Part 5

The Bishop of London discharges his duties in camp as the chaplain of the London Rifle Brigade very thoroughly. One morning a number of men were out scouting, and a recruit, very well up in his drill, took advantage of passing through a wood to loiter behind and have a surreptitious “smoke” behind a clump of trees. He was discovered by the bishop, who, as chaplain, is, of course, an officer of the regiment.

The bishop gave the rifleman a good wigging as to his dereliction of duty, and reminded him that he ought really to be the bishop’s prisoner. The rifleman stood at the salute, and, expressing his penitence, the offense was overlooked.

The rifleman, who stands well over six feet, in telling the story, says, “That’s the second time I have been personally addressed by the bishop. The first time was some ten years ago, when I was top boy in our parish church choir, and after a service the bishop patted me on the shoulder and commended me for my solo singing! I little thought then that the day would come when I should be his Lordship’s prisoner for my solo _smoking_.”

NECESSARY PRECAUTION

He was a very raw recruit, and was paying his first visit to the riding school. He was allotted a horse; but it was obvious, from the nervous way he handled the animal, that he had never been on horseback before. When the instructor came up the recruit pointed to the girth.

“What’s it got that strap round it for?” he asked.

“Ah!” exclaimed the instructor, with mock admiration, “Fancy you noticing that. You see, that horse has a terrible keen sense of humor, an’ he’s subject to sudden bursts of laughter at some of the recruits he gets; so we puts that band round him to keep him from bursting his sides.”

STOPPING THE DONKEY

He was instructing some recruits in the mysteries of marching movements. After explaining and illustrating his remarks several times he approached one recruit, looked at him silently for a couple of seconds, then demanded his name.

“Fitzgerald, sorr,” was the answer.

“Did you ever drive a donkey, Fitzgerald?” was his next inquiry.

“Yes, sorr,” was the man’s reply.

“What did you say when you wanted him to stop?”

“Whoa.”

The sergeant turned away and immediately put his squad in motion again. The men advanced a dozen yards or so, when he rasped out:

“Squad, halt! Whoa, Fitzgerald!”

ONE ON SCOTTY

Some friends were in a restaurant the other day discussing the war, when a Scotsman at the next table remarked:

“The Alleys are doing verra weel, ar-ren’t they?”

One, thinking to be smart, said:

“The Alleys! Whom do you mean?”

“Why,” said the Scotsman, “the French and the Scotch, of course.”

At this the friends roared with laughter.

“Aye, you can laugh!” said the Scot. “But I saw my mistake as soon as I spoke. I should have said the Scotch and the French.”

DEFYING THE KAISER

In a fit of impatience because the speed of his yacht was slowed down on entering a certain harbor, the German Emperor on one occasion tried to assert his authority, and rang the bell for “Full speed ahead.” To his great surprise, the pilot, an old Norwegian named Nordhuns, who knew the dangerous character of the channel, placed himself in the way, and, leaning over the wheel, called down the tube to the engine-room, “Half-speed ahead. Never mind the bell!”

“What! You dare to countermand my orders?” cried the Kaiser, again ringing the bell.

“Disregard the bell,” calmly repeated Nordhuns through the tube.

For a moment the Kaiser glared at the intrepid pilot, and then, drawing himself up to his full height, said, majestically, “Go below, sir, and report yourself under arrest.”

“Leave the bridge!” thundered the Norwegian, grimly, as he grasped the wheel more firmly. “This ship is in my charge, and I’ll have no interference with my orders from Kaiser or seaman!”

The officers on deck hurried silently aft, wishing luck to the sturdy old sea-dog, who, knowing that he had the law as well as common sense on his side, stood at his post unshaken by threats, unheeding commands, and steered the _Hohenzollern_ safely into port.

The next day the Kaiser came to his senses, and decorated the pilot—the king at the wheel—with one grade of the Order of the Black Eagle, and also appointed him his life pilot in Norwegian waters.

TEMPERATURE 120°

Private Tommy Sims had had pneumonia, and had been for some time in hospital, where they treated him so well that he was much averse to the prospect of being discharged as “cured.” One day the doctor was taking his temperature, and while Tommy had the thermometer in his mouth the doctor moved on, and happened to turn his back. Tommy saw his chance. He pulled the thermometer out of his mouth and popped it into a cup of hot tea, replacing it at the first sign of the medico’s turning. When that worthy examined the thermometer he looked first at Tommy and then back at the thermometer and gasped:

“Well, my man, you’re not dead, but you ought to be!”

