Rear-Admiral Bich saw the strength of Ultimus’ position and was silent until Siebenhaar asked him for news of civilisation, when he expressed surprise that they had not heard of the war.
“War?” said Siebenhaar. “Are they still at that game? Why, we were told that the Fattero-Fattish war was to be the last.”
“That,” replied the Admiral, “was a mere skirmish. There are six or seven nations at war with Fatterland.”
“Alas! my poor country!” cried the philosopher. “I knew how it would be. Their infernal greed and conceit, their confusion of mind, their slothfulness, their desire for discipline, their liking for monuments and display, their want of tact, all these defects needed but success for them to grow into active vice and plunge them into disaster. To any nation a period of successful peace is fatal. The employment of commercial cunning unredeemed by any other exercise of the mind is, after a time, unutterably boring, and the most obvious relief from it is found in the ideal of a nation in arms. Now that is a barren ideal. To train men for so stupid and brutal a trade as the soldier’s is to increase the already excessive amount of stupidity and brutality in the world. To maintain large bodies of stupid and brutal men in arms is in the end to be forced to find an excuse for using them. Human nature, I fear, is incurably pugnacious and destructive. I have had to amend many of my more optimistic opinions concerning the human race since I have had the privilege of watching the development of our young friend yonder. He is normal, healthy and intelligent, and acquainted with all the resources of civilisation, physical and mental. There is hardly a practical discovery of modern science that I have not placed at his disposal for his use and amusement, but these do not satisfy him. He is not exposed to the nervous pressure to which in our crowded modern states I used to ascribe outbreaks of hostility. No. In the absence of an enemy he must declare war upon his own handiwork, upon the elements, upon the very earth itself.”
“Before you go any further,” said the Rear-Admiral, “I should like something to eat, and I should like to explain that on our side in the war is the right. The Fatters have behaved like savages. They have burned cities, murdered old men and children, raped women and committed every outrage.”
“I have seen something of warfare myself,” said Siebenhaar. “It is a bestial occupation. When a man has become accustomed to slaughter by license, what is there to make him stop at minor offences such as theft, rape, and wounding? Soldiers who are unchaste in peace do not become chaste when war is declared. In a friendly country the women consent. In a hostile country some of them protest, generally because they are panic-stricken and in terror of worse happening to them.”
“This war,” said the Rear-Admiral, “is holy.”
“I am a Fatter,” replied Siebenhaar, “and the Fatters have been taught for generations that all war is holy and sanctifies all that is done in its name.”
“We,” said the Fattishman, “fight like gentlemen.”
“And,” retorted the philosopher, “like gentlemen you burn and rape and pillage.”