly has brought misery to millions, +and there lies his broken dream on the broken earth. He will never +take Paris now. He will never be crowned at Versailles as Emperor of +Europe; and after that, most secret dream of all, did not the Caesars +proclaim themselves divine? Was it not whispered among Macedonian +courtiers that Alexander was the child of God? And was the +Hohenzollern less than these? + +What might not force accomplish? All gone now, that dream and the +Hohenzollern line broken. A maniacal dream and broken farms all mixed +up together: they make a pretty nightmare and the clouds still gleam +at night with the flashes of shells, and the sky is still troubled by +day with uncouth balloons and the black bursts of the German shells +and the white of our anti-aircraft. + +And below there lies this wonderful waste land where no girls sing, +and where no birds come but starlings; where no hedgerows stand, and +no lanes with wild roses, and where no pathways run through fields of +wheat, and there are no fields at all and no farms and no farmers; and +two haystacks stand on a hill I know, undestroyed in the desolation, +and nobody touches them for they know the Germans too well; and the +tops have been blown off hills down to the chalk. And men say of this +place that it is Pozieres and of that place that it is Ginchy; nothing +remains to show that hamlets stood there at all, and a brown, brown +weed grows over it all for ever; and a mighty spirit has arisen in +man, and no one bows to the War Lord though many die. And Liberty is +she who sang her songs of old, and is fair as she ever was, when men +see her in visions, at night in No Man's Land when they have the +strength to crawl in: still she walks of a night in Pozieres and in +Ginchy. + +A fanciful man once called himself the Emperor of the Sahara: the +German Kaiser has stolen into a fair land and holds with weakening +hands a land of craters and weed, and wire and wild cabbages and old +German bones. + + + + +Spring and the Kaiser + + +While all the world is waiting for Spring there lie great spaces in +one of the pleasantest lands to which Spring cannot come. + +Pear trees and cherry and orchards flash over other lands, blossoming +as abundantly as though their wonder were new, with a beauty as fresh +and surprising as though nothing like it before had ever adorned +countless centuries. Now with the larch and soon with the beech trees +and hazel, a bright green blazes forth to illumine the year. The +slopes are covered with violets. Those who have gardens are beginning +to be proud of them and to point them out to their neighbours. Almond +and peach in blossom peep over old brick walls. The land dreams of +summer all in the youth of the year. + +But better than all this the Germans have found war. The simple +content of a people at peace in pleasant countries counted for nothing +with them. Their Kaiser prepared for war, made speeches about war, +and, when he was ready, made war. And now the hills that should be +covered with violets are full of murderous holes, and the holes are +half full of empty meat tins, and the garden walls have gone and the +gardens with them, and there are no woods left to shelter anemones. +Boundless masses of brown barbed wire straggle over the landscape. All +the orchards there are cut down out of ruthless spite to hurt France +whom they cannot conquer. All the little trees that grow near gardens +are gone, aspen, laburnum and lilac. It is like this for hundreds of +miles. Hundreds of ruined towns gaze at it with vacant windows and see +a land from which even Spring is banished. And not a ruined house in +all the hundred towns but mourns for some one, man, woman or child; +for the Germans make war equally on all in the land where Spring comes +no more. + +Some day Spring will come back; some day she will shine all April in +Picardy again, for Nature is never driven utterly forth, but comes +back with her seasons to cover up even the vilest things. + +She shall hide the raw earth of the shell holes till the violets come +again; she shall bring back even the orchards for Spring to walk in +once more; the woods will grow tall again above the southern anemones; +and the great abandoned guns of the Germans will rust by the rivers of +France. Forgotten like them, the memory of the War Lord will pass with +his evil deeds. + + + + +Two Songs + + +Over slopes of English hills looking south in the time of violets, +evening was falling. + +Shadows at edges of woods moved, and then merged in the gloaming. + +The bat, like a shadow himself, finding that spring was come, slipped +from the dark of the wood as far as a clump of beech trees and +fluttered back again on his wonderful quiet wings. + +Pairing pigeons were home. + +Very young rabbits stole out to gaze at the calm still world. They +came out as the stars come. At one time they were not there, and then +you saw them, but you did not see them come. + +Towering clouds to the west built palaces, cities and mountains; +bastions of rose and precipices of gold; giants went home over them +draped in mauve by steep rose-pink ravines into emerald-green empires. +Turbulences of colour broke out above the departed sun; giants merged +into mountains, and cities became seas, and new processions of other +fantastic things sailed by. But the chalk slopes facing south smiled +on with the same calm light, as though every blade of grass gathered a +ray from the gloaming. All the hills faced the evening with that same +quiet glow, which faded softly as the air grew colder; and the first +star appeared. + +Voices came up in the hush, clear from the valley, and ceased. A light +was lit, like a spark, in a distant window: more stars appeared and +the woods were all dark now, and shapes even on the hill slopes began +to grow indistinct. + +Home by a laneway in the dim, still evening a girl was going, singing +the Marseillaise. + +In France where the downs in the north roll away without hedges, as +though they were great free giants that man had never confined, as +though they were stretching their vast free limbs in the evening, the +same light was smiling and glimmering softly away. + +A road wound over the downs and away round one of their shoulders. A +hush lay over them as though the giants slept, or as though they +guarded in silence their ancient, wonderful history. + +The stillness deepened and the dimness of twilight; and just before +colours fade, while shapes can still be distinguished, there came by +the road a farmer leading his Norman horse. High over the horse's +withers his collar pointed with brass made him fantastic and huge and +strange to see in the evening. + +They moved together through that mellow light towards where unseen +among the clustered downs the old French farmer's house was sheltered +away. + +He was going home at evening humming "God Save the King." + + + + +The Punishment + + +An exhalation arose, drawn up by the moon, from an old battlefield +after the passing of years. It came out of very old craters and +gathered from trenches, smoked up from No Man's Land, and the ruins of +farms; it rose from the rottenness of dead brigades, and lay for half +the night over two armies; but at midnight the moon drew it up all +into one phantom and it rose and trailed away eastwards. + +It passed over men in grey that were weary of war; it passed over a +land once prosperous, happy and mighty, in which were a people that +were gradually starving; it passed by ancient belfries in which there +were no bells now; it passed over fear and misery and weeping, and so +came to the palace at Potsdam. It was the dead of the night between +midnight and dawn, and the palace was very still that the Emperor +might sleep, and sentries guarded it who made no noise and relieved +others in silence. Yet it was not so easy to sleep. Picture to +yourself a murderer who had killed a man. Would you sleep? Picture +yourself the man that planned this war! Yes, you sleep, but nightmares +come. + +The phantom entered the chamber. "Come," it said. + +The Kaiser leaped up at once as obediently as when he came to +attention on parade, years ago, as a subaltern in the Prussian Guard, +a man whom no woman or child as yet had ever cursed; he leaped up and +followed. They passed the silent sentries; none challenged and none +saluted; they were moving swiftly over the town as the felon Gothas +go; they came to a cottage in the country. They drifted over a little +garden gate, and there in a neat little garden the phantom halted like +a wind that has suddenly ceased. "Look," it said. + +Should he look? Yet he must look. The Kaiser looked; and saw a window +shining and a neat room in the cottage: there was nothing dreadful +there; thank the good German God for that; it was all right, after +all. The Kaiser had had a fright, but it was all right; there was only +a woman with a baby sitting before the fire, and two small children +and a man. And it was quite a jolly room. And the man was a young +soldier; and, why, he was a Prussian Guardsman,--there was his +helmet hanging on the wall,--so everything was all right. They were +jolly German children; that was well. How nice and homely the room +was. There shone before him, and showed far off in the night, the +visible reward of German thrift and industry. It was all so tidy and +neat, and yet they were quite poor people. The man had done his work +for the Fatherland, and yet beyond all that had been able to afford +all those little knickknacks that make a home so pleasant and that in +their humble little way were luxury. And while the Kaiser looked the +two young children laughed as they played on the floor, not seeing +that face at the window. + +Why! Look at the helmet. That was lucky. A bullet hole right through +the front of it. That must have gone very close to the man's head. How +ever did it get through? It must have glanced upwards as bullets +sometimes do. The hole was quite low in the helmet. It would be +dreadful to have bullets coming by close like that. The firelight +flickered, and the lamp shone on, and the children played on the +floor, and the man was smoking out of a china pipe; he was strong and +able and young, one of the wealth-winners of Germany. + +"Have you seen?" said the phantom. + +"Yes," said the Kaiser. It was well, he thought, that a Kaiser +should see how his people lived. + +At once the fire went out and the lamp faded away, the room fell +sombrely into neglect and squalor, and the soldier and the children +faded away with the room; all disappeared phantasmally, and nothing +remained but the helmet in a kind of glow on the wall, and the woman +sitting all by herself in the darkness. + +"It has all gone," said the Kaiser. + +"It has never been," said the phantom. + +The Kaiser looked again. Yes, there was nothing there, it was just a +vision. There were the grey walls all damp and uncared for, and that +helmet standing out solid and round, like the only real thing among +fancies. No, it had never been. It was just a vision. + +"It might have been," said the phantom. + +Might have been? How might it have been? + +"Come," said the phantom. + +They drifted away down a little lane that in summer would have had +roses, and came to an Uhlan's house; in times of peace a small farmer. +Farm buildings in good repair showed even in the night, and the black +shapes of haystacks; again a well-kept garden lay by the house. The +phantom and the Kaiser stood in the garden; before them a window +glowed in a lamplit room. + +"Look," said the phantom. + +The Kaiser looked again and saw a young couple; the woman played with +a baby, and all was prosperous in the merry room. Again the hard-won +wealth of Germany shone out for all to see, the cosy comfortable +furniture spoke of acres well cared for, spoke of victory in the +struggle with the seasons on which wealth of nations depends. + +"It might have been," said the phantom. Again the fire died out and +the merry scene faded away, leaving a melancholy, ill-kept room, with +poverty and mourning haunting dusty corners and the woman sitting +alone. + +"Why do you show me this?" said the Kaiser. "Why do you show me +these visions?" + +"Come," said the phantom. + +"What is it?" said the Kaiser. "Where are you bringing me?" + +"Come," said the phantom. + +They went from window to window, from land to land. You had seen, had +you been out that night in Germany, and able to see visions, an +imperious figure passing from place to place, looking on many scenes. +He looked on them, and families withered away, and happy scenes faded, +and the phantom said to him "Come." He expostulated but obeyed; and +so they went from window to window of hundreds of farms in Prussia, +till they came to the Prussian border and went on into Saxony; and +always you would have heard, could you hear spirits speak, "It might +have been," "It might have been," repeated from window to window. + +They went down through Saxony, heading for Austria. And for long the +Kaiser kept that callous, imperious look. But at last he, even he, at +last he nearly wept. And the phantom turned then and swept him back +over Saxony, and into Prussia again and over the sentries' heads, back +to his comfortable bed where it was so hard to sleep. + +And though they had seen thousands of merry homes, homes that can +never be merry now, shrines of perpetual mourning; though they had +seen thousands of smiling German children, who will never be born now, +but were only the visions of hopes blasted by him; for all the leagues +over which he had been so ruthlessly hurried, dawn was yet barely +breaking. + +He had looked on the first few thousand homes of which he had robbed +all time, and which he must see with his eyes before he may go hence. +The first night of the Kaiser's punishment was accomplished. + + + + +The English Spirit + + +By the end of the South African war Sergeant Cane had got one thing +very well fixed in his mind, and that was that war was an overrated +amusement. He said he "was fed up with it," partly because that +misused metaphor was then new, partly because every one was saying it: +he felt it right down in his bones, and he had a long memory. So when +wonderful rumours came to the East Anglian village where he lived, on +August 1, 1914, Sergeant Cane said: "That means war," and decided +then and there to have nothing to do with it: it was somebody else's +turn; he felt he had done enough. Then came August 4th, and England +true to her destiny, and then Lord Kitchener's appeal for men. +Sergeant Cane had a family to look after and a nice little house: he +had left the army ten years. + +In the next week all the men went who had been in the army before, all +that were young enough, and a good sprinkling of the young men too who +had never been in the army. Men asked Cane if he was going, and he +said straight out "No." + +By the middle of August Cane was affecting the situation. He was a +little rallying point for men who did not want to go. "He knows what +it's like," they said. + +In the smoking room of the Big House sat the Squire and his son, Arthur +Smith; and Sir Munion Boomer-Platt, the Member for the division. The +Squire's son had been in the last war as a boy, and like Sergeant Cane +had left the army since. All the morning he had been cursing an +imaginary general, seated in the War Office at an imaginary desk with +Smith's own letter before him, in full view but unopened. Why on earth +didn't he answer it, Smith thought. But he was calmer now, and the +Squire and Sir Munion were talking of Sergeant Cane. + +"Leave him to me," said Sir Munion. + +"Very well," said the Squire. So Sir Munion Boomer-Platt went off +and called on Sergeant Cane. + +Mrs Cane knew what he had come for. + +"Don't let him talk you over, Bill," she said. + +"Not he," said Sergeant Cane. + +Sir Munion came on Sergeant Cane in his garden. + +"A fine day," said Sir Munion. And from that he went on to the war. +"If you enlist," he said, "they will make you a sergeant again at +once. You will get a sergeant's pay, and your wife will get the new +separation allowance." + +"Sooner have Cane," said Mrs Cane. + +"Yes, yes, of course," said Sir Munion. "But then there is the +medal, probably two or three medals, and the glory of it, and it is +such a splendid life." + +Sir Munion did warm to a thing whenever he began to hear his own +words. He painted war as it has always been painted, one of the most +beautiful things you could imagine. And then it mustn't be supposed +that it was like those wars that there used to be, a long way off. +There would be houses where you would be billeted, and good food, and +shady trees and villages wherever you went. And it was such an +opportunity of seeing the Continent ("the Continent as it really +is," Sir Munion called it) as would never come again, and he only +wished he were younger. Sir Munion really did wish it, as he spoke, +for his own words stirred him profoundly; but somehow or other they +did not stir Sergeant Cane. No, he had done his share, and he had a +family to look after. + +Sir Munion could not understand him: he went back to the Big House and +said so. He had told him all the advantages he could think of that +were there to be had for the asking, and Sergeant Cane merely +neglected them. + +"Let me have a try," said Arthur Smith. "He soldiered with me +before." + +Sir Munion shrugged his shoulders. He had all the advantages at his +fingers' ends, from pay to billeting: there was nothing more to be +said. Nevertheless young Smith went. + +"Hullo, Sergeant Cane," said Smith. + +"Hello, sir," said the sergeant. + +"Do you remember that night at Reit River?" + +"Don't I, sir," said Cane. + +"One blanket each and no ground sheet?" + +"I remember, sir," said Cane. + +"Didn't it rain," said Smith. + +"It rained that night, proper." + +"Drowned a few of the lice, I suppose." + +"Not many," said Cane. + +"No, not many," Smith reflected. "The Boers had the range all right +that time." + +"Gave it us proper," said Cane. + +"We were hungry that night," said Smith. "I could have eaten +biltong." + +"I did eat some of it," said Cane. "Not bad stuff, what there was +of it, only not enough." + +"I don't think," said Smith, "that I've ever slept on the bare +earth since." + +"No, sir?" said Cane. "It's hard. You get used to it. But it will +always be hard." + +"Yes, it will always be hard," said Smith. "Do you remember the +time we were thirsty?" + +"Oh, yes, sir," said Cane, "I remember that. One doesn't forget +that." + +"No. I still dream of it sometimes," said Smith. "It makes a nasty +dream. I wake with my mouth all dry too, when I dream that." + +"Yes," said Cane, "one doesn't forget being thirsty." + +"Well," said Smith, "I suppose we're for it all over again?" + +"I suppose so, sir," said Cane. + +An Investigation Into the Causes and Origin of the War + +The German imperial barber has been called up. He must have been +called up quite early in the war. I have seen photographs in papers +that leave no doubt of that. Who he is I do not know: I once read his +name in an article but have forgotten it; few even know if he still +lives. And yet what harm he has done! What vast evils he has +unwittingly originated! Many years ago he invented a frivolity, a jeu +d'esprit easily forgivable to an artist in the heyday of his youth, to +whom his art was new and even perhaps wonderful. A craft, of course, +rather than an art, and a humble craft at that; but then, the man was +young, and what will not seem wonderful to youth? + +He must have taken the craft very seriously, but as youth takes things +seriously, fantastically and with laughter. He must have determined to +outshine rivals: he must have gone away and thought, burning candles +late perhaps, when all the palace was still. But how can youth think +seriously? And there had come to him this absurd, this fantastical +conceit. What else would have come? The more seriously he took the +tonsorial art, the more he studied its tricks and phrases and heard +old barbers lecture, the more sure were the imps of youth to prompt +him to laughter and urge him to something outrageous and ridiculous. +The background of the dull pomp of Potsdam must have made all this +more certain. It was bound to come. + +And so one day, or, as I have suggested, suddenly late one night, +there came to the young artist bending over tonsorial books that +quaint, mad, odd, preposterous inspiration. Ah, what pleasure there is +in the madness of youth; it is not like the madness of age, clinging +to outworn formulae; it is the madness of breaking away, of galloping +among precipices, of dallying with the impossible, of courting the +absurd. And this inspiration, it was in none of the books; the +lecturer barbers had not lectured on it, could not dream of it and did +not dare to; there was no tradition for it, no precedent; it was mad; +and to introduce it into the pomp of Potsdam, that was the daring of +madness. And this preposterous inspiration of the absurd young +barber-madman was nothing less than a moustache that without any curve +at all, or any suggestion of sanity, should go suddenly up at the ends +very nearly as high as the eyes! + +He must have told his young fellow craftsmen first, for youth goes +first to youth with its hallucinations. And they, what could they have +said? You cannot say of madness that it is mad, you cannot call +absurdity absurd. To have criticized would have revealed jealousy; and +as for praise you could not praise a thing like that. They probably +shrugged, made gestures; and perhaps one friend warned him. But you +cannot warn a man against a madness; if the madness is in possession +it will not be warned away: why should it? And then perhaps he went to +the old barbers of the Court. You can picture their anger. Age does +not learn from youth in any case. But there was the insult to their +ancient craft, bad enough if only imagined, but here openly spoken of. +And what would come of it? They must have feared, on the one hand, +dishonour to their craft if this young barber were treated as his +levity deserved; and, on the other hand, could they have feared his +success? I think they could not have guessed it. + +And then the young idiot with his preposterous inspiration must have +looked about to see where he could practise his new absurdity. It +should have been enough to have talked about it among his fellow +barbers; they would have gone with new zest to their work next day for +this delirious interlude, and no harm would have been done. "Fritz," +(or Hans) they would have said, "was a bit on last night, a bit full +up," or whatever phrase they use to touch on drunkenness; and the +thing would have been forgotten. We all have our fancies. But this +young fool wanted to get his fancy mixed up with practice: that's +where he was mad. And in Potsdam, of all places. + +He probably tried his friends first, young barbers at the Court and +others of his own standing. None of them were fools enough to be seen +going about like that. They had jobs to lose. A Court barber is one +thing, a man who cuts ordinary hair is quite another. Why should they +become outcasts because their friend chose to be mad? + +He probably tried his inferiors then, but they would have been timid +folk; they must have seen the thing was absurd, and of course daren't +risk it. Again, why should they? + +Did he try to get some noble then to patronize his invention? Probably +the first refusals he had soon inflamed his madness more, and he threw +caution insanely to the winds, and went straight to the Emperor. + +It was probably about the time that the Emperor dismissed Bismarck; +certainly the drawings of that time show him still with a sane +moustache. + +The young barber probably chanced on him in this period, finding him +bereft of an adviser, and ready to be swayed by whatever whim should +come. Perhaps he was attracted by the barber's hardihood, perhaps the +absurdity of his inspiration had some fascination for him, perhaps he +merely saw that the thing was new and, feeling jaded, let the barber +have his way. And so the frivolity became a fact, the absurdity became +visible, and honour and riches came the way of the barber. + +A small thing, you might say, however fantastical. And yet I believe +the absurdity of that barber to be among the great evils that have +brought death nearer to man; whimsical and farcical as it was, yet a +thing deadlier than Helen's beauty or Tamerlane's love of skulls. For +just as character is outwardly shown so outward things react upon the +character; and who, with that daring barber's ludicrous fancy visible +always on his face, could quite go the sober way of beneficent +monarchs? The fantasy must be mitigated here, set off there; had you +such a figure to dress, say for amateur theatricals, you would realize +the difficulty. The heavy silver eagle to balance it; the glittering +cuirass lower down, preventing the eye from dwelling too long on the +barber's absurdity. And then the pose to go with the cuirass and to +carry off the wild conceit of that mad, mad barber. He has much to +answer for, that eccentric man whose name so few remember. For pose +led to actions; and just when Europe most needed a man of wise +counsels, restraining the passions of great empires, just then she had +ruling over Germany and, unhappily, dominating Austria, a man who +every year grew more akin to the folly of that silly barber's youthful +inspiration. + +Let us forgive the barber. For long I have known from pictures that I +have seen of the Kaiser that he has gone to the trenches. Probably he +is dead. Let us forgive the barber. But let us bear in mind that the +futile fancies of youth may be deadly things, and that one of them +falling on a fickle mind may so stir its shallows as to urge it to +disturb and set in motion the avalanches of illimitable grief. + +Lost + +Describing a visit, say the papers of March 28th, which the Kaiser +paid incognito to Cologne Cathedral on March 18th before the great +battle, the Cologne correspondent of the Tyd says: + +There were only a few persons in the building. Under high arches +and in spacious solitude the Kaiser sat, as if in deep thought, +before the priests' choir. Behind him his military staff stood +respectfully at a distance. Still musing as he rose, the monarch +resting both hands on his walking-stick remains standing immovable +for some minutes... I shall never forget this picture of the musing +monarch praying in Cologne Cathedral on the eve of the great +battle. + +Probably he won't forget it. The German casualty lists will help to +remind him. But what is more to the point is that this expert +propagandist has presumably received orders that we are not to forget +it, and that the sinister originator of the then impending holocaust +should be toned down a little in the eyes at least of the Tyd to +something a little more amiable. + +And no doubt the little piece of propaganda gave every satisfaction to +those who ordered it, or they would not have passed it out to the Tyd, +and the touching little scene would never have reached our eyes. At +the same time the little tale would have been better suited to the +psychology of other countries if he had made the War Lord kneel when +he prayed in Cologne Cathedral, and if he had represented the Military +Staff as standing out of respect to One who, outside Germany, is held +in greater respect than the All Highest. + +And had the War Lord really knelt is it not possible that he might +have found pity, humility, or even contrition? Things easily +overlooked in so large a cathedral when sitting erect, as a War Lord, +before the priests' choir, but to be noticed perhaps with one's eyes +turned to the ground. + +Perhaps he nearly found one of those things. Perhaps he felt (who +knows?) just for a moment, that in the dimness of those enormous +aisles was something he had lost a long, long while ago. + +One is not mistaken to credit the very bad with feeling far, faint +appeals from things of glory like Cologne Cathedral; it is that the +appeals come to them too far and faint on their headlong descent to +ruin. + +For what was the War Lord seeking? Did he know that pity for his poor +slaughtered people, huddled by him on to our ceaseless machine guns, +might be found by seeking there? Or was it only that the lost thing, +whatever it was, made that faint appeal to him, passing the door by +chance, and drew him in, as the scent of some herb or flower in a +moment draws us back years to look for something lost in our youth; we +gaze back, wondering, and do not find it. + +And to think that perhaps he lost it by very little! That, but for +that proud attitude and the respectful staff, he might have seen what +was lost, and have come out bringing pity for his people. Might have +said to the crowd that gave him that ovation, as we read, outside the +door: "My pride has driven you to this needless war, my ambition has +made a sacrifice of millions, but it is over, and it shall be no more; +I will make no more conquests." + +They would have killed him. But for that renunciation, perhaps, +however late, the curses of the widows of his people might have kept +away from his grave. + +But he did not find it. He sat at prayer. Then he stood. Then he +marched out: and his staff marched out behind him. And in the gloom of +the floor of the vast Cologne Cathedral lie the things that the Kaiser +did not find and never will find now. Unnoticed thus, and in some +silent moment, passes a man's last chance. + + + + +The Last Mirage + + +The desolation that the German offensive has added to the dominions of +the Kaiser cannot easily be imagined by any one who has never seen a +desert. Look at it on the map and it is full of the names of towns and +villages; it is in Europe, where there are no deserts; it is a fertile +province among places of famous names. Surely it is a proud addition +to an ambitious monarch's possessions. Surely there is something there +that it is worth while to have conquered at the cost of army corps. +No, nothing. They are mirage towns. The farms grow Dead Sea fruit. +France recedes before the imperial clutch. France smiles, but not for +him. His new towns seem to be his because their names have not yet +been removed from any map, but they crumble at his approach because +France is not for him. His deadly ambition makes a waste before it as +it goes, clutching for cities. It comes to them and the cities are not +there. + +I have seen mirages and have heard others told of, but the best +mirages of all we never hear described; the mirage that waterless +travellers see at the last. Those fountains rising out of onyx basins, +blue and straight into incredible heights, and falling and flooding +cool white marble; the haze of spray above their feathery heads +through which the pale green domes of weathered copper shimmer and +shake a little; mysterious temples, the tombs of unknown kings; the +cataracts coming down from rose-quartz cliffs, far off but seen quite +clearly, growing to rivers bearing curious barges to the golden courts +of Sahara. These things we never see; they are seen at the last by men +who die of thirst. + +Even so has the Kaiser looked at the smiling plains of France. Even so +has he looked on her famous ancient cities and the farms and the +fertile fields and the woods and orchards of Picardy. With effort and +trouble he has moved towards them. As he comes near to them the cities +crumble, the woods shrivel and fall, the farms fade out of Picardy, +even the hedgerows go; it is bare, bare desert. He had been sure of +Paris, he had dreamed of Versailles and some monstrous coronation, he +had thought his insatiable avarice would be sated. For he had plotted +for conquest of the world, that boundless greed of his goading him on +as a man in the grip of thirst broods upon lakes. + +He sees victory near him now. That also will fade in the desert of old +barbed wire and weeds. When will he see that a doom is over all his +ambitions? For his dreams of victory are like those last dreams that +come in deceptive deserts to dying men. + +There is nothing good for him in the desert of the Somme. Bapaume is +not really there, though it be marked on his maps; it is only a +wilderness of slates and brick. Peronne looks like a city a long way +off, but when you come near it is only the shells of houses. Poziere, +Le Sars, Sapigny, are gone altogether. + +And all is Dead Sea fruit in a visible desert. The reports of German +victories there are mirage like all the rest; they too will fade into +weeds and old barbed wire. + +And the advances that look like victories, and the ruins that look +like cities, and the shell-beaten broken fields that look like +farms,--they and the dreams of conquest and all the plots and ambitions, +they are all the mirage of a dying dynasty in a desert it made for its +doom. + +Bones lead up to the desert, bones are scattered about it, it is the +most menacing and calamitous waste of all the deadly places that have +been inclement to man. It flatters the Hohenzollerns with visions of +victory now because they are doomed by it and are about to die. When +their race has died the earth shall smile again, for their deadly +mirage shall oppress us no more. The cities shall rise again and the +farms come back; hedgerows and orchards shall be seen again; the woods +shall slowly lift their heads from the dust; and gardens shall come +again where the desert was, to bloom in happier ages that forget the +Hohenzollerns. + + + + +A Famous Man + + +Last winter a famous figure walked in Behagnies. Soldiers came to see +him from their billets all down the Arras road, from Ervillers and +from Sapigny, and from the ghosts of villages back from the road, +places that once were villages but are only names now. They would walk +three or four miles, those who could not get lorries, for his was one +of those names that all men know, not such a name as a soldier or poet +may win, but a name that all men know. They used to go there at +evening. + +Four miles away on the left as you went from Ervillers, the guns +mumbled over the hills, low hills over which the Verys from the +trenches put up their heads and peered around,--greeny, yellowy +heads that turned the sky sickly, and the clouds lit up and went grey +again all the night long. As you got near to Behagnies you lost sight +of the Verys, but the guns mumbled on. A silly little train used to +run on one's left, which used to whistle loudly, as though it asked to +be shelled, but I never saw a shell coming its way; perhaps it knew +that the German gunners could not calculate how slow it went. It +crossed the road as you got down to Behagnies. + +You passed the graves of two or three German soldiers with their names +on white wooden crosses,--men killed in 1914; and then a little +cemetery of a French cavalry regiment, where a big cross stood in the +middle with a wreath and a tricolor badge, and the names of the men. +And then one saw trees. That was always a wonder, whether one saw +their dark shapes in the evening, or whether one saw them by day, and +knew from the look of their leaves whether autumn had come yet, or +gone. In winter at evening one just saw the black bulk of them, but +that was no less marvellous than seeing them green in summer; trees by +the side of the Arras-Bapaume road, trees in mid-desert in the awful +region of Somme. There were not many of them, just a cluster, fewer +than the date palms in an oasis in Sahara, but an oasis is an oasis +wherever you find it, and a few trees make it. There are little places +here and there, few enough as the Arabs know, that the Sahara's deadly +sand has never been able to devastate; and there are places even in +the Somme that German malice, obeying the Kaiser as the sand of Sahara +obeys the accursed sirocco, has not been able to destroy quite to the +uttermost. That little cluster of trees at Behagnies is one of these; +Divisional Headquarters used to shelter beneath them; and near them +was a statue on a lawn which probably stood by the windows of some +fine house, though there is no trace of the house but the lawn and +that statue now. + +And over the way on the left a little further on, just past the +officers' club, a large hall stood where one saw that famous figure, +whom officers and men alike would come so far to see. + +The hall would hold perhaps four or five hundred seats in front of a +stage fitted up very simply with red, white and blue cloths, but +fitted up by some one that understood the job; and at the back of that +stage on those winter evenings walked on his flat and world-renowned +feet the figure of Charlie Chaplin. + +When aeroplanes came over bombing, the dynamos used to stop for they +supplied light to other places besides the cinema, and the shade of +Charlie Chaplin would fade away. But the men would wait till the +aeroplanes had gone and that famous figure came waddling back to the +screen. There he amused tired men newly come from the trenches, there +he brought laughter to most of the twelve days that they had out of +the line. + +He is gone from Behagnies now. He did not march in the retreat a +little apart from the troops, with head bent forward and hand thrust +in jacket, a flat-footed Napoleon: yet he is gone; for no one would +have left behind for the enemy so precious a thing as a Charlie +Chaplin film. He is gone but he will return. He will come with his +cane one day along that Arras road to the old hut in Behagnies; and +men dressed in brown will welcome him there again. + +He will pass beyond it through those desolate plains, and over the +hills beyond them, beyond Bapaume. Far hamlets to the east will know +his antics. + +And one day surely, in old familiar garb, without court dress, without +removing his hat, armed with that flexible cane, he will walk over the +faces of the Prussian Guard and, picking up the Kaiser by the collar, +with infinite nonchalance in finger and thumb, will place him neatly +in a prone position and solemnly sit on his chest. + + + + +The Oases of Death + + +While the German guns were pounding Amiens and the battle of dull +Prussianism against Liberty raged on, they buried Richthofen in the +British lines. + +They had laid him in a large tent with his broken machine outside it. +Thence British airmen carried him to the quiet cemetery, and he was +buried among the cypresses in this old resting place of French +generations just as though he had come there bringing no harm to +France. + +Five wreaths were on his coffin, placed there by those who had fought +against him up in the air. And under the wreaths on the coffin was +spread the German flag. + +When the funeral service was over three volleys were fired by the +escort, and a hundred aviators paid their last respects to the grave +of their greatest enemy; for the chivalry that the Prussians have +driven from earth and sea lives on in the blue spaces of the air. + +They buried Richthofen at evening, and the planes came droning home as +they buried him, and the German guns roared on and guns answered, +defending Amiens. And in spite of all, the cemetery had the air of +quiet, remaining calm and aloof, as all French graveyards are. For +they seem to have no part in the cataclysm that shakes all the world +but them; they seem to withdraw amongst memories and to be aloof from +time, and, above all, to be quite untroubled by the war that rages +to-day, upon which they appear to look out listlessly from among their +cypress and yew, and dimly, down a vista of centuries. They are very +strange, these little oases of death that remain unmoved and green +with their trees still growing, in the midst of a desolation as far as +the eye can see, in which cities and villages and trees and hedges and +farms and fields and churches are all gone, and where hugely broods a +desert. It is as though Death, stalking up and down through France for +four years, sparing nothing, had recognized for his own his little +gardens, and had spared only them. + + + + +Anglo-Saxon Tyranny + + +"We need a sea," says Big-Admiral von Tirpitz, "freed of +Anglo-Saxon tyranny." Unfortunately neither the British Admiralty nor +the American Navy permit us to know how much of the Anglo-Saxon +tyranny is done by American destroyers and how much by British ships +and even trawler. It would interest both countries to know, if it +could be known. But the Big-Admiral is unjust to France, for the +French navy exerts a tyranny at sea that can by no means be +overlooked, although naturally from her position in front of the mouth +of the Elbe England practises the culminating insupportable tyranny of +keeping the High Seas Fleet in the Kiel Canal. + +It is not I, but the Big-Admiral, who chose the word tyranny as +descriptive of the activities of the Anglo-Saxon navies. He was making +a speech at Dusseldorf on May 25th and was reported in the +Dusseldorfer Nachrichten on May 27th. + +Naturally it does not seem like tyranny to us, even the contrary; but +for an admiral, ein Grosse-Admiral, lately commanding a High Seas +Fleet, it must have been more galling than we perhaps can credit to be +confined in a canal. There was he, who should have been breasting the +blue, or at any rate doing something salty and nautical, far out in +the storms of that sea that the Germans call an Ocean, with the +hurricane raging angrily in his whiskers and now and then wafting +tufts of them aloft to white the halyards; there was he constrained to +a command the duties of which however nobly he did them could be +equally well carried out by any respectable bargee. He hoped for a +piracy of which the Lusitania was merely a beginning; he looked for +the bombardment of innumerable towns; he pictured slaughter in many a +hamlet of fishermen; he planned more than all those things of which +U-boat commanders are guilty; he saw himself a murderous old man, +terrible to seafarers, and a scourge of the coasts, and fancied +himself chronicled in after years by such as told dark tales of +Captain Kidd or the awful buccaneers; but he followed in the end no +more desperate courses than to sit and watch his ships on a wharf near +Kiel like one of Jacob's night watchmen. + +No wonder that what appears to us no more than the necessary +protection of women and children in seacoast towns from murder should +be to him an intolerable tyranny. No wonder that the guarding of +travellers of the allied countries at sea, and even those of the +neutrals, should be a most galling thing to the Big-Admiral's thwarted +ambition, looking at it from the point of view of one who to +white-whiskered age has retained the schoolboy's natural love of the +black and yellow flag. A pirate, he would say, has as much right to +live as wasps or tigers. The Anglo-Saxon navies, he might argue, have +a certain code of rules for use at sea; they let women get first into +the boats, for instance, when ships are sinking, and they rescue +drowning mariners when they can: no actual harm in all this, he would +feel, though it would weaken you, as Hindenburg said of poetry; but if +all these little rules are tyrannously enforced on those who may think +them silly, what is to become of the pirate? Where, if people like +Beattie and Sims had always had their way, would be those rollicking +tales of the jolly Spanish Main, and men walking the plank into the +big blue sea, and long, low, rakish craft putting in to Indian +harbours with a cargo of men and women all hung from the yard-arm? A +melancholy has come over the spirit of Big-Admiral von Tirpitz in the +years he has spent in the marshes between the Elbe and Kiel, and in +that melancholy he sees romance crushed; he sees no more pearl +earrings and little gold rings in the hold, he sees British +battleships spoiling the Spanish Main, and hateful American cruisers +in the old Sargasso Sea; he sees himself, alas, the last of all the +pirates. + +Let him take comfort. There were always pirates. And in spite of the +tyranny of England and America, and of France, which the poor old man +perplexed with his troubles forgot, there will be pirates still. Not +many perhaps, but enough U-boats will always be able to slip through +that tyrannous blockade to spread indiscriminate slaughter amongst the +travellers of any nation, enough to hand on the old traditions of +murder at sea. And one day Captain Kidd, with such a bow as they used +to make in ports of the Spanish Main, will take off his ancient hat, +sweeping it low in Hell, and be proud to clasp the hand of the Lord of +the Kiel Canal. + + + + +Memories + + + ... far-off things + And battles long ago. + + +Those who live in an old house are necessarily more concerned with +paying the plumber, should his art be required, or choosing wall paper +that does not clash with the chintzes, than with the traditions that +may haunt its corridors. In Ireland,--and no one knows how old that +is, for the gods that lived there before the Red Branch came wrote few +chronicles on the old grey Irish stones and wrote in their own +language,--in Ireland we are more concerned with working it so that +Tim Flanagan gets the job he does be looking for. + +But in America those who remember Ireland remember her, very often, +from old generations; maybe their grandfather migrated, perhaps his +grandfather, and Ireland is remembered by old tales treasured among +them. Now Tim Flanagan will not be remembered in a year's time when he +has the job for which he has got us to agitate, and the jobberies that +stir us move not the pen of History. + +But the tales that Irish generations hand down beyond the Atlantic +have to be tales that are worth remembering. They are tales that have +to stand the supreme test, tales that a child will listen to by the +fireside of an evening, so that they go down with those early +remembered evenings that are last of all to go of the memories of a +lifetime. A tale that a child will listen to must have much grandeur. +Any cheap stuff will do for us, bad journalism, and novels by girls +that could get no other jobs; but a child looks for those things in a +tale that are simple and noble and epic, the things that Earth +remembers. And so they tell, over there, tales of Sarsfield and of the +old Irish Brigade; they tell, of an evening, of Owen Roe O'Neill. And +into those tales come the plains of Flanders again and the ancient +towns of France, towns famous long ago and famous yet: let us rather +think of them as famous names and not as the sad ruins we have seen, +melancholy by day and monstrous in the moonlight. + +Many an Irishman who sails from America for those historic lands knows +that the old trees that stand there have their roots far down in soil +once richened by Irish blood. When the Boyne was lost and won, and +Ireland had lost her King, many an Irishman with all his wealth in a +scabbard looked upon exile as his sovereign's court. And so they came +to the lands of foreign kings, with nothing to offer for the +hospitality that was given them but a sword; and