BUT PERHAPS HE CAN DIG TRENCHES

The subaltern was being put through an examination in geography, wherein he proved himself astonishingly ignorant. At last, after a failure on his part of unusual flagrance, the examiner scowled at him and thundered:—

“Idiot, you want to defend your country, and you don’t know where it is!”

LATEST SCOUTING STORY

One of the most dangerous duties a scout is called upon to perform in war-time is that of ascertaining whether some particular position is or is not occupied by the enemy’s forces. Every scout has his own methods of working, but the first thing each does is generally to attempt to trap the hidden men into betraying their position.

The other day a British scout, who, previous to the outbreak of war, had been a well-known man about town, was told to examine a little wood on the right bank of the ——. He went forward and tried all the usual artifices, including the somewhat threadbare one of pretending to gallop away in alarm, but in vain. Not a German showed himself. Yet the scout was not satisfied, and suddenly a bright thought struck him. He advanced a few paces and, jingling some loose silver in his pocket, roared out:

“Waiter! Get me a taxi!”

“Yessir! Cert’n’y, sir!” came the reply from some twenty or thirty German soldiers. Force of habit had proved too much for bonds of discipline.

CHINESE SYMPATHY

The other day a British reservist living in Montreal with his wife and family received the call to join the colors immediately. He decided to take his wife and children to England to stay during his absence. He found the most convenient arrangement would mean leaving Montreal the following day. But it was midweek, and the family wash was at the Chinaman’s. The lady went over to the laundry. The “boys” shook their heads—the wash would not be sorted out before Saturday. But just then the boss laundry-man came in.

“Your husband going to the war? Velly brave man. Me work all night to get your laundry.”

Next morning it was brought home by the “boss” himself.

“How much?”

“Nothing. Your husband go to the war. If you stay here all winter me wash all the clothes for the family. Not a cent.”

GIVING HIM A SEND-OFF

A curious incident was witnessed in a tram-car in a Yorkshire town a day or two back. Two women were seated side by side in earnest conversation.

“So tha’s been to see him off?” said one.

“Aye,” replied the other. “Ah’ve been to see him off. Eh, dear, but I didna know what to say to him. So I says, ‘Well, good-bye, old lad,’ I says, ’an if tha thoomps t’ Kaiser as tha’s thoomped me he’ll be sorry he went to war!’”

SHE KNEW BY EXPERIENCE

“Some of our cannon are disappearing,” remarked the lieutenant.

“Well, things will disappear when you have careless help,” responded the lady who was going over the fort. “I find that a great trouble about keeping house.”

WHERE WAR IS NOT HELL

Chatty Neighbor—“I suppose you don’t stand for any war arguments among your boarders?”

Boarding House Mistress—“O, yes. You see, our biggest eater gets so interested that he forgets to eat and our next biggest eater gets so mad that he leaves before the meal is half over.”

FEROCITY EXPLAINED

Bill—“I read as ’ow that ’ere ’Indenburg ’as got an English wife.”

Alf—“Ah, that accounts for ’is fightin’ like ’e does.”

COULDN’T BE SCOTCH

Barman—“Strikes me, there’s one o’ these blooming German spies in the smoke-room, sir. ’E’s bragging about bein’ a Scotsman, and the whisky I took ’im a quarter of an hour ago ’e ain’t even touched yet.”

HARDLY HIS FAULT

Officer (severely)—“Is this rifle supposed to have been cleaned?”

Recent Recruit—“Well, sir—yes. But you know what these servant gals are!”

THE GERMANS ABASHED

A British naval officer, home on short leave, told a North Sea story. “We had taken some prisoners aboard, three of them officers; one of their torpedoes had missed us by nearly ten feet.

“We made the officers as comfortable as we could, gave them food and drink, and talked about ordinary general matters; hardly a word was said about the fight.

“The Germans seemed ill at ease, suspicious. At last one of them said, ‘We don’t understand you treating us like this. We tried to torpedo you.’

“‘Oh, that’s all right; that’s over now,’ said a navigating lieutenant, handing him a cigarette.

