WEATHER-VANES.
It was 2 A.M. The mosquitoes were singing their nightly chorus, and the situation reports were coming in from the battalions in the line. With his hair sizzling in the flame of the candle, the Brigade Orderly Officer who was on duty for the night tried to decipher the feathery scrawl on the pink form.
"Situation normal A-A-A wind moderate N.E.," it read.
"Great Scott!" said the O.O. "North-East!" (Hun gas waits upon a wind with East in it). "Give me the message book."
Laboriously he wrote out warnings to the battalions and machine gun sections, etc., under the Brigade's control. Then he turned to the next message.
"Situation normal A-A-A wind light S.W."
"South-West?" said the O.O. blankly, viewing his now useless handiwork. "Which way is the wind then?"
The orderly went out to see, and returned presently with a moistened forefinger and the information that it was "blowing acrossways, leastways it seemed like it." The O.O. got out of his little wire bed, searched in his pyjamas for the North Star, and, finally deciding that if there was any wind at all (which was doubtful) it was due South, reported it as such. The responsibility incurred kept him awake for some time, but when the Brigade on the right flank reported a totally different wind he concluded there must be a whirlwind in the line, and, putting up a barrage of bad language, went to sleep.
In due course the matter came to the ears of the Staff Captain, who broached the subject at breakfast as the General was probing his second poached egg.
"This," said the General, who is rather given to the vernacular, "is the limit. A North-South-East-West report is preposterous. Something must be done. Haven't we got a weather-vane of our own? Pass the marmalade, will you?"
Four people reached hastily for the delicacy, and the O.O. feeling out of it passed the milk for no reason. (Generals really get a very good time. People have been known to pass things to them unasked.)
"What about those two vanes in our last headquarters, Sir?" said the Staff Captain brightly—he is very bright and bird-like in the mornings—"the ones the padre thought were Russian fire-guards. Can't we get them? They aren't ours, but then they aren't anybody's—they've been there a year, the old woman told me."
"Where's the Orderly Officer?" (He was there with a mouthful of toast.) "Take the mess limber and fetch 'em back if the Heavy Group Artillery will let you—they're in there now, aren't they?"
"And if you're g-going into the town g-get some fish for dinner," said the Brigade Major; "everlasting ration beef makes my s-stammer worse."
"Why?" said the General.
"Indigestion—nerves, Sir; I can hardly talk over the telephone at all after dinner."
"Good heavens!" said the General; "bring a turbot."
"Fish!" said the B.M. at dinner. "Bong!"
"I brought the vanes, Sir."
"Have any trouble?"
"No, Sir. I saw the A.D.C., and said we had 'left them behind,' which was true, you know, Sir." (The O.O. for once felt himself the centre of interest and desired to improve the occasion). "We did 'leave them behind,' so it wasn't a lie exactly ..."
"I don't care if it was," said the General; "you've got 'em, that's the main thing."
"Where will you have one put, Sir?"
"In the fields," said the B.M.
"Not too low," said the Captain.
"Or too high," said Signals.
"Or too far away," said the attached officer.
"Well, now you know," said the General, "pass the chutney."
They all passed it as well as several other things until he was thoroughly dug-in.
"Another N.S.E.W. report, Sir," said the Staff Captain next morning.
"——!" said the General. (I think I mentioned his partiality for the vernacular). "Where's our vane?"
"It's up, Sir," said the O.O., shining proudly again, "and I—"
"We'll have' a look at it," and out they all went—General, Brigade Major (enunciating pedantically after a fish breakfast), Staff Captain (bright and birdlike), and the O.O. It was a brilliant spectacle.
"North is—there!" said the General in his best field-day manner, "and this is pointing—due East!" He touched the vane gently. It did not budge. He touched it again. A cold sweat broke out on the forehead of the O.O.
"Paralysed," said the B.M.
"Give it a 'stand-east,' Sir," said the Staff Captain.
"It's stiff!" said the General; "wants-oil" (pause); "wants oil!" and the O.O. slid away, returning at once with oil (salad, bottle, one).
"Now pour it over the top—top, boy, top!"
A flood sprayed over the top flange, and the B.M. searched hastily for a handkerchief.
"Making a salad of you?" said the General. "Ha! ha!"
The B.M. smiled a smile (sickly, one).
"That's better!" The General spun it round. "What's it say now? East!"
"Better wait," said the B.M., "it'll change its mind in a minute."
"It's going!" cried the General excitedly. "There! Well, I'm—West!"
"The padre was right—it must be a fireguard, after all," said the Staff Captain.
"Or a s-sundial," muttered the B.M.
I believe the meteorological report was finally entered as: "Wind light to moderate (to strong), varying from East to West (via North and South)."
"Of course," said the General kindly to the O.O., "it's not quite perpendicular, it's a bit too low; wants a stronger prop, wires are a bit slack, the vane itself wants looking to, and the whole thing is in rather a bad position, but otherwise it's all right—quite all right."
"Yes, Sir," said the O.O.
"And there's too much oil," added the General, as he moved off.
"There is," said the B.M., discovering another blob on his shiny boots, "and on m-me!"
The Staff were unaccountably late. The O.O. breakfasted alone. For three days he had been the despair of the small and perspiring body of pioneers, who towards the end had fled at the mere sight of him. But at last the vane was working.
"Well," said the General when he came in, "how's the wind, expert?"
"N.N.E.," said the O.O. proudly. (It was the first thing he had done since he came on the Brigade three weeks before, and he was pleased at the interest the Staff had taken in his little achievement.) "I've had the pioneers working on it, and we've got it up another four feet, Sir, tightened the pole, and wired it on to the supports on every side. It's quite perpendicular now. I've marked out the points of the compass on it, and fixed up a little arrangement for gauging the strength of the wind—that flap thing, you know, Sir—"
"Yes, yes," said the General, who seemed to have lost his first keenness, "I'm glad it's working all right. By the way, we shall be moving from here to-morrow; the division's going back."
The O.O. drained the teapot in silence, and was glad it was strong and bitter.