it usually was a +sword with which kings were well content. Louis XV had many of them, +and was glad to have them at Fontenoy; the Spanish King admitted them +to the Golden Fleece; they defended Maria Theresa. Landen in Flanders +and Cremona knew them. A volume were needed to tell of all those +swords; more than one Muse has remembered them. It was not disloyalty +that drove them forth; their King was gone, they followed, the oak was +smitten and brown were the leaves of the tree. + +But no such mournful metaphor applies to the men who march to-day +towards the plains where the "Wild Geese" were driven. They go with +no country mourning them, but their whole land cheers them on; they go +to the inherited battlefields. And there is this difference in their +attitude to kings, that those knightly Irishmen of old, driven +homeless over-sea, appeared as exiles suppliant for shelter before the +face of the Grand Monarch, and he, no doubt with exquisite French +grace, gave back to them all they had lost except what was lost +forever, salving so far as he could the injustice suffered by each. +But to-day when might, for its turn, is in the hands of democracies, +the men whose fathers built the Statue of Liberty have left their +country to bring back an exiled king to his home, and to right what +can be righted of the ghastly wrongs of Flanders. + +And if men's prayers are heard, as many say, old saints will hear old +supplications going up by starlight with a certain wistful, musical +intonation that has linked the towns of Limerick and Cork with the +fields of Flanders before. + + + + +The Movement + + +For many years Eliphaz Griggs was comparatively silent. Not that he +did not talk on all occasions whenever he could find hearers, he did +that at great length; but for many years he addressed no public +meeting, and was no part of the normal life of the northeast end of +Hyde Park or Trafalgar Square. And then one day he was talking in a +public house where he had gone to talk on the only subject that was +dear to him. He waited, as was his custom, until five or six men were +present, and then he began. "Ye're all damned, I'm saying, damned +from the day you were born. Your portion is Tophet." + +And on that day there happened what had never happened in his +experience before. Men used to listen in a tolerant way, and say +little over their beer, for that is the English custom; and that would +be all. But to-day a man rose up with flashing eyes and went over to +Eliphaz and gripped him by the hand: "They're all damned," said the +stranger. + +That was the turning point in the life of Eliphaz. Up to that moment +he had been a lonely crank, and men thought he was queer; but now +there were two of them and he became a Movement. A Movement in England +may do what it likes: there was a Movement, before the War, for +spoiling tulips in Kew Gardens and breaking church windows; it had its +run like the rest. + +The name of Eliphaz's new friend was Ezekiel Pim: and they drew up +rules for their Movement almost at once; and very soon country inns +knew Eliphaz no more. And for some while they missed him where he used +to drop in of an evening to tell them they were all damned: and then a +man proved one day that the earth was flat, and they all forgot +Eliphaz. + +But Eliphaz went to Hyde Park and Ezekiel Pim went with him, and there +you would see them close to the Marble Arch on any fine Sunday +afternoon, preaching their Movement to the people of London. "You are +all damned," said Eliphaz. "Your portion shall be damnation for +everlasting." + +"All damned," added Ezekiel. + +Eliphaz was the orator. He would picture Hell to you as it really is. +He made you see pretty much what it will be like to wriggle and turn +and squirm, and never escape from burning. But Ezekiel Pim, though he +seldom said more than three words, uttered those words with such +alarming sincerity and had such a sure conviction shining in his eyes +that searched right in your face as he said them, and his long hair +waved so weirdly as his head shot forward when he said "You're all +damned," that Ezekiel Pim brought home to you that the vivid +descriptions of Eliphaz really applied to you. + +People who lead bad lives get their sensibilities hardened. These did +not care very much what Eliphaz said. But girls at school, and several +governesses, and even some young clergy, were very much affected. +Eliphaz Griggs and Ezekiel Pim seemed to bring Hell so near to you. +You could almost feel it baking the Marble Arch from two to four on +Sundays. And at four o'clock the Surbiton Branch of the International +Anarchists used to come along, and Eliphaz Griggs and Ezekiel Pim +would pack up their flag and go, for the pitch belonged to the +Surbiton people till six; and the crank Movements punctiliously +recognize each other's rights. If they fought among themselves, which +is quite unthinkable, the police would run them in; it is the one +thing that an anarchist in England may never do. + +When the War came the two speakers doubled their efforts. The way they +looked at it was that here was a counter-attraction taking people's +minds off the subject of their own damnation just as they had got them +to think about it. Eliphaz worked as he had never worked before; he +spared nobody; but it was still Ezekiel Pim who somehow brought it +most home to them. + +One fine spring afternoon Eliphaz Griggs was speaking at his usual +place and time; he had wound himself up wonderfully. "You are +damned," he was saying, "for ever and ever and ever. Your sins have +found you out. Your filthy lives will be as fuel round you and shall +burn for ever and ever." + +"Look here," said a Canadian soldier in the crowd, "we shouldn't +allow that in Ottawa." + +"What?" asked an English girl. + +"Why, telling us we're all damned like that," he said. + +"Oh, this is England," she said. "They may all say what they like +here." + +"You are all damned," said Ezekiel, jerking forward his head and +shoulders till his hair flapped out behind. "All, all, all damned." + +"I'm damned if I am," said the Canadian soldier. + +"Ah," said Ezekiel, and a sly look came into his face. + +Eliphaz flamed on. "Your sins are remembered. Satan shall grin at +you. He shall heap cinders on you for ever and ever. Woe to you, +filthy livers. Woe to you, sinners. Hell is your portion. There shall +be none to grieve for you. You shall dwell in torment for ages. None +shall be spared, not one. Woe everlasting... Oh, I beg pardon, +gentlemen, I'm sure." For the Pacifists' League had been kept waiting +three minutes. It was their turn to-day at four. + + + + +Nature's Cad + + +The claim of Professor Grotius Jan Beek to have discovered, or +learned, the language of the greater apes has been demonstrated +clearly enough. He is not the original discoverer of the fact that +they have what may be said to correspond with a language; nor is he +the first man to have lived for some while in the jungle protected by +wooden bars, with a view to acquiring some knowledge of the meaning of +the various syllables that gorillas appear to utter. If so crude a +collection of sounds, amounting to less than a hundred words, if words +they are, may be called a language, it may be admitted that the +Professor has learned it, as his recent experiments show. What he has +not proved is his assertion that he has actually conversed with a +gorilla, or by signs, or grunts, or any means whatever obtained an +insight, as he put it, into its mentality, or, as we should put it, +its point of view. This Professor Beek claims to have done; and though +he gives us a certain plausible corroboration of a kind which makes +his story appear likely, it should be borne in mind that it is not of +the nature of proof. + +The Professor's story is briefly that having acquired this language, +which nobody that has witnessed his experiments will call in question, +he went back to the jungle for a week, living all the time in the +ordinary explorer's cage of the Blik pattern. Towards the very end of +the week a big male gorilla came by, and the Professor attracted it by +the one word "Food." It came, he says, close to the cage, and seemed +prepared to talk but became very angry on seeing a man there, and beat +the cage and would say nothing. The Professor says that he asked it +why it was angry. He admits that he had learned no more than forty +words of this language, but believes that there are perhaps thirty +more. Much however is expressed, as he says, by mere intonation. +Anger, for instance; and scores of allied words, such as terrible, +frightful, kill, whether noun, verb or adjective, are expressed, he +says, by a mere growl. Nor is there any word for "Why," but queries +are signified by the inflexion of the voice. + +When he asked it why it was angry the gorilla said that men killed +him, and added a noise that the professor said was evidently meant to +allude to guns. The only word used, he says, in this remark of the +gorilla's was the word that signified "man." The sentence as +understood by the professor amounted to "Man kill me. Guns." But the +word "kill" was represented simply by a snarl, "me" by slapping +its chest, and "guns" as I have explained was only represented by a +noise. The Professor believes that ultimately a word for guns may be +evolved out of that noise, but thinks that it will take many +centuries, and that if during that time guns should cease to be in +use, this stimulus being withdrawn, the word will never be evolved at +all, nor of course will it be needed. + +The Professor tried, by evincing interest, ignorance, and incredulity, +and even indignation, to encourage the gorilla to say more; but to his +disappointment, all the more intense after having exchanged that one +word of conversation with one of the beasts, the gorilla only repeated +what it had said, and beat on the cage again. For half an hour this +went on, the Professor showing every sign of sympathy, the gorilla +raging and beating upon the cage. + +It was half an hour of the most intense excitement to the Professor, +during which time he saw the realization of dreams that many +considered crazy, glittering as it were within his grasp, and all the +while this ridiculous gorilla would do nothing but repeat the mere +shred of a sentence and beat the cage with its great hands; and the +heat of course was intense. And by the end of the half hour the +excitement and the heat seem to have got the better of the Professor's +temper, and he waved the disgusting brute angrily away with a gesture +that probably was not much less impatient than the gorilla's own. And +at that the animal suddenly became voluble. He beat more furiously +than ever upon the cage and slipped his great fingers through the +bars, trying to reach the Professor, and poured out volumes of +ape-chatter. + +Why, why did men shoot at him, he asked. He made himself terrible, +therefore men ought to love him. That was the whole burden of what the +Professor calls its argument. "Me, me terrible," two slaps on the +chest and then a growl. "Man love me." And then the emphatic +negative word, and the sound that meant guns, and sudden furious +rushes at the cage to try to get at the Professor. + +The gorilla, Professor Beek explains, evidently admired only strength; +whenever he said "I make myself terrible to Man," a sentence he +often repeated, he drew himself up and thrust out his huge chest and +bared his frightful teeth; and certainly, the Professor says, there +was something terribly grand about the menacing brute. "Me +terrible," he repeated again and again, "Me terrible. Sky, sun, +stars with me. Man love me. Man love me. No?" It meant that all the +great forces of nature assisted him and his terrible teeth, which he +gnashed repeatedly, and that therefore man should love him, and he +opened his great jaws wide as he said this, showing all the brutal +force of them. + +There was to my mind a genuine ring in Professor Beek's story, because +he was obviously so much more concerned, and really troubled, by the +dreadful depravity of this animal's point of view, or mentality as he +called it, than he was concerned with whether or not we believed what +he had said. + +And I mentioned that there was a circumstance in his story of a +plausible and even corroborative nature. It is this. Professor Beek, +who noticed at the time a bullet wound in the tip of the gorilla's +left ear, by means of which it was luckily identified, put his +analysis of its mentality in writing and showed it to several others, +before he had any way of accounting for the beast having such a mind. + +Long afterwards it was definitely ascertained that this animal had +been caught when young on the slopes of Kilimanjaro and trained and +even educated, so far as such things are possible, by an eminent +German Professor, a persona grata at the Court of Berlin. + + + + +The Home of Herr Schnitzelhaaser + + +The guns in the town of Greinstein were faintly audible. The family of +Schnitzelhaaser lived alone there in mourning, an old man and old +woman. They never went out or saw any one, for they knew they could +not speak as though they did not mourn. They feared that their secret +would escape them. They had never cared for the war that the War Lord +made. They no longer cared what he did with it. They never read his +speeches; they never hung out flags when he ordered flags: they hadn't +the heart to. + +They had had four sons. + +The lonely old couple would go as far as the shop for food. Hunger +stalked behind them. They just beat hunger every day, and so saw +evening: but there was nothing to spare. Otherwise they did not go out +at all. Hunger had been coming slowly nearer of late. They had nothing +but the ration, and the ration was growing smaller. They had one pig +of their own, but the law said you might not kill it. So the pig was +no good to them. + +They used to go and look at that pig sometimes when hunger pinched. +But more than that they did not dare to contemplate. + +Hunger came nearer and nearer. The war was going to end by the first +of July. The War Lord was going to take Paris on this day and that +would end the war at once. But then the war was always going to end. +It was going to end in 1914, and their four sons were to have come +home when the leaves fell. The War Lord had promised that. And even if +it did end, that would not bring their four sons home now. So what did +it matter what the War Lord said. + +It was thoughts like these that they knew they had to conceal. It was +because of thoughts like these that they did not trust themselves to +go out and see other people, for they feared that by their looks if by +nothing else, or by their silence or perhaps their tears, they might +imply a blasphemy against the All Highest. And hunger made one so +hasty. What might one not say? And so they stayed indoors. + +But now. What would happen now? The War Lord was coming to Greinstein +in order to hear the guns. One officer of the staff was to be billeted +in their house. And what would happen now? + +They talked the whole thing over. They must struggle and make an +effort. The officer would be there for one evening. He would leave in +the morning quite early in order to make things ready for the return +to Potsdam: he had charge of the imperial car. So for one evening they +must be merry. They would suppose, it was Herr Schnitzelhaaser's +suggestion, they would think all the evening that Belgium and France +and Luxemburg all attacked the Fatherland, and that the Kaiser, +utterly unprepared, quite unprepared, called on the Germans to defend +their land against Belgium. + +Yes, the old woman could imagine that; she could think it all the +evening. + +And then,--it was no use not being cheerful altogether,--then one +must imagine a little more, just for the evening: it would come quite +easy; one must think that the four boys were alive. + +Hans too? (Hans was the youngest). + +Yes, all four. Just for the evening. + +But if the officer asks? + +He will not ask. What are four soldiers? + +So it was all arranged; and at evening the officer came. He brought +his own rations, so hunger came no nearer. Hunger just lay down +outside the door and did not notice the officer. + +A this supper the officer began to talk. The Kaiser himself, he said, +was at the Schartzhaus. + +"So," said Herr Schnitzelhaaser; "just over the way." So close. +Such an honour. + +And indeed the shadow of the Schartzhaus darkened their garden in the +morning. + +It was such an honour, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser too. And they began +to praise the Kaiser. So great a War Lord, she said; the most glorious +war there had ever been. + +Of course, said the officer, it would end on the first of July. + +Of course, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser. And so great an admiral, too. +One must remember that also. And how fortunate we were to have him: +one must not forget that. Had it not been for him the crafty Belgians +would have attacked the Fatherland, but they were struck down before +they could do it. So much better to prevent a bad deed like that than +merely to punish after. So wise. And had it not been for him, if it +had not been for him... + +The old man saw that she was breaking down and hastily he took up that +feverish praise. Feverish it was, for their hunger and bitter loss +affected their minds no less than illness does, and the things they +did they did hastily and intemperately. His praise of the War Lord +raced on as the officer ate. He spoke of him as of those that benefit +man, as of monarchs who bring happiness to their people. And now, he +said, he is here in the Schartzhaus beside us, listening to the guns +just like a common soldier. + +Finally the guns, as he spoke, coughed beyond ominous hills. +Contentedly the officer went on eating. He suspected nothing of the +thoughts his host and hostess were hiding. At last he went upstairs to +bed. + +As fierce exertion is easy to the fevered, so they had spoken; and it +wears them, so they were worn. The old woman wept when the officer +went out of hearing. But old Herr Schnitzelhaaser picked up a big +butcher's knife. "I will bear it no more," he said. + +His wife watched him in silence as he went away with his knife. Out of +the house he went and into the night. Through the open door she saw +nothing; all was dark; even the Schartzhaus, where all was gay +to-night, stood dark for fear of aeroplanes. The old woman waited in +silence. + +When Herr Schnitzelhaaser returned there was blood on his knife. + +"What have you done?" the old woman asked him quite calmly. "I have +killed our pig," he said. + +She broke out then, all the more recklessly for the long restraint of +the evening; the officer must have heard her. + +"We are lost! We are lost!" she cried. "We may not kill our pig. +Hunger has made you mad. You have ruined us." + +"I will bear it no longer," he said. "I have killed our pig." + +"But they will never let us eat it," she cried. "Oh, you have +ruined us!" + +"If you did not dare to kill our pig," he said, "why did you not +stop me when you saw me go? You saw me go with the knife?" + +"I thought," she said, "you were going to kill the Kaiser." + + + + +A Deed of Mercy + + +As Hindenburg and the Kaiser came down, as we read, from Mont d'Hiver, +during the recent offensive, they saw on the edge of a crater two +wounded British soldiers. The Kaiser ordered that they should be cared +for: their wounds were bound up and they were given brandy, and +brought round from unconsciousness. That is the German account of it, +and it may well be true. It was a kindly act. + +Probably had it not been for this the two men would have died among +those desolate craters; no one would have known, and no one could have +been blamed for it. + +The contrast of this spark of imperial kindness against the gloom of +the background of the war that the Kaiser made is a pleasant thing to +see, even though it illuminates for only a moment the savage darkness +in which our days are plunged. It was a kindness that probably will +long be remembered to him. Even we, his enemies, will remember it. And +who knows but that when most he needs it his reward for the act will +be given him. + +For Judas, they say, once in his youth, gave his cloak, out of +compassion, to a shivering beggar, who sat shaken with ague, in rags, +in bitter need. And the years went by and Judas forgot his deed. And +long after, in Hell, Judas they say was given one day's respite at the +end of every year because of this one kindness he had done so long +since in his youth. And every year he goes, they say, for a day and +cools himself among the Arctic bergs; once every year for century +after century. + +Perhaps some sailor on watch on a misty evening blown far out of his +course away to the north saw something ghostly once on an iceberg +floating by, or heard some voice in the dimness that seemed like the +voice of man, and came home with this weird story. And perhaps, as the +story passed from lip to lip, men found enough justice in it to +believe it true. So it came down the centuries. + +Will seafarers ages hence on dim October evenings, or on nights when +the moon is ominous through mist, red and huge and uncanny, see a +lonely figure sometimes on the loneliest part of the sea, far north of +where the Lusitania sank, gathering all the cold it can? Will they see +it hugging a crag of iceberg wan as itself, helmet, cuirass and ice +pale-blue in the mist together? Will it look towards them with +ice-blue eyes through the mist, and will they question it, meeting on +those bleak seas? Will it answer--or will the North wind howl like +voices? Will the cry of seals be heard, and ice floes grinding, and +strange birds lost upon the wind that night, or will it speak to them +in those distant years and tell them how it sinned, betraying man? + +It will be a grim, dark story in that lonely part of the sea, when he +confesses to sailors, blown too far north, the dreadful thing he +plotted against man. The date on which he is seen will be told from +sailor to sailor. Queer taverns of distant harbours will know it well. +Not many will care to be at sea that day, and few will risk being +driven by stress of weather on the Kaiser's night to the bergs of the +haunted part of sea. + +And yet for all the grimness of the pale-blue phantom, with cuirass +and helmet and eyes shimmering on deadly icebergs, and yet for all the +sorrow of the wrong he did against man, the women drowned and the +children, and all the good ships gone, yet will the horrified mariners +meeting him in the mist grudge him no moment of the day he has earned, +or the coolness he gains from the bergs, because of the kindness he +did to the wounded men. For the mariners in their hearts are kindly +men, and what a soul gains from kindness will seem to them well +deserved. + + + + +Last Scene of All + + +After John Calleron was hit he carried on in a kind of twilight of the +mind. Things grew dimmer and calmer; harsh outlines of events became +blurred; memories came to him; there was a singing in his ears like +far-off bells. Things seemed more beautiful than they had a while ago; +to him it was for all the world like evening after some quiet sunset, +when lawns and shrubs and woods and some old spire look lovely in the +late light, and one reflects on past days. Thus he carried on, seeing +things dimly. And what is sometimes called "the roar of battle," +those aerial voices that snarl and moan and whine and rage at +soldiers, had grown dimmer too. It all seemed further away, and +littler, as far things are. He still heard the bullets: there is +something so violently and intensely sharp in the snap of passing +bullets at short ranges that you hear them in deepest thought, and +even in dreams. He heard them, tearing by, above all things else. The +rest seemed fainter and dimmer, and smaller and further away. + +He did not think he was very badly hit, but nothing seemed to matter +as it did a while ago. Yet he carried on. + +And then he opened his eyes very wide and found he was back in London +again in an underground train. He knew it at once by the look of it. +He had made hundreds of journeys, long ago, by those trains. He knew +by the dark, outside, that it had not yet left London; but what was +odder than that, if one stopped to think of it, was that he knew +exactly where it was going. It was the train that went away out into +the country where he used to live as a boy. He was sure of that +without thinking. + +When he began to think how he came to be there he remembered the war +as a very far-off thing. He supposed he had been unconscious a very +long time. He was all right now. + +Other people were sitting beside him on the same seat. They all seemed +like people he remembered a very long time ago. In the darkness +opposite, beyond the windows of the train, he could see their +reflections clearly. He looked at the reflections but could not quite +remember. + +A woman was sitting on his left. She was quite young. She was more +like some one that he most deeply remembered than all the others were. +He gazed at her, and tried to clear his mind. + +He did not turn and stare at her, but he quietly watched her +reflection before him in the dark. Every detail of her dress, her +young face, her hat, the little ornaments she wore, were minutely +clear before him, looking out of the dark. So contented she looked you +would say she was untouched by war. + +As he gazed at the clear calm face and the dress that seemed neat +though old and, like all things, so faraway, his mind grew clearer and +clearer. It seemed to him certain it was the face of his mother, but +from thirty years ago, out of old memories and one picture. He felt +sure it was his mother as she had been when he was very small. And yet +after thirty years how could he know? He puzzled to try and be quite +sure. But how she came to be there, looking like that, out of those +oldest memories, he did not think of at all. + +He seemed to be hugely tired by many things and did not want to think. +Yet he was very happy, more happy even than tired men just come home +all new to comfort. + +He gazed and gazed at the face in the dark. And then he felt quite +sure. + +He was about to speak. Was she looking at him? Was she watching him, +he wondered. He glanced for the first time to his own reflection in +that clear row of faces. + +His own reflection was not there, but blank dark showed between his +two neighbours. And then he knew he was dead. + + + + +Old England + + +Towards winter's end on a high, big, bare down, in the south of +England, John Plowman was plowing. He was plowing the brown field at +the top of the hill, good soil of the clay; a few yards lower down was +nothing but chalk, with shallow flinty soil and steep to plow; so they +let briars grow there. For generations his forbears had plowed on the +top of that hill. John did not know how many. The hills were very old; +it might have been always. + +He scarcely looked to see if his furrow was going straight. The work +he was doing was so much in his blood that he could almost feel if +furrows were straight or not. Year after year they moved on the same +old landmarks; thorn trees and briars mostly guided the plow, where +they stood on the untamed land beyond; the thorn trees grew old at +their guiding, and still the furrows varied not by the breadth of a +hoof-mark. + +John, as he plowed, had leisure to meditate on much besides the crops; +he knew so much of the crops that his thoughts could easily run free +from them; he used to meditate on who they were that lived in briar +and thorn tree, and danced as folk said all through midsummer night, +and sometimes blessed and sometimes harmed the crops; for he knew that +in Old England were wonderful ancient things, odder and older things +than many folks knew. And his eyes had leisure to see much beside the +furrows, for he could almost feel the furrows going straight. + +One day at his plowing, as he watched the thorn ahead, he saw the +whole big hill besides, looking south, and the lands below it; one day +he saw in the bright sun of late winter a horseman riding the road +through the wide lands below. The horseman shone as he rode, and wore +white linen over what was shining, and on the linen was a big red +cross. "One of them knights," John Plowman said to himself or his +horse, "going to them crusades." And he went on with his plowing all +that day satisfied, and remembered what he had seen for years, and +told his son. + +For there is in England, and there always was, mixed with the needful +things that feed or shelter the race, the wanderer-feeling for +romantic causes that runs deep and strange through the other thoughts, +as the Gulf Stream runs through the sea. Sometimes generations of John +Plowman's family would go by and no high romantic cause would come to +sate that feeling. They would work on just the same though a little +sombrely, as though some good thing had been grudged them. And then +the Crusades had come, and John Plowman had seen the Red Cross knight +go by, riding towards the sea in the morning, and Jon Plowman was +satisfied. + +Some generations later a man of the same name was plowing the same +hill. They still plowed the brown clay at the top and left the slope +wild, though there were many changes. And the furrows were wonderfully +straight still. And half he watched a thorn tree ahead as he plowed +and half he took in the whole hill sloping south and the wide lands +below it, far beyond which was the sea. They had a railway now down in +the valley. The sunlight glittering near the end of winter shone on a +train that was marked with great white squares and red crosses on +them. + +John Plowman stopped his horses and looked at the train. "An +ambulance train," he said, "coming up from the coast." He thought +of the lads he knew and wondered if any were there. He pitied the men +in that train and envied them. And then there came to him the thought +of England's cause and of how those men had upheld it, at sea and in +crumbling cities. He thought of the battle whose echoes reached +sometimes to that field, whispering to furrows and thorn trees that +had never heard them before. He thought of the accursed tyrant's cruel +might, and of the lads that had faced it. He saw the romantic +splendour of England's cause. He was old but had seen the glamour for +which each generation looked. Satisfied in his heart and cheered with +a new content he went on with his age-old task in the business of man +with the hills. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WAR *** + +***** This file should be named 5713.txt or 5713.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/1/5713/ + +Produced by William McClain + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/5713.zip b/5713.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2dd160 --- /dev/null +++ b/5713.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..315d163 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #5713 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5713) diff --git a/old/2004-05-towld10.zip b/old/2004-05-towld10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e319d58 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2004-05-towld10.zip diff --git a/old/2004-05-ttowld10h.htm b/old/2004-05-ttowld10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..100d5b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2004-05-ttowld10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3077 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> +<TITLE>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany</TITLE> +<META HTTP-EQUIV="content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +</head> + +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany</h1> +<h2>(#3 in our series by Lord Dunsany)</h2> + +<pre> +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Tales of War + +Author: Lord Dunsany + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5713] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on August 14, 2002] +[Date last updated: November 16, 2004] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, TALES OF WAR *** +</pre> + +<h1>Tales of War</h1> +<h2>by Lord Dunsany</h2> + +<cite>Tales of War</cite> was first published in 1918 and the text is +in the public domain. The transcription was done by <a +href="mailto:info@sattre-press.com">William McClain</a>, 2002. + +<p>A printed version of this book is available from <a +href="http://tow.sattre-press.com">Sattre Press</a>. It includes +a new introduction and a photograph of the author. + +<hr> + +<strong>The Prayer of the Men of Daleswood</strong> + +<p>He said: ``There were only twenty houses in Daleswood. A place you +would scarcely have heard of. A village up top of the hills. + +<p>``When the war came there was no more than thirty men there between +sixteen and forty-five. They all went. + +<p>``They all kept together; same battalion, same platoon. They was like +that in Daleswood. Used to call the hop pickers foreigners, the ones +that come from London. They used to go past Daleswood, some of them, +every year, on their way down to the hop fields. Foreigners they used +to call them. Kept very much to themselves, did the Daleswood +people. Big woods all round them. + +<p>``Very lucky they was, the Daleswood men. They'd lost no more than five +killed and a good sprinkling of wounded. But all the wounded was back +again with the platoon. This was up to March when the big offensive +started. + +<p>``It came very sudden. No bombardment to speak of. Just a burst of Tok +Emmas going off all together and lifting the front trench clean out of +it; then a barrage behind, and the Boche pouring over in +thousands. `Our luck is holding good,' the Daleswood men +said, for their trench wasn't getting it at all. But the platoon on +their right got it. And it sounded bad too a long way beyond that. No +one could be quite sure. But the platoon on their right was getting +it: that was sure enough. + +<p>``And then the Boche got through them altogether. A message came to say +so. `How are things on the right?' they said to the +runner. `Bad,' said the runner, and he went back, though +Lord knows what he went back to. The Boche was through right +enough. `We'll have to make a defensive flank,' said the +platoon commander. He was a Daleswood man too. Came from the big +farm. He slipped down a communication trench with a few men, mostly +bombers. And they reckoned they wouldn't see any of them any more, for +the Boche was on the right, thick as starlings. + +<p>``The bullets were snapping over thick to keep them down while the +Boche went on, on the right: machine guns, of course. The barrage was +screaming well over and dropping far back, and their wire was still +all right just in front of them, when they put up a head to +look. There was the left platoon of the battalion. One doesn't bother, +somehow, so much about another battalion as one's own. One's own gets +sort of homely. And there they were wondering how their own officer +was getting on, and the few fellows with them, on his defensive +flank. The bombs were going off thick. All the Daleswood men were +firing half right. It sounded from the noise as if it couldn't last +long, as if it would soon be decisive, and the battle be won, or lost, +just there on the right, and perhaps the war ended. They didn't notice +the left. Nothing to speak of. + +<p>``Then a runner came from the left. `Hullo!' they said, +`How are things over there?' + +<p>```The Boche is through,' he said. `Where's the officer?' +`Through!' they said. It didn't seem possible. However did +he do that? they thought. And the runner went on to the right to look +for the officer. + +<p>``And then the barrage shifted further back. The shells still screamed +over them, but the bursts were further away. That is always a +relief. Probably they felt it. But it was bad for all that. Very bad. +It meant the Boche was well past them. They realized it after a +while. + +<p>``They and their bit of wire were somehow just between two waves of +attack. Like a bit of stone on the beach with the sea coming in. A +platoon was nothing to the Boche; nothing much perhaps just then to +anybody. But it was the whole of Daleswood for one long generation. + +<p>``The youngest full-grown man they had left behind was fifty, and some +one had heard that he had died since the war. There was no one else in +Daleswood but women and children, and boys up to seventeen. + +<p>``The bombing had stopped on their right; everything was quieter, and +the barrage further away. When they began to realize what that meant +they began to talk of Daleswood. And then they thought that when all of +them were gone there would be nobody who would remember Daleswood just +as it used to be. For places alter a little, woods grow, and changes +come, trees get cut down, old people die; new houses are built now and +then in place of a yew tree, or any old thing, that used to be there +before; and one way or another the old things go; and all the time you +have people thinking that the old times were best, and the old ways +when they were young. And the Daleswood men were beginning to say, +`Who would there be to remember it just as it was?' + +<p>``There was no gas, the wind being wrong for it, so they were able to +talk, that is if they shouted, for the bullets alone made as much +noise as breaking up an old shed, crisper like, more like new timber +breaking; and the shells of course was howling all the time, that is +the barrage that was bursting far back. The trench still stank of +them. + +<p>``They said that one of them must go over and put his hands up, or run +away if he could, whichever he liked, and when the war was over he +would go to some writing fellow, one of those what makes a living by +it, and tell him all about Daleswood, just as it used to be, and he +would write it out proper and there it would be for always. They all +agreed to that. And then they talked a bit, as well as they could +above that awful screeching, to try and decide who it should be. The +eldest, they said, would know Daleswood best. But he said, and they +came to agree with him, that it would be a sort of waste to save the +life of a man what had had his good time, and they ought to send the +youngest, and they would tell him all they knew of Daleswood before +his time, and everything would be written down just the same and the +old time remembered. + +<p>``They had the idea somehow that the women thought more of their own +man and their children and the washing and what-not; and that the deep +woods and the great hills beyond, and the plowing and the harvest +and snaring rabbits in winter and the sports in the village in summer, +and the hundred things that pass the time of one generation in an old, +old place like Daleswood, meant less to them than the men. Anyhow they +did not quite seem to trust them with the past. + +<p>``The youngest of them was only just eighteen. That was Dick. They told +him to get out and put his hands up and be quick getting across, as +soon as they had told him one or two things about the old time in +Daleswood that a youngster like him wouldn't know. + +<p>``Well, Dick said he wasn't going, and was making trouble about it, so +they told Fred to go. Back, they told him, was best, and come up +behind the Boche with his hands up; they would be less likely to shoot +when it was back towards their own supports. + +<p>``Fred wouldn't go, and so on with the rest. Well, they didn't waste +time quarrelling, time being scarce, and they said what was to be +done? There was chalk where they were, low down in the trench, a +little brown clay on the top of it. There was a great block of it +loose near a shelter. They said they would carve with their knives on +the big bowlder of chalk all that they knew about Daleswood. They +would write where it was and just what it was like, and they would +write something of all those little things that pass with a +generation. They reckoned on having the time for it. It would take a +direct hit with something large, what they call big stuff, to do any +harm to that bowlder. They had no confidence in paper, it got so +messed up when you were hit; besides, the Boche had been using +thermite. Burns, that does. + +<p>``They'd one or two men that were handy at carving chalk; used to do +the regimental crest and pictures of Hindenburg, and all that. They +decided they'd do it in reliefs. + +<p>``They started smoothing the chalk. They had nothing more to do but +just to think what to write. It was a great big bowlder with plenty of +room on it. The Boche seemed not to know that they hadn't killed the +Daleswood men, just as the sea mightn't know that one stone stayed dry +at the coming in of the tide. A gap between two divisions probably. + +<p>``Harry wanted to tell of the woods more than anything. He was afraid +they might cut them down because of the war, and no one would know of +the larks they had had there as boys. Wonderful old woods they were, +with a lot of Spanish chestnut growing low, and tall old oaks over +it. Harry wanted them to write down what the foxgloves were like in +the wood at the end of summer, standing there in the evening, +`Great solemn rows,' he said, `all odd in the +dusk. All odd in the evening, going there after work; and makes you +think of fairies.' There was lots of things about those woods, he +said, that ought to be put down if people were to remember Daleswood +as it used to be when they knew it. What were the good old days +without those woods? he said. + +<p>``But another wanted to tell of the time when they cut the hay with +scythes, working all those long days at the end of June; there would +be no more of that, he said, with machines come in and all. + +<p>``There was room to tell of all that and the woods too, said the others, +so long as they put it short like. + +<p>``And another wanted to tell of the valleys beyond the wood, far afield +where the men went working; the women would remember the hay. The +great valleys he'd tell of. It was they that made Daleswood. The +valleys beyond the wood and the twilight on them in summer. Slopes +covered with mint and thyme, all solemn at evening. A hare on them +perhaps, sitting as though they were his, then lolloping slowly +away. It didn't seem from the way he told of those old valleys that he +thought they could ever be to other folk what they were to the +Daleswood men in the days he remembered. He spoke of them as though +there were something in them, besides the mint and the thyme and the +twilight and hares, that would not stay after these men were gone, +though he did not say what it was. Scarcely hinted it even. + +<p>``And still the Boche did nothing to the Daleswood men. The bullets had +ceased altogether. That made it much quieter. The shells still +snarled over, bursting far, far away. + +<p>``And Bob said tell of Daleswood itself, the old village, with queer +chimneys, of red brick, in the wood. There weren't houses like that +nowadays. They'd be building new ones and spoiling it, likely, after +the war. And that was all he had to say. + +<p>``And nobody was for not putting down anything any one said. It was all +to go in on the chalk, as much as would go in the time. For they all +sort of understood that the Daleswood of what they called the good old +time was just the memories that those few men had of the days they had +spent there together. And that was the Daleswood they loved, and +wanted folks to remember. They were all agreed as to that. And then +they said how was they to write it down. And when it came to writing +there was so much to be said, not spread over a lot of paper I don't +mean, but going down so deep like, that it seemed to them how their +own talk wouldn't be good enough to say it. And they knew no other, +and didn't know what to do. I reckon they'd been reading magazines and +thought that writing had to be like that muck. Anyway, they didn't +know what to do. I reckon their talk would be good enough for +Daleswood when they loved Daleswood like that. But they didn't, and +they were puzzled. + +<p>``The Boche was miles away behind them now, and his barrage with +him. Still in front he did nothing. + +<p>``They talked it all over and over, did the Daleswood men. They tried +everything. But somehow or other they couldn't get near what they +wanted to say about old summer evenings. Time wore on. The bowlder was +smooth and ready, and that whole generation of Daleswood men could +find no words to say what was in their hearts about Daleswood. There +wasn't time to waste. And the only thing they thought of in the end +was `Please, God, remember Daleswood just like it used to +be.' And Bill and Harry carved that on the chalk between them. + +<p>``What happened to the Daleswood men? Why, nothing. There come one of +them counter-attacks, a regular bastard for Jerry. The French made it +and did the Boche in proper. I got the story from a man with a hell of +a great big hammer, long afterwards when that trench was well behind +our line. He was smashing up a huge great chunk of chalk because he +said they all felt it was so damn silly.'' + +<p><strong>The Road</strong> + +<p>The battery Sergeant-Major was practically asleep. He was all worn out +by the continuous roar of bombardments that had been shaking the +dugouts and dazing his brains for weeks. He was pretty well fed up. + +<p>The officer commanding the battery, a young man in a very neat uniform +and of particularly high birth, came up and spat in his face. The +Sergeant-Major sprang to attention, received an order, and took a +stick at once and beat up the tired men. For a message had come to +the battery that some English (God punish them!) were making a road +at X. + +<p>The gun was fired. It was one of those unlucky shots that come on days +when our luck is out. The shell, a 5.9, lit in the midst of the British +working party. It did the Germans little good. It did not stop the +deluge of shells that was breaking up their guns and was driving +misery down like a wedge into their spirits. It did not improve the +temper of the officer commanding the battery, so that the men suffered +as acutely as ever under the Sergeant-Major. But it stopped the road +for that day. + +<p>I seemed to see that road going on in a dream. + +<p>Another working party came along next day, with clay pipes and got to +work; and next day and the day after. Shells came, but went short or +over; the shell holes were neatly patched up; the road went on. Here +and there a tree had to be cut, but not often, not many of them were +left; it was mostly digging and grubbing up roots, and pushing +wheelbarrows along planks and duck-boards, and filling up with +stones. Sometimes the engineers would come: that was when streams were +crossed. The engineers made their bridges, and the infantry working +party went on with the digging and laying down stones. It was +monotonous work. Contours altered, soil altered, even the rock beneath +it, but the desolation never; they always worked in desolation and +thunder. And so the road went on. + +<p>They came to a wide river. They went through a great forest. They +passed the ruins of what must have been quite fine towns, big +prosperous towns with universities in them. I saw the infantry working +party with their stumpy clay pipes, in my dream, a long way on from +where that shell had lit, which stopped the road for a day. And behind +them curious changes came over the road at X. You saw the infantry +going up to the trenches, and going back along it into reserve. They +marched at first, but in a few days they were going up in motors, grey +busses with shuttered windows. And then the guns came along it, miles +and miles of guns, following after the thunder which was further off +over the hills. And then one day the cavalry came by. Then stores in +wagons, the thunder muttering further and further away. I saw +farm-carts going down the road at X. And then one day all manner of +horses and traps and laughing people, farmers and women and boys all +going by to X. There was going to be a fair. + +<p>And far away the road was growing longer and longer amidst, as always, +desolation and thunder. And one day far away from X the road grew very +fine indeed. It was going proudly through a mighty city, sweeping in +like a river; you would not think that it ever remembered +duck-boards. There were great palaces there, with huge armorial eagles +blazoned in stone, and all along each side of the road was a row of +statues of kings. And going down the road towards the palace, past the +statues of the kings, a tired procession was riding, full of the flags +of the Allies. And I looked at the flags in my dream, out of national +pride to see whether we led, or whether France or America. America +went before us, but I could not see the Union Jack in the van nor the +Tricolour either, nor the Stars and Stripes: Belgium led and then +Serbia, they that had suffered most. + +<p>And before the flags, and before the generals, I saw marching along on +foot the ghosts of the working party that were killed at X, gazing +about them in admiration as they went, at the great city and at the +palaces. And one man, wondering at the Sièges Allée, turned +round to the Lance Corporal in charge of the party: ``That is a +fine road that we made, Frank,'' he said. + +<p><strong>An Imperial Monument</strong> + +<p>It is an early summer's morning: the dew is all over France: the train +is going eastwards. They are quite slow, those troop trains, and there +are few embankments or cuttings in those flat plains, so that you seem +to be meandering along through the very life of the people. The roads +come right down to the railways, and the sun is shining brightly over +the farms and the people going to work along the roads, so that you +can see their faces clearly as the slow train passes them by. + +<p>They are all women and boys that work on the farms; sometimes perhaps +you see a very old man, but nearly always women and boys; they are out +working early. They straighten up from their work as we go by and +lift their hands to bless us. + +<p>We pass by long rows of the tall French poplars, their branches cut +away all up the trunk, leaving only an odd round tuft at the top of +the tree; but little branches are growing all up the trunk now, and +the poplars are looking unkempt. It would be the young men who would +cut the branches of the poplars. They would cut them for some useful +thrifty purpose that I do not know; and then they would cut them +because they were always cut that way, as long ago as the times of the +old men's tales about France; but chiefly, I expect, because youth +likes to climb difficult trees; that is why they are clipped so very +high. And the trunks are all unkempt now. + +<p>We go on by many farms with their shapely red-roofed houses; they +stand there, having the air of the homes of an ancient people; they +would not be out of keeping with any romance that might come, or any +romance that has come in the long story of France, and the girls of +those red-roofed houses work all alone in the fields. + +<p>We pass by many willows and come to a great marsh. In a punt on some +open water an old man is angling. We come to fields again, and then to +a deep wood. France smiles about us in the open sunlight. + +<p>But towards evening we pass over the border of this pleasant country +into a tragical land of destruction and gloom. It is not only that +murder has walked here to and fro for years, until all the fields are +ominous with it, but the very fields themselves have been mutilated +until they are unlike fields, the woods have been shattered right down +to the anemones, and the houses have been piled in heaps of rubbish, +and the heaps of rubbish have been scattered by shells. We see no more +trees, no more houses, no more women, no cattle even now. We have come +to the abomination of desolation. And over it broods, and will +probably brood for ever, accursed by men and accursed by the very +fields, the hyena-like memory of the Kaiser, who has whitened so many +bones. + +<p>It may be some satisfaction to his selfishness to know that the +monument to it cannot pass away, to know that the shell holes go too +deep to be washed away by the healing rains of years, to know that the +wasted German generations will not in centuries gather up what has +been spilt on the Somme, or France recover in the sunshine of many +summers from all the misery that his devilish folly has caused. It is +likely to be to such as him a source of satisfaction, for the truly +vain care only to be talked of in many mouths; they hysterically love +to be thought of, and the notice of mankind is to them a mirror which +reflects their futile postures. The admiration of fools they love, and +the praise of a slavelike people, but they would sooner be hated by +mankind than be ignored and forgotten as is their due. And the truly +selfish care only for their imperial selves. + +<p>Let us leave him to pass in thought from ruin to ruin, from wasted +field to field, from crater to crater; let us leave his fancy haunting +cemeteries in the stricken lands of the world, to find what glee he +can in this huge manifestation of his imperial will. + +<p>We neither know to what punishment he moves nor can even guess what +fitting one is decreed. But the time is surely appointed and the +place. Poor trifler with Destiny, who ever had so much to dread? + +<p><strong>A Walk to the Trenches</strong> + +<p>To stand at the beginning of a road is always wonderful; for on all +roads before they end experience lies, sometimes adventure. And a +trench, even as a road, has its beginnings somewhere. In the heart of +a very strange country you find them suddenly. A trench may begin in +the ruins of a house, may run up out of a ditch; may be cut into a +rise of ground sheltered under a hill, and is built in many ways by +many men. As to who is the best builder of trenches there can be +little doubt, and any British soldier would probably admit that for +painstaking work and excellence of construction there are few to rival +Von Hindenburg. His Hindenburg line is a model of neatness and +comfort, and it would be only a very ungrateful British soldier who +would deny it. + +<p>You come to the trenches out of strangely wasted lands, you come +perhaps to a wood in an agony of contortions, black, branchless, +sepulchral trees, and then no more trees at all. The country after +that is still called Picardy or Belgium, still has its old name on the +map as though it smiled there yet, sheltering cities and hamlet and +radiant with orchards and gardens, but the country named Belgium -- or +whatever it be -- is all gone away, and there stretches for miles +instead one of the world's great deserts, a thing to take its place no +longer with smiling lands, but with Sahara, Gobi, Kalahari, and the +Karoo; not to be thought of as Picardy, but more suitably to be named +the Desert of Wilhelm. Through these sad lands one goes to come to +the trenches. Overhead floats until it is chased away an aëroplane +with little black crosses, that you can scarcely see at his respectful +height, peering to see what more harm may be done in the desolation +and ruin. Little flashes sparkle near him, white puffs spread out +round the flashes: and he goes, and our airmen go away after him; +black puffs break out round our airmen. Up in the sky you hear a faint +tap-tapping. They have got their machine guns working. + +<p>You see many things there that are unusual in deserts: a good road, a +railway, perhaps a motor bus; you see what was obviously once a +village, and hear English songs, but no one who has not seen it can +imagine the country in which the trenches lie, unless he bear a desert +clearly in mind, a desert that has moved from its place on the map by +some enchantment of wizardry, and come down on a smiling country. +Would it not be glorious to be a Kaiser and be able to do things like +that? + +<p>Past all manner of men, past no trees, no hedges, no fields, but only +one field from skyline to skyline that has been harrowed by war, one +goes with companions that this event in our history has drawn from all +parts of the earth. On that road you may hear all in one walk where is +the best place to get lunch in the City; you may hear how they laid a +drag for some Irish pack, and what the Master said; you may hear a +farmer lamenting over the harm that rhinoceroses do to his coffee +crop; you may hear Shakespeare quoted and <em>La vie Parisienne.</em> + +<p>In the village you see a lot of German orders, with their silly notes +of exclamation after them, written up on notice boards among the +ruins. Ruins and German orders. That turning movement of Von Kluck's +near Paris in 1914 was a mistake. Had he not done it we might have +had ruins and German orders everywhere. And yet Von Kluck may comfort +himself with the thought that it is not by his mistakes that Destiny +shapes the world: such a nightmare as a world-wide German domination +can have had no place amongst the scheme of things. + +<p>Beyond the village the batteries are thick. A great howitzer near the +road lifts its huge muzzle slowly, fires and goes down again, and +lifts again and fires. It is as though Polyphemus had lifted his huge +shape slowly, leisurely, from the hillside where he was sitting, and +hurled the mountain top, and sat down again. If he is firing pretty +regularly you are sure to get the blast of one of them as you go by, +and it can be a very strong wind indeed. One's horse, if one is +riding, does not very much like it, but I have seen horses far more +frightened by a puddle on the road when coming home from hunting in +the evening: one 12-inch howitzer more or less in France calls for no +great attention from man or beast. + +<p>And so we come in sight of the support trenches where we are to dwell +for a week before we go on for another mile over the hills, where the +black fountains are rising. + +<p><strong>A Walk in Picardy</strong> + +<p>Picture any village you know. In such a village as that the trench +begins. That is to say, there are duck-boards along a ditch, and the +ditch runs into a trench. Only the village is no longer there. It was +like some village you know, though perhaps a little merrier, because +it was further south and nearer the sun; but it is all gone now. And +the trench runs out of the ruins, and is called Windmill Avenue. There +must have been a windmill standing there once. + +<p>When you come from the ditch to the trench you leave the weeds and +soil and trunks of willows and see the bare chalk. At the top of +those two white walls is a foot or so of brown clay. The brown clay +grows deeper as you come to the hills, until the chalk has disappeared +altogether. Our alliance with France is new in the history of man, +but it is an old, old union in the history of the hills. White chalk +with brown clay on top has dipped and gone under the sea; and the +hills of Sussex and Kent are one with the hills of Picardy. + +<p>And so you may pass through the chalk that lies in that desolate lane +with memories of more silent and happier hills; it all depends on what +the chalk means to you: you may be unfamiliar with it and in that case +you will not notice it; or you may have been born among those +thyme-scented hills and yet have no errant fancies, so that you will +not think of the hills that watched you as a child, but only keep your +mind on the business in hand; that is probably best. + +<p>You come after a while to other trenches: notice boards guide you, and +you keep to Windmill Avenue. You go by Pear Lane, Cherry Lane, and +Plum Lane. Pear trees, cherry trees and plum trees must have grown +there. You are passing through either wild lanes banked with briar, +over which these various trees peered one by one and showered their +blossoms down at the end of spring, and girls would have gathered the +fruit when it ripened, with the help of tall young men; or else you +are passing through an old walled garden, and the pear and the cherry +and plum were growing against the wall, looking southwards all through +the summer. There is no way whatever of telling which it was; it is +all one in war; whatever was there is gone; there remain to-day, and +survive, the names of those three trees only. We come next to Apple +Lane. You must not think that an apple tree ever grew there, for we +trace here the hand of the wit, who by naming Plum Lane's neighbour +``Apple Lane'' merely commemorates the inseparable connection that +plum has with apple forever in the minds of all who go to modern +war. For by mixing apple with plum the manufacturer sees the +opportunity of concealing more turnip in the jam, as it were, at the +junction of the two forces, than he might be able to do without this +unholy alliance. + +<p>We come presently to the dens of those who trouble us (but only for +our own good), the dugouts of the trench mortar batteries. It is noisy +when they push up close to the front line and play for half an hour or +so with their rivals: the enemy sends stuff back, our artillery join +in; it is as though, while you were playing a game of croquet, giants +hundreds of feet high, some of them friendly, some unfriendly, +carnivorous and hungry, came and played football on your croquet lawn. + +<p>We go on past Battalion Headquarters, and past the dugouts and +shelters of various people having business with History, past stores +of bombs and the many other ingredients with which history is made, +past men coming down who are very hard to pass, for the width of two +men and two packs is the width of a communication trench and sometimes +an inch over; past two men carrying a flying pig slung on a pole +between them; by many turnings; and Windmill Avenue brings you at last +to Company Headquarters in a dugout that Hindenburg made with his +German thoroughness. + +<p>And there, after a while, descends the Tok Emma man, the officer +commanding a trench mortar battery, and is given perchance a whiskey +and water, and sits on the best empty box that we have to offer, and +lights one of our cigarettes. + +<p>``There's going to be a bit of a strafe at 5.30,'' he says. + +<p><strong>What Happened on the Night of the Twenty-Seventh</strong> + +<p>The night of the twenty-seventh was Dick Cheeser's first night on +sentry. The night was far gone when he went on duty; in another hour +they would stand to. Dick Cheeser had camouflaged his age when he +enlisted: he was barely eighteen. A wonderfully short time ago he was +quite a little boy; now he was in a frontline trench. It hadn't seemed +that things were going to alter like that. Dick Cheeser was a +plowboy: long brown furrows over haughty, magnificent downs seemed +to stretch away into the future as far as his mind could see. No +narrow outlook either, for the life of nations depends upon those +brown furrows. But there are the bigger furrows that Mars makes, the +long brown trenches of war; the life of nations depends on these too; +Dick Cheeser had never pictured these. He had heard talk about a big +navy and a lot of Dreadnoughts; silly nonsense he called it. What did +one want a big navy for? To keep the Germans out, some people +said. But the Germans weren't coming. If they wanted to come, why +didn't they come? Anybody could see that they never did come. Some of +Dick Cheeser's pals had votes. + +<p>And so he had never pictured any change from plowing the great +downs; and here was war at last, and here was he. The Corporal showed +him where to stand, told him to keep a good lookout and left him. + +<p>And there was Dick Cheeser alone in the dark with an army in front of +him, eighty yards away: and, if all tales were true, a pretty horrible +army. + +<p>The night was awfully still. I use the adverb not as Dick Cheeser +would have used it. The stillness awed him. There had not been a shell +all night. He put his head up over the parapet and waited. Nobody +fired at him. He felt that the night was waiting for him. He heard +voices going along the trench: some one said it was a black night: the +voices died away. A mere phrase; the night wasn't black at all, it was +grey. Dick Cheeser was staring at it, and the night was staring back +at him, and seemed to be threatening him; it was grey, grey as an old +cat that they used to have at home, and as artful. Yes, thought Dick +Cheeser, it was an artful night; that was what was wrong with it. If +shells had come or the Germans, or anything at all, you would know how +to take it; but that quiet mist over huge valleys, and stillness! +Anything might happen. Dick waited and waited, and the night waited +too. He felt they were watching each other, the night and he. He felt +that each was crouching. His mind slipped back to the woods on hills +he knew. He was watching with eyes and ears and imagination to see +what would happen in No Man's Land under that ominous mist: but his +mind took a peep for all that at the old woods that he knew. He +pictured himself, he and a band of boys, chasing squirrels again in the +summer. They used to chase a squirrel from tree to tree, throwing +stones, till they tired it: and then they might hit it with a stone: +usually not. Sometimes the squirrel would hide, and a boy would have +to climb after it. It was great sport, thought Dick Cheeser. What a +pity he hadn't had a catapult in those days, he thought. Somehow the +years when he had not had a catapult seemed all to be wasted +years. With a catapult one might get the squirrel almost at once, with +luck: and what a great thing that would be. All the other boys would +come round to look at the squirrel, and to look at the catapult, and +ask him how he did it. He wouldn't have to say much, there would be +the squirrel; no boasting would be necessary with the squirrel lying +dead. It might spread to other things, even rabbits; almost anything, +in fact. He would certainly get a catapult first thing when he got +home. A little wind blew in the night, too cold for summer. It blew +away, as it were, the summer of Dick's memories; blew away hills and +woods and squirrel. It made for a moment a lane in the mist over No +Man's Land. Dick Cheeser peered down it, but it closed +again. ``No,'' Night seemed to say, ``you don't guess my +secret.'' And the awful hush intensified. ``What would they do?'' +thought the sentry. ``What were they planning in all those miles +of silence?'' Even the Verys were few. When one went up, far hills +seemed to sit and brood over the valley: their black shapes seemed to +know what would happen in the mist and seemed sworn not to say. The +rocket faded, and the hills went back into mystery again, and Dick +Cheeser peered level again over the ominous valley. + +<p>All the dangers and sinister shapes and evil destinies, lurking +between the armies in that mist, that the sentry faced that night +cannot be told until the history of the war is written by a historian +who can see the mind of the soldier. Not a shell fell all night, no +German stirred; Dick Cheeser was relieved at ``Stand to'' and his +comrades stood to beside him, and soon it was wide, golden, welcome +dawn. + +<p>And for all the threats of night the thing that happened was one that +the lonely sentry had never foreseen: in the hour of his watching Dick +Cheeser, though scarcely eighteen, became a full-grown man. + +<p><strong>Standing To</strong> + +<p>One cannot say that one time in the trenches is any more tense than +another. One cannot take any one particular hour and call it, in +modern nonsensical talk, ``typical hour in the trenches.'' The +routine of the trenches has gone on too long for that. The tensest +hour ought to be half an hour before dawn, the hour when attacks are +expected and men stand to. It is an old convention of war that that is +the dangerous hour, the hour when defenders are weakest and attack +most to be feared. For darkness favours the attackers then as night +favours the lion, and then dawn comes and they can hold their gains in +the light. Therefore in every trench in every war the garrison is +prepared in that menacing hour, watching in greater numbers than they +do the whole night through. As the first lark lifts from meadows they +stand there in the dark. Whenever there is any war in any part of the +world you may be sure that at that hour men crowd to their parapets: +when sleep is deepest in cities they are watching there. + +<p>When the dawn shimmers a little, and a grey light comes, and widens, +and all of a sudden figures become distinct, and the hour of the +attack that is always expected is gone, then perhaps some faint +feeling of gladness stirs the newest of the recruits; but chiefly the +hour passes like all the other hours there, an unnoticed fragment of +the long, long routine that is taken with resignation mingled with +jokes. + +<p>Dawn comes shy with a wind scarce felt, dawn faint and strangely +perceptible, feeble and faint in the east while men still watch the +darkness. When did the darkness go? When did the dawn grow golden? It +happened as in a moment, a moment you did not see. Guns flash no +longer: the sky is gold and serene; dawn stands there like Victory +that will shine, on one of these years when the Kaiser goes the way of +the older curses of earth. Dawn, and the men unfix bayonets as they +step down from the fire-step and clean their rifles with +pull-throughs. Not all together, but section by section, for it would +not do for a whole company to be caught cleaning their rifles at dawn, +or at any other time. + +<p>They rub off the mud or the rain that has come at night on their +rifles, they detach the magazine and see that its spring is working, +they take out the breechblock and oil it, and put back everything +clean: and another night is gone; it is one day nearer victory. + +<p><strong>The Splendid Traveller</strong> + +<p>A traveller threw his cloak over his shoulder and came down slopes of +gold in El Dorado. From incredible heights he came. He came from where +the peaks of the pure gold mountain shone a little red with the +sunset; from crag to crag of gold he stepped down slowly. Sheer out of +romance he came through the golden evening. + +<p>It was only an incident of every day; the sun had set or was setting, +the air turned chill, and a battalion's bugles were playing +``Retreat'' when this knightly stranger, a British aëroplane, +dipped, and went homeward over the infantry. That beautiful evening +call, and the golden cloud bank towering, and that adventurer coming +home in the cold, happening all together, revealed in a flash the fact +(which hours of thinking sometimes will not bring) that we live in +such a period of romance as the troubadours would have envied. + +<p>He came, that British airman, over the border, sheer over No Man's +Land and the heads of the enemy and the mysterious land behind, +snatching the secrets that the enemy would conceal. Either he had +defeated the German airmen who would have stopped his going, or they +had not dared to try. Who knows what he had done? He had been abroad +and was coming home in the evening, as he did every day. + +<p>Even when all its romance has been sifted from an age (as the +centuries sift) and set apart from the trivial, and when all has been +stored by the poets; even then what has any of them more romantic than +these adventurers in the evening air, coming home in the twilight with +the black shells bursting below? + +<p>The infantry look up with the same vague wonder with which children +look at dragon flies; sometimes they do not look at all, for all that +comes in France has its part with the wonder of a terrible story as +well as with the incidents of the day, incidents that recur year in +and year out, too often for us to notice them. If a part of the moon +were to fall off in the sky and come tumbling to earth, the comment on +the lips of the imperturbable British watchers that have seen so much +would be, ``Hullo, what is Jerry up to now?'' + +<p>And so the British aëroplane glides home in the evening, and the +light fades from the air, and what is left of the poplars grows dark +against the sky, and what is left of the houses grows more mournful in +the gloaming, and night comes, and with it the sounds of thunder, for +the airman has given his message to the artillery. It is as though +Hermes had gone abroad sailing upon his sandals, and had found some +bad land below those winged feet wherein men did evil and kept not the +laws of gods or men; and he had brought this message back and the gods +were angry. + +<p>For the wars we fight to-day are not like other wars, and the wonders +of them are unlike other wonders. If we do not see in them the saga +and epic, how shall we tell of them? + +<p><strong>England</strong> + +<p>``And then we used to have sausages,'' said the Sergeant. + +<p>``And mashed?'' said the Private. + +<p>``Yes,'' said the Sergeant, ``and beer. +And then we used to go home. It was grand in the evenings. We used to +go along a lane that was full of them wild roses. And then we come to +the road where the houses were. They all had their bit of a garden, +every house.'' + +<p>``Nice, I calls it, a garden,'' the Private said. + +<p>``Yes,'' said the Sergeant, ``they all had their garden. It +came right down to the road. Wooden palings: none of that there wire.'' + +<p>``I hates wire,'' said the Private. + +<p>``They didn't have none of it,'' the N. C. O. went on. +``The gardens came right down to the road, looking lovely. Old +Billy Weeks he had them tall pale-blue flowers in his garden nearly as +high as a man.'' + +<p>``Hollyhocks?'' said the Private. + +<p>``No, they wasn't hollyhocks. Lovely +they were. We used to stop and look at them, going by every +evening. He had a path up the middle of his garden paved with red +tiles, Billy Weeks had; and these tall blue flowers growing the whole +way along it, both sides like. They was a wonder. Twenty gardens there +must have been, counting them all; but none to touch Billy Weeks with +his pale-blue flowers. There was an old windmill away to the +left. Then there were the swifts sailing by overhead and screeching: +just about as high again as the houses. Lord, how them birds did +fly. And there was the other young fellows, what were not out walking, +standing about by the roadside, just doing nothing at all. One of them +had a flute: Jim Booker, he was. Those were great days. The bats used +to come out, flutter, flutter, flutter; and then there'd be a star or +two; and the smoke from the chimneys going all grey; and a little cold +wind going up and down like the bats; and all the colour going out of +things; and the woods looking all strange, and a wonderful quiet in +them, and a mist coming up from the stream. It's a queer time +that. It's always about that time, the way I see it: the end of the +evening in the long days, and a star or two, and me and my girl going +home. + +<p>``Wouldn't you like to talk about things for a bit the way you +remember them?'' + +<p>``Oh, no, Sergeant,'' said the other, ``you go on. You do +bring it all back so.'' + +<p>``I used to bring her home,'' the Sergeant said, ``to her +father's house. Her father was keeper there, and they had a house in +the wood. A fine house with queer old tiles on it, and a lot of large +friendly dogs. I knew them all by name, same as they knew me. I used +to walk home then along the side of the wood. The owls would be about; +you could hear them yelling. They'd float out of the wood like, +sometimes: all large and white.'' + +<p>``I knows them,'' said the Private. + +<p>``I saw a fox once so close I could nearly touch him, walking +like he was on velvet. He just slipped out of the wood.'' + +<p>``Cunning old brute,'' said the Private. + +<p>``That's the time to be out,'' said the Sergeant. ``Ten +o'clock on a summer's night, and the night full of noises, not many of +them, but what there is, strange, and coming from a great way off, +through the quiet, with nothing to stop them. Dogs barking, owls +hooting, an old cart; and then just once a sound that you couldn't +account for at all, not anyhow. I've heard sounds on nights like that +that nobody 'ud think you'd heard, nothing like the flute that young +Booker had, nothing like anything on earth.'' + +<p>``I know,'' said the Private. + +<p>``I never told any one before, because they wouldn't believe +you. But it doesn't matter now. There'd be a light in the window to +guide me when I got home. I'd walk up through the flowers of our +garden. We had a lovely garden. Wonderful white and strange the +flowers looked of a nighttime.'' + +<p>``You bring it all back wonderful,'' said the Private. + +<p>``It's a great thing to have lived,'' said the Sergeant. + +<p>``Yes, Sergeant,'' said the other, ``I wouldn't have missed +it, not for anything.'' + +<p>For five days the barrage had rained down behind them: they were +utterly cut off and had no hope of rescue: their food was done, and +they did not know where they were. + +<p><strong>Shells</strong> + +<p>When the aëroplanes are home and the sunset has flared away, and +it is cold, and night comes down over France, you notice the guns more +than you do by day, or else they are actually more active then, I do +not know which it is. + +<p>It is then as though a herd of giants, things of enormous height, came +out from lairs in the earth and began to play with the hills. It is as +though they picked up the tops of the hills in their hands and then +let them drop rather slowly. It is exactly like hills falling. You see +the flashes all along the sky, and then that lumping thump as though +the top of the hill had been let drop, not all in one piece, but +crumbled a little as it would drop from your hands if you were three +hundred feet high and were fooling about in the night, spoiling what +it had taken so long to make. That is heavy stuff bursting, a little +way off. + +<p>If you are anywhere near a shell that is bursting, you can hear in it +a curious metallic ring. That applies to the shells of either side, +provided that you are near enough, though usually of course it is the +hostile shell and not your own that you are nearest to, and so one +distinguishes them. It is curious, after such a colossal event as this +explosion must be in the life of a bar of steel, that anything should +remain at all of the old bell-like voice of the metal, but it appears +to, if you listen attentively; it is perhaps its last remonstrance +before leaving its shape and going back to rust in the earth again for +ages. + +<p>Another of the voices of the night is the whine the shell makes in +coming; it is not unlike the cry the hyena utters as soon as it's dark +in Africa: ``How nice traveller would taste,'' the hyena seems to +say, and ``I want dead White Man.'' It is the rising note of the +shell as it comes nearer, and its dying away when it has gone over, +that make it reminiscent of the hyena's method of diction. If it is +not going over then it has something quite different to say. It begins +the same as the other, it comes up, talking of the back areas with the +same long whine as the other. I have heard old hands say ``That +one is going well over.'' ``Whee-oo,'' says the shell; but just +where the ``oo'' should be long drawn out and turn into the +hyena's final syllable, it says something quite +different. ``Zarp,'' it says. That is bad. Those are the shells +that are looking for you. + +<p>And then of course there is the whizz-bang coming from close, along +his flat trajectory: he has little to say, but comes like a sudden +wind, and all that he has to do is done and over at once. + +<p>And then there is the gas shell, who goes over gurgling gluttonously, +probably in big herds, putting down a barrage. It is the liquid inside +that gurgles before it is turned to gas by the mild explosion; that is +the explanation of it; yet that does not prevent one picturing a tribe +of cannibals who have winded some nice juicy men and are smacking +their chops and dribbling in anticipation. + +<p>And a wonderful thing to see, even in those wonderful nights, is our +thermite bursting over the heads of the Germans. The shell breaks +into a shower of golden rain; one cannot judge easily at night how +high from the ground it breaks, but about as high as the tops of trees +seen at a hundred yards. It spreads out evenly all round and rains +down slowly; it is a bad shower to be out in, and for a long time +after it has fallen, the sodden grass of winter, and the mud and old +bones beneath it, burn quietly in a circle. On such a night as this, +and in such showers, the flying pigs will go over, which take two men +to carry each of them; they go over and root right down to the German +dugout, where the German has come in out of the golden rain, and they +fling it all up in the air. + +<p>These are such nights as Scheherazade with all her versatility never +dreamed of; or if such nightmares came she certainly never told of +them, or her august master, the Sultan, light of the age, would have +had her at once beheaded; and his people would have deemed that he did +well. It has been reserved for a modern autocrat to dream such a +nightmare, driven to it perhaps by the tales of a white-whiskered +Scheherazade, the Lord of the Kiel Canal; and being an autocrat he has +made the nightmare a reality for the world. But the nightmare is +stronger than its master, and grows mightier every night; and the +All-Highest War Lord learns that there are powers in Hell that are +easily summoned by the rulers of earth, but that go not easily home. + +<p><strong>Two Degrees of Envy</strong> + +<p>It was night in the front line and no moon, or the moon was +hidden. There was a strafe going on. The Tok Emmas were angry. And the +artillery on both sides were looking for the Tok Emmas. + +<p>Tok Emma, I may explain for the blessed dwellers in whatever far happy +island there be that has not heard of these things, is the crude +language of Mars. He has not time to speak of a trunk mortar battery, +for he is always in a hurry, and so he calls them T. M.'s. But +Bellona might not hear him saying T. M., for all the din that she +makes: might think that he said D. N; and so he calls it Tok +Emma. Ak, Beer, C, Don: this is the alphabet of Mars. + +<p>And the huge minnies were throwing old limbs out of No Man's Land into +the frontline trench, and shells were rasping down through the air that +seemed to resist them until it was torn to pieces: they burst and +showers of mud came down from heaven. Aimlessly, as it seemed, shells +were bursting now and then in the air, with a flash intensely red: the +smell of them was drifting down the trenches. + +<p>In the middle of all this Bert Butterworth was hit. ``Only in the +foot,'' his pals said. ``Only!'' said Bert. They put him on a +stretcher and carried him down the trench. They passed Bill +Britterling, standing in the mud, an old friend of Bert's. Bert's +face, twisted with pain, looked up to Bill for some sympathy. + +<p>``Lucky devil,'' said Bill. + +<p>Across the way on the other side of No Man's Land there was mud the +same as on Bill's side: only the mud over there stank; it didn't seem +to have been kept clean somehow. And the parapet was sliding away in +places, for working parties had not had much of a chance. They had +three Tok Emmas working in that battalion front line, and the British +batteries did not quite know where they were, and there were eight of +them looking. + +<p>Fritz Groedenschasser, standing in that unseemly mud, greatly yearned +for them to find soon what they were looking for. Eight batteries +searching for something they can't find, along a trench in which you +have to be, leaves the elephant hunter's most desperate tale a little +dull and insipid. Not that Fritz Groedenschasser knew anything about +elephant hunting: he hated all things sporting, and cordially approved +of the execution of Nurse Cavell. And there was thermite +too. Flammenwerfer was all very well, a good German weapon: it could +burn a man alive at twenty yards. But this accursed flaming English +thermite could catch you at four miles. It wasn't fair. + +<p>The three German trench mortars were all still firing. When would the +English batteries find what they were looking for, and this awful +thing stop? The night was cold and smelly. + +<p>Fritz shifted his feet in the foul mud, but no warmth came to him that +way. + +<p>A gust of shells was coming along the trench. Still they had not found +the minnewerfer! Fritz moved from his place altogether to see if he +could find some place where the parapet was not broken. And as he +moved along the sewerlike trench he came on a wooden cross that marked +the grave of a man he once had known, now buried some days in the +parapet, old Ritz Handelscheiner. + +<p>``Lucky devil,'' said Fritz. + +<p><strong>The Master of No Man's Land</strong> + +<p>When the last dynasty has fallen and the last empire passed away, when +man himself has gone, there will probably still remain the +swede. [The rutabaga or Swedish turnip.] + +<p>There grew a swede in No Man's Land by Croisille near the Somme, and +it had grown there for a long while free from man. + +<p>It grew as you never saw a swede grow before. It grew tall and strong +and weedy. It lifted its green head and gazed round over No Man's +Land. Yes, man was gone, and it was the day of the swede. + +<p>The storms were tremendous. Sometimes pieces of iron sang through its +leaves. But man was gone and it was the day of the swede. + +<p>A man used to come there once, a great French farmer, an oppressor of +swedes. Legends were told of him and his herd of cattle, dark +traditions that passed down vegetable generations. It was somehow +known in those fields that the man ate swedes. + +<p>And now his house was gone and he would come no more. + +<p>The storms were terrible, but they were better than man. The swede +nodded to his companions: the years of freedom had come. + +<p>They had always known among them that these years would come. Man had +not been there always, but there had always been swedes. He would go +some day, suddenly, as he came. That was the faith of the swedes. And +when the trees went the swede believed that the day was come. When +hundreds of little weeds arrived that were never allowed before, and +grew unchecked, he knew it. + +<p>After that he grew without any care, in sunlight, moonlight and +rain; grew abundantly and luxuriantly in the freedom, and increased in +arrogance till he felt himself greater than man. And indeed in those +leaden storms that sang often over his foliage all living things +seemed equal. + +<p>There was little that the Germans left when they retreated from the +Somme that was higher than this swede. He grew the tallest thing for +miles and miles. He dominated the waste. Two cats slunk by him from a +shattered farm: he towered above them contemptuously. + +<p>A partridge ran by him once, far, far below his lofty leaves. The +night winds mourning in No Man's Land seemed to sing for him alone. + +<p>It was surely the hour of the swede. For him, it seemed, was No Man's +Land. And there I met him one night by the light of a German rocket +and brought him back to our company to cook. + +<p><strong>Weeds and Wire</strong> + +<p>Things had been happening. Divisions were moving. There had been, +there was going to be, a stunt. A battalion marched over the hill and +sat down by the road. They had left the trenches three days march to +the north and had come to a new country. The officers pulled their +maps out; a mild breeze fluttered them; yesterday had been winter and +to-day was spring; but spring in a desolation so complete and +far-reaching that you only knew of it by that little wind. It was +early March by the calendar, but the wind was blowing out of the gates +of April. A platoon commander, feeling that mild wind blowing, forgot +his map and began to whistle a tune that suddenly came to him out of +the past with the wind. Out of the past it blew and out of the South, +a merry vernal tune of a Southern people. Perhaps only one of those +that noticed the tune had ever heard it before. An officer sitting +near had heard it sung; it reminded him of a holiday long ago in the +South. + +<p>``Where did you hear that tune?'' he asked the platoon commander. + +<p>``Oh, the hell of a long way from here,'' the platoon commander +said. + +<p>He did not remember quite where it was he had heard it, but he +remembered a sunny day in France and a hill all dark with pine woods, +and a man coming down at evening out of the woods, and down the slope +to the village, singing this song. Between the village and the slope +there were orchards in blossom. So that he came with his song for +hundreds of yards through orchards. ``The hell of a way from +here,'' he said. + +<p>For a long while then they sat silent. + +<p>``It mightn't have been so very far from here,'' said the platoon +commander. ``It was in France, now I come to think of it. But it +was a lovely part of France, all woods and orchards. Nothing like +this, thank God.'' And he glanced with a tired look at the unutterable +desolation. + +<p>``Where was it?'' said the other. + +<p>``In Picardy,'' he said. + +<p>``Aren't we in Picardy now?'' said his friend. + +<p>``Are we?'' he said. + +<p>``I don't know. The maps don't call it Picardy.'' + +<p>``It was a fine place, anyway,'' the platoon commander said. +``There seemed always to be a wonderful light on the hills. A +kind of short grass grew on them, and it shone in the sun at +evening. There were black woods above them. A man used to come out of +them singing at evening.'' + +<p>He looked wearily round at the brown desolation of weeds. As far as +the two officers could see there was nothing but brown weeds and bits +of brown barbed wire. He turned from the desolate scene back to his +reminiscences. + +<p>``He came singing through the orchards into the village,'' +he said. ``A quaint old place with queer gables, called +Ville-en-Bois.'' + +<p>``Do you know where we are?'' said the other. + +<p>``No, said the platoon commander.'' + +<p>``I thought not,'' he said. ``Hadn't you better take a look +at the map?'' + +<p>``I suppose so,'' said the platoon commander, and he smoothed out +his map and wearily got to the business of finding out where he was. + +<p>``Good Lord!'' he said. ``Ville-en-Bois!'' + +<p><strong>Spring in England and Flanders</strong> + +<p>Very soon the earliest primroses will be coming out in woods wherever +they have been sheltered from the north. They will grow bolder as the +days go by, and spread and come all down the slopes of sunny +hills. Then the anemones will come, like a shy pale people, one of the +tribes of the elves, who dare not leave the innermost deeps of the +wood: in those days all the trees will be in leaf, the bluebells will +follow, and certain fortunate woods will shelter such myriads of them +that the bright fresh green of the beech trees will flash between two +blues, the blue of the sky and the deeper blue of the bluebells. Later +the violets come, and such a time as this is the perfect time to see +England: when the cuckoo is heard and he surprises his hearers; when +evenings are lengthening out and the bat is abroad again; and all the +flowers are out and all the birds sing. At such a time not only Nature +smiles but our quiet villages and grave old spires wake up from winter +in the mellow air and wear their centuries lightly. At such a time you +might come just at evening on one of those old villages in a valley +and find it in the mood to tell you the secret of the ages that it hid +and treasured there before the Normans came. Who knows? For they are +very old, very wise, very friendly; they might speak to you one warm +evening. If you went to them after great suffering they might speak to +you; after nights and nights of shelling over in France, they might +speak to you and you might hear them clearly. + +<p>It would be a long, long story that they would tell, all about the +ages; and it would vary wonderfully little, much less perhaps than we +think; and the repetitions rambling on and on in the evening, as the +old belfry spoke and the cottages gathered below it, might sound so +soothing after the boom of shells that perhaps you would nearly sleep. +And then with one's memory tired out by the war one might never +remember the long story they told, when the belfry and the +brown-roofed houses all murmured at evening, might never remember even +that they had spoken all through that warm spring and evening. We may +have heard them speak and forgotten that they have spoken. Who knows? +We are at war, and see so many strange things: some we must forget, +some we must remember; and we cannot choose which. + +<p>To turn from Kent to Flanders is to turn to a time of mourning through +all seasons alike. Spring there brings out no leaf on myriad oaks, nor +the haze of green that floats like a halo above the heads of the birch +trees, that stand with their fairylike trunks haunting the deeps of +the woods. For miles and miles and miles summer ripens no crops, +leads out no maidens laughing in the moonlight, and brings no harvest +home. When Autumn looks on orchards in all that region of mourning he +looks upon barren trees that will never blossom again. Winter drives +in no sturdy farmers at evening to sit before cheery fires, families +meet not at Christmas, and the bells are dumb in belfries; for all by +which a man might remember his home has been utterly swept away: has +been swept away to make a maniacal dancing ground on which a murderous +people dance to their death led by a shallow, clever, callous, +imperial clown. + +<p>There they dance to their doom till their feet shall find the +precipice that was prepared for them on the day that they planned the +evil things they have done. + +<p><strong>The Nightmare Countries</strong> + +<p>There are certain lands in the darker dreams of