“‘We’d like to show you that we appreciate your goodness,’ went on the German.

“There was a long pause. Then the lieutenant burst in with great cheerfulness, ‘Well, sing us the “Hymn of Hate.”’

“That was one of the rare moments when I have seen German officers look abashed.”

LOCATING PROGRESS

As a young man was walking along reading the evening newspaper he was accosted by an old lady who seemed interested in the war.

“Any news from the front, young man?” she exclaimed.

“Not much,” he replied. “Big battle in progress.”

“Well, thank heaven,” she said, “that it’s not in Belgium, where my poor Johnnie is gone.”

HOW I ESCAPED FROM BERLIN

Supposed to Be Written by Mrs. Malaprop

’Tis very easy to ask me for an account of my escape from Berlin, but when one has been hustled and fluted and prosecuted as I have, it is a wonder that one’s brain is not totally disinterred. However, in spite of my adventitious experiments, I am still, thank heaven! _compote mentis_, and can give a strictly voracious prescription of my sufferings. Like Othello, I will “nothing exterminate, nor set up aught in malice.”

You may require what I was doing in the great Prussian necropolis. The fact is that after the fatigues of the season I found myself somewhat interposed. I am the last person to give way to a fit of the vapors, but my enemy, the gout, had made such invidious advances and become so chromatic that I was advised to go and reciprocate under the care of a prominent Berlin physician. Despite the diversion which I naturally feel for all Germans, I must admit that his treatment and regiment proved beneficent—though his fees were exuberant—and I was rapidly recovering when the declaration of war burst upon us like a cataplasm.

Berlin was at once in a state of convolution. The streets were crowded with people in a very succulent humor, waving flags, singing typical songs, and shouting remarks which deluded recognition, as my knowledge of the language is merely superfluous. Any attempt at leaving the house was not only fertile but periculous, as Englishmen were subjugated to various forms of contumacy, either because the police were useless or with their secret contrivance.

I protest I never saw such a panharmonium! Foreign residents had their windows stoned, and abstained many cuts and confusions from the missals. The proprietor of our boarding-house was not actually indolent, but treated me in a very caviare manner, advising me to speak no English. Even neuters, he told me, were being distrained to stimulate a factious enthusiasm for the Kaiser.

Next day an official arrived. He asked me if I was English. “Sir,” I replied, “I am no camellia, changing my colors to suit my surroundings.” I think he hardly depreciated my semaphore; he merely told me to pack my trunks in readiness to leave Berlin at a certain hour next day. After another sleepless night passed in anxious

## participations, four of us were convoyed to the station in a closed

vehicle and left for hours on a platform crowded to supplication with fugitives. Some of the women wept quietly, while others gave way to historical outbursts. They gave us nothing but water, and I was induced to eating some digestible chocolate caravans produced by my maid.

At last the aliens’ train arrived; but we were at the back of the crowd, and you may imagine my constellation when I discovered that every department had its full quotient of passengers. Seizing a passing official, I exclaimed: “Thou transcendental Triton, is it thus that the confidential visitors, whose gold gorges the coffins of thy treasury, and who patiently suffer the ubiquitous distortions of thy greedy countrymen, are rewarded? Fie, sir! It is larceny—tyranny—barometry of the vilest conscription!”

He seemed puzzled, and said, roughly: “Are you Suffer-gette?”

“Sir,” I replied, “I will endure no more obliquity. I will say no more. I refuse to omit another syllabus.”

He called another official, and after a long discursion, during which they regarded me very strangely, frequently tapping their foreheads, they had a horse-box corrected to the train, into which my maid and I were inducted, attended by a German female. I passed the journey in a sort of comma, and eventually reached England, which it is my firm resolution never to leave again.

PERMANENTLY POSTPONED

The Irish Guards were holding a position at Ypres, and flying bullets were the order of the day. The Germans endeavored to break through, and after a particularly brisk volley Private Flynn was heard to shout:—

“Murder of wars, I’m done now altogether!”

“Why, have you been hit?” shouts Captain P——.

“Not entoirely hit, sir,” shouts Flynn; “but I’ve been waiting this ten minutes for a smoke from Murtagh’s pipe, and by the powers they’ve just shot it out iv his mouth.”

