V: WIRELESS
Every day brought messages from the world. The Fattish had made a glorious retreat of sixty miles. The Waltzians were offering a glorious resistance to the Grossians. With the help of God the Fatters had gloriously evacuated their trenches on the west, and heroically withdrawn from a river on the east. With assistance from above the Fattish navy had swept the Fatter flag from the seven seas. The Bilgians had been nobly extinguished, though their flag was still flying and their King ruled over a flooded country. Hundreds of thousands of men were killed, wounded, and lost. From country to country General congratulated General, Admirals sent their applause to Field-Marshals, Statesmen exchanged bravos, and monarchs thanked each other and God for timely assistance.
Rear-Admiral Bich said: “Isn’t it glorious—glorious?”
“At present,” replied Ultimus, “I am so confused that I can make nothing of it. Why are they all so pleased with themselves? Do they like to think of thousands of men dying?”
“They have died for their country. They are heroes.”
“I don’t see that. I cannot imagine myself going out of my way to die for my island, and Fatland is also an island.”
“Ah!” said the Rear-Admiral. “But there are no women on your island, no little ones, no homes.”
“There is Siebenhaar who has been father and mother to me, master and instructor.”
“Well! Suppose you saw men designing to murder Siebenhaar, would you not raise a hand to defend him?”
“Not if I saw there was not the remotest chance of saving him. But that is nonsense. No one would want to murder Siebenhaar.”
“I don’t know about that. There are times when he is so exasperating that I hardly dare answer for myself.”
“That is absurd,” replied Ultimus. “You know that I should destroy you at once if you did anything to Siebenhaar. The case might be different if you were in such a position that there would be consequences. But why deal with hypothesis when you are confronted with facts?”
The simple sailor was no hand at an argument, and just at that moment there came the news of the loss of a Fattish fleet after an encounter with the Fatters, with an account of the heroic death of the Commander, Rear-Admiral Sir Charles Bich.
Unfortunately the island was not yet in a position to transmit messages and the unhappy Bich had to rest inactive, crushed with the burden of the news of his own death and his inability to contradict it.
“You see,” said Ultimus, “you have died for your country, you are a hero, and you do not like it at all.”