poetry that stand out +in the memory of generations. There is for instance Poe's ``Dark +tarn of Auber, the ghoul-haunted region of Weir''; there are some queer +twists in the river Alph as imagined by Coleridge; two lines of +Swinburne: + +<p><blockquote> +By the tideless dolorous inland sea<br> +In a land of sand and ruin and gold<br> +</blockquote> + +<p>are as haunting as any. There are in literature certain regions of +gloom, so splendid that whenever you come on them they leave in the +mind a sort of nightmare country which one's thoughts revisit on +hearing the lines quoted. + +<p>It is pleasant to picture such countries sometimes when sitting before +the fire. It is pleasant because you can banish them by the closing of +a book; a puff of smoke from a pipe will hide them altogether, and +back come the pleasant, wholesome, familiar things. But in France they +are there always. In France the nightmare countries stand all night in +the starlight; dawn comes and they still are there. The dead are +buried out of sight and others take their places among men; but the +lost lands lie unburied gazing up at the winds; and the lost woods +stand like skeletons all grotesque in the solitude; the very seasons +have fled from them. The very seasons have fled; so that if you look +up to see whether summer has turned to autumn, or if autumn has turned +to winter yet, nothing remains to show you. It is like the eccentric +dream of some strange man, very arresting and mysterious, but lacking +certain things that should be there before you can recognize it as +earthly. It is a mad, mad landscape. There are miles and miles and +miles of it. It is the biggest thing man has done. It looks as though +man in his pride, with all his clever inventions, had made for himself +a sorry attempt at creation. + +<p>Indeed when we trace it all back to its origin we find at the +beginning of this unhappy story a man who was only an emperor and +wished to be something more. He would have ruled the world but has +only meddled with it; and his folly has brought misery to millions, +and there lies his broken dream on the broken earth. He will never +take Paris now. He will never be crowned at Versailles as Emperor of +Europe; and after that, most secret dream of all, did not the +Cæsars proclaim themselves divine? Was it not whispered among +Macedonian courtiers that Alexander was the child of God? And was the +Hohenzollern less than these? + +<p>What might not force accomplish? All gone now, that dream and the +Hohenzollern line broken. A maniacal dream and broken farms all mixed +up together: they make a pretty nightmare and the clouds still gleam +at night with the flashes of shells, and the sky is still troubled by +day with uncouth balloons and the black bursts of the German shells and +the white of our anti-aircraft. + +<p>And below there lies this wonderful waste land where no girls sing, +and where no birds come but starlings; where no hedgerows stand, and +no lanes with wild roses, and where no pathways run through fields of +wheat, and there are no fields at all and no farms and no farmers; and +two haystacks stand on a hill I know, undestroyed in the desolation, +and nobody touches them for they know the Germans too well; and the +tops have been blown off hills down to the chalk. And men say of this +place that it is Pozières and of that place that it is Ginchy; +nothing remains to show that hamlets stood there at all, and a brown, +brown weed grows over it all for ever; and a mighty spirit has arisen +in man, and no one bows to the War Lord though many die. And Liberty +is she who sang her songs of old, and is fair as she ever was, when +men see her in visions, at night in No Man's Land when they have the +strength to crawl in: still she walks of a night in Pozières and +in Ginchy. + +<p>A fanciful man once called himself the Emperor of the Sahara: the +German Kaiser has stolen into a fair land and holds with weakening +hands a land of craters and weed, and wire and wild cabbages and old +German bones. + +<p><strong>Spring and the Kaiser</strong> + +<p>While all the world is waiting for Spring there lie great spaces in +one of the pleasantest lands to which Spring cannot come. + +<p>Pear trees and cherry and orchards flash over other lands, blossoming +as abundantly as though their wonder were new, with a beauty as fresh +and surprising as though nothing like it before had ever adorned +countless centuries. Now with the larch and soon with the beech trees +and hazel, a bright green blazes forth to illumine the year. The +slopes are covered with violets. Those who have gardens are beginning +to be proud of them and to point them out to their neighbours. Almond +and peach in blossom peep over old brick walls. The land dreams of +summer all in the youth of the year. + +<p>But better than all this the Germans have found war. The simple +content of a people at peace in pleasant countries counted for nothing +with them. Their Kaiser prepared for war, made speeches about war, +and, when he was ready, made war. And now the hills that should be +covered with violets are full of murderous holes, and the holes are +half full of empty meat tins, and the garden walls have gone and the +gardens with them, and there are no woods left to shelter +anemones. Boundless masses of brown barbed wire straggle over the +landscape. All the orchards there are cut down out of ruthless spite +to hurt France whom they cannot conquer. All the little trees that +grow near gardens are gone, aspen, laburnum and lilac. It is like this +for hundreds of miles. Hundreds of ruined towns gaze at it with vacant +windows and see a land from which even Spring is banished. And not a +ruined house in all the hundred towns but mourns for some one, man, +woman or child; for the Germans make war equally on all in the land +where Spring comes no more. + +<p>Some day Spring will come back; some day she will shine all April in +Picardy again, for Nature is never driven utterly forth, but comes +back with her seasons to cover up even the vilest things. + +<p>She shall hide the raw earth of the shell holes till the violets come +again; she shall bring back even the orchards for Spring to walk in +once more; the woods will grow tall again above the southern anemones; +and the great abandoned guns of the Germans will rust by the rivers of +France. Forgotten like them, the memory of the War Lord will pass +with his evil deeds. + +<p><strong>Two Songs</strong> + +<p>Over slopes of English hills looking south in the time of violets, +evening was falling. + +<p>Shadows at edges of woods moved, and then merged in the gloaming. + +<p>The bat, like a shadow himself, finding that spring was come, slipped +from the dark of the wood as far as a clump of beech trees and +fluttered back again on his wonderful quiet wings. + +<p>Pairing pigeons were home. + +<p>Very young rabbits stole out to gaze at the calm still world. They +came out as the stars come. At one time they were not there, and then +you saw them, but you did not see them come. + +<p>Towering clouds to the west built palaces, cities and mountains; +bastions of rose and precipices of gold; giants went home over them +draped in mauve by steep rose-pink ravines into emerald-green +empires. Turbulences of colour broke out above the departed sun; +giants merged into mountains, and cities became seas, and new +processions of other fantastic things sailed by. But the chalk slopes +facing south smiled on with the same calm light, as though every blade +of grass gathered a ray from the gloaming. All the hills faced the +evening with that same quiet glow, which faded softly as the air grew +colder; and the first star appeared. + +<p>Voices came up in the hush, clear from the valley, and ceased. A light +was lit, like a spark, in a distant window: more stars appeared and +the woods were all dark now, and shapes even on the hill slopes began +to grow indistinct. + +<p>Home by a laneway in the dim, still evening a girl was going, singing +the Marseillaise. + +<p>In France where the downs in the north roll away without hedges, as +though they were great free giants that man had never confined, as +though they were stretching their vast free limbs in the evening, the +same light was smiling and glimmering softly away. + +<p>A road wound over the downs and away round one of their shoulders. A +hush lay over them as though the giants slept, or as though they +guarded in silence their ancient, wonderful history. + +<p>The stillness deepened and the dimness of twilight; and just before +colours fade, while shapes can still be distinguished, there came by +the road a farmer leading his Norman horse. High over the horse's +withers his collar pointed with brass made him fantastic and huge and +strange to see in the evening. + +<p>They moved together through that mellow light towards where unseen +among the clustered downs the old French farmer's house was sheltered +away. + +<p>He was going home at evening humming ``God Save the King.'' + +<p><strong>The Punishment</strong> + +<p>An exhalation arose, drawn up by the moon, from an old battlefield +after the passing of years. It came out of very old craters and +gathered from trenches, smoked up from No Man's Land, and the ruins of +farms; it rose from the rottenness of dead brigades, and lay for half +the night over two armies; but at midnight the moon drew it up all +into one phantom and it rose and trailed away eastwards. + +<p>It passed over men in grey that were weary of war; it passed over a +land once prosperous, happy and mighty, in which were a people that +were gradually starving; it passed by ancient belfries in which there +were no bells now; it passed over fear and misery and weeping, and so +came to the palace at Potsdam. It was the dead of the night between +midnight and dawn, and the palace was very still that the Emperor +might sleep, and sentries guarded it who made no noise and relieved +others in silence. Yet it was not so easy to sleep. Picture to +yourself a murderer who had killed a man. Would you sleep? Picture +yourself the man that planned this war! Yes, you sleep, but nightmares +come. + +<p>The phantom entered the chamber. ``Come,'' it said. + +<p>The Kaiser leaped up at once as obediently as when he came to +attention on parade, years ago, as a subaltern in the Prussian Guard, +a man whom no woman or child as yet had ever cursed; he leaped up and +followed. They passed the silent sentries; none challenged and none +saluted; they were moving swiftly over the town as the felon Gothas +go; they came to a cottage in the country. They drifted over a little +garden gate, and there in a neat little garden the phantom halted like +a wind that has suddenly ceased. ``Look,'' it said. + +<p>Should he look? Yet he must look. The Kaiser looked; and saw a window +shining and a neat room in the cottage: there was nothing dreadful +there; thank the good German God for that; it was all right, after +all. The Kaiser had had a fright, but it was all right; there was only +a woman with a baby sitting before the fire, and two small children and +a man. And it was quite a jolly room. And the man was a young soldier; +and, why, he was a Prussian Guardsman, -- there was his helmet hanging +on the wall, -- so everything was all right. They were jolly German +children; that was well. How nice and homely the room was. There shone +before him, and showed far off in the night, the visible reward of +German thrift and industry. It was all so tidy and neat, and yet they +were quite poor people. The man had done his work for the Fatherland, +and yet beyond all that had been able to afford all those little +knickknacks that make a home so pleasant and that in their humble +little way were luxury. And while the Kaiser looked the two young +children laughed as they played on the floor, not seeing that face at +the window. + +<p>Why! Look at the helmet. That was lucky. A bullet hole right through +the front of it. That must have gone very close to the man's head. How +ever did it get through? It must have glanced upwards as bullets +sometimes do. The hole was quite low in the helmet. It would be +dreadful to have bullets coming by close like that. The firelight +flickered, and the lamp shone on, and the children played on the floor, +and the man was smoking out of a china pipe; he was strong and able +and young, one of the wealth-winners of Germany. + +<p>``Have you seen?'' said the phantom. + +<p>``Yes,'' said the Kaiser. It was well, he thought, that a Kaiser +should see how his people lived. + +<p>At once the fire went out and the lamp faded away, the room fell +sombrely into neglect and squalor, and the soldier and the children +faded away with the room; all disappeared phantasmally, and nothing +remained but the helmet in a kind of glow on the wall, and the woman +sitting all by herself in the darkness. + +<p>``It has all gone,'' said the Kaiser. + +<p>``It has never been,'' said the phantom. + +<p>The Kaiser looked again. Yes, there was nothing there, it was just a +vision. There were the grey walls all damp and uncared for, and that +helmet standing out solid and round, like the only real thing among +fancies. No, it had never been. It was just a vision. + +<p>``It might have been,'' said the phantom. + +<p>Might have been? How might it have been? + +<p>``Come,'' said the phantom. + +<p>They drifted away down a little lane that in summer would have had +roses, and came to an Uhlan's house; in times of peace a small +farmer. Farm buildings in good repair showed even in the night, and +the black shapes of haystacks; again a well-kept garden lay by the +house. The phantom and the Kaiser stood in the garden; before them a +window glowed in a lamplit room. + +<p>``Look,'' said the phantom. + +<p>The Kaiser looked again and saw a young couple; the woman played with +a baby, and all was prosperous in the merry room. Again the hard-won +wealth of Germany shone out for all to see, the cosy comfortable +furniture spoke of acres well cared for, spoke of victory in the +struggle with the seasons on which wealth of nations depends. + +<p>``It might have been,'' said the phantom. Again the fire died out +and the merry scene faded away, leaving a melancholy, ill-kept room, +with poverty and mourning haunting dusty corners and the woman sitting +alone. + +<p>``Why do you show me this?'' said the Kaiser. ``Why do you +show me these visions?'' + +<p>``Come,'' said the phantom. + +<p>``What is it?'' said the Kaiser. ``Where are you bringing me?'' + +<p>``Come,'' said the phantom. + +<p>They went from window to window, from land to land. You had seen, had +you been out that night in Germany, and able to see visions, an +imperious figure passing from place to place, looking on many scenes. +He looked on them, and families withered away, and happy scenes faded, +and the phantom said to him ``Come.'' He expostulated but +obeyed; and so they went from window to window of hundreds of farms in +Prussia, till they came to the Prussian border and went on into +Saxony; and always you would have heard, could you hear spirits speak, +``It might have been,'' ``It might have been,'' repeated from +window to window. + +<p>They went down through Saxony, heading for Austria. And for long the +Kaiser kept that callous, imperious look. But at last he, even he, at +last he nearly wept. And the phantom turned then and swept him back +over Saxony, and into Prussia again and over the sentries' heads, back +to his comfortable bed where it was so hard to sleep. + +<p>And though they had seen thousands of merry homes, homes that can +never be merry now, shrines of perpetual mourning; though they had +seen thousands of smiling German children, who will never be born now, +but were only the visions of hopes blasted by him; for all the leagues +over which he had been so ruthlessly hurried, dawn was yet barely +breaking. + +<p>He had looked on the first few thousand homes of which he had robbed +all time, and which he must see with his eyes before he may go +hence. The first night of the Kaiser's punishment was accomplished. + +<p><strong>The English Spirit</strong> + +<p>By the end of the South African war Sergeant Cane had got one thing +very well fixed in his mind, and that was that war was an overrated +amusement. He said he ``was fed up with it,'' partly because that +misused metaphor was then new, partly because every one was saying it: +he felt it right down in his bones, and he had a long memory. So when +wonderful rumours came to the East Anglian village where he lived, on +August 1, 1914, Sergeant Cane said: ``That means war,'' and +decided then and there to have nothing to do with it: it was somebody +else's turn; he felt he had done enough. Then came August 4th, and +England true to her destiny, and then Lord Kitchener's appeal for +men. Sergeant Cane had a family to look after and a nice little house: +he had left the army ten years. + +<p>In the next week all the men went who had been in the army before, all +that were young enough, and a good sprinkling of the young men too who +had never been in the army. Men asked Cane if he was going, and he +said straight out ``No.'' + +<p>By the middle of August Cane was affecting the situation. He was a +little rallying point for men who did not want to go. ``He knows +what it's like,'' they said. + +<p>In the smoking room of the Big House sat the Squire and his son, Arthur +Smith; and Sir Munion Boomer-Platt, the Member for the division. The +Squire's son had been in the last war as a boy, and like Sergeant Cane +had left the army since. All the morning he had been cursing an +imaginary general, seated in the War Office at an imaginary desk with +Smith's own letter before him, in full view but unopened. Why on earth +didn't he answer it, Smith thought. But he was calmer now, and the +Squire and Sir Munion were talking of Sergeant Cane. + +<p>``Leave him to me,'' said Sir Munion. + +<p>``Very well,'' said the Squire. So Sir +Munion Boomer-Platt went off and called on Sergeant Cane. + +<p>Mrs Cane knew what he had come for. + +<p>``Don't let him talk you over, Bill,'' she said. + +<p>``Not he,'' said Sergeant Cane. + +<p>Sir Munion came on Sergeant Cane in his garden. + +<p>``A fine day,'' said Sir Munion. And from that he went on to the +war. ``If you enlist,'' he said, ``they will make you a +sergeant again at once. You will get a sergeant's pay, and your wife +will get the new separation allowance.'' + +<p>``Sooner have Cane,'' said Mrs Cane. + +<p>``Yes, yes, of course,'' said Sir Munion. +``But then there is the medal, probably +two or three medals, and the glory of it, +and it is such a splendid life.'' + +<p>Sir Munion did warm to a thing whenever he began to hear his own +words. He painted war as it has always been painted, one of the most +beautiful things you could imagine. And then it mustn't be supposed +that it was like those wars that there used to be, a long way +off. There would be houses where you would be billeted, and good food, +and shady trees and villages wherever you went. And it was such an +opportunity of seeing the Continent (``the Continent as it really +is,'' Sir Munion called it) as would never come again, and he only +wished he were younger. Sir Munion really did wish it, as he spoke, +for his own words stirred him profoundly; but somehow or other they +did not stir Sergeant Cane. No, he had done his share, and he had a +family to look after. + +<p>Sir Munion could not understand him: he went back to the Big House and +said so. He had told him all the advantages he could think of that +were there to be had for the asking, and Sergeant Cane merely +neglected them. + +<p>``Let me have a try,'' said Arthur Smith. ``He soldiered with +me before.'' + +<p>Sir Munion shrugged his shoulders. He had all the advantages at his +fingers' ends, from pay to billeting: there was nothing more to be +said. Nevertheless young Smith went. + +<p>``Hullo, Sergeant Cane,'' said Smith. + +<p>``Hello, sir,'' said the sergeant. + +<p>``Do you remember that night at Reit River?'' + +<p>``Don't I, sir,'' said Cane. + +<p>``One blanket each and no ground sheet?'' + +<p>``I remember, sir,'' said Cane. + +<p>``Didn't it rain,'' said Smith. + +<p>``It rained that night, proper.'' + +<p>``Drowned a few of the lice, I suppose.'' + +<p>``Not many,'' said Cane. + +<p>``No, not many,'' Smith reflected. ``The Boers had the +range all right that time.'' + +<p>``Gave it us proper,'' said Cane. + +<p>``We were hungry that night,'' said Smith. ``I could +have eaten biltong.'' + +<p>``I did eat some of it,'' said Cane. ``Not bad stuff, +what there was of it, only not enough.'' + +<p>``I don't think,'' said Smith, ``that I've ever slept on +the bare earth since.'' + +<p>``No, sir?'' said Cane. ``It's hard. You get used to it. +But it will always be hard.'' + +<p>``Yes, it will always be hard,'' said Smith. ``Do you +remember the time we were thirsty?'' + +<p>``Oh, yes, sir,'' said Cane, ``I remember that. One +doesn't forget that.'' + +<p>``No. I still dream of it sometimes,'' said Smith. ``It +makes a nasty dream. I wake with my mouth all dry too, when I dream +that.'' + +<p>``Yes,'' said Cane, ``one doesn't forget being thirsty.'' + +<p>``Well,'' said Smith, ``I suppose we're for it all over +again?'' + +<p>``I suppose so, sir,'' said Cane. + +<p><strong>An Investigation Into the Causes and Origin of the War</strong> + +<p>The German imperial barber has been called up. He must have been +called up quite early in the war. I have seen photographs in papers +that leave no doubt of that. Who he is I do not know: I once read his +name in an article but have forgotten it; few even know if he still +lives. And yet what harm he has done! What vast evils he has +unwittingly originated! Many years ago he invented a frivolity, a <em> +jeu d'esprit</em> easily forgivable to an artist in the heyday of his +youth, to whom his art was new and even perhaps wonderful. A craft, of +course, rather than an art, and a humble craft at that; but then, the +man was young, and what will not seem wonderful to youth? + +<p>He must have taken the craft very seriously, but as youth takes things +seriously, fantastically and with laughter. He must have determined to +outshine rivals: he must have gone away and thought, burning candles +late perhaps, when all the palace was still. But how can youth think +seriously? And there had come to him this absurd, this fantastical +conceit. What else would have come? The more seriously he took the +tonsorial art, the more he studied its tricks and phrases and heard +old barbers lecture, the more sure were the imps of youth to prompt +him to laughter and urge him to something outrageous and +ridiculous. The background of the dull pomp of Potsdam must have made +all this more certain. It was bound to come. + +<p>And so one day, or, as I have suggested, suddenly late one night, +there came to the young artist bending over tonsorial books that +quaint, mad, odd, preposterous inspiration. Ah, what pleasure there is +in the madness of youth; it is not like the madness of age, clinging +to outworn formulæ; it is the madness of breaking away, of +galloping among precipices, of dallying with the impossible, of +courting the absurd. And this inspiration, it was in none of the +books; the lecturer barbers had not lectured on it, could not dream of +it and did not dare to; there was no tradition for it, no precedent; +it was mad; and to introduce it into the pomp of Potsdam, that was the +daring of madness. And this preposterous inspiration of the absurd +young barber-madman was nothing less than a moustache that without any +curve at all, or any suggestion of sanity, should go suddenly up at +the ends very nearly as high as the eyes! + +<p>He must have told his young fellow craftsmen first, for youth goes +first to youth with its hallucinations. And they, what could they have +said? You cannot say of madness that it is mad, you cannot call +absurdity absurd. To have criticized would have revealed jealousy; and +as for praise you could not praise a thing like that. They probably +shrugged, made gestures; and perhaps one friend warned him. But you +cannot warn a man against a madness; if the madness is in possession +it will not be warned away: why should it? And then perhaps he went +to the old barbers of the Court. You can picture their anger. Age does +not learn from youth in any case. But there was the insult to their +ancient craft, bad enough if only imagined, but here openly spoken +of. And what would come of it? They must have feared, on the one hand, +dishonour to their craft if this young barber were treated as his +levity deserved; and, on the other hand, could they have feared his +success? I think they could not have guessed it. + +<p>And then the young idiot with his preposterous inspiration must have +looked about to see where he could practise his new absurdity. It +should have been enough to have talked about it among his fellow +barbers; they would have gone with new zest to their work next day for +this delirious interlude, and no harm would have been +done. ``Fritz,'' (or Hans) they would have said, ``was a bit +on last night, a bit full up,'' or whatever phrase they use to touch on +drunkenness; and the thing would have been forgotten. We all have our +fancies. But this young fool wanted to get his fancy mixed up with +practice: that's where he was mad. And in Potsdam, of all places. + +<p>He probably tried his friends first, young barbers at the Court and +others of his own standing. None of them were fools enough to be seen +going about like that. They had jobs to lose. A Court barber is one +thing, a man who cuts ordinary hair is quite another. Why should they +become outcasts because their friend chose to be mad? + +<p>He probably tried his inferiors then, but they would have been timid +folk; they must have seen the thing was absurd, and of course daren't +risk it. Again, why should they? + +<p>Did he try to get some noble then to patronize his invention? Probably +the first refusals he had soon inflamed his madness more, and he threw +caution insanely to the winds, and went straight to the Emperor. + +<p>It was probably about the time that the Emperor dismissed Bismarck; +certainly the drawings of that time show him still with a sane +moustache. + +<p>The young barber probably chanced on him in this period, finding him +bereft of an adviser, and ready to be swayed by whatever whim should +come. Perhaps he was attracted by the barber's hardihood, perhaps the +absurdity of his inspiration had some fascination for him, perhaps he +merely saw that the thing was new and, feeling jaded, let the barber +have his way. And so the frivolity became a fact, the absurdity +became visible, and honour and riches came the way of the barber. + +<p>A small thing, you might say, however fantastical. And yet I believe +the absurdity of that barber to be among the great evils that have +brought death nearer to man; whimsical and farcical as it was, yet a +thing deadlier than Helen's beauty or Tamerlane's love of skulls. For +just as character is outwardly shown so outward things react upon the +character; and who, with that daring barber's ludicrous fancy visible +always on his face, could quite go the sober way of beneficent +monarchs? The fantasy must be mitigated here, set off there; had you +such a figure to dress, say for amateur theatricals, you would realize +the difficulty. The heavy silver eagle to balance it; the glittering +cuirass lower down, preventing the eye from dwelling too long on the +barber's absurdity. And then the pose to go with the cuirass and to +carry off the wild conceit of that mad, mad barber. He has much to +answer for, that eccentric man whose name so few remember. For pose +led to actions; and just when Europe most needed a man of wise +counsels, restraining the passions of great empires, just then she had +ruling over Germany and, unhappily, dominating Austria, a man who +every year grew more akin to the folly of that silly barber's youthful +inspiration. + +<p>Let us forgive the barber. For long I have known from pictures that I +have seen of the Kaiser that he has gone to the trenches. Probably he +is dead. Let us forgive the barber. But let us bear in mind that the +futile fancies of youth may be deadly things, and that one of them +falling on a fickle mind may so stir its shallows as to urge it to +disturb and set in motion the avalanches of illimitable grief. + +<p><strong>Lost</strong> + +<p>Describing a visit, say the papers of March 28th, which the Kaiser +paid incognito to Cologne Cathedral on March 18th before the great +battle, the Cologne correspondent of the <em>Tyd</em> says: + +<p><blockquote> +There were only a few persons in the building. Under high arches and +in spacious solitude the Kaiser sat, as if in deep thought, before the +priests' choir. Behind him his military staff stood respectfully at a +distance. Still musing as he rose, the monarch resting both hands on +his walking-stick remains standing immovable for some +minutes... I shall never forget this picture of the musing monarch praying in +Cologne Cathedral on the eve of the great battle. +</blockquote> + +<p>Probably he won't forget it. The German casualty lists will help to +remind him. But what is more to the point is that this expert +propagandist has presumably received orders that we are not to forget +it, and that the sinister originator of the then impending holocaust +should be toned down a little in the eyes at least of the <em>Tyd</em> to +something a little more amiable. + +<p>And no doubt the little piece of propaganda gave every satisfaction to +those who ordered it, or they would not have passed it out to the <em> +Tyd,</em> and the touching little scene would never have reached our eyes. +At the same time the little tale would have been better suited to the +psychology of other countries if he had made the War Lord kneel when +he prayed in Cologne Cathedral, and if he had represented the Military +Staff as standing out of respect to One who, outside Germany, is held +in greater respect than the All Highest. + +<p>And had the War Lord really knelt is it not possible that he might +have found pity, humility, or even contrition? Things easily +overlooked in so large a cathedral when sitting erect, as a War Lord, +before the priests' choir, but to be noticed perhaps with one's eyes +turned to the ground. + +<p>Perhaps he nearly found one of those things. Perhaps he felt (who +knows?) just for a moment, that in the dimness of those enormous +aisles was something he had lost a long, long while ago. + +<p>One is not mistaken to credit the very bad with feeling far, faint +appeals from things of glory like Cologne Cathedral; it is that the +appeals come to them too far and faint on their headlong descent to +ruin. + +<p>For what was the War Lord seeking? Did he know that pity for his poor +slaughtered people, huddled by him on to our ceaseless machine guns, +might be found by seeking there? Or was it only that the lost thing, +whatever it was, made that faint appeal to him, passing the door by +chance, and drew him in, as the scent of some herb or flower in a +moment draws us back years to look for something lost in our youth; we +gaze back, wondering, and do not find it. + +<p>And to think that perhaps he lost it by very little! That, but for +that proud attitude and the respectful staff, he might have seen what +was lost, and have come out bringing pity for his people. Might have +said to the crowd that gave him that ovation, as we read, outside the +door: ``My pride has driven you to this needless war, my ambition +has made a sacrifice of millions, but it is over, and it shall be no +more; I will make no more conquests.'' + +<p>They would have killed him. But for that renunciation, perhaps, +however late, the curses of the widows of his people might have kept +away from his grave. + +<p>But he did not find it. He sat at prayer. Then he stood. Then he +marched out: and his staff marched out behind him. And in the gloom of +the floor of the vast Cologne Cathedral lie the things that the Kaiser +did not find and never will find now. Unnoticed thus, and in some +silent moment, passes a man's last chance. + +<p><strong>The Last Mirage</strong> + +<p>The desolation that the German offensive has added to the dominions of +the Kaiser cannot easily be imagined by any one who has never seen a +desert. Look at it on the map and it is full of the names of towns +and villages; it is in Europe, where there are no deserts; it is a +fertile province among places of famous names. Surely it is a proud +addition to an ambitious monarch's possessions. Surely there is +something there that it is worth while to have conquered at the cost +of army corps. No, nothing. They are mirage towns. The farms grow Dead +Sea fruit. France recedes before the imperial clutch. France smiles, +but not for him. His new towns seem to be his because their names +have not yet been removed from any map, but they crumble at his +approach because France is not for him. His deadly ambition makes a +waste before it as it goes, clutching for cities. It comes to them and +the cities are not there. + +<p>I have seen mirages and have heard others told of, but the best +mirages of all we never hear described; the mirage that waterless +travellers see at the last. Those fountains rising out of onyx basins, +blue and straight into incredible heights, and falling and flooding +cool white marble; the haze of spray above their feathery heads +through which the pale green domes of weathered copper shimmer and +shake a little; mysterious temples, the tombs of unknown kings; the +cataracts coming down from rose-quartz cliffs, far off but seen quite +clearly, growing to rivers bearing curious barges to the golden courts +of Sahara. These things we never see; they are seen at the last by men +who die of thirst. + +<p>Even so has the Kaiser looked at the smiling plains of France. Even so +has he looked on her famous ancient cities and the farms and the +fertile fields and the woods and orchards of Picardy. With effort and +trouble he has moved towards them. As he comes near to them the cities +crumble, the woods shrivel and fall, the farms fade out of Picardy, +even the hedgerows go; it is bare, bare desert. He had been sure of +Paris, he had dreamed of Versailles and some monstrous coronation, he +had thought his insatiable avarice would be sated. For he had plotted +for conquest of the world, that boundless greed of his goading him on +as a man in the grip of thirst broods upon lakes. + +<p>He sees victory near him now. That also will fade in the desert of old +barbed wire and weeds. When will he see that a doom is over all his +ambitions? For his dreams of victory are like those last dreams that +come in deceptive deserts to dying men. + +<p>There is nothing good for him in the desert of the Somme. Bapaume is +not really there, though it be marked on his maps; it is only a +wilderness of slates and brick. Peronne looks like a city a long way +off, but when you come near it is only the shells of +houses. Pozière, Le Sars, Sapigny, are gone altogether. + +<p>And all is Dead Sea fruit in a visible desert. The reports of German +victories there are mirage like all the rest; they too will fade into +weeds and old barbed wire. + +<p>And the advances that look like victories, and the ruins that look +like cities, and the shell-beaten broken fields that look like +farms, -- they and the dreams of conquest and all the plots and +ambitions, they are all the mirage of a dying dynasty in a desert it +made for its doom. + +<p>Bones lead up to the desert, bones are scattered about it, it is the +most menacing and calamitous waste of all the deadly places that have +been inclement to man. It flatters the Hohenzollerns with visions of +victory now because they are doomed by it and are about to die. When +their race has died the earth shall smile again, for their deadly +mirage shall oppress us no more. The cities shall rise again and the +farms come back; hedgerows and orchards shall be seen again; the woods +shall slowly lift their heads from the dust; and gardens shall come +again where the desert was, to bloom in happier ages that forget the +Hohenzollerns. + +<p><strong>A Famous Man</strong> + +<p>Last winter a famous figure walked in Behagnies. Soldiers came to see +him from their billets all down the Arras road, from Ervillers and +from Sapigny, and from the ghosts of villages back from the road, +places that once were villages but are only names now. They would walk +three or four miles, those who could not get lorries, for his was one +of those names that all men know, not such a name as a soldier or poet +may win, but a name that <em>all</em> men know. They used to go there at +evening. + +<p>Four miles away on the left as you went from Ervillers, the guns +mumbled over the hills, low hills over which the Verys from the +trenches put up their heads and peered around, -- greeny, yellowy +heads that turned the sky sickly, and the clouds lit up and went grey +again all the night long. As you got near to Behagnies you lost sight +of the Verys, but the guns mumbled on. A silly little train used to +run on one's left, which used to whistle loudly, as though it asked to +be shelled, but I never saw a shell coming its way; perhaps it knew +that the German gunners could not calculate how slow it went. It +crossed the road as you got down to Behagnies. + +<p>You passed the graves of two or three German soldiers with their names +on white wooden crosses, -- men killed in 1914; and then a little +cemetery of a French cavalry regiment, where a big cross stood in the +middle with a wreath and a tricolor badge, and the names of the +men. And then one saw trees. That was always a wonder, whether one saw +their dark shapes in the evening, or whether one saw them by day, and +knew from the look of their leaves whether autumn had come yet, or +gone. In winter at evening one just saw the black bulk of them, but +that was no less marvellous than seeing them green in summer; trees by +the side of the Arras-Bapaume road, trees in mid-desert in the awful +region of Somme. There were not many of them, just a cluster, fewer +than the date palms in an oasis in Sahara, but an oasis is an oasis +wherever you find it, and a few trees make it. There are little places +here and there, few enough as the Arabs know, that the Sahara's deadly +sand has never been able to devastate; and there are places even in +the Somme that German malice, obeying the Kaiser as the sand of Sahara +obeys the accursed sirocco, has not been able to destroy quite to the +uttermost. That little cluster of trees at Behagnies is one of these; +Divisional Headquarters used to shelter beneath them; and near them +was a statue on a lawn which probably stood by the windows of some +fine house, though there is no trace of the house but the lawn and +that statue now. + +<p>And over the way on the left a little further on, just past the +officers' club, a large hall stood where one saw that famous figure, +whom officers and men alike would come so far to see. + +<p>The hall would hold perhaps four or five hundred seats in front of a +stage fitted up very simply with red, white and blue cloths, but +fitted up by some one that understood the job; and at the back of that +stage on those winter evenings walked on his flat and world-renowned +feet the figure of Charlie Chaplin. + +<p>When aëroplanes came over bombing, the dynamos used to stop for +they supplied light to other places besides the cinema, and the shade +of Charlie Chaplin would fade away. But the men would wait till the +aëroplanes had gone and that famous figure came waddling back to +the screen. There he amused tired men newly come from the trenches, +there he brought laughter to most of the twelve days that they had out +of the line. + +<p>He is gone from Behagnies now. He did not march in the retreat a +little apart from the troops, with head bent forward and hand thrust +in jacket, a flat-footed Napoleon: yet he is gone; for no one would +have left behind for the enemy so precious a thing as a Charlie +Chaplin film. He is gone but he will return. He will come with his +cane one day along that Arras road to the old hut in Behagnies; and +men dressed in brown will welcome him there again. + +<p>He will pass beyond it through those desolate plains, and over the +hills beyond them, beyond Bapaume. Far hamlets to the east will know +his antics. + +<p>And one day surely, in old familiar garb, without court dress, without +removing his hat, armed with that flexible cane, he will walk over the +faces of the Prussian Guard and, picking up the Kaiser by the collar, +with infinite nonchalance in finger and thumb, will place him neatly +in a prone position and solemnly sit on his chest. + +<p><strong>The Oases of Death</strong> + +<p>While the German guns were pounding Amiens and the battle of dull +Prussianism against Liberty raged on, they buried Richthofen in the +British lines. + +<p>They had laid him in a large tent with his broken machine outside +it. Thence British airmen carried him to the quiet cemetery, and he +was buried among the cypresses in this old resting place of French +generations just as though he had come there bringing no harm to +France. + +<p>Five wreaths were on his coffin, placed there by those who had fought +against him up in the air. And under the wreaths on the coffin was +spread the German flag. + +<p>When the funeral service was over three volleys were fired by the +escort, and a hundred aviators paid their last respects to the grave +of their greatest enemy; for the chivalry that the Prussians have +driven from earth and sea lives on in the blue spaces of the air. + +<p>They buried Richthofen at evening, and the planes came droning home as +they buried him, and the German guns roared on and guns answered, +defending Amiens. And in spite of all, the cemetery had the air of +quiet, remaining calm and aloof, as all French graveyards are. For +they seem to have no part in the cataclysm that shakes all the world +but them; they seem to withdraw amongst memories and to be aloof from +time, and, above all, to be quite untroubled by the war that rages +to-day, upon which they appear to look out listlessly from among their +cypress and yew, and dimly, down a vista of centuries. They are very +strange, these little oases of death that remain unmoved and green +with their trees still growing, in the midst of a desolation as far as +the eye can see, in which cities and villages and trees and hedges and +farms and fields and churches are all gone, and where hugely broods a +desert. It is as though Death, stalking up and down through France +for four years, sparing nothing, had recognized for his own his little +gardens, and had spared only them. + +<p><strong>Anglo-Saxon Tyranny</strong> + +<p>``We need a sea,'' says Big-Admiral von Tirpitz, ``freed of +Anglo-Saxon tyranny.'' Unfortunately neither the British Admiralty nor +the American Navy permit us to know how much of the Anglo-Saxon +tyranny is done by American destroyers and how much by British ships +and even trawler. It would interest both countries to know, if it +could be known. But the Big-Admiral is unjust to France, for the +French navy exerts a tyranny at sea that can by no means be +overlooked, although naturally from her position in front of the mouth +of the Elbe England practises the culminating insupportable tyranny of +keeping the High Seas Fleet in the Kiel Canal. + +<p>It is not I, but the Big-Admiral, who chose the word tyranny as +descriptive of the activities of the Anglo-Saxon navies. He was +making a speech at Dusseldorf on May 25th and was reported in the +Dusseldorfer <em>Nachrichten</em> on May 27th. + +<p>Naturally it does not seem like tyranny to us, even the contrary; but +for an admiral, <em>ein Grosse-Admiral,</em> lately commanding a High +Seas Fleet, it must have been more galling than we perhaps can credit +to be confined in a canal. There was he, who should have been +breasting the blue, or at any rate doing something salty and nautical, +far out in the storms of that sea that the Germans call an Ocean, with +the hurricane raging angrily in his whiskers and now and then wafting +tufts of them aloft to white the halyards; there was he constrained to +a command the duties of which however nobly he did them could be +equally well carried out by any respectable bargee. He hoped for a +piracy of which the <em>Lusitania</em> was merely a beginning; he looked +for the bombardment of innumerable towns; he pictured slaughter in +many a hamlet of fishermen; he planned more than all those things of +which U-boat commanders are guilty; he saw himself a murderous old +man, terrible to seafarers, and a scourge of the coasts, and fancied +himself chronicled in after years by such as told dark tales of +Captain Kidd or the awful buccaneers; but he followed in the end no +more desperate courses than to sit and watch his ships on a wharf near +Kiel like one of Jacob's night watchmen. + +<p>No wonder that what appears to us no more than the necessary +protection of women and children in seacoast towns from murder should +be to him an intolerable tyranny. No wonder that the guarding of +travellers of the allied countries at sea, and even those of the +neutrals, should be a most galling thing to the Big-Admiral's thwarted +ambition, looking at it from the point of view of one who to +white-whiskered age has retained the schoolboy's natural love of the +black and yellow flag. A pirate, he would say, has as much right to +live as wasps or tigers. The Anglo-Saxon navies, he might argue, have +a certain code of rules for use at sea; they let women get first into +the boats, for instance, when ships are sinking, and they rescue +drowning mariners when they can: no actual harm in all this, he would +feel, though it would weaken you, as Hindenburg said of poetry; but if +all these little rules are tyrannously enforced on those who may think +them silly, what is to become of the pirate? Where, if people like +Beattie and Sims had always had their way, would be those rollicking +tales of the jolly Spanish Main, and men walking the plank into the +big blue sea, and long, low, rakish craft putting in to Indian +harbours with a cargo of men and women all hung from the yard-arm? A +melancholy has come over the spirit of Big-Admiral von Tirpitz in the +years he has spent in the marshes between the Elbe and Kiel, and in +that melancholy he sees romance crushed; he sees no more pearl earrings +and little gold rings in the hold, he sees British battleships +spoiling the Spanish Main, and hateful American cruisers in the old +Sargasso Sea; he sees himself, alas, the last of all the pirates. + +<p>Let him take comfort. There were always pirates. And in spite of the +tyranny of England and America, and of France, which the poor old man +perplexed with his troubles forgot, there will be pirates still. Not +many perhaps, but enough U-boats will always be able to slip through +that tyrannous blockade to spread indiscriminate slaughter amongst the +travellers of any nation, enough to hand on the old traditions of +murder at sea. And one day Captain Kidd, with such a bow as they used +to make in ports of the Spanish Main, will take off his ancient hat, +sweeping it low in Hell, and be proud to clasp the hand of the Lord of +the Kiel Canal. + +<p><strong>Memories</strong> + +<p><blockquote> +... far-off things<br> +And battles long ago.