UNINTENTIONAL LIMITATION

The vicar of S—— is very patriotic, and has done a great deal of recruiting in his own and the adjoining parishes. He is also very absent-minded. This was never so forcibly brought home to him as on the occasion of the young squire’s wedding. The squire’s regiment was leaving almost immediately for the front, consequently the wedding attracted more than ordinary interest, and the little church was crowded to its utmost capacity.

The ceremony proceeded without a hitch, the momentous words had been spoken by the vicar, and repeated by the bridegroom ... “take thee, Phyllis, to my wedded wife,” when the congregation were astounded by the next words from the vicar, “for three years or the duration of the war.”

NOTHING NEW TO HIM

It was company field-training. The captain saw a young soldier trying to cook his breakfast with a badly-made fire. Going to him, he showed him how to make a quick-cooking fire, saying:

“Look at the time you are wasting. When I was on the West Coast I often had to hunt my breakfast. I used to go about two miles in the jungle, shoot my food, skin or pluck it, then cook and eat it, and return to the camp under the half-hour.” Then he unwisely added, “Of course, you have heard of the West Coast?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the young soldier, “and also of Ananias and Baron Munchausen, too.”

ENGLISH HUMOR

Bill—“Have you heard about the Prince of Wales?”

Nell—“No. What of His Royal Highness?”

Bill—“Well, he had a fall, and remained unconscious for some hours.”

Nell—“Oh, poor Prince!”

Bill—“But I am happy to say when His Royal Highness came to himself he was none the worse.”

Nell—“How did it happen?”

Bill—“In this way (not officially denied): It was very late on Monday; he fell—asleep in his bed!”

NOT A CARUSO

“Proud of ’im, I am,” announced an old lady, whose son had just enlisted, to a knot of friends in the village street. “Always done ’is duty by me, ’e ’as, an’ now ’e’s doin’ ’is duty by King an’ country. I feel right down sorry for them poor Germans to think of ’im goin’ into battle with ’is rifle in ’is ’and an’ ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary’ on ’is lips.”

“Poor Germans, indeed!” exclaimed one of her audience. “Pity’s wasted on ’em. P’r’aps you ’aven’t ’eard of their cruelties?”

“P’r’aps I ’aven’t,” agreed the old lady, “an’ p’r’aps you ’aven’t ’eard George sing!”

IN WAR TIME

Short-sighted Customer—“Aren’t you making your rolls a little larger these days, Mr. Baker?”

“What! R-r-rolls? Them’s loaves!”

GAVE THE SNAP AWAY

Amongst some recruits waiting to be passed by the doctor for a Tyneside battalion was a miner from a local colliery, a fine strapping youth. After a good many had been examined, it came to Geordie’s turn, and everyone present thought him a likely recruit. The doctor, after looking at Geordie’s teeth, remarked sadly:—

“I’m sorry, my lad, I cannot pass you; your teeth are too bad.”

“Wey, if this isn’t a licker,” replied Geordie. “Ye passed th’ same teeth yisterday wi’ Bill Smith, an’ we both borrowed them.”

WITHOUT PRECEDENT

A certain Yorkshire soldier, who was badly wounded in the jaw at Mons by a German bullet, was, on his return home, relating to an interested group how his company tackled the enemy when the order to charge was given.

“Bullets was flyin’ like snowflakes,” he said; “an’ lots o’ our chaps was hit.”

“Weel, Tommy,” interrupted one of his listeners, “couldn’t ye hear t’ bullets whizzin’ an’ makin’ a noise as they was comin’ along, an’ so be able to get out o’ their way?”

Tommy gave the inquirer a withering look, then replied:

“Nay, lad, we couldn’t hear ’em comin’, becos them bullets was Dum-Dum ’uns; an’ did anybody ever hear of aught that was dumb makin’ a noise?”

AN AGREEABLE MISTAKE

The soldier of four months was recounting his experience of “living on the country” in an Eastern county. He and a comrade had been dispatched with a motor-car to perform a certain mission. After traveling a considerable distance they sighted an inn sign, and, running the car into the yard at the rear, alighted and entered by a back door. A picturesque dame appeared, to whom the bluff and hearty spokesman said:

“Now, mother, is there anything to eat?”

“Well, you can have some nice cold beef, and if you like to wait half an hour I’ll cook you some potatoes and a cauliflower.”

