By O.C.A. CHILD.
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Those Uhlans now are working in too near, Their carbines crackle louder every shot. I say! our chaps a-plodding in the rear Are getting it—and most uncommon hot! It's not much fun retreating in the night, Through all this mess of rain and reeking slime— It seems to me this boot's infernal tight! I must have hurt me when I slipped that time. Whew! that was close and there's a fellow gone! I know too well that heavy, sickening thud; It's bitter hard that we must keep right on And leave our wounded helpless in the mud. My foot hurts so that I can hardly see— I'll have to stop for just a breathing space. What's that? It's blood!—those fiends have got me now! It's double time and I can't stand the pace! I'll use my rifle as a crutch. But, no! I'll stand and fight; they have me sure as day! It's death for death—then I will meet it so And make a Uhlan pay the price I pay. And here they come! Great God, they're coming fast— Are almost on me! Ah, I got that one! Just one more shot—a good one for the last! Those iron hoofs have crushed me—I am done! |
War a Game for Love and Honor
By Jerome K. Jerome
The chivalrous spirit of the present conflict informs this article, which appeared originally in The London Daily News under the title "The Greatest Game of All: The True Spirit of War," and is here reproduced by special permission of Mr. Jerome.
WAR has been described as the greatest of games. I am not going to quarrel with the definition. I am going to accept it. From that point of view there is something to be said for it. As a game it can be respectable; as a business it is contemptible. Wars for profit—for gold mines, for mere extension of territory, for markets—degrade a people. It is like playing cricket for money. A gentleman—man or nation—does not do such things. But war for love—for love of the barren hillside, for love of the tattered flag, for love of the far-off dream—played for a hope, a vision, a faith, with life and death as the stakes! Yes, there is something to be said for it.
Looked at practically, what, after all, does it matter whether Germany or Britannia rules the waves? Our tea and our 'baccy, one takes it, would still be obtainable; one would pay for it in marks instead of shillings. Our sailor men, instead of answering "Aye, aye, Sir," in response to Captain's orders, would learn to grunt "Jawohl." Their wages, their rations would be much the same.
These peaceful Old World villages through which I love to wander with my dogs; these old gray churches round which our dead have crept to rest; these lonely farmsteads in quiet valleys musical with the sound of mother creatures calling to their young; these old men with ruddy faces; these maidens with quiet eyes who give me greeting as we pass by in the winding lanes between the hedgerows; the gentle, patient horses nodding gravely on their homeward way; these tiny cottages behind their trim bright gardens; this lilliputian riot round the schoolhouse door; the little timid things in fur and feather peering anxious, bright-eyed from their hiding places! Suppose the miracle to happen. Suppose the weather-beaten board nailed to the old beech tree warning us in faded lettering as we pass beneath it of the penalties awaiting trespassers were to be superseded by a notice headed "Verboten!" What essential difference would there be—that a wise man need vex his soul concerning? We should no longer call it England. That would be all. The sweep of the hills would not be changed; the path would still wind through the woodland. Yet just for a name we are ready to face ruin and death.
It certainly is not business. A business man would stop to weigh the pros and cons. A German invasion! It would bring what so many of us desire: Conscription, tariff reform. It might even get rid of Lloyd George and the Insurance act. And yet that this thing shall not be, Tory Squire and Laborer Hodge, looking forward to a lifelong wage of twelve-and-six-pence a week, will fight shoulder to shoulder, die together, if need be, in the same ditch. Just for a symbol, a faith we call England. I should say Britain.