<br> +</blockquote> + +<p>Those who live in an old house are necessarily more concerned with +paying the plumber, should his art be required, or choosing wall paper +that does not clash with the chintzes, than with the traditions that +may haunt its corridors. In Ireland, -- and no one knows how old that +is, for the gods that lived there before the Red Branch came wrote few +chronicles on the old grey Irish stones and wrote in their own +language, -- in Ireland we are more concerned with working it so that +Tim Flanagan gets the job he does be looking for. + +<p>But in America those who remember Ireland remember her, very often, +from old generations; maybe their grandfather migrated, perhaps his +grandfather, and Ireland is remembered by old tales treasured among +them. Now Tim Flanagan will not be remembered in a year's time when he +has the job for which he has got us to agitate, and the jobberies that +stir us move not the pen of History. + +<p>But the tales that Irish generations hand down beyond the Atlantic +have to be tales that are worth remembering. They are tales that have +to stand the supreme test, tales that a child will listen to by the +fireside of an evening, so that they go down with those early +remembered evenings that are last of all to go of the memories of a +lifetime. A tale that a child will listen to must have much +grandeur. Any cheap stuff will do for us, bad journalism, and novels +by girls that could get no other jobs; but a child looks for those +things in a tale that are simple and noble and epic, the things that +Earth remembers. And so they tell, over there, tales of Sarsfield and +of the old Irish Brigade; they tell, of an evening, of Owen Roe +O'Neill. And into those tales come the plains of Flanders again and +the ancient towns of France, towns famous long ago and famous yet: let +us rather think of them as famous names and not as the sad ruins we +have seen, melancholy by day and monstrous in the moonlight. + +<p>Many an Irishman who sails from America for those historic lands knows +that the old trees that stand there have their roots far down in soil +once richened by Irish blood. When the Boyne was lost and won, and +Ireland had lost her King, many an Irishman with all his wealth in a +scabbard looked upon exile as his sovereign's court. And so they came +to the lands of foreign kings, with nothing to offer for the +hospitality that was given them but a sword; and it usually was a +sword with which kings were well content. Louis XV had many of them, +and was glad to have them at Fontenoy; the Spanish King admitted them +to the Golden Fleece; they defended Maria Theresa. Landen in Flanders +and Cremona knew them. A volume were needed to tell of all those +swords; more than one Muse has remembered them. It was not disloyalty +that drove them forth; their King was gone, they followed, the oak was +smitten and brown were the leaves of the tree. + +<p>But no such mournful metaphor applies to the men who march to-day +towards the plains where the ``Wild Geese'' were driven. They go +with no country mourning them, but their whole land cheers them on; +they go to the inherited battlefields. And there is this difference in +their attitude to kings, that those knightly Irishmen of old, driven +homeless over-sea, appeared as exiles suppliant for shelter before the +face of the Grand Monarch, and he, no doubt with exquisite French +grace, gave back to them all they had lost except what was lost +forever, salving so far as he could the injustice suffered by +each. But to-day when might, for its turn, is in the hands of +democracies, the men whose fathers built the Statue of Liberty have +left their country to bring back an exiled king to his home, and to +right what can be righted of the ghastly wrongs of Flanders. + +<p>And if men's prayers are heard, as many say, old saints will hear old +supplications going up by starlight with a certain wistful, musical +intonation that has linked the towns of Limerick and Cork with the +fields of Flanders before. + +<p><strong>The Movement</strong> + +<p>For many years Eliphaz Griggs was comparatively silent. Not that he +did not talk on all occasions whenever he could find hearers, he did +that at great length; but for many years he addressed no public +meeting, and was no part of the normal life of the northeast end of +Hyde Park or Trafalgar Square. And then one day he was talking in a +public house where he had gone to talk on the only subject that was +dear to him. He waited, as was his custom, until five or six men were +present, and then he began. ``Ye're all damned, I'm saying, +damned from the day you were born. Your portion is Tophet.'' + +<p>And on that day there happened what had never happened in his +experience before. Men used to listen in a tolerant way, and say +little over their beer, for that is the English custom; and that would +be all. But to-day a man rose up with flashing eyes and went over to +Eliphaz and gripped him by the hand: ``They're <em>all</em> damned,'' +said the stranger. + +<p>That was the turning point in the life of Eliphaz. Up to that moment +he had been a lonely crank, and men thought he was queer; but now +there were two of them and he became a Movement. A Movement in England +may do what it likes: there was a Movement, before the War, for +spoiling tulips in Kew Gardens and breaking church windows; it had its +run like the rest. + +<p>The name of Eliphaz's new friend was Ezekiel Pim: and they drew up +rules for their Movement almost at once; and very soon country inns +knew Eliphaz no more. And for some while they missed him where he +used to drop in of an evening to tell them they were all damned: and +then a man proved one day that the earth was flat, and they all forgot +Eliphaz. + +<p>But Eliphaz went to Hyde Park and Ezekiel Pim went with him, and there +you would see them close to the Marble Arch on any fine Sunday +afternoon, preaching their Movement to the people of +London. ``You are all damned,'' said Eliphaz. ``Your portion +shall be damnation for everlasting.'' + +<p>``<em>All</em> damned,'' added Ezekiel. + +<p>Eliphaz was the orator. He would picture Hell to you as it really +is. He made you see pretty much what it will be like to wriggle and +turn and squirm, and never escape from burning. But Ezekiel Pim, +though he seldom said more than three words, uttered those words with +such alarming sincerity and had such a sure conviction shining in his +eyes that searched right in your face as he said them, and his long +hair waved so weirdly as his head shot forward when he said +``You're <em>all</em> damned,'' that Ezekiel Pim brought home to you +that the vivid descriptions of Eliphaz really applied to <em>you.</em> + +<p>People who lead bad lives get their sensibilities hardened. These did +not care very much what Eliphaz said. But girls at school, and several +governesses, and even some young clergy, were very much +affected. Eliphaz Griggs and Ezekiel Pim seemed to bring Hell so near +to you. You could almost feel it baking the Marble Arch from two to +four on Sundays. And at four o'clock the Surbiton Branch of the +International Anarchists used to come along, and Eliphaz Griggs and +Ezekiel Pim would pack up their flag and go, for the pitch belonged to +the Surbiton people till six; and the crank Movements punctiliously +recognize each other's rights. If they fought among themselves, which +is quite unthinkable, the police would run them in; it is the one +thing that an anarchist in England may never do. + +<p>When the War came the two speakers doubled their efforts. The way they +looked at it was that here was a counter-attraction taking people's +minds off the subject of their own damnation just as they had got them +to think about it. Eliphaz worked as he had never worked before; he +spared nobody; but it was still Ezekiel Pim who somehow brought it +most home to them. + +<p>One fine spring afternoon Eliphaz Griggs was speaking at his usual +place and time; he had wound himself up wonderfully. ``You are +damned,'' he was saying, ``for ever and ever and ever. Your sins +have found you out. Your filthy lives will be as fuel round you and +shall burn for ever and ever.'' + +<p>``Look here,'' said a Canadian soldier in +the crowd, ``we shouldn't allow that in +Ottawa.'' + +<p>``What?'' asked an English girl. + +<p>``Why, telling us we're all damned like that,'' he said. + +<p>``Oh, this is England,'' she said. ``They +may all say what they like here.'' + +<p>``You are all damned,'' said Ezekiel, jerking forward his head and +shoulders till his hair flapped out behind. ``<em>All, all, all</em> +damned.'' + +<p>``I'm damned if I am,'' said the Canadian soldier. + +<p>``Ah,'' said Ezekiel, and a sly look came into his face. + +<p>Eliphaz flamed on. ``Your sins are remembered. Satan shall grin +at you. He shall heap cinders on you for ever and ever. Woe to you, +filthy livers. Woe to you, sinners. Hell is your portion. There shall +be none to grieve for you. You shall dwell in torment for ages. None +shall be spared, not one. Woe everlasting... Oh, I beg pardon, +gentlemen, I'm sure.'' For the Pacifists' League had been kept waiting +three minutes. It was their turn to-day at four. + +<p><strong>Nature's Cad</strong> + +<p>The claim of Professor Grotius Jan Beek to have discovered, or +learned, the language of the greater apes has been demonstrated +clearly enough. He is not the original discoverer of the fact that +they have what may be said to correspond with a language; nor is he +the first man to have lived for some while in the jungle protected by +wooden bars, with a view to acquiring some knowledge of the meaning of +the various syllables that gorillas appear to utter. If so crude a +collection of sounds, amounting to less than a hundred words, if words +they are, may be called a language, it may be admitted that the +Professor has learned it, as his recent experiments show. What he has +not proved is his assertion that he has actually conversed with a +gorilla, or by signs, or grunts, or any means whatever obtained an +insight, as he put it, into its mentality, or, as we should put it, +its point of view. This Professor Beek claims to have done; and though +he gives us a certain plausible corroboration of a kind which makes +his story appear likely, it should be borne in mind that it is not of +the nature of proof. + +<p>The Professor's story is briefly that having acquired this language, +which nobody that has witnessed his experiments will call in question, +he went back to the jungle for a week, living all the time in the +ordinary explorer's cage of the Blik pattern. Towards the very end of +the week a big male gorilla came by, and the Professor attracted it by +the one word ``Food.'' It came, he says, close to the cage, and +seemed prepared to talk but became very angry on seeing a man there, +and beat the cage and would say nothing. The Professor says that he +asked it why it was angry. He admits that he had learned no more than +forty words of this language, but believes that there are perhaps +thirty more. Much however is expressed, as he says, by mere +intonation. Anger, for instance; and scores of allied words, such as +terrible, frightful, kill, whether noun, verb or adjective, are +expressed, he says, by a mere growl. Nor is there any word for +``Why,'' but queries are signified by the inflexion of the voice. + +<p>When he asked it why it was angry the gorilla said that men killed +him, and added a noise that the professor said was evidently meant to +allude to guns. The only word used, he says, in this remark of the +gorilla's was the word that signified ``man.'' The sentence as +understood by the professor amounted to ``Man kill me. Guns.'' +But the word ``kill'' was represented simply by a snarl, +``me'' by slapping its chest, and ``guns'' as I have explained +was only represented by a noise. The Professor believes that +ultimately a word for guns may be evolved out of that noise, but +thinks that it will take many centuries, and that if during that time +guns should cease to be in use, this stimulus being withdrawn, the word +will never be evolved at all, nor of course will it be needed. + +<p>The Professor tried, by evincing interest, ignorance, and incredulity, +and even indignation, to encourage the gorilla to say more; but to his +disappointment, all the more intense after having exchanged that one +word of conversation with one of the beasts, the gorilla only repeated +what it had said, and beat on the cage again. For half an hour this +went on, the Professor showing every sign of sympathy, the gorilla +raging and beating upon the cage. + +<p>It was half an hour of the most intense excitement to the Professor, +during which time he saw the realization of dreams that many +considered crazy, glittering as it were within his grasp, and all the +while this ridiculous gorilla would do nothing but repeat the mere +shred of a sentence and beat the cage with its great hands; and the +heat of course was intense. And by the end of the half hour the +excitement and the heat seem to have got the better of the Professor's +temper, and he waved the disgusting brute angrily away with a gesture +that probably was not much less impatient than the gorilla's own. And +at that the animal suddenly became voluble. He beat more furiously +than ever upon the cage and slipped his great fingers through the +bars, trying to reach the Professor, and poured out volumes of +ape-chatter. + +<p>Why, why did men shoot at him, he asked. He made himself terrible, +therefore men ought to love him. That was the whole burden of what the +Professor calls its argument. ``Me, me terrible,'' two slaps on the +chest and then a growl. ``Man love me.'' And then the emphatic +negative word, and the sound that meant guns, and sudden furious +rushes at the cage to try to get at the Professor. + +<p>The gorilla, Professor Beek explains, evidently admired only strength; +whenever he said ``I make myself terrible to Man,'' a sentence he +often repeated, he drew himself up and thrust out his huge chest and +bared his frightful teeth; and certainly, the Professor says, there +was something terribly grand about the menacing brute. ``Me +terrible,'' he repeated again and again, ``Me terrible. Sky, sun, +stars with me. Man love me. Man love me. No?'' It meant that all the +great forces of nature assisted him and his terrible teeth, which he +gnashed repeatedly, and that therefore man should love him, and he +opened his great jaws wide as he said this, showing all the brutal +force of them. + +<p>There was to my mind a genuine ring in Professor Beek's story, because +he was obviously so much more concerned, and really troubled, by the +dreadful depravity of this animal's point of view, or mentality as he +called it, than he was concerned with whether or not we believed what +he had said. + +<p>And I mentioned that there was a circumstance in his story of a +plausible and even corroborative nature. It is this. Professor Beek, +who noticed at the time a bullet wound in the tip of the gorilla's +left ear, by means of which it was luckily identified, put his +analysis of its mentality in writing and showed it to several others, +before he had any way of accounting for the beast having such a mind. + +<p>Long afterwards it was definitely ascertained that this animal had +been caught when young on the slopes of Kilimanjaro and trained and +even educated, so far as such things are possible, by an eminent +German Professor, a <em>persona grata</em> at the Court of Berlin. + +<p><strong>The Home of Herr Schnitzelhaaser</strong> + +<p>The guns in the town of Greinstein were faintly audible. The family of +Schnitzelhaaser lived alone there in mourning, an old man and old +woman. They never went out or saw any one, for they knew they could +not speak as though they did not mourn. They feared that their secret +would escape them. They had never cared for the war that the War Lord +made. They no longer cared what he did with it. They never read his +speeches; they never hung out flags when he ordered flags: they hadn't +the heart to. + +<p>They had had four sons. + +<p>The lonely old couple would go as far as the shop for food. Hunger +stalked behind them. They just beat hunger every day, and so saw +evening: but there was nothing to spare. Otherwise they did not go out +at all. Hunger had been coming slowly nearer of late. They had nothing +but the ration, and the ration was growing smaller. They had one pig +of their own, but the law said you might not kill it. So the pig was +no good to them. + +<p>They used to go and look at that pig sometimes when hunger +pinched. But more than that they did not dare to contemplate. + +<p>Hunger came nearer and nearer. The war was going to end by the first +of July. The War Lord was going to take Paris on this day and that +would end the war at once. But then the war was always going to +end. It was going to end in 1914, and their four sons were to have +come home when the leaves fell. The War Lord had promised that. And +even if it did end, that would not bring their four sons home now. So +what did it matter what the War Lord said. + +<p>It was thoughts like these that they knew they had to conceal. It was +because of thoughts like these that they did not trust themselves to +go out and see other people, for they feared that by their looks if by +nothing else, or by their silence or perhaps their tears, they might +imply a blasphemy against the All Highest. And hunger made one so +hasty. What might one not say? And so they stayed indoors. + +<p>But now. What would happen now? The War Lord was coming to Greinstein +in order to hear the guns. One officer of the staff was to be billeted +in their house. And what would happen now? + +<p>They talked the whole thing over. They must struggle and make an +effort. The officer would be there for one evening. He would leave in +the morning quite early in order to make things ready for the return +to Potsdam: he had charge of the imperial car. So for one evening they +must be merry. They would suppose, it was Herr Schnitzelhaaser's +suggestion, they would think all the evening that Belgium and France +and Luxemburg all attacked the Fatherland, and that the Kaiser, +utterly unprepared, quite unprepared, called on the Germans to defend +their land against Belgium. + +<p>Yes, the old woman could imagine that; she could think it all the +evening. + +<p>And then, -- it was no use not being cheerful altogether, -- then one +must imagine a little more, just for the evening: it would come quite +easy; one must think that the four boys were alive. + +<p>Hans too? (Hans was the youngest). + +<p>Yes, all four. Just for the evening. + +<p>But if the officer asks? + +<p>He will not ask. What are four soldiers? + +<p>So it was all arranged; and at evening the officer came. He brought +his own rations, so hunger came no nearer. Hunger just lay down +outside the door and did not notice the officer. + +<p>A this supper the officer began to talk. +The Kaiser himself, he said, was at the +Schartzhaus. + +<p>``So,'' said Herr Schnitzelhaaser; ``just +over the way.'' So close. Such an honour. + +<p>And indeed the shadow of the Schartzhaus darkened their garden in the +morning. + +<p>It was such an honour, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser too. And they began +to praise the Kaiser. So great a War Lord, she said; the most glorious +war there had ever been. + +<p>Of course, said the officer, it would end on the first of July. + +<p>Of course, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser. And so great an admiral, +too. One must remember that also. And how fortunate we were to have +him: one must not forget that. Had it not been for him the crafty +Belgians would have attacked the Fatherland, but they were struck down +before they could do it. So much better to prevent a bad deed like +that than merely to punish after. So wise. And had it not been for +him, if it had not been for him... + +<p>The old man saw that she was breaking down and hastily he took up that +feverish praise. Feverish it was, for their hunger and bitter loss +affected their minds no less than illness does, and the things they +did they did hastily and intemperately. His praise of the War Lord +raced on as the officer ate. He spoke of him as of those that benefit +man, as of monarchs who bring happiness to their people. And now, he +said, he is here in the Schartzhaus beside us, listening to the guns +just like a common soldier. + +<p>Finally the guns, as he spoke, coughed beyond ominous +hills. Contentedly the officer went on eating. He suspected nothing of +the thoughts his host and hostess were hiding. At last he went +upstairs to bed. + +<p>As fierce exertion is easy to the fevered, so they had spoken; and it +wears them, so they were worn. The old woman wept when the officer +went out of hearing. But old Herr Schnitzelhaaser picked up a big +butcher's knife. ``I will bear it no more,'' he said. + +<p>His wife watched him in silence as he went away with his knife. Out of +the house he went and into the night. Through the open door she saw +nothing; all was dark; even the Schartzhaus, where all was gay +to-night, stood dark for fear of aëroplanes. The old woman waited +in silence. + +<p>When Herr Schnitzelhaaser returned there was blood on his knife. + +<p>``What have you done?'' the old woman asked him quite calmly. +``I have killed our pig,'' he said. + +<p>She broke out then, all the more recklessly for the long restraint of +the evening; the officer must have heard her. + +<p>``We are lost! We are lost!'' she cried. ``We may not kill +our pig. Hunger has made you mad. You have ruined us.'' + +<p>``I will bear it no longer,'' he said. ``I have killed our pig.'' + +<p>``But they will never let us eat it,'' she cried. ``Oh, you +have ruined us!'' + +<p>``If you did not dare to kill our pig,'' he said, ``why did +you not stop me when you saw me go? You saw me go with the knife?'' + +<p>``I thought,'' she said, ``you were going to kill the Kaiser.'' + +<p><strong>A Deed of Mercy</strong> + +<p>As Hindenburg and the Kaiser came down, as we read, from Mont d'Hiver, +during the recent offensive, they saw on the edge of a crater two +wounded British soldiers. The Kaiser ordered that they should be cared +for: their wounds were bound up and they were given brandy, and +brought round from unconsciousness. That is the German account of it, +and it may well be true. It was a kindly act. + +<p>Probably had it not been for this the two men would have died among +those desolate craters; no one would have known, and no one could have +been blamed for it. + +<p>The contrast of this spark of imperial kindness against the gloom of +the background of the war that the Kaiser made is a pleasant thing to +see, even though it illuminates for only a moment the savage darkness +in which our days are plunged. It was a kindness that probably will +long be remembered to him. Even we, his enemies, will remember it. And +who knows but that when most he needs it his reward for the act will +be given him. + +<p>For Judas, they say, once in his youth, gave his cloak, out of +compassion, to a shivering beggar, who sat shaken with ague, in rags, +in bitter need. And the years went by and Judas forgot his deed. And +long after, in Hell, Judas they say was given one day's respite at the +end of every year because of this one kindness he had done so long +since in his youth. And every year he goes, they say, for a day and +cools himself among the Arctic bergs; once every year for century +after century. + +<p>Perhaps some sailor on watch on a misty evening blown far out of his +course away to the north saw something ghostly once on an iceberg +floating by, or heard some voice in the dimness that seemed like the +voice of man, and came home with this weird story. And perhaps, as the +story passed from lip to lip, men found enough justice in it to +believe it true. So it came down the centuries. + +<p>Will seafarers ages hence on dim October evenings, or on nights when +the moon is ominous through mist, red and huge and uncanny, see a +lonely figure sometimes on the loneliest part of the sea, far north of +where the <em>Lusitania</em> sank, gathering all the cold it can? Will +they see it hugging a crag of iceberg wan as itself, helmet, cuirass +and ice pale-blue in the mist together? Will it look towards them +with ice-blue eyes through the mist, and will they question it, +meeting on those bleak seas? Will it answer -- or will the North wind +howl like voices? Will the cry of seals be heard, and ice floes +grinding, and strange birds lost upon the wind that night, or will it +speak to them in those distant years and tell them how it sinned, +betraying man? + +<p>It will be a grim, dark story in that lonely part of the sea, when he +confesses to sailors, blown too far north, the dreadful thing he +plotted against man. The date on which he is seen will be told from +sailor to sailor. Queer taverns of distant harbours will know it +well. Not many will care to be at sea that day, and few will risk +being driven by stress of weather on the Kaiser's night to the bergs +of the haunted part of sea. + +<p>And yet for all the grimness of the pale-blue phantom, with cuirass +and helmet and eyes shimmering on deadly icebergs, and yet for all the +sorrow of the wrong he did against man, the women drowned and the +children, and all the good ships gone, yet will the horrified mariners +meeting him in the mist grudge him no moment of the day he has earned, +or the coolness he gains from the bergs, because of the kindness he +did to the wounded men. For the mariners in their hearts are kindly +men, and what a soul gains from kindness will seem to them well +deserved. + +<p><strong>Last Scene of All</strong> + +<p>After John Calleron was hit he carried on in a kind of twilight of the +mind. Things grew dimmer and calmer; harsh outlines of events became +blurred; memories came to him; there was a singing in his ears like +far-off bells. Things seemed more beautiful than they had a while ago; +to him it was for all the world like evening after some quiet sunset, +when lawns and shrubs and woods and some old spire look lovely in the +late light, and one reflects on past days. Thus he carried on, seeing +things dimly. And what is sometimes called ``the roar of battle,'' +those aërial voices that snarl and moan and whine and rage at +soldiers, had grown dimmer too. It all seemed further away, and +littler, as far things are. He still heard the bullets: there is +something so violently and intensely sharp in the snap of passing +bullets at short ranges that you hear them in deepest thought, and +even in dreams. He heard them, tearing by, above all things else. The +rest seemed fainter and dimmer, and smaller and further away. + +<p>He did not think he was very badly hit, but nothing seemed to matter +as it did a while ago. Yet he carried on. + +<p>And then he opened his eyes very wide and found he was back in London +again in an underground train. He knew it at once by the look of +it. He had made hundreds of journeys, long ago, by those trains. He +knew by the dark, outside, that it had not yet left London; but what +was odder than that, if one stopped to think of it, was that he knew +exactly where it was going. It was the train that went away out into +the country where he used to live as a boy. He was sure of that +without thinking. + +<p>When he began to think how he came to be there he remembered the war +as a very far-off thing. He supposed he had been unconscious a very +long time. He was all right now. + +<p>Other people were sitting beside him on the same seat. They all seemed +like people he remembered a very long time ago. In the darkness +opposite, beyond the windows of the train, he could see their +reflections clearly. He looked at the reflections but could not quite +remember. + +<p>A woman was sitting on his left. She was quite young. She was more like +some one that he most deeply remembered than all the others were. He +gazed at her, and tried to clear his mind. + +<p>He did not turn and stare at her, but he quietly watched her +reflection before him in the dark. Every detail of her dress, her +young face, her hat, the little ornaments she wore, were minutely +clear before him, looking out of the dark. So contented she looked you +would say she was untouched by war. + +<p>As he gazed at the clear calm face and the dress that seemed neat +though old and, like all things, so faraway, his mind grew clearer and +clearer. It seemed to him certain it was the face of his mother, but +from thirty years ago, out of old memories and one picture. He felt +sure it was his mother as she had been when he was very small. And yet +after thirty years how could he know? He puzzled to try and be quite +sure. But how she came to be there, looking like that, out of those +oldest memories, he did not think of at all. + +<p>He seemed to be hugely tired by many things and did not want to +think. Yet he was very happy, more happy even than tired men just come +home all new to comfort. + +<p>He gazed and gazed at the face in the dark. And then he felt quite +sure. + +<p>He was about to speak. Was she looking at him? Was she watching him, +he wondered. He glanced for the first time to his own reflection in +that clear row of faces. + +<p>His own reflection was not there, but blank dark showed between his +two neighbours. And then he knew he was dead. + +<p><strong>Old England</strong> + +<p>Towards winter's end on a high, big, bare down, in the south of +England, John Plowman was plowing. He was plowing the brown field +at the top of the hill, good soil of the clay; a few yards lower down +was nothing but chalk, with shallow flinty soil and steep to plow; +so they let briars grow there. For generations his forbears had +plowed on the top of that hill. John did not know how many. The +hills were very old; it might have been always. + +<p>He scarcely looked to see if his furrow was going straight. The work +he was doing was so much in his blood that he could almost feel if +furrows were straight or not. Year after year they moved on the same +old landmarks; thorn trees and briars mostly guided the plow, where +they stood on the untamed land beyond; the thorn trees grew old at +their guiding, and still the furrows varied not by the breadth of a +hoof-mark. + +<p>John, as he plowed, had leisure to meditate on much besides the +crops; he knew so much of the crops that his thoughts could easily run +free from them; he used to meditate on who they were that lived in +briar and thorn tree, and danced as folk said all through midsummer +night, and sometimes blessed and sometimes harmed the crops; for he +knew that in Old England were wonderful ancient things, odder and +older things than many folks knew. And his eyes had leisure to see +much beside the furrows, for he could almost feel the furrows going +straight. + +<p>One day at his plowing, as he watched the thorn ahead, he saw the +whole big hill besides, looking south, and the lands below it; one day +he saw in the bright sun of late winter a horseman riding the road +through the wide lands below. The horseman shone as he rode, and wore +white linen over what was shining, and on the linen was a big red +cross. ``One of them knights,'' John Plowman said to himself or +his horse, ``going to them crusades.'' And he went on with his +plowing all that day satisfied, and remembered what he had seen for +years, and told his son. + +<p>For there is in England, and there always was, mixed with the needful +things that feed or shelter the race, the wanderer-feeling for +romantic causes that runs deep and strange through the other thoughts, +as the Gulf Stream runs through the sea. Sometimes generations of John +Plowman's family would go by and no high romantic cause would come to +sate that feeling. They would work on just the same though a little +sombrely, as though some good thing had been grudged them. And then +the Crusades had come, and John Plowman had seen the Red Cross knight +go by, riding towards the sea in the morning, and Jon Plowman was +satisfied. + +<p>Some generations later a man of the same name was plowing the same +hill. They still plowed the brown clay at the top and left the slope +wild, though there were many changes. And the furrows were wonderfully +straight still. And half he watched a thorn tree ahead as he plowed +and half he took in the whole hill sloping south and the wide lands +below it, far beyond which was the sea. They had a railway now down in +the valley. The sunlight glittering near the end of winter shone on a +train that was marked with great white squares and red crosses on +them. + +<p>John Plowman stopped his horses and looked at the train. ``An +ambulance train,'' he said, ``coming up from the coast.'' He +thought of the lads he knew and wondered if any were there. He pitied +the men in that train and envied them. And then there came to him the +thought of England's cause and of how those men had upheld it, at sea +and in crumbling cities. He thought of the battle whose echoes reached +sometimes to that field, whispering to furrows and thorn trees that +had never heard them before. He thought of the accursed tyrant's cruel +might, and of the lads that had faced it. He saw the romantic +splendour of England's cause. He was old but had seen the glamour for +which each generation looked. Satisfied in his heart and cheered with +a new content he went on with his age-old task in the business of man +with the hills. + +<hr> + +<p>A printed version of this book is available from <a +href="http://tow.sattre-press.com">Sattre Press</a>. It includes +a new introduction and photographs of the author. + +<pre> +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, TALES OF WAR *** + +This file should be named towld10h.htm or towld10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, towld11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, towld10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +<a href="http://gutenberg.net">http://gutenberg.net</a> or +<a href="http://promo.net/pg">http://promo.net/pg</a> + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +<a href="http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04">http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04</a> or +<a href="ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03">ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03</a> + +Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html">http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html</a> + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +<a href="mailto:hart@pobox.com">hart@pobox.com</a> + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + + +</pre> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/old/2004-05-ttowld10h.zip b/old/2004-05-ttowld10h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d05b67 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2004-05-ttowld10h.zip diff --git a/old/5713-h.htm.2021-01-27 b/old/5713-h.htm.2021-01-27 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a22171b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/5713-h.htm.2021-01-27 @@ -0,0 +1,3719 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales of War + +Author: Lord Dunsany + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5713] +Last Updated: November 4, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WAR *** + + + + +Produced by William McClain and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + TALES OF WAR + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Lord Dunsany + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h5> + 1918 + </h5> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> The Prayer of the Men of Daleswood </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> The Road </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> An Imperial Monument </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> A Walk to the Trenches </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> A Walk in Picardy </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> What Happened on the Night of the Twenty-Seventh + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> Standing To </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> The Splendid Traveller </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> Shells </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> Two Degrees of Envy </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> The Master of No Man’s Land </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> Weeds and Wire </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> Spring in England and Flanders </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> The Nightmare Countries </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> Spring and the Kaiser </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> Two Songs </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> The Punishment </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> The English Spirit </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> The Last Mirage </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> A Famous Man </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> The Oases of Death </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> Anglo-Saxon Tyranny </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> Memories </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> The Movement </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> Nature’s Cad </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> The Home of Herr Schnitzelhaaser </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> A Deed of Mercy </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> Last Scene of All </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> Old England </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Prayer of the Men of Daleswood + </h2> + <p> + He said: “There were only twenty houses in Daleswood. A place you would + scarcely have heard of. A village up top of the hills. + </p> + <p> + “When the war came there was no more than thirty men there between sixteen + and forty-five. They all went. + </p> + <p> + “They all kept together; same battalion, same platoon. They was like that + in Daleswood. Used to call the hop pickers foreigners, the ones that come + from London. They used to go past Daleswood, some of them, every year, on + their way down to the hop fields. Foreigners they used to call them. Kept + very much to themselves, did the Daleswood people. Big woods all round + them. + </p> + <p> + “Very lucky they was, the Daleswood men. They’d lost no more than five + killed and a good sprinkling of wounded. But all the wounded was back + again with the platoon. This was up to March when the big offensive + started. + </p> + <p> + “It came very sudden. No bombardment to speak of. Just a burst of Tok + Emmas going off all together and lifting the front trench clean out of it; + then a barrage behind, and the Boche pouring over in thousands. ‘Our luck + is holding good,’ the Daleswood men said, for their trench wasn’t getting + it at all. But the platoon on their right got it. And it sounded bad too a + long way beyond that. No one could be quite sure. But the platoon on their + right was getting it: that was sure enough. + </p> + <p> + “And then the Boche got through them altogether. A message came to say so. + ‘How are things on the right?’ they said to the runner. ‘Bad,’ said the + runner, and he went back, though Lord knows what he went back to. The + Boche was through right enough. ‘We’ll have to make a defensive flank,’ + said the platoon commander. He was a Daleswood man too. Came from the big + farm. He slipped down a communication trench with a few men, mostly + bombers. And they reckoned they wouldn’t see any of them any more, for the + Boche was on the right, thick as starlings. + </p> + <p> + “The bullets were snapping over thick to keep them down while the Boche + went on, on the right: machine guns, of course. The barrage was screaming + well over and dropping far back, and their wire was still all right just + in front of them, when they put up a head to look. There was the left + platoon of the battalion. One doesn’t bother, somehow, so much about + another battalion as one’s own. One’s own gets sort of homely. And there + they were wondering how their own officer was getting on, and the few + fellows with them, on his defensive flank. The bombs were going off thick. + All the Daleswood men were firing half right. It sounded from the noise as + if it couldn’t last long, as if it would soon be decisive, and the battle + be won, or lost, just there on the right, and perhaps the war ended. They + didn’t notice the left. Nothing to speak of. + </p> + <p> + “Then a runner came from the left. ‘Hullo!’ they said, ‘How are things + over there?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The Boche is through,’ he said. ‘Where’s the officer?’ ‘Through!’ they + said. It didn’t seem possible. However did he do that? they thought. And + the runner went on to the right to look for the officer. + </p> + <p> + “And then the barrage shifted further back. The shells still screamed over + them, but the bursts were further away. That is always a relief. Probably + they felt it. But it was bad for all that. Very bad. It meant the Boche + was well past them. They realized it after a while. + </p> + <p> + “They and their bit of wire were somehow just between two waves of attack. + Like a bit of stone on the beach with the sea coming in. A platoon was + nothing to the Boche; nothing much perhaps just then to anybody. But it + was the whole of Daleswood for one long generation. + </p> + <p> + “The youngest full-grown man they had left behind was fifty, and some one + had heard that he had died since the war. There was no one else in + Daleswood but women and children, and boys up to seventeen. + </p> + <p> + “The bombing had stopped on their right; everything was quieter, and the + barrage further away. When they began to realize what that meant they + began to talk of Daleswood. And then they thought that when all of them + were gone there would be nobody who would remember Daleswood just as it + used to be. For places alter a little, woods grow, and changes come, trees + get cut down, old people die; new houses are built now and then in place + of a yew tree, or any old thing, that used to be there before; and one way + or another the old things go; and all the time you have people thinking + that the old times were best, and the old ways when they were young. And + the Daleswood men were beginning to say, ‘Who would there be to remember + it just as it was?’ + </p> + <p> + “There was no gas, the wind being wrong for it, so they were able to talk, + that is if they shouted, for the bullets alone made as much noise as + breaking up an old shed, crisper like, more like new timber breaking; and + the shells of course was howling all the time, that is the barrage that + was bursting far back. The trench still stank of them. + </p> + <p> + “They said that one of them must go over and put his hands up, or run away + if he could, whichever he liked, and when the war was over he would go to + some writing fellow, one of those what makes a living by it, and tell him + all about Daleswood, just as it used to be, and he would write it out + proper and there it would be for always. They all agreed to that. And then + they talked a bit, as well as they could above that awful screeching, to + try and decide who it should be. The eldest, they said, would know + Daleswood best. But he said, and they came to agree with him, that it + would be a sort of waste to save the life of a man what had had his good + time, and they ought to send the youngest, and they would tell him all + they knew of Daleswood before his time, and everything would be written + down just the same and the old time remembered. + </p> + <p> + “They had the idea somehow that the women thought more of their own man + and their children and the washing and what-not; and that the deep woods + and the great hills beyond, and the plowing and the harvest and snaring + rabbits in winter and the sports in the village in summer, and the hundred + things that pass the time of one generation in an old, old place like + Daleswood, meant less to them than the men. Anyhow they did not quite seem + to trust them with the past. + </p> + <p> + “The youngest of them was only just eighteen. That was Dick. They told him + to get out and put his hands up and be quick getting across, as soon as + they had told him one or two things about the old time in Daleswood that a + youngster like him wouldn’t know. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Dick said he wasn’t going, and was making trouble about it, so they + told Fred to go. Back, they told him, was best, and come up behind the + Boche with his hands up; they would be less likely to shoot when it was + back towards their own supports. + </p> + <p> + “Fred wouldn’t go, and so on with the rest. Well, they didn’t waste time + quarrelling, time being scarce, and they said what was to be done? There + was chalk where they were, low down in the trench, a little brown clay on + the top of it. There was a great block of it loose near a shelter. They + said they would carve with their knives on the big bowlder of chalk all + that they knew about Daleswood. They would write where it was and just + what it was like, and they would write something of all those little + things that pass with a generation. They reckoned on having the time for + it. It would take a direct hit with something large, what they call big + stuff, to do any harm to that bowlder. They had no confidence in paper, it + got so messed up when you were hit; besides, the Boche had been using + thermite. Burns, that does. + </p> + <p> + “They’d one or two men that were handy at carving chalk; used to do the + regimental crest and pictures of Hindenburg, and all that. They decided + they’d do it in reliefs. + </p> + <p> + “They started smoothing the chalk. They had nothing more to do but just to + think what to write. It was a great big bowlder with plenty of room on it. + The Boche seemed not to know that they hadn’t killed the Daleswood men, + just as the sea mightn’t know that one stone stayed dry at the coming in + of the tide. A gap between two divisions probably. + </p> + <p> + “Harry wanted to tell of the woods more than anything. He was afraid they + might cut them down because of the war, and no one would know of the larks + they had had there as boys. Wonderful old woods they were, with a lot of + Spanish chestnut growing low, and tall old oaks over it. Harry wanted them + to write down what the foxgloves were like in the wood at the end of + summer, standing there in the evening, ‘Great solemn rows,’ he said, ‘all + odd in the dusk. All odd in the evening, going there after work; and makes + you think of fairies.’ There was lots of things about those woods, he + said, that ought to be put down if people were to remember Daleswood as it + used to be when they knew it. What were the good old days without those + woods? he said. + </p> + <p> + “But another wanted to tell of the time when they cut the hay with + scythes, working all those long days at the end of June; there would be no + more of that, he said, with machines come in and all. + </p> + <p> + “There was room to tell of all that and the woods too, said the others, so + long as they put it short like. + </p> + <p> + “And another wanted to tell of the valleys beyond the wood, far afield + where the men went working; the women would remember the hay. The great + valleys he’d tell of. It was they that made Daleswood. The valleys beyond + the wood and the twilight on them in summer. Slopes covered with mint and + thyme, all solemn at evening. A hare on them perhaps, sitting as though + they were his, then lolloping slowly away. It didn’t seem from the way he + told of those old valleys that he thought they could ever be to other folk + what they were to the Daleswood men in the days he remembered. He spoke of + them as though there were something in them, besides the mint and the + thyme and the twilight and hares, that would not stay after these men were + gone, though he did not say what it was. Scarcely hinted it even. + </p> + <p> + “And still the Boche did nothing to the Daleswood men. The bullets had + ceased altogether. That made it much quieter. The shells still snarled + over, bursting far, far away. + </p> + <p> + “And Bob said tell of Daleswood itself, the old village, with queer + chimneys, of red brick, in the wood. There weren’t houses like that + nowadays. They’d be building new ones and spoiling it, likely, after the + war. And that was all he had to say. + </p> + <p> + “And nobody was for not putting down anything any one said. It was all to + go in on the chalk, as much as would go in the time. For they all sort of + understood that the Daleswood of what they called the good old time was + just the memories that those few men had of the days they had spent there + together. And that was the Daleswood they loved, and wanted folks to + remember. They were all agreed as to that. And then they said how was they + to write it down. And when it came to writing there was so much to be + said, not spread over a lot of paper I don’t mean, but going down so deep + like, that it seemed to them how their own talk wouldn’t be good enough to + say it. And they knew no other, and didn’t know what to do. I reckon + they’d been reading magazines and thought that writing had to be like that + muck. Anyway, they didn’t know what to do. I reckon their talk would be + good enough for Daleswood when they loved Daleswood like that. But they + didn’t, and they were puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “The Boche was miles away behind them now, and his barrage with him. Still + in front he did nothing. + </p> + <p> + “They talked it all over and over, did the Daleswood men. They tried + everything. But somehow or other they couldn’t get near what they wanted + to say about old summer evenings. Time wore on. The bowlder was smooth and + ready, and that whole generation of Daleswood men could find no words to + say what was in their hearts about Daleswood. There wasn’t time to waste. + And the only thing they thought of in the end was ‘Please, God, remember + Daleswood just like it used to be.’ And Bill and Harry carved that on the + chalk between them. + </p> + <p> + “What happened to the Daleswood men? Why, nothing. There come one of them + counter-attacks, a regular bastard for Jerry. The French made it and did + the Boche in proper. I got the story from a man with a hell of a great big + hammer, long afterwards when that trench was well behind our line. He was + smashing up a huge great chunk of chalk because he said they all felt it + was so damn silly.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Road + </h2> + <p> + The battery Sergeant-Major was practically asleep. He was all worn out by + the continuous roar of bombardments that had been shaking the dugouts and + dazing his brains for weeks. He was pretty well fed up. + </p> + <p> + The officer commanding the battery, a young man in a very neat uniform and + of particularly high birth, came up and spat in his face. The + Sergeant-Major sprang to attention, received an order, and took a stick at + once and beat up the tired men. For a message had come to the battery that + some English (God punish them!) were making a road at X. + </p> + <p> + The gun was fired. It was one of those unlucky shots that come on days + when our luck is out. The shell, a 5.9, lit in the midst of the British + working party. It did the Germans little good. It did not stop the deluge + of shells that was breaking up their guns and was driving misery down like + a wedge into their spirits. It did not improve the temper of the officer + commanding the battery, so that the men suffered as acutely as ever under + the Sergeant-Major. But it stopped the road for that day. + </p> + <p> + I seemed to see that road going on in a dream. + </p> + <p> + Another working party came along next day, with clay pipes and got to + work; and next day and the day after. Shells came, but went short or over; + the shell holes were neatly patched up; the road went on. Here and there a + tree had to be cut, but not often, not many of them were left; it was + mostly digging and grubbing up roots, and pushing wheelbarrows along + planks and duck-boards, and filling up with stones. Sometimes the + engineers would come: that was when streams were crossed. The engineers + made their bridges, and the infantry working party went on with the + digging and laying down stones. It was monotonous work. Contours altered, + soil altered, even the rock beneath it, but the desolation never; they + always worked in desolation and thunder. And so the road went on. + </p> + <p> + They came to a wide river. They went through a great forest. They passed + the ruins of what must have been quite fine towns, big prosperous towns + with universities in them. I saw the infantry working party with their + stumpy clay pipes, in my dream, a long way on from where that shell had + lit, which stopped the road for a day. And behind them curious changes + came over the road at X. You saw the infantry going up to the trenches, + and going back along it into reserve. They marched at first, but in a few + days they were going up in motors, grey busses with shuttered windows. And + then the guns came along it, miles and miles of guns, following after the + thunder which was further off over the hills. And then one day the cavalry + came by. Then stores in wagons, the thunder muttering further and further + away. I saw farm-carts going down the road at X. And then one day all + manner of horses and traps and laughing people, farmers and women and boys + all going by to X. There was going to be a fair. + </p> + <p> + And far away the road was growing longer and longer amidst, as always, + desolation and thunder. And one day far away from X the road grew very + fine indeed. It was going proudly through a mighty city, sweeping in like + a river; you would not think that it ever remembered duck-boards. There + were great palaces there, with huge armorial eagles blazoned in stone, and + all along each side of the road was a row of statues of kings. And going + down the road towards the palace, past the statues of the kings, a tired + procession was riding, full of the flags of the Allies. And I looked at + the flags in my dream, out of national pride to see whether we led, or + whether France or America. America went before us, but I could not see the + Union Jack in the van nor the Tricolour either, nor the Stars and Stripes: + Belgium led and then Serbia, they that had suffered most. + </p> + <p> + And before the flags, and before the generals, I saw marching along on + foot the ghosts of the working party that were killed at X, gazing about + them in admiration as they went, at the great city and at the palaces. And + one man, wondering at the Sièges Allée, turned round to the Lance Corporal + in charge of the party: “That is a fine road that we made, Frank,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + An Imperial Monument + </h2> + <p> + It is an early summer’s morning: the dew is all over France: the train is + going eastwards. They are quite slow, those troop trains, and there are + few embankments or cuttings in those flat plains, so that you seem to be + meandering along through the very life of the people. The roads come right + down to the railways, and the sun is shining brightly over the farms and + the people going to work along the roads, so that you can see their faces + clearly as the slow train passes them by. + </p> + <p> + They are all women and boys that work on the farms; sometimes perhaps you + see a very old man, but nearly always women and boys; they are out working + early. They straighten up from their work as we go by and lift their hands + to bless us. + </p> + <p> + We pass by long rows of the tall French poplars, their branches cut away + all up the trunk, leaving only an odd round tuft at the top of the tree; + but little branches are growing all up the trunk now, and the poplars are + looking unkempt. It would be the young men who would cut the branches of + the poplars. They would cut them for some useful thrifty purpose that I do + not know; and then they would cut them because they were always cut that + way, as long ago as the times of the old men’s tales about France; but + chiefly, I expect, because youth likes to climb difficult trees; that is + why they are clipped so very high. And the trunks are all unkempt now. + </p> + <p> + We go on by many farms with their shapely red-roofed houses; they stand + there, having the air of the homes of an ancient people; they would not be + out of keeping with any romance that might come, or any romance that has + come in the long story of France, and the girls of those red-roofed houses + work all alone in the fields. + </p> + <p> + We pass by many willows and come to a great marsh. In a punt on some open + water an old man is angling. We come to fields again, and then to a deep + wood. France smiles about us in the open sunlight. + </p> + <p> + But towards evening we pass over the border of this pleasant country into + a tragical land of destruction and gloom. It is not only that murder has + walked here to and fro for years, until all the fields are ominous with + it, but the very fields themselves have been mutilated until they are + unlike fields, the woods have been shattered right down to the anemones, + and the houses have been piled in heaps of rubbish, and the heaps of + rubbish have been scattered by shells. We see no more trees, no more + houses, no more women, no cattle even now. We have come to the abomination + of desolation. And over it broods, and will probably brood for ever, + accursed by men and accursed by the very fields, the hyena-like memory of + the Kaiser, who has whitened so many bones. + </p> + <p> + It may be some satisfaction to his selfishness to know that the monument + to it cannot pass away, to know that the shell holes go too deep to be + washed away by the healing rains of years, to know that the wasted German + generations will not in centuries gather up what has been spilt on the + Somme, or France recover in the sunshine of many summers from all the + misery that his devilish folly has caused. It is likely to be to such as + him a source of satisfaction, for the truly vain care only to be talked of + in many mouths; they hysterically love to be thought of, and the notice of + mankind is to them a mirror which reflects their futile postures. The + admiration of fools they love, and the praise of a slavelike people, but + they would sooner be hated by mankind than be ignored and forgotten as is + their due. And the truly selfish care only for their imperial selves. + </p> + <p> + Let us leave him to pass in thought from ruin to ruin, from wasted field + to field, from crater to crater; let us leave his fancy haunting + cemeteries in the stricken lands of the world, to find what glee he can in + this huge manifestation of his imperial will. + </p> + <p> + We neither know to what punishment he moves nor can even guess what + fitting one is decreed. But the time is surely appointed and the place. + Poor trifler with Destiny, who ever had so much to dread? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Walk to the Trenches + </h2> + <p> + To stand at the beginning of a road is always wonderful; for on all roads + before they end experience lies, sometimes adventure. And a trench, even + as a road, has its beginnings somewhere. In the heart of a very strange + country you find them suddenly. A trench may begin in the ruins of a + house, may run up out of a ditch; may be cut into a rise of ground + sheltered under a hill, and is built in many ways by many men. As to who + is the best builder of trenches there can be little doubt, and any British + soldier would probably admit that for painstaking work and excellence of + construction there are few to rival Von Hindenburg. His Hindenburg line is + a model of neatness and comfort, and it would be only a very ungrateful + British soldier who would deny it. + </p> + <p> + You come to the trenches out of strangely wasted lands, you come perhaps + to a wood in an agony of contortions, black, branchless, sepulchral trees, + and then no more trees at all. The country after that is still called + Picardy or Belgium, still has its old name on the map as though it smiled + there yet, sheltering cities and hamlet and radiant with orchards and + gardens, but the country named Belgium—or whatever it be—is + all gone away, and there stretches for miles instead one of the world’s + great deserts, a thing to take its place no longer with smiling lands, but + with Sahara, Gobi, Kalahari, and the Karoo; not to be thought of as + Picardy, but more suitably to be named the Desert of Wilhelm. Through + these sad lands one goes to come to the trenches. Overhead floats until it + is chased away an aëroplane with little black crosses, that you can + scarcely see at his respectful height, peering to see what more harm may + be done in the desolation and ruin. Little flashes sparkle near him, white + puffs spread out round the flashes: and he goes, and our airmen go away + after him; black puffs break out round our airmen. Up in the sky you hear + a faint tap-tapping. They have got their machine guns working. + </p> + <p> + You see many things there that are unusual in deserts: a good road, a + railway, perhaps a motor bus; you see what was obviously once a village, + and hear English songs, but no one who has not seen it can imagine the + country in which the trenches lie, unless he bear a desert clearly in + mind, a desert that has moved from its place on the map by some + enchantment of wizardry, and come down on a smiling country. Would it not + be glorious to be a Kaiser and be able to do things like that? + </p> + <p> + Past all manner of men, past no trees, no hedges, no fields, but only one + field from skyline to skyline that has been harrowed by war, one goes with + companions that this event in our history has drawn from all parts of the + earth. On that road you may hear all in one walk where is the best place + to get lunch in the City; you may hear how they laid a drag for some Irish + pack, and what the Master said; you may hear a farmer lamenting over the + harm that rhinoceroses do to his coffee crop; you may hear Shakespeare + quoted and La vie Parisienne. + </p> + <p> + In the village you see a lot of German orders, with their silly notes of + exclamation after them, written up on notice boards among the ruins. Ruins + and German orders. That turning movement of Von Kluck’s near Paris in 1914 + was a mistake. Had he not done it we might have had ruins and German + orders everywhere. And yet Von Kluck may comfort himself with the thought + that it is not by his mistakes that Destiny shapes the world: such a + nightmare as a world-wide German domination can have had no place amongst + the scheme of things. + </p> + <p> + Beyond the village the batteries are thick. A great howitzer near the road + lifts its huge muzzle slowly, fires and goes down again, and lifts again + and fires. It is as though Polyphemus had lifted his huge shape slowly, + leisurely, from the hillside where he was sitting, and hurled the mountain + top, and sat down again. If he is firing pretty regularly you are sure to + get the blast of one of them as you go by, and it can be a very strong + wind indeed. One’s horse, if one is riding, does not very much like it, + but I have seen horses far more frightened by a puddle on the road when + coming home from hunting in the evening: one 12-inch howitzer more or less + in France calls for no great attention from man or beast. + </p> + <p> + And so we come in sight of the support trenches where we are to dwell for + a week before we go on for another mile over the hills, where the black + fountains are rising. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Walk in Picardy + </h2> + <p> + Picture any village you know. In such a village as that the trench begins. + That is to say, there are duck-boards along a ditch, and the ditch runs + into a trench. Only the village is no longer there. It was like some + village you know, though perhaps a little merrier, because it was further + south and nearer the sun; but it is all gone now. And the trench runs out + of the ruins, and is called Windmill Avenue. There must have been a + windmill standing there once. + </p> + <p> + When you come from the ditch to the trench you leave the weeds and soil + and trunks of willows and see the bare chalk. At the top of those two + white walls is a foot or so of brown clay. The brown clay grows deeper as + you come to the hills, until the chalk has disappeared altogether. Our + alliance with France is new in the history of man, but it is an old, old + union in the history of the hills. White chalk with brown clay on top has + dipped and gone under the sea; and the hills of Sussex and Kent are one + with the hills of Picardy. + </p> + <p> + And so you may pass through the chalk that lies in that desolate lane with + memories of more silent and happier hills; it all depends on what the + chalk means to you: you may be unfamiliar with it and in that case you + will not notice it; or you may have been born among those thyme-scented + hills and yet have no errant fancies, so that you will not think of the + hills that watched you as a child, but only keep your mind on the business + in hand; that is probably best. + </p> + <p> + You come after a while to other trenches: notice boards guide you, and you + keep to Windmill Avenue. You go by Pear Lane, Cherry Lane, and Plum Lane. + Pear trees, cherry trees and plum trees must have grown there. You are + passing through either wild lanes banked with briar, over which these + various trees peered one by one and showered their blossoms down at the + end of spring, and girls would have gathered the fruit when it ripened, + with the help of tall young men; or else you are passing through an old + walled garden, and the pear and the cherry and plum were growing against + the wall, looking southwards all through the summer. There is no way + whatever of telling which it was; it is all one in war; whatever was there + is gone; there remain to-day, and survive, the names of those three trees + only. We come next to Apple Lane. You must not think that an apple tree + ever grew there, for we trace here the hand of the wit, who by naming Plum + Lane’s neighbour “Apple Lane” merely commemorates the inseparable + connection that plum has with apple forever in the minds of all who go to + modern war. For by mixing apple with plum the manufacturer sees the + opportunity of concealing more turnip in the jam, as it were, at the + junction of the two forces, than he might be able to do without this + unholy alliance. + </p> + <p> + We come presently to the dens of those who trouble us (but only for our + own good), the dugouts of the trench mortar batteries. It is noisy when + they push up close to the front line and play for half an hour or so with + their rivals: the enemy sends stuff back, our artillery join in; it is as + though, while you were playing a game of croquet, giants hundreds of feet + high, some of them friendly, some unfriendly, carnivorous and hungry, came + and played football on your croquet lawn. + </p> + <p> + We go on past Battalion Headquarters, and past the dugouts and shelters of + various people having business with History, past stores of bombs and the + many other ingredients with which history is made, past men coming down + who are very hard to pass, for the width of two men and two packs is the + width of a communication trench and sometimes an inch over; past two men + carrying a flying pig slung on a pole between them; by many turnings; and + Windmill Avenue brings you at last to Company Headquarters in a dugout + that Hindenburg made with his German thoroughness. + </p> + <p> + And there, after a while, descends the Tok Emma man, the officer + commanding a trench mortar battery, and is given perchance a whiskey and + water, and sits on the best empty box that we have to offer, and lights + one of our cigarettes. + </p> + <p> + “There’s going to be a bit of a strafe at 5.30,” he says. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + What Happened on the Night of the Twenty-Seventh + </h2> + <p> + The night of the twenty-seventh was Dick Cheeser’s first night on sentry. + The night was far gone when he went on duty; in another hour they would + stand to. Dick Cheeser had camouflaged his age when he enlisted: he was + barely eighteen. A wonderfully short time ago he was quite a little boy; + now he was in a frontline trench. It hadn’t seemed that things were going + to alter like that. Dick Cheeser was a plowboy: long brown furrows over + haughty, magnificent downs seemed to stretch away into the future as far + as his mind could see. No narrow outlook either, for the life of nations + depends upon those brown furrows. But there are the bigger furrows that + Mars makes, the long brown trenches of war; the life of nations depends on + these too; Dick Cheeser had never pictured these. He had heard talk about + a big navy and a lot of Dreadnoughts; silly nonsense he called it. What + did one want a big navy for? To keep the Germans out, some people said. + But the Germans weren’t coming. If they wanted to come, why didn’t they + come? Anybody could see that they never did come. Some of Dick Cheeser’s + pals had votes. + </p> + <p> + And so he had never pictured any change from plowing the great downs; and + here was war at last, and here was he. The Corporal showed him where to + stand, told him to keep a good lookout and left him. + </p> + <p> + And there was Dick Cheeser alone in the dark with an army in front of him, + eighty yards away: and, if all tales were true, a pretty horrible army. + </p> + <p> + The night was awfully still. I use the adverb not as Dick Cheeser would + have used it. The stillness awed him. There had not been a shell all + night. He put his head up over the parapet and waited. Nobody fired at + him. He felt that the night was waiting for him. He heard voices going + along the trench: some one said it was a black night: the voices died + away. A mere phrase; the night wasn’t black at all, it was grey. Dick + Cheeser was staring at it, and the night was staring back at him, and + seemed to be threatening him; it was grey, grey as an old cat that they + used to have at home, and as artful. Yes, thought Dick Cheeser, it was an + artful night; that was what was wrong with it. If shells had come or the + Germans, or anything at all, you would know how to take it; but that quiet + mist over huge valleys, and stillness! Anything might happen. Dick waited + and waited, and the night waited too. He felt they were watching each + other, the night and he. He felt that each was crouching. His mind slipped + back to the woods on hills he knew. He was watching with eyes and ears and + imagination to see what would happen in No Man’s Land under that ominous + mist: but his mind took a peep for all that at the old woods that he knew. + He pictured himself, he and a band of boys, chasing squirrels again in the + summer. They used to chase a squirrel from tree to tree, throwing stones, + till they tired it: and then they might hit it with a stone: usually not. + Sometimes the squirrel would hide, and a boy would have to climb after it. + It was great sport, thought Dick Cheeser. What a pity he hadn’t had a + catapult in those days, he thought. Somehow the years when he had not had + a catapult seemed all to be wasted years. With a catapult one might get + the squirrel almost at once, with luck: and what a great thing that would + be. All the other boys would come round to look at the squirrel, and to + look at the catapult, and ask him how he did it. He wouldn’t have to say + much, there would be the squirrel; no boasting would be necessary with the + squirrel lying dead. It might spread to other things, even rabbits; almost + anything, in fact. He would certainly get a catapult first thing when he + got home. A little wind blew in the night, too cold for summer. It blew + away, as it were, the summer of Dick’s memories; blew away hills and woods + and squirrel. It made for a moment a lane in the mist over No Man’s Land. + Dick Cheeser peered down it, but it closed again. “No,” Night seemed to + say, “you don’t guess my secret.” And the awful hush intensified. “What + would they do?” thought the sentry. “What were they planning in all those + miles of silence?” Even the Verys were few. When one went up, far hills + seemed to sit and brood over the valley: their black shapes seemed to know + what would happen in the mist and seemed sworn not to say. The rocket + faded, and the hills went back into mystery again, and Dick Cheeser peered + level again over the ominous valley. + </p> + <p> + All the dangers and sinister shapes and evil destinies, lurking between + the armies in that mist, that the sentry faced that night cannot be told + until the history of the war is written by a historian who can see the + mind of the soldier. Not a shell fell all night, no German stirred; Dick + Cheeser was relieved at “Stand to” and his comrades stood to beside him, + and soon it was wide, golden, welcome dawn. + </p> + <p> + And for all the threats of night the thing that happened was one that the + lonely sentry had never foreseen: in the hour of his watching Dick + Cheeser, though scarcely eighteen, became a full-grown man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Standing To + </h2> + <p> + One cannot say that one time in the trenches is any more tense than + another. One cannot take any one particular hour and call it, in modern + nonsensical talk, “typical hour in the trenches.” The routine of the + trenches has gone on too long for that. The tensest hour ought to be half + an hour before dawn, the hour when attacks are expected and men stand to. + It is an old convention of war that that is the dangerous hour, the hour + when defenders are weakest and attack most to be feared. For darkness + favours the attackers then as night favours the lion, and then dawn comes + and they can hold their gains in the light. Therefore in every trench in + every war the garrison is prepared in that menacing hour, watching in + greater numbers than they do the whole night through. As the first lark + lifts from meadows they stand there in the dark. Whenever there is any war + in any part of the world you may be sure that at that hour men crowd to + their parapets: when sleep is deepest in cities they are watching there. + </p> + <p> + When the dawn shimmers a little, and a grey light comes, and widens, and + all of a sudden figures become distinct, and the hour of the attack that + is always expected is gone, then perhaps some faint feeling of gladness + stirs the newest of the recruits; but chiefly the hour passes like all the + other hours there, an unnoticed fragment of the long, long routine that is + taken with resignation mingled with jokes. + </p> + <p> + Dawn comes shy with a wind scarce felt, dawn faint and strangely + perceptible, feeble and faint in the east while men still watch the + darkness. When did the darkness go? When did the dawn grow golden? It + happened as in a moment, a moment you did not see. Guns flash no longer: + the sky is gold and serene; dawn stands there like Victory that will + shine, on one of these years when the Kaiser goes the way of the older + curses of earth. Dawn, and the men unfix bayonets as they step down from + the fire-step and clean their rifles with pull-throughs. Not all together, + but section by section, for it would not do for a whole company to be + caught cleaning their rifles at dawn, or at any other time. + </p> + <p> + They rub off the mud or the rain that has come at night on their rifles, + they detach the magazine and see that its spring is working, they take out + the breechblock and oil it, and put back everything clean: and another + night is gone; it is one day nearer victory. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Splendid Traveller + </h2> + <p> + A traveller threw his cloak over his shoulder and came down slopes of gold + in El Dorado. From incredible heights he came. He came from where the + peaks of the pure gold mountain shone a little red with the sunset; from + crag to crag of gold he stepped down slowly. Sheer out of romance he came + through the golden evening. + </p> + <p> + It was only an incident of every day; the sun had set or was setting, the + air turned chill, and a battalion’s bugles were playing “Retreat” when + this knightly stranger, a British aëroplane, dipped, and went homeward + over the infantry. That beautiful evening call, and the golden cloud bank + towering, and that adventurer coming home in the cold, happening all + together, revealed in a flash the fact (which hours of thinking sometimes + will not bring) that we live in such a period of romance as the + troubadours would have envied. + </p> + <p> + He came, that British airman, over the border, sheer over No Man’s Land + and the heads of the enemy and the mysterious land behind, snatching the + secrets that the enemy would conceal. Either he had defeated the German + airmen who would have stopped his going, or they had not dared to try. Who + knows what he had done? He had been abroad and was coming home in the + evening, as he did every day. + </p> + <p> + Even when all its romance has been sifted from an age (as the centuries + sift) and set apart from the trivial, and when all has been stored by the + poets; even then what has any of them more romantic than these adventurers + in the evening air, coming home in the twilight with the black shells + bursting below? + </p> + <p> + The infantry look up with the same vague wonder with which children look + at dragon flies; sometimes they do not look at all, for all that comes in + France has its part with the wonder of a terrible story as well as with + the incidents of the day, incidents that recur year in and year out, too + often for us to notice them. If a part of the moon were to fall off in the + sky and come tumbling to earth, the comment on the lips of the + imperturbable British watchers that have seen so much would be, “Hullo, + what is Jerry up to now?” + </p> + <p> + And so the British aëroplane glides home in the evening, and the light + fades from the air, and what is left of the poplars grows dark against the + sky, and what is left of the houses grows more mournful in the gloaming, + and night comes, and with it the sounds of thunder, for the airman has + given his message to the artillery. It is as though Hermes had gone abroad + sailing upon his sandals, and had found some bad land below those winged + feet wherein men did evil and kept not the laws of gods or men; and he had + brought this message back and the gods were angry. + </p> + <p> + For the wars we fight to-day are not like other wars, and the wonders of + them are unlike other wonders. If we do not see in them the saga and epic, + how shall we tell of them? + </p> + <p> + England + </p> + <p> + “And then we used to have sausages,” said the Sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “And mashed?” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Sergeant, “and beer. And then we used to go home. It was + grand in the evenings. We used to go along a lane that was full of them + wild roses. And then we come to the road where the houses were. They all + had their bit of a garden, every house.” + </p> + <p> + “Nice, I calls it, a garden,” the Private said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Sergeant, “they all had their garden. It came right down + to the road. Wooden palings: none of that there wire.” + </p> + <p> + “I hates wire,” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “They didn’t have none of it,” the N. C. O. went on. “The gardens came + right down to the road, looking lovely. Old Billy Weeks he had them tall + pale-blue flowers in his garden nearly as high as a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Hollyhocks?” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “No, they wasn’t hollyhocks. Lovely they were. We used to stop and look at + them, going by every evening. He had a path up the middle of his garden + paved with red tiles, Billy Weeks had; and these tall blue flowers growing + the whole way along it, both sides like. They was a wonder. Twenty gardens + there must have been, counting them all; but none to touch Billy Weeks + with his pale-blue flowers. There was an old windmill away to the left. + Then there were the swifts sailing by overhead and screeching: just about + as high again as the houses. Lord, how them birds did fly. And there was + the other young fellows, what were not out walking, standing about by the + roadside, just doing nothing at all. One of them had a flute: Jim Booker, + he was. Those were great days. The bats used to come out, flutter, + flutter, flutter; and then there’d be a star or two; and the smoke from + the chimneys going all grey; and a little cold wind going up and down like + the bats; and all the colour going out of things; and the woods looking + all strange, and a wonderful quiet in them, and a mist coming up from the + stream. It’s a queer time that. It’s always about that time, the way I see + it: the end of the evening in the long days, and a star or two, and me and + my girl going home. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t you like to talk about things for a bit the way you remember + them?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, Sergeant,” said the other, “you go on. You do bring it all back + so.” + </p> + <p> + “I used to bring her home,” the Sergeant said, “to her father’s house. Her + father was keeper there, and they had a house in the wood. A fine house + with queer old tiles on it, and a lot of large friendly dogs. I knew them + all by name, same as they knew me. I used to walk home then along the side + of the wood. The owls would be about; you could hear them yelling. They’d + float out of the wood like, sometimes: all large and white.” + </p> + <p> + “I knows them,” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “I saw a fox once so close I could nearly touch him, walking like he was + on velvet. He just slipped out of the wood.” + </p> + <p> + “Cunning old brute,” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the time to be out,” said the Sergeant. “Ten o’clock on a summer’s + night, and the night full of noises, not many of them, but what there is, + strange, and coming from a great way off, through the quiet, with nothing + to stop them. Dogs barking, owls hooting, an old cart; and then just once + a sound that you couldn’t account for at all, not anyhow. I’ve heard + sounds on nights like that that nobody ‘ud think you’d heard, nothing like + the flute that young Booker had, nothing like anything on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “I never told any one before, because they wouldn’t believe you. But it + doesn’t matter now. There’d be a light in the window to guide me when I + got home. I’d walk up through the flowers of our garden. We had a lovely + garden. Wonderful white and strange the flowers looked of a nighttime.” + </p> + <p> + “You bring it all back wonderful,” said the Private. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a great thing to have lived,” said the Sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sergeant,” said the other, “I wouldn’t have missed it, not for + anything.” + </p> + <p> + For five days the barrage had rained down behind them: they were utterly + cut off and had no hope of rescue: their food was done, and they did not + know where they were. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Shells + </h2> + <p> + When the aëroplanes are home and the sunset has flared away, and it is + cold, and night comes down over France, you notice the guns more than you + do by day, or else they are actually more active then, I do not know which + it is. + </p> + <p> + It is then as though a herd of giants, things of enormous height, came out + from lairs in the earth and began to play with the hills. It is as though + they picked up the tops of the hills in their hands and then let them drop + rather slowly. It is exactly like hills falling. You see the flashes all + along the sky, and then that lumping thump as though the top of the hill + had been let drop, not all in one piece, but crumbled a little as it would + drop from your hands if you were three hundred feet high and were fooling + about in the night, spoiling what it had taken so long to make. That is + heavy stuff bursting, a little way off. + </p> + <p> + If you are anywhere near a shell that is bursting, you can hear in it a + curious metallic ring. That applies to the shells of either side, provided + that you are near enough, though usually of course it is the hostile shell + and not your own that you are nearest to, and so one distinguishes them. + It is curious, after such a colossal event as this explosion must be in + the life of a bar of steel, that anything should remain at all of the old + bell-like voice of the metal, but it appears to, if you listen + attentively; it is perhaps its last remonstrance before leaving its shape + and going back to rust in the earth again for ages. + </p> + <p> + Another of the voices of the night is the whine the shell makes in coming; + it is not unlike the cry the hyena utters as soon as it’s dark in Africa: + “How nice traveller would taste,” the hyena seems to say, and “I want dead + White Man.” It is the rising note of the shell as it comes nearer, and its + dying away when it has gone over, that make it reminiscent of the hyena’s + method of diction. If it is not going over then it has something quite + different to say. It begins the same as the other, it comes up, talking of + the back areas with the same long whine as the other. I have heard old + hands say “That one is going well over.” “Whee-oo,” says the shell; but + just where the “oo” should be long drawn out and turn into the hyena’s + final syllable, it says something quite different. “Zarp,” it says. That + is bad. Those are the shells that are looking for you. + </p> + <p> + And then of course there is the whizz-bang coming from close, along his + flat trajectory: he has little to say, but comes like a sudden wind, and + all that he has to do is done and over at once. + </p> + <p> + And then there is the gas shell, who goes over gurgling gluttonously, + probably in big herds, putting down a barrage. It is the liquid inside + that gurgles before it is turned to gas by the mild explosion; that is the + explanation of it; yet that does not prevent one picturing a tribe of + cannibals who have winded some nice juicy men and are smacking their chops + and dribbling in anticipation. + </p> + <p> + And a wonderful thing to see, even in those wonderful nights, is our + thermite bursting over the heads of the Germans. The shell breaks into a + shower of golden rain; one cannot judge easily at night how high from the + ground it breaks, but about as high as the tops of trees seen at a hundred + yards. It spreads out evenly all round and rains down slowly; it is a bad + shower to be out in, and for a long time after it has fallen, the sodden + grass of winter, and the mud and old bones beneath it, burn quietly in a + circle. On such a night as this, and in such showers, the flying pigs will + go over, which take two men to carry each of them; they go over and root + right down to the German dugout, where the German has come in out of the + golden rain, and they fling it all up in the air. + </p> + <p> + These are such nights as Scheherazade with all her versatility never + dreamed of; or if such nightmares came she certainly never told of them, + or her august master, the Sultan, light of the age, would have had her at + once beheaded; and his people would have deemed that he did well. It has + been reserved for a modern autocrat to dream such a nightmare, driven to + it perhaps by the tales of a white-whiskered Scheherazade, the Lord of the + Kiel Canal; and being an autocrat he has made the nightmare a reality for + the world. But the nightmare is stronger than its master, and grows + mightier every night; and the All-Highest War Lord learns that there are + powers in Hell that are easily summoned by the rulers of earth, but that + go not easily home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Two Degrees of Envy + </h2> + <p> + It was night in the front line and no moon, or the moon was hidden. There + was a strafe going on. The Tok Emmas were angry. And the artillery on both + sides were looking for the Tok Emmas. + </p> + <p> + Tok Emma, I may explain for the blessed dwellers in whatever far happy + island there be that has not heard of these things, is the crude language + of Mars. He has not time to speak of a trunk mortar battery, for he is + always in a hurry, and so he calls them T. M.‘s. But Bellona might not + hear him saying T. M., for all the din that she makes: might think that he + said D. N; and so he calls it Tok Emma. Ak, Beer, C, Don: this is the + alphabet of Mars. + </p> + <p> + And the huge minnies were throwing old limbs out of No Man’s Land into the + frontline trench, and shells were rasping down through the air that seemed + to resist them until it was torn to pieces: they burst and showers of mud + came down from heaven. Aimlessly, as it seemed, shells were bursting now + and then in the air, with a flash intensely red: the smell of them was + drifting down the trenches. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of all this Bert Butterworth was hit. “Only in the foot,” + his pals said. “Only!” said Bert. They put him on a stretcher and carried + him down the trench. They passed Bill Britterling, standing in the mud, an + old friend of Bert’s. Bert’s face, twisted with pain, looked up to Bill + for some sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “Lucky devil,” said Bill. + </p> + <p> + Across the way on the other side of No Man’s Land there was mud the same + as on Bill’s side: only the mud over there stank; it didn’t seem to have + been kept clean somehow. And the parapet was sliding away in places, for + working parties had not had much of a chance. They had three Tok Emmas + working in that battalion front line, and the British batteries did not + quite know where they were, and there were eight of them looking. + </p> + <p> + Fritz Groedenschasser, standing in that unseemly mud, greatly yearned for + them to find soon what they were looking for. Eight batteries searching + for something they can’t find, along a trench in which you have to be, + leaves the elephant hunter’s most desperate tale a little dull and + insipid. Not that Fritz Groedenschasser knew anything about elephant + hunting: he hated all things sporting, and cordially approved of the + execution of Nurse Cavell. And there was thermite too. Flammenwerfer was + all very well, a good German weapon: it could burn a man alive at twenty + yards. But this accursed flaming English thermite could catch you at four + miles. It wasn’t fair. + </p> + <p> + The three German trench mortars were all still firing. When would the + English batteries find what they were looking for, and this awful thing + stop? The night was cold and smelly. + </p> + <p> + Fritz shifted his feet in the foul mud, but no warmth came to him that + way. + </p> + <p> + A gust of shells was coming along the trench. Still they had not found the + minnewerfer! Fritz moved from his place altogether to see if he could find + some place where the parapet was not broken. And as he moved along the + sewerlike trench he came on a wooden cross that marked the grave of a man + he once had known, now buried some days in the parapet, old Ritz + Handelscheiner. + </p> + <p> + “Lucky devil,” said Fritz. