Mr. Punch on the Warpath Part 6

Yores melancholy-like,

THOMAS ATKINS.

["The German uniform is to be changed to a grey-brown. The officers are particularly annoyed at the change, and complain that they might at least have been allowed to keep the bright b.u.t.tons on their tunics. These are also to be dulled down to the new drab _regime_. Everything that is not strictly utilitarian--ta.s.sels, lace, and decorations--is to be banished from the parade-ground."--_Westminster Gazette._]

_Letter from a Private in the German Army to a Private in the British Army._

Mein Gut Friend,--We haf the both trouble much got! You haf the beautiful Susan _verloren_. I my Katrine am deprived of. Because why? I was so schmart lookin' in mein regimentalen blue dat Katrine fell in luff with me on first sighten and called me in ways of fun her "leetle blue _teufel_"! But now, ach Himmel! she at me _cochet die snooken!_ "Cuts," as you say. I broken-ar-arted quite am. Because why? The Office die Warren as us ordered to take off der blue regimentalen. We haf in brown-grey to dress ourselves. Ah! dirdy, bad, rotten colour! And no more ze _schon_ b.u.t.tons to haf that the beating heart of Katrine conquered. Farewell to Katrine! She brown ates.--Zo longen

KARL SCHNEIDER.

QUERY BY THE NAVY LEAGUE.--Does Brittania rule the waves, or does she mean to waive her rule?

_Commander._ What is your complaint against this boy?

_Bluejacket._ Well, sir, as I was a-walkin' arft, this 'ere boy, 'e up an' calls me a bloomin' idjit. Now, 'ow would you like to be called a bloomin' idjit, supposin' you wasn't one?

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PERILS OF MIMIC WAR.

_Motor Lieutenant, Motor Volunteer Corps_ (_to General in his charge_).

"I say, sir, if we"--(_b.u.mp!_)--"upset"--(_bang!_)--"shall I get"--(_b.u.mp! bang!_)--"a military funeral too?"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Perilous position of a gallant officer of Volunteers, on a recent march, who (ever thoughtful for the comfort of his hired charger) chooses the cooling waters of the ford in preference to the bridge._ "Here! Hi! Help, somebody! Hold on! I mean halt! He won't come out, and he wants to lie down, and I believe he's going to rear!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: NAVAL REVIEW (_From an Antique_)]

TRAFALGAR DAY.--(_At the Board School._) _Teacher._ Now can any boy tell me why Nelson's column was erected in Trafalgar Square?

_Johnny Grimes_ (_immediately_). Please, sir, to 'elp 'im up to 'eaven, when 'e died in the arms of the Wictory.

[Ill.u.s.tration: REMOUNTS FOR THE YEOMANRY

_Horse-buying "Expert."_ "Yes, it certainly does look more like a 'towel-horse' than anything else; still it'll have to do!"--Pa.s.sed.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "How dreadfully stout the general is getting!"

"Yes, isn't it fortunate? Otherwise he wouldn't be able to wear all his medals!"]

SOOTHSAYINGS FOR SAILORS

Augury from fowls of air Back to Tuscan gramarye dates.

Birds in February pair: Now then, skippers, choose your mates.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IMPERTINENT CURIOSITY

_Military Man._ "Well! What are yer a starin' at--ain't yer never seed a sodger before?"]

THE FORTUNE OF WAR

(_A fragment of a Military Romance, to be published a few years hence_)

["The long-proposed introduction of motor-cars into the army for transport purposes is on the point of accomplishment."--_The Outlook._]

... "COMRADES!" cried the proud general, addressing his troops (standing around him in the circular square ordered by the latest drill book), "at last we are about to reap the reward of our exertions. Thanks to our trusty motor-cars, we have traversed the desert at an average speed of twenty-five miles an hour. Our casualties have been few and insignificant. A dozen or so of the engines blew up, but not more than fifty men perished by these accidents. We have, indeed, to mourn the loss of some of the 75th Dragoons, whose motor-car went wrong in its steering, and rushed at express speed into the middle of a lake. And not a few of our heroes have been arrested by the native police on the charge of furious driving, with the result that they now languish in dungeons, awaiting bail. But what are these trifles, compared with the glory that will soon be ours? The enemy are now within thirty miles of us--a distance which, with a little extra pressure, we can cover in an hour. So, forward! Mount motor-cars! Tie down the safety-valves! Seize starting levers! Now, when I give the word! Are you read----"

At this moment a grey-haired officer interrupted him.

"Alas, sir!" he cried, "we cannot advance! It is impossible!"

"Impossible?" echoed the general, in amazement. "Why?"

"For the very good reason that--_we've run out of oil!_"

A loud groan burst from the army on hearing the dreadful news; the voice of the general himself shook as he replied:

"Then, for once, we must ride."

"You forget, sir," said the other, "that nowadays we have no horses.

Shall we--march?"

"No!" cried the intrepid leader. "March? Never! Death before dishonour!

Men, your general may have to die a rather unpleasant death; but never, in this scientific age, never will he insult you by suggesting that you should walk!" and rapturous cheers from the army greeted this n.o.ble utterance. But just when hope was dying in every breast, and the only possible course seemed to be to wait patiently until the enemy attacked and destroyed them, a small motor-car with red-hot bearings whizzed through the crowd and stopped before the general. Need we mention that its driver was none other than Henry de Plantagenet? (He's my hero, of course, and he went out scouting on his own account--as heroes do--in the last chapter.)

"Sir," he cried triumphantly, "I have news, great news!"