“Ah! Worth waiting for, that is, mother! Right-o!” said the soldier.

She smiled approvingly, and told them to go into her own parlor. In due course they were bidden to the feast, over which they were glad to have her preside, for she talked very entertainingly. Eventually the spokesman broached the question of payment.

“Now, then, mother, how much do we owe you, please?”

“Oh, nothing! I’m sure I’ve been very glad to have you.”

“But, look here! I’d never have come in ordering stuff to eat without expecting to pay for it. You know you can’t keep a ‘pub.’ open on dinners for naught! Now, can you, mother?”

“No, I can’t, my dear lad! I don’t try to. This isn’t the pub. It’s the house next door!”

INCONSIDERATE BEGGAR

“What do you think?” exclaimed Mrs. Twobble. “While the Belgian Relief Committee was holding an important meeting yesterday afternoon in my drawing-room a ragged woman came to the house and asked for food. She had a baby in her arms, too!”

“What did you do?” asked Mrs. Gadson.

“Sent her about her business, of course! I was reading my report to the committee and had no time to bother with stray beggars.”

WHAT THE PILOT KNEW

Owing to the safeguards which the Admiralty have placed at the entrance to all large British seaports, it is now compulsory for all outward-bound and incoming vessels to be under the charge of a Government pilot.

A few weeks ago a Sunderland collier was anchored outside the Humber waiting for his pilot, and incidentally chafing at the delay.

Eventually the pilot was shipped and the safe channel entered for Hull, when the captain rather sarcastically remarked: “Do you know where the mines are?”

“No,” replied the pilot, “I do not.”

“What! you’ve taken over my ship and you don’t know? Well, I might just as well have brought the ship in myself.”

The pilot smiled indulgently upon the enraged skipper and said: “Aye, captain, ’tis true I don’t know where the mines are, but I know where they are not.”

IT WORKED ALL RIGHT

All the work was mapped out for the new charwoman, but about the appointed time she arrived in tears.

“My poor ’usband was shot in the battle,” she said, “and ’e’s passed away.”

The employer was all sympathy, gave the widow the half-crown she ought to have earned, and did the necessary work herself.

The next day she met the neighbor who recommended the woman, and said:

“You’ve heard, I suppose, about Mrs. W.’s husband being killed?”

“Yes,” said her friend. “But she ought to have got over it by now. It was in the Boer war.”

GERMAN GIRLS CAN KNIT

A certain Landwehrman had received his hundredth pair of warm woolen stockings knit by fair hands.

“Fritz must be a regular Don Juan,” said one of his less fortunate comrades.

“No,” said another, a fellow-townsman of the accused. “No, it isn’t that. The fact is, Fritz, before the war came, was teacher in a girls’ school.”

BLOCKHEAD, EH?

Sergeant—“Now, then, don’t you know how to hold a rifle?”

Recruit—“I’ve run a splinter in me finger.”

Sergeant (exasperated)—“Oh, you ’ave, ’ave you? Bin scratchin’ yer ’ead, I suppose?”

HIS SOLE REASON

As the sergeant was bawling out his orders and watching the line of feet as the raw recruits endeavored to obey the word of command, he found to his astonishment that one pair of feet—more noticeable on account of their extra large size—never turned.

Without taking his eyes off these feet the sergeant bawled out, “About turn!”

He could see that all the feet except those he watched turned in obedience. Rushing up to the owner, a little fellow, he seized him by the shoulder, shouting:

“Why don’t you turn with the rest?”

“Why, I did,” replied the trembling recruit.

“You did, eh? Well, I watched your feet, and they never moved.”

“It’s the boots they gave me, sir,” said the poor fellow. “They’re so large that when I turn my feet turns in them.”

IGNORANCE IS BLISS

The two servants met in the tram.

“Does this war they’re talking so much about make much difference to you?”

“The missus says we’ve got to economize, so we’ve to have margarine at meals in the kitchen.”

“Doesn’t she have it, then?”

“Not her. She says it doesn’t suit her digestion. But there’s nothing wrong with her digestion. We know that. For as often as not we send her up the margarine and have the butter ourselves.”

STROKE OF LUCK

A story is current that a certain colonel of a British regiment offered to give a sovereign for every German killed by any of his men.

It happened shortly after this that a sergeant and a private were out spying around, and took different points for observation.