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Master of No Man’s Land + </h2> + <p> + When the last dynasty has fallen and the last empire passed away, when man + himself has gone, there will probably still remain the swede. [The + rutabaga or Swedish turnip.] + </p> + <p> + There grew a swede in No Man’s Land by Croisille near the Somme, and it + had grown there for a long while free from man. + </p> + <p> + It grew as you never saw a swede grow before. It grew tall and strong and + weedy. It lifted its green head and gazed round over No Man’s Land. Yes, + man was gone, and it was the day of the swede. + </p> + <p> + The storms were tremendous. Sometimes pieces of iron sang through its + leaves. But man was gone and it was the day of the swede. + </p> + <p> + A man used to come there once, a great French farmer, an oppressor of + swedes. Legends were told of him and his herd of cattle, dark traditions + that passed down vegetable generations. It was somehow known in those + fields that the man ate swedes. + </p> + <p> + And now his house was gone and he would come no more. + </p> + <p> + The storms were terrible, but they were better than man. The swede nodded + to his companions: the years of freedom had come. + </p> + <p> + They had always known among them that these years would come. Man had not + been there always, but there had always been swedes. He would go some day, + suddenly, as he came. That was the faith of the swedes. And when the trees + went the swede believed that the day was come. When hundreds of little + weeds arrived that were never allowed before, and grew unchecked, he knew + it. + </p> + <p> + After that he grew without any care, in sunlight, moonlight and rain; grew + abundantly and luxuriantly in the freedom, and increased in arrogance till + he felt himself greater than man. And indeed in those leaden storms that + sang often over his foliage all living things seemed equal. + </p> + <p> + There was little that the Germans left when they retreated from the Somme + that was higher than this swede. He grew the tallest thing for miles and + miles. He dominated the waste. Two cats slunk by him from a shattered + farm: he towered above them contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + A partridge ran by him once, far, far below his lofty leaves. The night + winds mourning in No Man’s Land seemed to sing for him alone. + </p> + <p> + It was surely the hour of the swede. For him, it seemed, was No Man’s + Land. And there I met him one night by the light of a German rocket and + brought him back to our company to cook. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Weeds and Wire + </h2> + <p> + Things had been happening. Divisions were moving. There had been, there + was going to be, a stunt. A battalion marched over the hill and sat down + by the road. They had left the trenches three days march to the north and + had come to a new country. The officers pulled their maps out; a mild + breeze fluttered them; yesterday had been winter and to-day was spring; + but spring in a desolation so complete and far-reaching that you only knew + of it by that little wind. It was early March by the calendar, but the + wind was blowing out of the gates of April. A platoon commander, feeling + that mild wind blowing, forgot his map and began to whistle a tune that + suddenly came to him out of the past with the wind. Out of the past it + blew and out of the South, a merry vernal tune of a Southern people. + Perhaps only one of those that noticed the tune had ever heard it before. + An officer sitting near had heard it sung; it reminded him of a holiday + long ago in the South. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you hear that tune?” he asked the platoon commander. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the hell of a long way from here,” the platoon commander said. + </p> + <p> + He did not remember quite where it was he had heard it, but he remembered + a sunny day in France and a hill all dark with pine woods, and a man + coming down at evening out of the woods, and down the slope to the + village, singing this song. Between the village and the slope there were + orchards in blossom. So that he came with his song for hundreds of yards + through orchards. “The hell of a way from here,” he said. + </p> + <p> + For a long while then they sat silent. + </p> + <p> + “It mightn’t have been so very far from here,” said the platoon commander. + “It was in France, now I come to think of it. But it was a lovely part of + France, all woods and orchards. Nothing like this, thank God.” And he + glanced with a tired look at the unutterable desolation. + </p> + <p> + “Where was it?” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “In Picardy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t we in Picardy now?” said his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Are we?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. The maps don’t call it Picardy.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a fine place, anyway,” the platoon commander said. “There seemed + always to be a wonderful light on the hills. A kind of short grass grew on + them, and it shone in the sun at evening. There were black woods above + them. A man used to come out of them singing at evening.” + </p> + <p> + He looked wearily round at the brown desolation of weeds. As far as the + two officers could see there was nothing but brown weeds and bits of brown + barbed wire. He turned from the desolate scene back to his reminiscences. + </p> + <p> + “He came singing through the orchards into the village,” he said. “A + quaint old place with queer gables, called Ville-en-Bois.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where we are?” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “No, said the platoon commander.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought not,” he said. “Hadn’t you better take a look at the map?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” said the platoon commander, and he smoothed out his map + and wearily got to the business of finding out where he was. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” he said. “Ville-en-Bois!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Spring in England and Flanders + </h2> + <p> + Very soon the earliest primroses will be coming out in woods wherever they + have been sheltered from the north. They will grow bolder as the days go + by, and spread and come all down the slopes of sunny hills. Then the + anemones will come, like a shy pale people, one of the tribes of the + elves, who dare not leave the innermost deeps of the wood: in those days + all the trees will be in leaf, the bluebells will follow, and certain + fortunate woods will shelter such myriads of them that the bright fresh + green of the beech trees will flash between two blues, the blue of the sky + and the deeper blue of the bluebells. Later the violets come, and such a + time as this is the perfect time to see England: when the cuckoo is heard + and he surprises his hearers; when evenings are lengthening out and the + bat is abroad again; and all the flowers are out and all the birds sing. + At such a time not only Nature smiles but our quiet villages and grave old + spires wake up from winter in the mellow air and wear their centuries + lightly. At such a time you might come just at evening on one of those old + villages in a valley and find it in the mood to tell you the secret of the + ages that it hid and treasured there before the Normans came. Who knows? + For they are very old, very wise, very friendly; they might speak to you + one warm evening. If you went to them after great suffering they might + speak to you; after nights and nights of shelling over in France, they + might speak to you and you might hear them clearly. + </p> + <p> + It would be a long, long story that they would tell, all about the ages; + and it would vary wonderfully little, much less perhaps than we think; and + the repetitions rambling on and on in the evening, as the old belfry spoke + and the cottages gathered below it, might sound so soothing after the boom + of shells that perhaps you would nearly sleep. And then with one’s memory + tired out by the war one might never remember the long story they told, + when the belfry and the brown-roofed houses all murmured at evening, might + never remember even that they had spoken all through that warm spring and + evening. We may have heard them speak and forgotten that they have spoken. + Who knows? We are at war, and see so many strange things: some we must + forget, some we must remember; and we cannot choose which. + </p> + <p> + To turn from Kent to Flanders is to turn to a time of mourning through all + seasons alike. Spring there brings out no leaf on myriad oaks, nor the + haze of green that floats like a halo above the heads of the birch trees, + that stand with their fairylike trunks haunting the deeps of the woods. + For miles and miles and miles summer ripens no crops, leads out no maidens + laughing in the moonlight, and brings no harvest home. When Autumn looks + on orchards in all that region of mourning he looks upon barren trees that + will never blossom again. Winter drives in no sturdy farmers at evening to + sit before cheery fires, families meet not at Christmas, and the bells are + dumb in belfries; for all by which a man might remember his home has been + utterly swept away: has been swept away to make a maniacal dancing ground + on which a murderous people dance to their death led by a shallow, clever, + callous, imperial clown. + </p> + <p> + There they dance to their doom till their feet shall find the precipice + that was prepared for them on the day that they planned the evil things + they have done. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Nightmare Countries + </h2> + <p> + There are certain lands in the darker dreams of poetry that stand out in + the memory of generations. There is for instance Poe’s “Dark tarn of + Auber, the ghoul-haunted region of Weir”; there are some queer twists in + the river Alph as imagined by Coleridge; two lines of Swinburne: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + By the tideless dolorous inland sea + In a land of sand and ruin and gold +</pre> + <p> + are as haunting as any. There are in literature certain regions of gloom, + so splendid that whenever you come on them they leave in the mind a sort + of nightmare country which one’s thoughts revisit on hearing the lines + quoted. + </p> + <p> + It is pleasant to picture such countries sometimes when sitting before the + fire. It is pleasant because you can banish them by the closing of a book; + a puff of smoke from a pipe will hide them altogether, and back come the + pleasant, wholesome, familiar things. But in France they are there always. + In France the nightmare countries stand all night in the starlight; dawn + comes and they still are there. The dead are buried out of sight and + others take their places among men; but the lost lands lie unburied gazing + up at the winds; and the lost woods stand like skeletons all grotesque in + the solitude; the very seasons have fled from them. The very seasons have + fled; so that if you look up to see whether summer has turned to autumn, + or if autumn has turned to winter yet, nothing remains to show you. It is + like the eccentric dream of some strange man, very arresting and + mysterious, but lacking certain things that should be there before you can + recognize it as earthly. It is a mad, mad landscape. There are miles and + miles and miles of it. It is the biggest thing man has done. It looks as + though man in his pride, with all his clever inventions, had made for + himself a sorry attempt at creation. + </p> + <p> + Indeed when we trace it all back to its origin we find at the beginning of + this unhappy story a man who was only an emperor and wished to be + something more. He would have ruled the world but has only meddled with + it; and his folly has brought misery to millions, and there lies his + broken dream on the broken earth. He will never take Paris now. He will + never be crowned at Versailles as Emperor of Europe; and after that, most + secret dream of all, did not the Cæsars proclaim themselves divine? Was it + not whispered among Macedonian courtiers that Alexander was the child of + God? And was the Hohenzollern less than these? + </p> + <p> + What might not force accomplish? All gone now, that dream and the + Hohenzollern line broken. A maniacal dream and broken farms all mixed up + together: they make a pretty nightmare and the clouds still gleam at night + with the flashes of shells, and the sky is still troubled by day with + uncouth balloons and the black bursts of the German shells and the white + of our anti-aircraft. + </p> + <p> + And below there lies this wonderful waste land where no girls sing, and + where no birds come but starlings; where no hedgerows stand, and no lanes + with wild roses, and where no pathways run through fields of wheat, and + there are no fields at all and no farms and no farmers; and two haystacks + stand on a hill I know, undestroyed in the desolation, and nobody touches + them for they know the Germans too well; and the tops have been blown off + hills down to the chalk. And men say of this place that it is Pozières and + of that place that it is Ginchy; nothing remains to show that hamlets + stood there at all, and a brown, brown weed grows over it all for ever; + and a mighty spirit has arisen in man, and no one bows to the War Lord + though many die. And Liberty is she who sang her songs of old, and is fair + as she ever was, when men see her in visions, at night in No Man’s Land + when they have the strength to crawl in: still she walks of a night in + Pozières and in Ginchy. + </p> + <p> + A fanciful man once called himself the Emperor of the Sahara: the German + Kaiser has stolen into a fair land and holds with weakening hands a land + of craters and weed, and wire and wild cabbages and old German bones. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Spring and the Kaiser + </h2> + <p> + While all the world is waiting for Spring there lie great spaces in one of + the pleasantest lands to which Spring cannot come. + </p> + <p> + Pear trees and cherry and orchards flash over other lands, blossoming as + abundantly as though their wonder were new, with a beauty as fresh and + surprising as though nothing like it before had ever adorned countless + centuries. Now with the larch and soon with the beech trees and hazel, a + bright green blazes forth to illumine the year. The slopes are covered + with violets. Those who have gardens are beginning to be proud of them and + to point them out to their neighbours. Almond and peach in blossom peep + over old brick walls. The land dreams of summer all in the youth of the + year. + </p> + <p> + But better than all this the Germans have found war. The simple content of + a people at peace in pleasant countries counted for nothing with them. + Their Kaiser prepared for war, made speeches about war, and, when he was + ready, made war. And now the hills that should be covered with violets are + full of murderous holes, and the holes are half full of empty meat tins, + and the garden walls have gone and the gardens with them, and there are no + woods left to shelter anemones. Boundless masses of brown barbed wire + straggle over the landscape. All the orchards there are cut down out of + ruthless spite to hurt France whom they cannot conquer. All the little + trees that grow near gardens are gone, aspen, laburnum and lilac. It is + like this for hundreds of miles. Hundreds of ruined towns gaze at it with + vacant windows and see a land from which even Spring is banished. And not + a ruined house in all the hundred towns but mourns for some one, man, + woman or child; for the Germans make war equally on all in the land where + Spring comes no more. + </p> + <p> + Some day Spring will come back; some day she will shine all April in + Picardy again, for Nature is never driven utterly forth, but comes back + with her seasons to cover up even the vilest things. + </p> + <p> + She shall hide the raw earth of the shell holes till the violets come + again; she shall bring back even the orchards for Spring to walk in once + more; the woods will grow tall again above the southern anemones; and the + great abandoned guns of the Germans will rust by the rivers of France. + Forgotten like them, the memory of the War Lord will pass with his evil + deeds. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Two Songs + </h2> + <p> + Over slopes of English hills looking south in the time of violets, evening + was falling. + </p> + <p> + Shadows at edges of woods moved, and then merged in the gloaming. + </p> + <p> + The bat, like a shadow himself, finding that spring was come, slipped from + the dark of the wood as far as a clump of beech trees and fluttered back + again on his wonderful quiet wings. + </p> + <p> + Pairing pigeons were home. + </p> + <p> + Very young rabbits stole out to gaze at the calm still world. They came + out as the stars come. At one time they were not there, and then you saw + them, but you did not see them come. + </p> + <p> + Towering clouds to the west built palaces, cities and mountains; bastions + of rose and precipices of gold; giants went home over them draped in mauve + by steep rose-pink ravines into emerald-green empires. Turbulences of + colour broke out above the departed sun; giants merged into mountains, and + cities became seas, and new processions of other fantastic things sailed + by. But the chalk slopes facing south smiled on with the same calm light, + as though every blade of grass gathered a ray from the gloaming. All the + hills faced the evening with that same quiet glow, which faded softly as + the air grew colder; and the first star appeared. + </p> + <p> + Voices came up in the hush, clear from the valley, and ceased. A light was + lit, like a spark, in a distant window: more stars appeared and the woods + were all dark now, and shapes even on the hill slopes began to grow + indistinct. + </p> + <p> + Home by a laneway in the dim, still evening a girl was going, singing the + Marseillaise. + </p> + <p> + In France where the downs in the north roll away without hedges, as though + they were great free giants that man had never confined, as though they + were stretching their vast free limbs in the evening, the same light was + smiling and glimmering softly away. + </p> + <p> + A road wound over the downs and away round one of their shoulders. A hush + lay over them as though the giants slept, or as though they guarded in + silence their ancient, wonderful history. + </p> + <p> + The stillness deepened and the dimness of twilight; and just before + colours fade, while shapes can still be distinguished, there came by the + road a farmer leading his Norman horse. High over the horse’s withers his + collar pointed with brass made him fantastic and huge and strange to see + in the evening. + </p> + <p> + They moved together through that mellow light towards where unseen among + the clustered downs the old French farmer’s house was sheltered away. + </p> + <p> + He was going home at evening humming “God Save the King.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Punishment + </h2> + <p> + An exhalation arose, drawn up by the moon, from an old battlefield after + the passing of years. It came out of very old craters and gathered from + trenches, smoked up from No Man’s Land, and the ruins of farms; it rose + from the rottenness of dead brigades, and lay for half the night over two + armies; but at midnight the moon drew it up all into one phantom and it + rose and trailed away eastwards. + </p> + <p> + It passed over men in grey that were weary of war; it passed over a land + once prosperous, happy and mighty, in which were a people that were + gradually starving; it passed by ancient belfries in which there were no + bells now; it passed over fear and misery and weeping, and so came to the + palace at Potsdam. It was the dead of the night between midnight and dawn, + and the palace was very still that the Emperor might sleep, and sentries + guarded it who made no noise and relieved others in silence. Yet it was + not so easy to sleep. Picture to yourself a murderer who had killed a man. + Would you sleep? Picture yourself the man that planned this war! Yes, you + sleep, but nightmares come. + </p> + <p> + The phantom entered the chamber. “Come,” it said. + </p> + <p> + The Kaiser leaped up at once as obediently as when he came to attention on + parade, years ago, as a subaltern in the Prussian Guard, a man whom no + woman or child as yet had ever cursed; he leaped up and followed. They + passed the silent sentries; none challenged and none saluted; they were + moving swiftly over the town as the felon Gothas go; they came to a + cottage in the country. They drifted over a little garden gate, and there + in a neat little garden the phantom halted like a wind that has suddenly + ceased. “Look,” it said. + </p> + <p> + Should he look? Yet he must look. The Kaiser looked; and saw a window + shining and a neat room in the cottage: there was nothing dreadful there; + thank the good German God for that; it was all right, after all. The + Kaiser had had a fright, but it was all right; there was only a woman with + a baby sitting before the fire, and two small children and a man. And it + was quite a jolly room. And the man was a young soldier; and, why, he was + a Prussian Guardsman,—there was his helmet hanging on the wall,—so + everything was all right. They were jolly German children; that was well. + How nice and homely the room was. There shone before him, and showed far + off in the night, the visible reward of German thrift and industry. It was + all so tidy and neat, and yet they were quite poor people. The man had + done his work for the Fatherland, and yet beyond all that had been able to + afford all those little knickknacks that make a home so pleasant and that + in their humble little way were luxury. And while the Kaiser looked the + two young children laughed as they played on the floor, not seeing that + face at the window. + </p> + <p> + Why! Look at the helmet. That was lucky. A bullet hole right through the + front of it. That must have gone very close to the man’s head. How ever + did it get through? It must have glanced upwards as bullets sometimes do. + The hole was quite low in the helmet. It would be dreadful to have bullets + coming by close like that. The firelight flickered, and the lamp shone on, + and the children played on the floor, and the man was smoking out of a + china pipe; he was strong and able and young, one of the wealth-winners of + Germany. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen?” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Kaiser. It was well, he thought, that a Kaiser should see + how his people lived. + </p> + <p> + At once the fire went out and the lamp faded away, the room fell sombrely + into neglect and squalor, and the soldier and the children faded away with + the room; all disappeared phantasmally, and nothing remained but the + helmet in a kind of glow on the wall, and the woman sitting all by herself + in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “It has all gone,” said the Kaiser. + </p> + <p> + “It has never been,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + The Kaiser looked again. Yes, there was nothing there, it was just a + vision. There were the grey walls all damp and uncared for, and that + helmet standing out solid and round, like the only real thing among + fancies. No, it had never been. It was just a vision. + </p> + <p> + “It might have been,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + Might have been? How might it have been? + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + They drifted away down a little lane that in summer would have had roses, + and came to an Uhlan’s house; in times of peace a small farmer. Farm + buildings in good repair showed even in the night, and the black shapes of + haystacks; again a well-kept garden lay by the house. The phantom and the + Kaiser stood in the garden; before them a window glowed in a lamplit room. + </p> + <p> + “Look,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + The Kaiser looked again and saw a young couple; the woman played with a + baby, and all was prosperous in the merry room. Again the hard-won wealth + of Germany shone out for all to see, the cosy comfortable furniture spoke + of acres well cared for, spoke of victory in the struggle with the seasons + on which wealth of nations depends. + </p> + <p> + “It might have been,” said the phantom. Again the fire died out and the + merry scene faded away, leaving a melancholy, ill-kept room, with poverty + and mourning haunting dusty corners and the woman sitting alone. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you show me this?” said the Kaiser. “Why do you show me these + visions?” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said the Kaiser. “Where are you bringing me?” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + They went from window to window, from land to land. You had seen, had you + been out that night in Germany, and able to see visions, an imperious + figure passing from place to place, looking on many scenes. He looked on + them, and families withered away, and happy scenes faded, and the phantom + said to him “Come.” He expostulated but obeyed; and so they went from + window to window of hundreds of farms in Prussia, till they came to the + Prussian border and went on into Saxony; and always you would have heard, + could you hear spirits speak, “It might have been,” “It might have been,” + repeated from window to window. + </p> + <p> + They went down through Saxony, heading for Austria. And for long the + Kaiser kept that callous, imperious look. But at last he, even he, at last + he nearly wept. And the phantom turned then and swept him back over + Saxony, and into Prussia again and over the sentries’ heads, back to his + comfortable bed where it was so hard to sleep. + </p> + <p> + And though they had seen thousands of merry homes, homes that can never be + merry now, shrines of perpetual mourning; though they had seen thousands + of smiling German children, who will never be born now, but were only the + visions of hopes blasted by him; for all the leagues over which he had + been so ruthlessly hurried, dawn was yet barely breaking. + </p> + <p> + He had looked on the first few thousand homes of which he had robbed all + time, and which he must see with his eyes before he may go hence. The + first night of the Kaiser’s punishment was accomplished. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The English Spirit + </h2> + <p> + By the end of the South African war Sergeant Cane had got one thing very + well fixed in his mind, and that was that war was an overrated amusement. + He said he “was fed up with it,” partly because that misused metaphor was + then new, partly because every one was saying it: he felt it right down in + his bones, and he had a long memory. So when wonderful rumours came to the + East Anglian village where he lived, on August 1, 1914, Sergeant Cane + said: “That means war,” and decided then and there to have nothing to do + with it: it was somebody else’s turn; he felt he had done enough. Then + came August 4th, and England true to her destiny, and then Lord + Kitchener’s appeal for men. Sergeant Cane had a family to look after and a + nice little house: he had left the army ten years. + </p> + <p> + In the next week all the men went who had been in the army before, all + that were young enough, and a good sprinkling of the young men too who had + never been in the army. Men asked Cane if he was going, and he said + straight out “No.” + </p> + <p> + By the middle of August Cane was affecting the situation. He was a little + rallying point for men who did not want to go. “He knows what it’s like,” + they said. + </p> + <p> + In the smoking room of the Big House sat the Squire and his son, Arthur + Smith; and Sir Munion Boomer-Platt, the Member for the division. The + Squire’s son had been in the last war as a boy, and like Sergeant Cane had + left the army since. All the morning he had been cursing an imaginary + general, seated in the War Office at an imaginary desk with Smith’s own + letter before him, in full view but unopened. Why on earth didn’t he + answer it, Smith thought. But he was calmer now, and the Squire and Sir + Munion were talking of Sergeant Cane. + </p> + <p> + “Leave him to me,” said Sir Munion. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the Squire. So Sir Munion Boomer-Platt went off and + called on Sergeant Cane. + </p> + <p> + Mrs Cane knew what he had come for. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let him talk you over, Bill,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Not he,” said Sergeant Cane. + </p> + <p> + Sir Munion came on Sergeant Cane in his garden. + </p> + <p> + “A fine day,” said Sir Munion. And from that he went on to the war. “If + you enlist,” he said, “they will make you a sergeant again at once. You + will get a sergeant’s pay, and your wife will get the new separation + allowance.” + </p> + <p> + “Sooner have Cane,” said Mrs Cane. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, of course,” said Sir Munion. “But then there is the medal, + probably two or three medals, and the glory of it, and it is such a + splendid life.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Munion did warm to a thing whenever he began to hear his own words. He + painted war as it has always been painted, one of the most beautiful + things you could imagine. And then it mustn’t be supposed that it was like + those wars that there used to be, a long way off. There would be houses + where you would be billeted, and good food, and shady trees and villages + wherever you went. And it was such an opportunity of seeing the Continent + (“the Continent as it really is,” Sir Munion called it) as would never + come again, and he only wished he were younger. Sir Munion really did wish + it, as he spoke, for his own words stirred him profoundly; but somehow or + other they did not stir Sergeant Cane. No, he had done his share, and he + had a family to look after. + </p> + <p> + Sir Munion could not understand him: he went back to the Big House and + said so. He had told him all the advantages he could think of that were + there to be had for the asking, and Sergeant Cane merely neglected them. + </p> + <p> + “Let me have a try,” said Arthur Smith. “He soldiered with me before.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Munion shrugged his shoulders. He had all the advantages at his + fingers’ ends, from pay to billeting: there was nothing more to be said. + Nevertheless young Smith went. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Sergeant Cane,” said Smith. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, sir,” said the sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember that night at Reit River?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t I, sir,” said Cane. + </p> + <p> + “One blanket each and no ground sheet?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember, sir,” said Cane. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t it rain,” said Smith. + </p> + <p> + “It rained that night, proper.” + </p> + <p> + “Drowned a few of the lice, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Not many,” said Cane. + </p> + <p> + “No, not many,” Smith reflected. “The Boers had the range all right that + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Gave it us proper,” said Cane. + </p> + <p> + “We were hungry that night,” said Smith. “I could have eaten biltong.” + </p> + <p> + “I did eat some of it,” said Cane. “Not bad stuff, what there was of it, + only not enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think,” said Smith, “that I’ve ever slept on the bare earth + since.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir?” said Cane. “It’s hard. You get used to it. But it will always + be hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it will always be hard,” said Smith. “Do you remember the time we + were thirsty?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, sir,” said Cane, “I remember that. One doesn’t forget that.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I still dream of it sometimes,” said Smith. “It makes a nasty dream. + I wake with my mouth all dry too, when I dream that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cane, “one doesn’t forget being thirsty.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Smith, “I suppose we’re for it all over again?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so, sir,” said Cane. + </p> + <p> + An Investigation Into the Causes and Origin of the War + </p> + <p> + The German imperial barber has been called up. He must have been called up + quite early in the war. I have seen photographs in papers that leave no + doubt of that. Who he is I do not know: I once read his name in an article + but have forgotten it; few even know if he still lives. And yet what harm + he has done! What vast evils he has unwittingly originated! Many years ago + he invented a frivolity, a jeu d’esprit easily forgivable to an artist in + the heyday of his youth, to whom his art was new and even perhaps + wonderful. A craft, of course, rather than an art, and a humble craft at + that; but then, the man was young, and what will not seem wonderful to + youth? + </p> + <p> + He must have taken the craft very seriously, but as youth takes things + seriously, fantastically and with laughter. He must have determined to + outshine rivals: he must have gone away and thought, burning candles late + perhaps, when all the palace was still. But how can youth think seriously? + And there had come to him this absurd, this fantastical conceit. What else + would have come? The more seriously he took the tonsorial art, the more he + studied its tricks and phrases and heard old barbers lecture, the more + sure were the imps of youth to prompt him to laughter and urge him to + something outrageous and ridiculous. The background of the dull pomp of + Potsdam must have made all this more certain. It was bound to come. + </p> + <p> + And so one day, or, as I have suggested, suddenly late one night, there + came to the young artist bending over tonsorial books that quaint, mad, + odd, preposterous inspiration. Ah, what pleasure there is in the madness + of youth; it is not like the madness of age, clinging to outworn formulæ; + it is the madness of breaking away, of galloping among precipices, of + dallying with the impossible, of courting the absurd. And this + inspiration, it was in none of the books; the lecturer barbers had not + lectured on it, could not dream of it and did not dare to; there was no + tradition for it, no precedent; it was mad; and to introduce it into the + pomp of Potsdam, that was the daring of madness. And this preposterous + inspiration of the absurd young barber-madman was nothing less than a + moustache that without any curve at all, or any suggestion of sanity, + should go suddenly up at the ends very nearly as high as the eyes! + </p> + <p> + He must have told his young fellow craftsmen first, for youth goes first + to youth with its hallucinations. And they, what could they have said? You + cannot say of madness that it is mad, you cannot call absurdity absurd. To + have criticized would have revealed jealousy; and as for praise you could + not praise a thing like that. They probably shrugged, made gestures; and + perhaps one friend warned him. But you cannot warn a man against a + madness; if the madness is in possession it will not be warned away: why + should it? And then perhaps he went to the old barbers of the Court. You + can picture their anger. Age does not learn from youth in any case. But + there was the insult to their ancient craft, bad enough if only imagined, + but here openly spoken of. And what would come of it? They must have + feared, on the one hand, dishonour to their craft if this young barber + were treated as his levity deserved; and, on the other hand, could they + have feared his success? I think they could not have guessed it. + </p> + <p> + And then the young idiot with his preposterous inspiration must have + looked about to see where he could practise his new absurdity. It should + have been enough to have talked about it among his fellow barbers; they + would have gone with new zest to their work next day for this delirious + interlude, and no harm would have been done. “Fritz,” (or Hans) they would + have said, “was a bit on last night, a bit full up,” or whatever phrase + they use to touch on drunkenness; and the thing would have been forgotten. + We all have our fancies. But this young fool wanted to get his fancy mixed + up with practice: that’s where he was mad. And in Potsdam, of all places. + </p> + <p> + He probably tried his friends first, young barbers at the Court and others + of his own standing. None of them were fools enough to be seen going about + like that. They had jobs to lose. A Court barber is one thing, a man who + cuts ordinary hair is quite another. Why should they become outcasts + because their friend chose to be mad? + </p> + <p> + He probably tried his inferiors then, but they would have been timid folk; + they must have seen the thing was absurd, and of course daren’t risk it. + Again, why should they? + </p> + <p> + Did he try to get some noble then to patronize his invention? Probably the + first refusals he had soon inflamed his madness more, and he threw caution + insanely to the winds, and went straight to the Emperor. + </p> + <p> + It was probably about the time that the Emperor dismissed Bismarck; + certainly the drawings of that time show him still with a sane moustache. + </p> + <p> + The young barber probably chanced on him in this period, finding him + bereft of an adviser, and ready to be swayed by whatever whim should come. + Perhaps he was attracted by the barber’s hardihood, perhaps the absurdity + of his inspiration had some fascination for him, perhaps he merely saw + that the thing was new and, feeling jaded, let the barber have his way. + And so the frivolity became a fact, the absurdity became visible, and + honour and riches came the way of the barber. + </p> + <p> + A small thing, you might say, however fantastical. And yet I believe the + absurdity of that barber to be among the great evils that have brought + death nearer to man; whimsical and farcical as it was, yet a thing + deadlier than Helen’s beauty or Tamerlane’s love of skulls. For just as + character is outwardly shown so outward things react upon the character; + and who, with that daring barber’s ludicrous fancy visible always on his + face, could quite go the sober way of beneficent monarchs? The fantasy + must be mitigated here, set off there; had you such a figure to dress, say + for amateur theatricals, you would realize the difficulty. The heavy + silver eagle to balance it; the glittering cuirass lower down, preventing + the eye from dwelling too long on the barber’s absurdity. And then the + pose to go with the cuirass and to carry off the wild conceit of that mad, + mad barber. He has much to answer for, that eccentric man whose name so + few remember. For pose led to actions; and just when Europe most needed a + man of wise counsels, restraining the passions of great empires, just then + she had ruling over Germany and, unhappily, dominating Austria, a man who + every year grew more akin to the folly of that silly barber’s youthful + inspiration. + </p> + <p> + Let us forgive the barber. For long I have known from pictures that I have + seen of the Kaiser that he has gone to the trenches. Probably he is dead. + Let us forgive the barber. But let us bear in mind that the futile fancies + of youth may be deadly things, and that one of them falling on a fickle + mind may so stir its shallows as to urge it to disturb and set in motion + the avalanches of illimitable grief. + </p> + <p> + Lost + </p> + <p> + Describing a visit, say the papers of March 28th, which the Kaiser paid + incognito to Cologne Cathedral on March 18th before the great battle, the + Cologne correspondent of the Tyd says: + </p> + <p> + There were only a few persons in the building. Under high arches and in + spacious solitude the Kaiser sat, as if in deep thought, before the + priests’ choir. Behind him his military staff stood respectfully at a + distance. Still musing as he rose, the monarch resting both hands on his + walking-stick remains standing immovable for some minutes... I shall never + forget this picture of the musing monarch praying in Cologne Cathedral on + the eve of the great battle. + </p> + <p> + Probably he won’t forget it. The German casualty lists will help to remind + him. But what is more to the point is that this expert propagandist has + presumably received orders that we are not to forget it, and that the + sinister originator of the then impending holocaust should be toned down a + little in the eyes at least of the Tyd to something a little more amiable. + </p> + <p> + And no doubt the little piece of propaganda gave every satisfaction to + those who ordered it, or they would not have passed it out to the Tyd, and + the touching little scene would never have reached our eyes. At the same + time the little tale would have been better suited to the psychology of + other countries if he had made the War Lord kneel when he prayed in + Cologne Cathedral, and if he had represented the Military Staff as + standing out of respect to One who, outside Germany, is held in greater + respect than the All Highest. + </p> + <p> + And had the War Lord really knelt is it not possible that he might have + found pity, humility, or even contrition? Things easily overlooked in so + large a cathedral when sitting erect, as a War Lord, before the priests’ + choir, but to be noticed perhaps with one’s eyes turned to the ground. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he nearly found one of those things. Perhaps he felt (who knows?) + just for a moment, that in the dimness of those enormous aisles was + something he had lost a long, long while ago. + </p> + <p> + One is not mistaken to credit the very bad with feeling far, faint appeals + from things of glory like Cologne Cathedral; it is that the appeals come + to them too far and faint on their headlong descent to ruin. + </p> + <p> + For what was the War Lord seeking? Did he know that pity for his poor + slaughtered people, huddled by him on to our ceaseless machine guns, might + be found by seeking there? Or was it only that the lost thing, whatever it + was, made that faint appeal to him, passing the door by chance, and drew + him in, as the scent of some herb or flower in a moment draws us back + years to look for something lost in our youth; we gaze back, wondering, + and do not find it. + </p> + <p> + And to think that perhaps he lost it by very little! That, but for that + proud attitude and the respectful staff, he might have seen what was lost, + and have come out bringing pity for his people. Might have said to the + crowd that gave him that ovation, as we read, outside the door: “My pride + has driven you to this needless war, my ambition has made a sacrifice of + millions, but it is over, and it shall be no more; I will make no more + conquests.” + </p> + <p> + They would have killed him. But for that renunciation, perhaps, however + late, the curses of the widows of his people might have kept away from his + grave. + </p> + <p> + But he did not find it. He sat at prayer. Then he stood. Then he marched + out: and his staff marched out behind him. And in the gloom of the floor + of the vast Cologne Cathedral lie the things that the Kaiser did not find + and never will find now. Unnoticed thus, and in some silent moment, passes + a man’s last chance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Last Mirage + </h2> + <p> + The desolation that the German offensive has added to the dominions of the + Kaiser cannot easily be imagined by any one who has never seen a desert. + Look at it on the map and it is full of the names of towns and villages; + it is in Europe, where there are no deserts; it is a fertile province + among places of famous names. Surely it is a proud addition to an + ambitious monarch’s possessions. Surely there is something there that it + is worth while to have conquered at the cost of army corps. No, nothing. + They are mirage towns. The farms grow Dead Sea fruit. France recedes + before the imperial clutch. France smiles, but not for him. His new towns + seem to be his because their names have not yet been removed from any map, + but they crumble at his approach because France is not for him. His deadly + ambition makes a waste before it as it goes, clutching for cities. It + comes to them and the cities are not there. + </p> + <p> + I have seen mirages and have heard others told of, but the best mirages of + all we never hear described; the mirage that waterless travellers see at + the last. Those fountains rising out of onyx basins, blue and straight + into incredible heights, and falling and flooding cool white marble; the + haze of spray above their feathery heads through which the pale green + domes of weathered copper shimmer and shake a little; mysterious temples, + the tombs of unknown kings; the cataracts coming down from rose-quartz + cliffs, far off but seen quite clearly, growing to rivers bearing curious + barges to the golden courts of Sahara. These things we never see; they are + seen at the last by men who die of thirst. + </p> + <p> + Even so has the Kaiser looked at the smiling plains of France. Even so has + he looked on her famous ancient cities and the farms and the fertile + fields and the woods and orchards of Picardy. With effort and trouble he + has moved towards them. As he comes near to them the cities crumble, the + woods shrivel and fall, the farms fade out of Picardy, even the hedgerows + go; it is bare, bare desert. He had been sure of Paris, he had dreamed of + Versailles and some monstrous coronation, he had thought his insatiable + avarice would be sated. For he had plotted for conquest of the world, that + boundless greed of his goading him on as a man in the grip of thirst + broods upon lakes. + </p> + <p> + He sees victory near him now. That also will fade in the desert of old + barbed wire and weeds. When will he see that a doom is over all his + ambitions? For his dreams of victory are like those last dreams that come + in deceptive deserts to dying men. + </p> + <p> + There is nothing good for him in the desert of the Somme. Bapaume is not + really there, though it be marked on his maps; it is only a wilderness of + slates and brick. Peronne looks like a city a long way off, but when you + come near it is only the shells of houses. Pozière, Le Sars, Sapigny, are + gone altogether. + </p> + <p> + And all is Dead Sea fruit in a visible desert. The reports of German + victories there are mirage like all the rest; they too will fade into + weeds and old barbed wire. + </p> + <p> + And the advances that look like victories, and the ruins that look like + cities, and the shell-beaten broken fields that look like farms,—they + and the dreams of conquest and all the plots and ambitions, they are all + the mirage of a dying dynasty in a desert it made for its doom. + </p> + <p> + Bones lead up to the desert, bones are scattered about it, it is the most + menacing and calamitous waste of all the deadly places that have been + inclement to man. It flatters the Hohenzollerns with visions of victory + now because they are doomed by it and are about to die. When their race + has died the earth shall smile again, for their deadly mirage shall + oppress us no more. The cities shall rise again and the farms come back; + hedgerows and orchards shall be seen again; the woods shall slowly lift + their heads from the dust; and gardens shall come again where the desert + was, to bloom in happier ages that forget the Hohenzollerns. