Extract from the Note of the Military Expert of the popular Journal of Utopia: Formerly a Sergeant in the Commissariat Department of the Army.
“It is not easy to reconstruct from the fragmentary telegrams which have come through from the front the tactical nature of the great and happily decisive victory upon the Tusco. Some points are obvious. In the first place, it was ‘a soldiers’ battle.’ Gallant old Mitz (to whom all honour is due) drew up the line of battle, but the hard work was done by Bill Smith and Tom Jones, and the rest in the deadly trenches above the right bank. It seems probable that all the heaviest work was done on our right, and therefore against the enemy’s left, unless, indeed, the private telegram received by a contemporary be accurate, which would make out the heaviest work to have been on our left against the enemy’s right. The present writer has an intimate personal knowledge of the terrain, over every part of which he rode during the manœuvres of five years ago. It is sandy in places, interspersed with damp, clayey bits; much of it is undulating, and no small part of it rocky. Trees are scattered throughout the expanse of the now historic battlefield; their trunks afford excellent cover. The River Tusco, as our readers will have observed, is the dominating feature of the quadrilateral, which it cuts en échelon. The Patagonians boasted that though our army was acknowledgedly superior to their own, their commercial position would enable them to weary us out in the field. Yes, I don’t think!”
VII
Extract from a Lecture delivered by a Professor of Military History one hundred years later, in the University of Lima.
“Among the minor factors of this complicated situation was the permanent quarrel between Patagonia and Utopia, and though it has been much neglected by historians, and is, indeed, but a detail upon the flank of the great struggle of the coalition, a few moments must be given to the abortive operations in the Tusco Valley. They appear to have been conducted without any grasp of the main rules of strategy, each party advancing in a more or less complete ignorance of the position of the other, their communications parallel, their rate of advance deplorably slow, and neither possessing the information nor the initiative to strike at his opponent during a three-weeks’ march, at no point of which was either army so much as fifty miles from the other. These farcical three weeks ended in a sort of skirmish difficult to describe, and apparently confined to the extreme left of the Patagonian forces. The Utopians here effected some sort of confused advance, which was soon checked. At the other end of the line they retired before a partial movement of the enemy, effected without any apparent object, and certainly achieving no definite result. The total losses in killed and wounded were less than seven per cent of those engaged. The next day negotiations were entered into between the two generals; their weary discussion occupied a whole week, during which hostilities were suspended. The upshot of the whole thing was the retirement of the Patagonian Army under guarantees, and in consideration of the acceptation of the old frontier by the Utopian Government. Politically the campaign is beneath notice, as both territories were absorbed six months after in the recasting of the map after the Treaty of Lima, and the policing of them handed over to the now all-conquering Northern Power. Even as military history the operations deserve little more than passing notice, save, perhaps, as an example of the gross yet ever recurrent folly of placing numerically large commands in the hands of aged men. Mitza, upon the occasion of this fiasco, was over seventy-five years of age and long in his dotage, while the Prince of the Blood who had been chosen to lead (nominally, at least) the Patagonian Army was, apart from his increasing years, a notorious drunkard, and what is perhaps worse from a military point of view, daily subject to long and complete lapses of memory.”
A Descendant of William Shakespeare
IT was during the early months of 1909 that I first became acquainted with a descendant of William Shakespeare the great dramatist, who happened at that moment to be in London.