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Famous Man + </h2> + <p> + Last winter a famous figure walked in Behagnies. Soldiers came to see him + from their billets all down the Arras road, from Ervillers and from + Sapigny, and from the ghosts of villages back from the road, places that + once were villages but are only names now. They would walk three or four + miles, those who could not get lorries, for his was one of those names + that all men know, not such a name as a soldier or poet may win, but a + name that all men know. They used to go there at evening. + </p> + <p> + Four miles away on the left as you went from Ervillers, the guns mumbled + over the hills, low hills over which the Verys from the trenches put up + their heads and peered around,—greeny, yellowy heads that turned the + sky sickly, and the clouds lit up and went grey again all the night long. + As you got near to Behagnies you lost sight of the Verys, but the guns + mumbled on. A silly little train used to run on one’s left, which used to + whistle loudly, as though it asked to be shelled, but I never saw a shell + coming its way; perhaps it knew that the German gunners could not + calculate how slow it went. It crossed the road as you got down to + Behagnies. + </p> + <p> + You passed the graves of two or three German soldiers with their names on + white wooden crosses,—men killed in 1914; and then a little cemetery + of a French cavalry regiment, where a big cross stood in the middle with a + wreath and a tricolor badge, and the names of the men. And then one saw + trees. That was always a wonder, whether one saw their dark shapes in the + evening, or whether one saw them by day, and knew from the look of their + leaves whether autumn had come yet, or gone. In winter at evening one just + saw the black bulk of them, but that was no less marvellous than seeing + them green in summer; trees by the side of the Arras-Bapaume road, trees + in mid-desert in the awful region of Somme. There were not many of them, + just a cluster, fewer than the date palms in an oasis in Sahara, but an + oasis is an oasis wherever you find it, and a few trees make it. There are + little places here and there, few enough as the Arabs know, that the + Sahara’s deadly sand has never been able to devastate; and there are + places even in the Somme that German malice, obeying the Kaiser as the + sand of Sahara obeys the accursed sirocco, has not been able to destroy + quite to the uttermost. That little cluster of trees at Behagnies is one + of these; Divisional Headquarters used to shelter beneath them; and near + them was a statue on a lawn which probably stood by the windows of some + fine house, though there is no trace of the house but the lawn and that + statue now. + </p> + <p> + And over the way on the left a little further on, just past the officers’ + club, a large hall stood where one saw that famous figure, whom officers + and men alike would come so far to see. + </p> + <p> + The hall would hold perhaps four or five hundred seats in front of a stage + fitted up very simply with red, white and blue cloths, but fitted up by + some one that understood the job; and at the back of that stage on those + winter evenings walked on his flat and world-renowned feet the figure of + Charlie Chaplin. + </p> + <p> + When aëroplanes came over bombing, the dynamos used to stop for they + supplied light to other places besides the cinema, and the shade of + Charlie Chaplin would fade away. But the men would wait till the + aëroplanes had gone and that famous figure came waddling back to the + screen. There he amused tired men newly come from the trenches, there he + brought laughter to most of the twelve days that they had out of the line. + </p> + <p> + He is gone from Behagnies now. He did not march in the retreat a little + apart from the troops, with head bent forward and hand thrust in jacket, a + flat-footed Napoleon: yet he is gone; for no one would have left behind + for the enemy so precious a thing as a Charlie Chaplin film. He is gone + but he will return. He will come with his cane one day along that Arras + road to the old hut in Behagnies; and men dressed in brown will welcome + him there again. + </p> + <p> + He will pass beyond it through those desolate plains, and over the hills + beyond them, beyond Bapaume. Far hamlets to the east will know his antics. + </p> + <p> + And one day surely, in old familiar garb, without court dress, without + removing his hat, armed with that flexible cane, he will walk over the + faces of the Prussian Guard and, picking up the Kaiser by the collar, with + infinite nonchalance in finger and thumb, will place him neatly in a prone + position and solemnly sit on his chest. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Oases of Death + </h2> + <p> + While the German guns were pounding Amiens and the battle of dull + Prussianism against Liberty raged on, they buried Richthofen in the + British lines. + </p> + <p> + They had laid him in a large tent with his broken machine outside it. + Thence British airmen carried him to the quiet cemetery, and he was buried + among the cypresses in this old resting place of French generations just + as though he had come there bringing no harm to France. + </p> + <p> + Five wreaths were on his coffin, placed there by those who had fought + against him up in the air. And under the wreaths on the coffin was spread + the German flag. + </p> + <p> + When the funeral service was over three volleys were fired by the escort, + and a hundred aviators paid their last respects to the grave of their + greatest enemy; for the chivalry that the Prussians have driven from earth + and sea lives on in the blue spaces of the air. + </p> + <p> + They buried Richthofen at evening, and the planes came droning home as + they buried him, and the German guns roared on and guns answered, + defending Amiens. And in spite of all, the cemetery had the air of quiet, + remaining calm and aloof, as all French graveyards are. For they seem to + have no part in the cataclysm that shakes all the world but them; they + seem to withdraw amongst memories and to be aloof from time, and, above + all, to be quite untroubled by the war that rages to-day, upon which they + appear to look out listlessly from among their cypress and yew, and dimly, + down a vista of centuries. They are very strange, these little oases of + death that remain unmoved and green with their trees still growing, in the + midst of a desolation as far as the eye can see, in which cities and + villages and trees and hedges and farms and fields and churches are all + gone, and where hugely broods a desert. It is as though Death, stalking up + and down through France for four years, sparing nothing, had recognized + for his own his little gardens, and had spared only them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Anglo-Saxon Tyranny + </h2> + <p> + “We need a sea,” says Big-Admiral von Tirpitz, “freed of Anglo-Saxon + tyranny.” Unfortunately neither the British Admiralty nor the American + Navy permit us to know how much of the Anglo-Saxon tyranny is done by + American destroyers and how much by British ships and even trawler. It + would interest both countries to know, if it could be known. But the + Big-Admiral is unjust to France, for the French navy exerts a tyranny at + sea that can by no means be overlooked, although naturally from her + position in front of the mouth of the Elbe England practises the + culminating insupportable tyranny of keeping the High Seas Fleet in the + Kiel Canal. + </p> + <p> + It is not I, but the Big-Admiral, who chose the word tyranny as + descriptive of the activities of the Anglo-Saxon navies. He was making a + speech at Dusseldorf on May 25th and was reported in the Dusseldorfer + Nachrichten on May 27th. + </p> + <p> + Naturally it does not seem like tyranny to us, even the contrary; but for + an admiral, ein Grosse-Admiral, lately commanding a High Seas Fleet, it + must have been more galling than we perhaps can credit to be confined in a + canal. There was he, who should have been breasting the blue, or at any + rate doing something salty and nautical, far out in the storms of that sea + that the Germans call an Ocean, with the hurricane raging angrily in his + whiskers and now and then wafting tufts of them aloft to white the + halyards; there was he constrained to a command the duties of which + however nobly he did them could be equally well carried out by any + respectable bargee. He hoped for a piracy of which the Lusitania was + merely a beginning; he looked for the bombardment of innumerable towns; he + pictured slaughter in many a hamlet of fishermen; he planned more than all + those things of which U-boat commanders are guilty; he saw himself a + murderous old man, terrible to seafarers, and a scourge of the coasts, and + fancied himself chronicled in after years by such as told dark tales of + Captain Kidd or the awful buccaneers; but he followed in the end no more + desperate courses than to sit and watch his ships on a wharf near Kiel + like one of Jacob’s night watchmen. + </p> + <p> + No wonder that what appears to us no more than the necessary protection of + women and children in seacoast towns from murder should be to him an + intolerable tyranny. No wonder that the guarding of travellers of the + allied countries at sea, and even those of the neutrals, should be a most + galling thing to the Big-Admiral’s thwarted ambition, looking at it from + the point of view of one who to white-whiskered age has retained the + schoolboy’s natural love of the black and yellow flag. A pirate, he would + say, has as much right to live as wasps or tigers. The Anglo-Saxon navies, + he might argue, have a certain code of rules for use at sea; they let + women get first into the boats, for instance, when ships are sinking, and + they rescue drowning mariners when they can: no actual harm in all this, + he would feel, though it would weaken you, as Hindenburg said of poetry; + but if all these little rules are tyrannously enforced on those who may + think them silly, what is to become of the pirate? Where, if people like + Beattie and Sims had always had their way, would be those rollicking tales + of the jolly Spanish Main, and men walking the plank into the big blue + sea, and long, low, rakish craft putting in to Indian harbours with a + cargo of men and women all hung from the yard-arm? A melancholy has come + over the spirit of Big-Admiral von Tirpitz in the years he has spent in + the marshes between the Elbe and Kiel, and in that melancholy he sees + romance crushed; he sees no more pearl earrings and little gold rings in + the hold, he sees British battleships spoiling the Spanish Main, and + hateful American cruisers in the old Sargasso Sea; he sees himself, alas, + the last of all the pirates. + </p> + <p> + Let him take comfort. There were always pirates. And in spite of the + tyranny of England and America, and of France, which the poor old man + perplexed with his troubles forgot, there will be pirates still. Not many + perhaps, but enough U-boats will always be able to slip through that + tyrannous blockade to spread indiscriminate slaughter amongst the + travellers of any nation, enough to hand on the old traditions of murder + at sea. And one day Captain Kidd, with such a bow as they used to make in + ports of the Spanish Main, will take off his ancient hat, sweeping it low + in Hell, and be proud to clasp the hand of the Lord of the Kiel Canal. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Memories + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ... far-off things + And battles long ago. +</pre> + <p> + Those who live in an old house are necessarily more concerned with paying + the plumber, should his art be required, or choosing wall paper that does + not clash with the chintzes, than with the traditions that may haunt its + corridors. In Ireland,—and no one knows how old that is, for the + gods that lived there before the Red Branch came wrote few chronicles on + the old grey Irish stones and wrote in their own language,—in + Ireland we are more concerned with working it so that Tim Flanagan gets + the job he does be looking for. + </p> + <p> + But in America those who remember Ireland remember her, very often, from + old generations; maybe their grandfather migrated, perhaps his + grandfather, and Ireland is remembered by old tales treasured among them. + Now Tim Flanagan will not be remembered in a year’s time when he has the + job for which he has got us to agitate, and the jobberies that stir us + move not the pen of History. + </p> + <p> + But the tales that Irish generations hand down beyond the Atlantic have to + be tales that are worth remembering. They are tales that have to stand the + supreme test, tales that a child will listen to by the fireside of an + evening, so that they go down with those early remembered evenings that + are last of all to go of the memories of a lifetime. A tale that a child + will listen to must have much grandeur. Any cheap stuff will do for us, + bad journalism, and novels by girls that could get no other jobs; but a + child looks for those things in a tale that are simple and noble and epic, + the things that Earth remembers. And so they tell, over there, tales of + Sarsfield and of the old Irish Brigade; they tell, of an evening, of Owen + Roe O’Neill. And into those tales come the plains of Flanders again and + the ancient towns of France, towns famous long ago and famous yet: let us + rather think of them as famous names and not as the sad ruins we have + seen, melancholy by day and monstrous in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + Many an Irishman who sails from America for those historic lands knows + that the old trees that stand there have their roots far down in soil once + richened by Irish blood. When the Boyne was lost and won, and Ireland had + lost her King, many an Irishman with all his wealth in a scabbard looked + upon exile as his sovereign’s court. And so they came to the lands of + foreign kings, with nothing to offer for the hospitality that was given + them but a sword; and it usually was a sword with which kings were well + content. Louis XV had many of them, and was glad to have them at Fontenoy; + the Spanish King admitted them to the Golden Fleece; they defended Maria + Theresa. Landen in Flanders and Cremona knew them. A volume were needed to + tell of all those swords; more than one Muse has remembered them. It was + not disloyalty that drove them forth; their King was gone, they followed, + the oak was smitten and brown were the leaves of the tree. + </p> + <p> + But no such mournful metaphor applies to the men who march to-day towards + the plains where the “Wild Geese” were driven. They go with no country + mourning them, but their whole land cheers them on; they go to the + inherited battlefields. And there is this difference in their attitude to + kings, that those knightly Irishmen of old, driven homeless over-sea, + appeared as exiles suppliant for shelter before the face of the Grand + Monarch, and he, no doubt with exquisite French grace, gave back to them + all they had lost except what was lost forever, salving so far as he could + the injustice suffered by each. But to-day when might, for its turn, is in + the hands of democracies, the men whose fathers built the Statue of + Liberty have left their country to bring back an exiled king to his home, + and to right what can be righted of the ghastly wrongs of Flanders. + </p> + <p> + And if men’s prayers are heard, as many say, old saints will hear old + supplications going up by starlight with a certain wistful, musical + intonation that has linked the towns of Limerick and Cork with the fields + of Flanders before. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Movement + </h2> + <p> + For many years Eliphaz Griggs was comparatively silent. Not that he did + not talk on all occasions whenever he could find hearers, he did that at + great length; but for many years he addressed no public meeting, and was + no part of the normal life of the northeast end of Hyde Park or Trafalgar + Square. And then one day he was talking in a public house where he had + gone to talk on the only subject that was dear to him. He waited, as was + his custom, until five or six men were present, and then he began. “Ye’re + all damned, I’m saying, damned from the day you were born. Your portion is + Tophet.” + </p> + <p> + And on that day there happened what had never happened in his experience + before. Men used to listen in a tolerant way, and say little over their + beer, for that is the English custom; and that would be all. But to-day a + man rose up with flashing eyes and went over to Eliphaz and gripped him by + the hand: “They’re all damned,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + That was the turning point in the life of Eliphaz. Up to that moment he + had been a lonely crank, and men thought he was queer; but now there were + two of them and he became a Movement. A Movement in England may do what it + likes: there was a Movement, before the War, for spoiling tulips in Kew + Gardens and breaking church windows; it had its run like the rest. + </p> + <p> + The name of Eliphaz’s new friend was Ezekiel Pim: and they drew up rules + for their Movement almost at once; and very soon country inns knew Eliphaz + no more. And for some while they missed him where he used to drop in of an + evening to tell them they were all damned: and then a man proved one day + that the earth was flat, and they all forgot Eliphaz. + </p> + <p> + But Eliphaz went to Hyde Park and Ezekiel Pim went with him, and there you + would see them close to the Marble Arch on any fine Sunday afternoon, + preaching their Movement to the people of London. “You are all damned,” + said Eliphaz. “Your portion shall be damnation for everlasting.” + </p> + <p> + “All damned,” added Ezekiel. + </p> + <p> + Eliphaz was the orator. He would picture Hell to you as it really is. He + made you see pretty much what it will be like to wriggle and turn and + squirm, and never escape from burning. But Ezekiel Pim, though he seldom + said more than three words, uttered those words with such alarming + sincerity and had such a sure conviction shining in his eyes that searched + right in your face as he said them, and his long hair waved so weirdly as + his head shot forward when he said “You’re all damned,” that Ezekiel Pim + brought home to you that the vivid descriptions of Eliphaz really applied + to you. + </p> + <p> + People who lead bad lives get their sensibilities hardened. These did not + care very much what Eliphaz said. But girls at school, and several + governesses, and even some young clergy, were very much affected. Eliphaz + Griggs and Ezekiel Pim seemed to bring Hell so near to you. You could + almost feel it baking the Marble Arch from two to four on Sundays. And at + four o’clock the Surbiton Branch of the International Anarchists used to + come along, and Eliphaz Griggs and Ezekiel Pim would pack up their flag + and go, for the pitch belonged to the Surbiton people till six; and the + crank Movements punctiliously recognize each other’s rights. If they + fought among themselves, which is quite unthinkable, the police would run + them in; it is the one thing that an anarchist in England may never do. + </p> + <p> + When the War came the two speakers doubled their efforts. The way they + looked at it was that here was a counter-attraction taking people’s minds + off the subject of their own damnation just as they had got them to think + about it. Eliphaz worked as he had never worked before; he spared nobody; + but it was still Ezekiel Pim who somehow brought it most home to them. + </p> + <p> + One fine spring afternoon Eliphaz Griggs was speaking at his usual place + and time; he had wound himself up wonderfully. “You are damned,” he was + saying, “for ever and ever and ever. Your sins have found you out. Your + filthy lives will be as fuel round you and shall burn for ever and ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said a Canadian soldier in the crowd, “we shouldn’t allow + that in Ottawa.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked an English girl. + </p> + <p> + “Why, telling us we’re all damned like that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, this is England,” she said. “They may all say what they like here.” + </p> + <p> + “You are all damned,” said Ezekiel, jerking forward his head and shoulders + till his hair flapped out behind. “All, all, all damned.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m damned if I am,” said the Canadian soldier. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Ezekiel, and a sly look came into his face. + </p> + <p> + Eliphaz flamed on. “Your sins are remembered. Satan shall grin at you. He + shall heap cinders on you for ever and ever. Woe to you, filthy livers. + Woe to you, sinners. Hell is your portion. There shall be none to grieve + for you. You shall dwell in torment for ages. None shall be spared, not + one. Woe everlasting... Oh, I beg pardon, gentlemen, I’m sure.” For the + Pacifists’ League had been kept waiting three minutes. It was their turn + to-day at four. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Nature’s Cad + </h2> + <p> + The claim of Professor Grotius Jan Beek to have discovered, or learned, + the language of the greater apes has been demonstrated clearly enough. He + is not the original discoverer of the fact that they have what may be said + to correspond with a language; nor is he the first man to have lived for + some while in the jungle protected by wooden bars, with a view to + acquiring some knowledge of the meaning of the various syllables that + gorillas appear to utter. If so crude a collection of sounds, amounting to + less than a hundred words, if words they are, may be called a language, it + may be admitted that the Professor has learned it, as his recent + experiments show. What he has not proved is his assertion that he has + actually conversed with a gorilla, or by signs, or grunts, or any means + whatever obtained an insight, as he put it, into its mentality, or, as we + should put it, its point of view. This Professor Beek claims to have done; + and though he gives us a certain plausible corroboration of a kind which + makes his story appear likely, it should be borne in mind that it is not + of the nature of proof. + </p> + <p> + The Professor’s story is briefly that having acquired this language, which + nobody that has witnessed his experiments will call in question, he went + back to the jungle for a week, living all the time in the ordinary + explorer’s cage of the Blik pattern. Towards the very end of the week a + big male gorilla came by, and the Professor attracted it by the one word + “Food.” It came, he says, close to the cage, and seemed prepared to talk + but became very angry on seeing a man there, and beat the cage and would + say nothing. The Professor says that he asked it why it was angry. He + admits that he had learned no more than forty words of this language, but + believes that there are perhaps thirty more. Much however is expressed, as + he says, by mere intonation. Anger, for instance; and scores of allied + words, such as terrible, frightful, kill, whether noun, verb or adjective, + are expressed, he says, by a mere growl. Nor is there any word for “Why,” + but queries are signified by the inflexion of the voice. + </p> + <p> + When he asked it why it was angry the gorilla said that men killed him, + and added a noise that the professor said was evidently meant to allude to + guns. The only word used, he says, in this remark of the gorilla’s was the + word that signified “man.” The sentence as understood by the professor + amounted to “Man kill me. Guns.” But the word “kill” was represented + simply by a snarl, “me” by slapping its chest, and “guns” as I have + explained was only represented by a noise. The Professor believes that + ultimately a word for guns may be evolved out of that noise, but thinks + that it will take many centuries, and that if during that time guns should + cease to be in use, this stimulus being withdrawn, the word will never be + evolved at all, nor of course will it be needed. + </p> + <p> + The Professor tried, by evincing interest, ignorance, and incredulity, and + even indignation, to encourage the gorilla to say more; but to his + disappointment, all the more intense after having exchanged that one word + of conversation with one of the beasts, the gorilla only repeated what it + had said, and beat on the cage again. For half an hour this went on, the + Professor showing every sign of sympathy, the gorilla raging and beating + upon the cage. + </p> + <p> + It was half an hour of the most intense excitement to the Professor, + during which time he saw the realization of dreams that many considered + crazy, glittering as it were within his grasp, and all the while this + ridiculous gorilla would do nothing but repeat the mere shred of a + sentence and beat the cage with its great hands; and the heat of course + was intense. And by the end of the half hour the excitement and the heat + seem to have got the better of the Professor’s temper, and he waved the + disgusting brute angrily away with a gesture that probably was not much + less impatient than the gorilla’s own. And at that the animal suddenly + became voluble. He beat more furiously than ever upon the cage and slipped + his great fingers through the bars, trying to reach the Professor, and + poured out volumes of ape-chatter. + </p> + <p> + Why, why did men shoot at him, he asked. He made himself terrible, + therefore men ought to love him. That was the whole burden of what the + Professor calls its argument. “Me, me terrible,” two slaps on the chest + and then a growl. “Man love me.” And then the emphatic negative word, and + the sound that meant guns, and sudden furious rushes at the cage to try to + get at the Professor. + </p> + <p> + The gorilla, Professor Beek explains, evidently admired only strength; + whenever he said “I make myself terrible to Man,” a sentence he often + repeated, he drew himself up and thrust out his huge chest and bared his + frightful teeth; and certainly, the Professor says, there was something + terribly grand about the menacing brute. “Me terrible,” he repeated again + and again, “Me terrible. Sky, sun, stars with me. Man love me. Man love + me. No?” It meant that all the great forces of nature assisted him and his + terrible teeth, which he gnashed repeatedly, and that therefore man should + love him, and he opened his great jaws wide as he said this, showing all + the brutal force of them. + </p> + <p> + There was to my mind a genuine ring in Professor Beek’s story, because he + was obviously so much more concerned, and really troubled, by the dreadful + depravity of this animal’s point of view, or mentality as he called it, + than he was concerned with whether or not we believed what he had said. + </p> + <p> + And I mentioned that there was a circumstance in his story of a plausible + and even corroborative nature. It is this. Professor Beek, who noticed at + the time a bullet wound in the tip of the gorilla’s left ear, by means of + which it was luckily identified, put his analysis of its mentality in + writing and showed it to several others, before he had any way of + accounting for the beast having such a mind. + </p> + <p> + Long afterwards it was definitely ascertained that this animal had been + caught when young on the slopes of Kilimanjaro and trained and even + educated, so far as such things are possible, by an eminent German + Professor, a persona grata at the Court of Berlin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Home of Herr Schnitzelhaaser + </h2> + <p> + The guns in the town of Greinstein were faintly audible. The family of + Schnitzelhaaser lived alone there in mourning, an old man and old woman. + They never went out or saw any one, for they knew they could not speak as + though they did not mourn. They feared that their secret would escape + them. They had never cared for the war that the War Lord made. They no + longer cared what he did with it. They never read his speeches; they never + hung out flags when he ordered flags: they hadn’t the heart to. + </p> + <p> + They had had four sons. + </p> + <p> + The lonely old couple would go as far as the shop for food. Hunger stalked + behind them. They just beat hunger every day, and so saw evening: but + there was nothing to spare. Otherwise they did not go out at all. Hunger + had been coming slowly nearer of late. They had nothing but the ration, + and the ration was growing smaller. They had one pig of their own, but the + law said you might not kill it. So the pig was no good to them. + </p> + <p> + They used to go and look at that pig sometimes when hunger pinched. But + more than that they did not dare to contemplate. + </p> + <p> + Hunger came nearer and nearer. The war was going to end by the first of + July. The War Lord was going to take Paris on this day and that would end + the war at once. But then the war was always going to end. It was going to + end in 1914, and their four sons were to have come home when the leaves + fell. The War Lord had promised that. And even if it did end, that would + not bring their four sons home now. So what did it matter what the War + Lord said. + </p> + <p> + It was thoughts like these that they knew they had to conceal. It was + because of thoughts like these that they did not trust themselves to go + out and see other people, for they feared that by their looks if by + nothing else, or by their silence or perhaps their tears, they might imply + a blasphemy against the All Highest. And hunger made one so hasty. What + might one not say? And so they stayed indoors. + </p> + <p> + But now. What would happen now? The War Lord was coming to Greinstein in + order to hear the guns. One officer of the staff was to be billeted in + their house. And what would happen now? + </p> + <p> + They talked the whole thing over. They must struggle and make an effort. + The officer would be there for one evening. He would leave in the morning + quite early in order to make things ready for the return to Potsdam: he + had charge of the imperial car. So for one evening they must be merry. + They would suppose, it was Herr Schnitzelhaaser’s suggestion, they would + think all the evening that Belgium and France and Luxemburg all attacked + the Fatherland, and that the Kaiser, utterly unprepared, quite unprepared, + called on the Germans to defend their land against Belgium. + </p> + <p> + Yes, the old woman could imagine that; she could think it all the evening. + </p> + <p> + And then,—it was no use not being cheerful altogether,—then + one must imagine a little more, just for the evening: it would come quite + easy; one must think that the four boys were alive. + </p> + <p> + Hans too? (Hans was the youngest). + </p> + <p> + Yes, all four. Just for the evening. + </p> + <p> + But if the officer asks? + </p> + <p> + He will not ask. What are four soldiers? + </p> + <p> + So it was all arranged; and at evening the officer came. He brought his + own rations, so hunger came no nearer. Hunger just lay down outside the + door and did not notice the officer. + </p> + <p> + A this supper the officer began to talk. The Kaiser himself, he said, was + at the Schartzhaus. + </p> + <p> + “So,” said Herr Schnitzelhaaser; “just over the way.” So close. Such an + honour. + </p> + <p> + And indeed the shadow of the Schartzhaus darkened their garden in the + morning. + </p> + <p> + It was such an honour, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser too. And they began to + praise the Kaiser. So great a War Lord, she said; the most glorious war + there had ever been. + </p> + <p> + Of course, said the officer, it would end on the first of July. + </p> + <p> + Of course, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser. And so great an admiral, too. One + must remember that also. And how fortunate we were to have him: one must + not forget that. Had it not been for him the crafty Belgians would have + attacked the Fatherland, but they were struck down before they could do + it. So much better to prevent a bad deed like that than merely to punish + after. So wise. And had it not been for him, if it had not been for him... + </p> + <p> + The old man saw that she was breaking down and hastily he took up that + feverish praise. Feverish it was, for their hunger and bitter loss + affected their minds no less than illness does, and the things they did + they did hastily and intemperately. His praise of the War Lord raced on as + the officer ate. He spoke of him as of those that benefit man, as of + monarchs who bring happiness to their people. And now, he said, he is here + in the Schartzhaus beside us, listening to the guns just like a common + soldier. + </p> + <p> + Finally the guns, as he spoke, coughed beyond ominous hills. Contentedly + the officer went on eating. He suspected nothing of the thoughts his host + and hostess were hiding. At last he went upstairs to bed. + </p> + <p> + As fierce exertion is easy to the fevered, so they had spoken; and it + wears them, so they were worn. The old woman wept when the officer went + out of hearing. But old Herr Schnitzelhaaser picked up a big butcher’s + knife. “I will bear it no more,” he said. + </p> + <p> + His wife watched him in silence as he went away with his knife. Out of the + house he went and into the night. Through the open door she saw nothing; + all was dark; even the Schartzhaus, where all was gay to-night, stood dark + for fear of aëroplanes. The old woman waited in silence. + </p> + <p> + When Herr Schnitzelhaaser returned there was blood on his knife. + </p> + <p> + “What have you done?” the old woman asked him quite calmly. “I have killed + our pig,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She broke out then, all the more recklessly for the long restraint of the + evening; the officer must have heard her. + </p> + <p> + “We are lost! We are lost!” she cried. “We may not kill our pig. Hunger + has made you mad. You have ruined us.” + </p> + <p> + “I will bear it no longer,” he said. “I have killed our pig.” + </p> + <p> + “But they will never let us eat it,” she cried. “Oh, you have ruined us!” + </p> + <p> + “If you did not dare to kill our pig,” he said, “why did you not stop me + when you saw me go? You saw me go with the knife?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” she said, “you were going to kill the Kaiser.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Deed of Mercy + </h2> + <p> + As Hindenburg and the Kaiser came down, as we read, from Mont d’Hiver, + during the recent offensive, they saw on the edge of a crater two wounded + British soldiers. The Kaiser ordered that they should be cared for: their + wounds were bound up and they were given brandy, and brought round from + unconsciousness. That is the German account of it, and it may well be + true. It was a kindly act. + </p> + <p> + Probably had it not been for this the two men would have died among those + desolate craters; no one would have known, and no one could have been + blamed for it. + </p> + <p> + The contrast of this spark of imperial kindness against the gloom of the + background of the war that the Kaiser made is a pleasant thing to see, + even though it illuminates for only a moment the savage darkness in which + our days are plunged. It was a kindness that probably will long be + remembered to him. Even we, his enemies, will remember it. And who knows + but that when most he needs it his reward for the act will be given him. + </p> + <p> + For Judas, they say, once in his youth, gave his cloak, out of compassion, + to a shivering beggar, who sat shaken with ague, in rags, in bitter need. + And the years went by and Judas forgot his deed. And long after, in Hell, + Judas they say was given one day’s respite at the end of every year + because of this one kindness he had done so long since in his youth. And + every year he goes, they say, for a day and cools himself among the Arctic + bergs; once every year for century after century. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps some sailor on watch on a misty evening blown far out of his + course away to the north saw something ghostly once on an iceberg floating + by, or heard some voice in the dimness that seemed like the voice of man, + and came home with this weird story. And perhaps, as the story passed from + lip to lip, men found enough justice in it to believe it true. So it came + down the centuries. + </p> + <p> + Will seafarers ages hence on dim October evenings, or on nights when the + moon is ominous through mist, red and huge and uncanny, see a lonely + figure sometimes on the loneliest part of the sea, far north of where the + Lusitania sank, gathering all the cold it can? Will they see it hugging a + crag of iceberg wan as itself, helmet, cuirass and ice pale-blue in the + mist together? Will it look towards them with ice-blue eyes through the + mist, and will they question it, meeting on those bleak seas? Will it + answer—or will the North wind howl like voices? Will the cry of + seals be heard, and ice floes grinding, and strange birds lost upon the + wind that night, or will it speak to them in those distant years and tell + them how it sinned, betraying man? + </p> + <p> + It will be a grim, dark story in that lonely part of the sea, when he + confesses to sailors, blown too far north, the dreadful thing he plotted + against man. The date on which he is seen will be told from sailor to + sailor. Queer taverns of distant harbours will know it well. Not many will + care to be at sea that day, and few will risk being driven by stress of + weather on the Kaiser’s night to the bergs of the haunted part of sea. + </p> + <p> + And yet for all the grimness of the pale-blue phantom, with cuirass and + helmet and eyes shimmering on deadly icebergs, and yet for all the sorrow + of the wrong he did against man, the women drowned and the children, and + all the good ships gone, yet will the horrified mariners meeting him in + the mist grudge him no moment of the day he has earned, or the coolness he + gains from the bergs, because of the kindness he did to the wounded men. + For the mariners in their hearts are kindly men, and what a soul gains + from kindness will seem to them well deserved. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Last Scene of All + </h2> + <p> + After John Calleron was hit he carried on in a kind of twilight of the + mind. Things grew dimmer and calmer; harsh outlines of events became + blurred; memories came to him; there was a singing in his ears like + far-off bells. Things seemed more beautiful than they had a while ago; to + him it was for all the world like evening after some quiet sunset, when + lawns and shrubs and woods and some old spire look lovely in the late + light, and one reflects on past days. Thus he carried on, seeing things + dimly. And what is sometimes called “the roar of battle,” those aërial + voices that snarl and moan and whine and rage at soldiers, had grown + dimmer too. It all seemed further away, and littler, as far things are. He + still heard the bullets: there is something so violently and intensely + sharp in the snap of passing bullets at short ranges that you hear them in + deepest thought, and even in dreams. He heard them, tearing by, above all + things else. The rest seemed fainter and dimmer, and smaller and further + away. + </p> + <p> + He did not think he was very badly hit, but nothing seemed to matter as it + did a while ago. Yet he carried on. + </p> + <p> + And then he opened his eyes very wide and found he was back in London + again in an underground train. He knew it at once by the look of it. He + had made hundreds of journeys, long ago, by those trains. He knew by the + dark, outside, that it had not yet left London; but what was odder than + that, if one stopped to think of it, was that he knew exactly where it was + going. It was the train that went away out into the country where he used + to live as a boy. He was sure of that without thinking. + </p> + <p> + When he began to think how he came to be there he remembered the war as a + very far-off thing. He supposed he had been unconscious a very long time. + He was all right now. + </p> + <p> + Other people were sitting beside him on the same seat. They all seemed + like people he remembered a very long time ago. In the darkness opposite, + beyond the windows of the train, he could see their reflections clearly. + He looked at the reflections but could not quite remember. + </p> + <p> + A woman was sitting on his left. She was quite young. She was more like + some one that he most deeply remembered than all the others were. He gazed + at her, and tried to clear his mind. + </p> + <p> + He did not turn and stare at her, but he quietly watched her reflection + before him in the dark. Every detail of her dress, her young face, her + hat, the little ornaments she wore, were minutely clear before him, + looking out of the dark. So contented she looked you would say she was + untouched by war. + </p> + <p> + As he gazed at the clear calm face and the dress that seemed neat though + old and, like all things, so faraway, his mind grew clearer and clearer. + It seemed to him certain it was the face of his mother, but from thirty + years ago, out of old memories and one picture. He felt sure it was his + mother as she had been when he was very small. And yet after thirty years + how could he know? He puzzled to try and be quite sure. But how she came + to be there, looking like that, out of those oldest memories, he did not + think of at all. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to be hugely tired by many things and did not want to think. Yet + he was very happy, more happy even than tired men just come home all new + to comfort. + </p> + <p> + He gazed and gazed at the face in the dark. And then he felt quite sure. + </p> + <p> + He was about to speak. Was she looking at him? Was she watching him, he + wondered. He glanced for the first time to his own reflection in that + clear row of faces. + </p> + <p> + His own reflection was not there, but blank dark showed between his two + neighbours. And then he knew he was dead. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Old England + </h2> + <p> + Towards winter’s end on a high, big, bare down, in the south of England, + John Plowman was plowing. He was plowing the brown field at the top of the + hill, good soil of the clay; a few yards lower down was nothing but chalk, + with shallow flinty soil and steep to plow; so they let briars grow there. + For generations his forbears had plowed on the top of that hill. John did + not know how many. The hills were very old; it might have been always. + </p> + <p> + He scarcely looked to see if his furrow was going straight. The work he + was doing was so much in his blood that he could almost feel if furrows + were straight or not. Year after year they moved on the same old + landmarks; thorn trees and briars mostly guided the plow, where they stood + on the untamed land beyond; the thorn trees grew old at their guiding, and + still the furrows varied not by the breadth of a hoof-mark. + </p> + <p> + John, as he plowed, had leisure to meditate on much besides the crops; he + knew so much of the crops that his thoughts could easily run free from + them; he used to meditate on who they were that lived in briar and thorn + tree, and danced as folk said all through midsummer night, and sometimes + blessed and sometimes harmed the crops; for he knew that in Old England + were wonderful ancient things, odder and older things than many folks + knew. And his eyes had leisure to see much beside the furrows, for he + could almost feel the furrows going straight. + </p> + <p> + One day at his plowing, as he watched the thorn ahead, he saw the whole + big hill besides, looking south, and the lands below it; one day he saw in + the bright sun of late winter a horseman riding the road through the wide + lands below. The horseman shone as he rode, and wore white linen over what + was shining, and on the linen was a big red cross. “One of them knights,” + John Plowman said to himself or his horse, “going to them crusades.” And + he went on with his plowing all that day satisfied, and remembered what he + had seen for years, and told his son. + </p> + <p> + For there is in England, and there always was, mixed with the needful + things that feed or shelter the race, the wanderer-feeling for romantic + causes that runs deep and strange through the other thoughts, as the Gulf + Stream runs through the sea. Sometimes generations of John Plowman’s + family would go by and no high romantic cause would come to sate that + feeling. They would work on just the same though a little sombrely, as + though some good thing had been grudged them. And then the Crusades had + come, and John Plowman had seen the Red Cross knight go by, riding towards + the sea in the morning, and Jon Plowman was satisfied. + </p> + <p> + Some generations later a man of the same name was plowing the same hill. + They still plowed the brown clay at the top and left the slope wild, + though there were many changes. And the furrows were wonderfully straight + still. And half he watched a thorn tree ahead as he plowed and half he + took in the whole hill sloping south and the wide lands below it, far + beyond which was the sea. They had a railway now down in the valley. The + sunlight glittering near the end of winter shone on a train that was + marked with great white squares and red crosses on them. + </p> + <p> + John Plowman stopped his horses and looked at the train. “An ambulance + train,” he said, “coming up from the coast.” He thought of the lads he + knew and wondered if any were there. He pitied the men in that train and + envied them. And then there came to him the thought of England’s cause and + of how those men had upheld it, at sea and in crumbling cities. He thought + of the battle whose echoes reached sometimes to that field, whispering to + furrows and thorn trees that had never heard them before. He thought of + the accursed tyrant’s cruel might, and of the lads that had faced it. He + saw the romantic splendour of England’s cause. He was old but had seen the + glamour for which each generation looked. Satisfied in his heart and + cheered with a new content he went on with his age-old task in the + business of man with the hills. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of War, by Lord Dunsany + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WAR *** + +***** This file should be named 5713-h.htm or 5713-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/1/5713/ + +Produced by William McClain and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation’s web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> |